Gates Mills’ production of “The Odd Couple” begins rehearsal Thursday and, healthy as it may be for my soul, I am out of my comfort zone.
Eagerly accepting this directing gig, it readily occurred that the this new task smacked of “The Peter Principle”. Was I not, as the saying goes, rising to the level of my incompetence?
They were doing a comedy, this theater. For that reason I sensed, the powers-that-be figured I knew what I was doing. Candidly I told them I’d never done it before. I shared, in my letter (which may I state was Pulitzer-worthy), a plan to surround myself with a cadre of off-stage help assuring success.
And they hired me.
July sped by. I hit the library, called friends, and listened hard. There I was: the book-smart kid that never studied going to class on-the-fly. Afraid I was not, but clearly, this wasn’t Kansas anymore.
Reaching out I called Mango. Eight times he had cast me. From “The Fantasticks” a decade ago in Solon through “Hairspray” this June at Fine Arts—for big parts and small— he’s called my number. Who other than he to know what I don’t know? Who other than he to hold a mirror to my face?
“Two things, maybe three are guaranteed,” said my friend. “You’ll make mistakes. That’s part of the job— and you’ll lose friends. Guaranteed.” I was smiling knowingly when he spoke again. “Directing will make you a better actor,” he said, pausing a bit…”Not that you’ve ever acted”.
August came. And went. Twixt that month full of magic, I read…and read…and read the script. No Cliff’s Notes this rodeo. I was in it to win it.
I formulated, anticipated, perfected. Didn’t know what I was doing but I kept on reading, continued thinking, planning, conjuring. Nothing though— NOTHING I read, wrote or even heard from Mango prepared me for the toughest thing since reffing basketball:
Last Tuesday I cast the show.
Looks easy, perhaps: just sitting there, watching auditions. Science it’s not; there is, within reason, no right or wrong. As Lil Selzer would muse, “That’s why God made blondes and brunettes”. No, the hard part of casting is not saying Thank You, granting roles. It is, rather, saying No Thank You to friends.
Few female parts in the show. Two, to be exact. As such, from a field of eight, all KNOWN to me, one pair’d be picked…by me! (I felt, to be sure, like Bobby Snyder at the Heights Temple dances, circa 1961).
Then in strode Natalie.
Talented, half my age, we’d done three shows together. She reminds me—always has—of Jamie. I’ve broken bread with her dad, she trusts me, confides…
She is “good people”. And I wanted to cast her…almost did…but I couldn’t.
She just missed.
When it came time to call her, to tell her “No go”, I just couldn’t. Could not pick up the heavy phone to tell my friend it wasn’t going to work.
It was Tuesday, mid-day, and all other calls made, I had business in Painesville. Natalie, I knew, worked in Euclid, still somewhat en route. Better, I deduced, to share bad news in person. (Not around the problem, as we say, but through it). Eyeball to eyeball.
Speeding I-90, rounding the spur toward a ‘hood unknown…it would be the first and last time I would drive East 200. Sighting her storefront, pulling right up, and eyeing a darkened window, with my best George Costanza resolve, I thought “I’m going in, baby!”
But I couldn’t.
There was a sign in the window, which once close up, I read. “CLOSED MONDAYS/TUESDAYS”
Some things aren’t meant to be, I figured. Snapping a pic of her signage, texting it to her, I waited. She called at once.
“Listen,” I uttered, “I can’t cast you.” (Guilt, for no reason, consumed me– not unlike when Aunt Helen makes demands and H and I struggling, decline).
“I know,” she said at once. “I would love to help you backstage.”
I knew then and there that a lesson’d been had: a lesson of confidence. Couldn’t learn it from books, couldn’t hear it from Mango. Had to feel it.
And I knew then and there not to fret mistakes nor worry ‘bout friends. If my heart is pure and my motives right, all would be ok…I would be ok.
Oh, and Natalie? We spoke again just Thursday. She’s found a home, my friend has…this fall…in Gates Mills.
She’s in charge of props.