Page 69 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

The first notes of “Don’t Rain on My Parade” wake up somethinginside me. I shed every trace of Rosie, and IbecomeFanny. The way I was trained to do.

It doesn’t matter that there are no lights blurring out faces. I put myself in the scene, and I sing like this is the performance of my life. Like it really, really matters.

And I let myself get swept away, and even though it’s been a few weeks since I’ve sung anything, my voice feels strong. I feel relaxed. And when I get to the end of the fourth verse, I start to make eye contact with the people in the audience.

It’s all smiles. I lean in. I make my way around the room. At one point, I sit down between two old men who were clearly mid–chess game, and I sing right to them. They play along, one hitting the other on the arm, both laughing.

The crowd responds. And their energy fills me up.

And it’sfun.

It’s been so long since it’s been fun.

I come up to the big note toward the end, just before the final chorus, and something inside me shifts.

It’s like I can see the note ahead of me, and I falter, hearing that snide,“You really do not have what it takes,”as it melds with all the other similar rejections I’ve gotten over the years, and instead of attacking that note, I find a way around it.

My audience—this audience—will never know. I close my eyes and fake that last note, wishing like mad that Fanny’s confidence was easier to hold on to, but I quickly brush it off and I finish, holding the microphone up in front of me.

And unlike my big finishes when I’m in an audition room performing for four people who can’t be bothered to look up from their phones, this audience responds with cheers and whistles and hollers and applause.

I take a moment and live in it.

This is the one thing in the world that makes me feel alive.

I lower the microphone and smile as Connie bustles over to me, her ample hips swaying as she walks. She pulls me into a tight hug, then draws back and looks at me, a stunned expression on her face.

“Rosie! You’re sensational!”

I resist the urge to ask if she noticed I backed off at the end and lift a hand of thanks toward the cheering diners who are shouting, “Encore!” and clinking their glasses with their silverware. As I look around, my eyes are drawn to where Arthur is standing against the back wall.

And I’m certain I see tears streaming down his face.

Chapter 18

The performance in the dining hall worked.

It workedwell.

After seeing that I’m not a complete fake and that I have no intention of bailing on the show, as Belinda led everyone to believe, the diehards all showed up that afternoon and sang their guts out. Turns out, several people already had audition songs prepared, and some of them were actually incredible.

By the end of the evening, we had more than enough people to fill every role, including Connie, who, it turns out, is actually a decent performer. Her quirkiness instantly made me think she’d be a perfect fairy godmother, and I added her name to the callback list as soon as she walked out the door.

Arthur didn’t come back for the afternoon auditions, which was kind of a blessing. But I was oddly concerned. I asked Connie about it, and she seemed to imply this is typical for him. He likes to be by himself. And stage managers aren’t typically at auditions anyway.

Everyone has gone, and I’m packing up my things when the door to the auditorium opens, drawing my attention to the back of the space. To my surprise, it’s not Connie or Daisy or anyone I expect.

It’s Belinda.

She meets my eyes, and for the briefest moment, there’s a hitch in her step.

I stop moving and wait until she reaches me, moving down the aisle with the grace and beauty of a trained ballerina.

Once she’s standing in front of me, she pushes her hair back from her face, a nervous fidget I recognize immediately from years of studying people.

A surprising sign that she’s not sure what to do with her hands.

She clears her throat. “Am I too late?” she asks without looking at me.

---