A Chorus Line-Up Page 2

  After haggling with the front desk clerk to make sure that all of our rooms were on the same floor and that I had extra keys for my room so that Devlyn, Larry, and Jim could all have one in case they needed access to instruments or costumes, Larry and I handed out room keys. We then asked everyone to carry their costumes to my room, and turned the kids loose. By the time I’d made sure my students were all in their designated rooms with instructions to meet back in the lobby for dinner in an hour, I was ready to collapse on my bed.

  Of course, for that to happen, I’d first have to be able to find my bed. Garment bags filled with costumes and black, scuffed instrument cases were piled on both beds and the rug, giving me nowhere to walk let alone sleep. As a teacher, I was certain I was supposed to treat this as a learning opportunity and knock on doors, get the students back here, and insist they hang up their costumes and stack the instruments in a responsible and considerate manner. Clearly, I was more concerned about peace of mind than education because I rolled up my sleeves, propped my door open so claustrophobia wouldn’t set in, and got to work.

  One by one, I stacked the instrument cases in the hall outside my room. When I could finally see the floor again, I approached the problem like a game of Tetris. Wishing I had the nifty music to entertain me while I played, I stacked, restacked, and arranged until the reconfigured instrument cases allowed me to reach both the bed closest to the door and the television. The window was completely blocked, but I’d just have to learn how to survive without a view of the blinking neon cowboy from the restaurant next door. My loss.

  Now that the instruments had been dealt with, I turned my attention to the garment bags strewn across the bed I desperately wanted to curl up on. I had just grabbed the first bag when a warm, rich voice asked, “Can I give you a hand?”

  I turned and spotted Devlyn lounging against the frame of my open door. At more than six feet tall, with deep blue eyes, a slightly crooked nose, and unruly brown hair that his mother almost certainly would tell him needed a trim, Prospect Glen’s drama teacher Devlyn O’Shea was every high school girl’s dream of a leading man. Add in the body-hugging pink T-shirt and the fitted gray-wash jeans and I doubt there was a woman alive who would turn down his offer of a helping hand. I certainly wasn’t about to. Of course, I had an ulterior motive.

  “I left the door open when I was restacking the instruments, but you can close it now,” I said with a slow smile. “I wouldn’t want the students to think I was keeping it open because I didn’t trust them.”

  “You’re a smart lady, Ms. Marshall.” Devlyn shut the door and then walked across the room and kissed me.

  And wow, could Devlyn kiss. My knees went weak. Or maybe they were already weak from the exercise I’d gotten relocating instruments. Regardless, I wrapped my arms tight around him and lost myself in the moment. Devlyn was sexy. Smart. Wonderful. And mine.

  Okay, maybe he technically wasn’t all mine. I mean, we hadn’t . . . wow. His hand ran down my back. I shivered and pressed closer, wondering how it was possible that we hadn’t yet moved our relationship into something more physical. The sparks were there. I gasped as his lips touched my neck. Okay, the sparks were more than there. But . . .

  Knock. Knock. Knock.

  “Ms. Marshall?”

  At the sound of Chessie’s voice, Devlyn moved away from me and to the pile of garment bags. Sighing, I walked to the door and opened it to find Chessie standing on the other side with a garment bag draped over her arm.

  “I forgot to bring you my costumes.” Without an invitation, she strolled into my room and gave Devlyn a smile. “Hi, Mr. O’Shea. It’s too bad you weren’t on the choir bus. We were running lines for the musical, and I was having trouble understanding the motivation for one of the scenes. Do you think you’ll have time to work with me on it this week? We only have two weeks until the show opens, and I want to make sure I’m doing everything exactly right.”

  While Devlyn assured her that he’d schedule a few minutes to run lines and ushered her out, I hung Chessie’s garment bag in my closet. Once the door was closed I looked at Devlyn, waiting for him to pick up where we left off. Instead, he grabbed another bag of costumes and began to clear off my bed. Drat. There was nothing like high school kids and the reminder of Devlyn’s secret identity to kill the mood. Though the kiss he’d just given me and the ones we’d been sharing on and off for months proved he was attracted to me, the rest of the Prospect Glen community of students, teachers, and parents believed the rumors that Devlyn O’Shea was gay. Further complicating matters was the fact that Devlyn not only encouraged the rumors; he was the one who’d started them. While that prevented passes from high school girls like the one that derailed his mentor’s teaching career, it made the pursuit of a real relationship challenging. I had tried to talk about the problem on a number of occasions, but Devlyn only assured me that things would get better. That I was currently handling hangers and large plastic bags instead of Devlyn’s well-toned shoulders told me we hadn’t reached the better stage yet. And if I didn’t say something, it was possible we never would.

  “The bags aren’t going to all fit in your closet,” Devlyn said. “I’ll take the last four down to my room.” With a quick kiss on my cheek, he headed for the door and then added, “Oh, and make sure you turn on your phone. Larry’s been sending texts. When you didn’t respond he was worried you’d slipped and fallen in the shower. I’ll see you downstairs for dinner in ten minutes.” And with that he was gone.

  Flopping on the finally cleared bed, I pulled my cell out of my pocket and reluctantly hit “on.” The chimes telling me I had texts, e-mails, and voice mail made me sigh. Ignoring the texts, since I knew most if not all were from Larry, I hit “play” on my voice mails. The first was from Aunt Millie, asking me to call when I got to the hotel. She was finishing packing and wanted to make sure I really didn’t want the girls to wear false eyelashes. Applied correctly, the eyelashes could really bring out the girls’ eyes. They could. They could also come loose and make it look as if a tarantula had climbed onto my student’s face. Some judges were turned off by spiders. Go figure.

  Both Millie and Aldo were driving into town tomorrow, bringing with them Millie’s array of products and the expertise she’d earned while becoming one of Mary Kay’s top sales representatives. I just hoped they didn’t bring their current argument with them.

  I closed my eyes as the second and third messages played: Christine McCann, the organizer of this year’s competition, asking me to step into teaching tomorrow’s master class, followed by Larry wondering why his cell service worked just fine and mine didn’t. Sigh.

  “Paige, where the hell are you?”

  I sat up as the angry voice of my manager, Alan Held, filled the room.

  “Call me as soon as you get this.” Click.

  Yikes.

  I got up and paced as the phone rang. Two rings. Three.

  “Paige, where have you been? I specifically said that I needed to be able to get ahold of you at any moment.”

  “I told you I was going to be in Nashville this week. My show choir is performing at the National Show Choir Championships.”

  “Well, they’re going to have to do it without you. I need you in Chicago first thing on Friday morning to sing for Sir Andrew Davis.”

  My heart stuttered, and it became hard to breathe. “Andrew Davis wants to hear me sing?” Sir Andrew Davis was a world-renowned conductor and the current musical director of the Lyric Opera.

  “He heard a recording of The Messiah and was impressed. He’d like to hear you in person and potentially use you in a recording he’s conducting that features Andre Napoletano. Andre personally requested your consideration.”

  My head spun.

  “There’s also a chance you could be offered a role in next year’s Lyric season. One of their performers had to cancel her contract, and Andrew thought you’d make a ve
ry interesting choice.”

  Roles at the Lyric were often cast years in advance by world-renowned artists. This was an once-in-a-lifetime career-making opportunity.

  But . . .

  “I’m in Nashville,” I said, trying hard to catch my breath. “The kids are counting on me to help them get through this competition.” They’d worked so hard. They might not have wanted to do what I asked of them, but they had.

  “Well, they’re just going to have to get through it on their own. Andrew has pushed back his flight to London in order to see you. If you don’t make this audition, it won’t take long before the entire opera community learns that you were a no-show. If that happens, you can kiss ever having a real career good-bye.”

  Chapter 2

  “You okay?” Devlyn asked as I stared at my slice of now-cold pizza.

  “Sure.” I shrugged and forced a laugh. “I guess I’m not in the mood for pepperoni.”

  “There’s a McDonald’s down the road,” he teased. “I can ask the bus driver to make a stop.”

  While I loved the fast-food chain’s salty French fries, my stomach curled at the thought. “I wouldn’t want to set a bad example for the team. Besides, the last thing we need is for someone to have a major acne breakout from the grease. Can you imagine the drama that would cause?” Probably just as much as if I talked about my phone call with Alan here where the kids or Larry might overhear.

  Devlyn’s eyes turned serious as he studied my face. Apparently, my acting skills weren’t up to par tonight. However, before he could ask questions, Larry stood up and called for everyone’s attention. The bus would be leaving to go back to the hotel in ten minutes. Breakfast would be at eight tomorrow. We would leave for the performance venue at nine. “I expect all of you to be up and ready to go on time.”

  Teenage eyes rolled and then glazed over. Larry and his continued speech on curfew, comportment, and responsibility had been officially tuned out in favor of food and whispered conversation.

  When he was done, I stood up and said, “One more thing.”

  Each member of my team went silent as they waited for what I had to say. Just months ago, it would have taken a lot of yelling or threatening to get their attention and even more effort to keep it. The kids still drove me crazy when they came to rehearsal late, forgot to tell me their costumes were in need of repair, or got careless with their dance steps. But over the past few months, they’d earned my respect with their work and dedication. Their silence now told me that I’d earned theirs in return. We were a team. At least, we were until this competition was over.

  Ignoring the ache in my gut, I said, “I couldn’t be prouder of the work you’ve done to get to this point. Keep that work in mind when you’re tempted to stay up all night. It would be a real shame to get this far only to screw up before the final competition. And, understudies . . .”

  Four sets of eyes glimmered with interest.

  “If I think any team member is too tired to perform, you’ll be called on to take their place. So make sure you’re rested and ready. We came here to take first place, and that’s what I intend to do.”

  The team cheered and exchanged high fives, but in the middle of the celebratory moment, I could see Chessie’s eyes narrow as she looked at her fellow teammates.

  “Chessie’s going to make sure they all go to bed early,” Devlyn whispered. “And unless I am totally mistaken, she’s currently talking Eric, Megan, and John into being the bedtime enforcers in their rooms. I couldn’t have manipulated them better myself. And you used to think you weren’t meant to do this job.”

  Devlyn was right about Chessie getting the kids to adhere to their curfew. When I opened my hotel room door just after eleven, the hallway was silent. Which meant no one saw me head to the business center to book a flight to Chicago. I assuaged my guilt by only looking up flights that would allow me to be with my team during their preliminary round competition and return in time to help them prepare for the final round—if they made it that far. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that by getting on a plane, I’d be letting everyone down. Which was crazy. The last thing I’d ever wanted to do was teach. This job was temporary. Everyone knew that when I started. Larry. Devlyn. The kids. They had been there to watch me sing in December. They’d read the reviews and cheered when I secured a more influential manager in addition to several Midwest concert appearances. If I told them about the audition, I was sure they’d insist that I go.

  Yeouch!

  I stared at the screen. The cost of the cheapest round-trip ticket was more than what I earned in a month of coaching the choir and teaching voice lessons. This trip could be for nothing. How many auditions had I gone to in the past where I’d heard nothing more than “don’t call us; we’ll call you”? As much as rejection was part of this business, it still stung every time. But that risk was part of the job. As was the financial investment of getting to the audition.

  Plane ticket and aisle seat confirmed, I pushed back my chair and went in search of a Diet Pepsi, a Snickers, and two bags of deep-fried, artificially flavored cheese-and-sour-cream potato chips. Then I headed back to my room to drown my uncertainty in sugar and carbs.

  I tore into the Snickers bar and took a big bite as I slid the key card into my room door. The sound of giggles from the room across the hall told me that some of the Music in Motion team were still awake. I could only hope that by the time midnight rolled around, they’d be in bed asleep. With any luck I would, too. Between the pre-competition events, the high level of teen anxiety, and the audition that could potentially change my entire future—well, it was going to be a very long week.

  “I’m glad you decided to have the kids leave their costumes and instruments at the hotel,” I said, walking back to the bus. Despite the promise that it would be operational by today and our attempts just now to open it, the stage-left loading dock door wouldn’t budge.

  “I’m grateful you’re willing to live with your room being a storage area for another day.” Larry smiled. “There’s no point in our team having to lug all of their stuff farther than necessary. Especially since our dress rehearsal isn’t until Thursday morning. The band was especially grateful since it meant they could spend the day lounging around the hotel pool instead of coming here.”

  Larry yelled to the bus driver to go around front. Then he trekked around four Dumpsters to the stage-right side to try that door. Whoever said theater was glamorous had never had a stage door near the trash.

  Eureka! This door opened and we stepped into a dimly lit backstage that was bustling with people shouting orders, carrying risers, and unwinding microphone cables.

  Larry and I followed the signs through the wing space, down a side hallway, to a room with a large sign with the word Registration written in hot pink glitter. The boys in my choir were going to love that.

  “Name.” The bleach blond woman behind a long, folding table strewn with boxes filled with folders and papers looked up from the enormous purple bag she was pawing through.

  Larry smiled and waved at a dark-haired woman on the other side of the room. She smiled back. “Larry DeWeese and Paige Marshall with Prospect Glen High School.”

  The blond woman set her bag on the chair next to her, glanced at me, and then flipped through the folders and pulled out a yellow one marked with our school name. “In here you’ll find the most up-to-date rehearsal and competition schedule, your backstage passes that allow you to have access to the staging rooms while the competition is in session, and a map of the facilities. You’ll also find a list of activities for your students to participate in.” The woman dug through the large cardboard boxes behind her and snagged two large plastic bags filled with pink and purple T-shirts. “Let me know immediately if the sizes don’t match the ones you sent us. We’ve had some issues with someone ordering the wrong sizes.”

  The blonde glanced across the room at the dark-hair
ed woman and gave her a nasty smile. To the dark-haired woman’s credit, she didn’t react. She just went back to collating papers.

  Frowning, the blonde handed me a separate folder. “In there you’ll find the room assignment and other information for the master class you’ll be teaching. We’re counting on our instructors to keep the class limited to the assigned time frame. We’re running on a tight schedule, and the coordinators need everyone to do their part to make this week run smoothly or the competition will suffer.”

  Translation: Let the kids out of class on time or I’ll see the coordinators’ annoyance reflected on the judging sheets.

  “No problem,” I assured the woman as Larry handed me my name tag and backstage pass. “Do you know if Scott Paris has checked in yet? I’d like to meet him before we teach together.”

  “His team loaded in yesterday.” Her expression made it clear that this was the way things were supposed to be done. “They’re in staging room 118. Who’s next?”

  Stepping to the side to put on my badge, I watched a woman with teased hair step up to the table and be greeted like an old friend. While the two exchanged photos of their kids, Larry and I went in search of our staging area.

  Staging room 101 was located at the end of the hall, next to two large double doors that separated this area from the front lobby of the theater complex. It was also the room farthest from the stage. Most teachers would be annoyed by the placement. I was overjoyed. Being on the edge of the chaos was way better for my team’s focus than being in the middle. The real problem with the space was the room’s small size.

  A quick peek into the other rooms made it clear ours was by far the smallest staging space in the joint. It also told me that feathers and gold sequins were all the rage this year. Despite the fact that our group had better taste in costumes, the staging room’s size was going to cause problems. Between the four makeup mirrors sitting against the back wall and the costume rack near the door, there was barely enough square footage for all the choir and band kids to fit in this room. While a great deal of the time surrounding competition was spent in the audience watching the other teams or pacing the halls and hoping no one got so nervous they threw up, there were times when Larry and I would need to address our entire group. As it stood now, this room was barely going to cut it.