Page 71 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

I tell Ginny how I want the costumes to look.

I tell Booker what to build.

Having that much control over a show is kind of... amazing, actually. Now that I’ve seen that these actors are here to work, that they don’t look at this as some light and fluffy production—they look at it as a chance to create something magical—I want to work hard for them. I want to do right by them. My cast.

My cast.

My cottage.

My mailbox.

The reality of that settles on my shoulders as I look over the preliminary cast list we’ve made. It’s just me, Dylan, Veronica, and Arthur at the table, and another encouraging realization I’ve had is that this team is actually strong.

Veronica’s callback dance combo was simple enough for the auditioners to learn and perform, but interesting enough to challenge them. And not a grapevine in sight, which is a bigpraise the Lordin my book.

Arthur said very little throughout the entire process, butI learned very quickly to listen when he did speak. While I was surprised he showed up for callbacks, it became obvious he isn’t just the guy who manages the theatre here—he knows what he’s talking about, which makes me wonder why hedidn’t direct this show.

I find myself mostly wanting to discover a way to make him like me.

The real surprise, though, is Dylan. While I initially put her in charge of hair and makeup, she quickly stepped right into the position of assistant director, taking initiative in areas that I hadn’t even thought of. She’s organized and detailed and, when she wants to be (and isn’t on her phone), she’s really pleasant to be around. It’s impressive, given her age.

Now, after much debate, I lean back in my seat and look over the names on the whiteboard. Every character name went up on that board with a list of possible performers underneath, and as we discussed and decided, Dylan erased all but one name for each character. Looking it over now, I see that we don’t have anyone else to talk about.

“Oh my gosh, we did it,” I say. “We have our cast.”

“Good, can we go home now?” Arthur says. “You women are so indecisive.”

“I feel like I should be offended by that, but since I’m in such a good mood, I’ll let it slide,” I say.

“Yippee,” he says dryly.

We all stand, pushing away from the table.

“I’ll type everything up and send it to you to look over,” Dylan says. “Is there anything else you want me to do before the first rehearsal? I can come in early and number the scripts for you?”

I can’t quite reconcile this girl in front of me with the one I met on the bench only days before. It’s like she was just waiting to be noticed, and now that she has been, she couldn’t waitto come to life. “That sounds great, Dylan, thank you. For everything—you’ve been a huge help.”

The smile skitters across her face and is gone just as quickly, like she remembered she’s decided not to smile today. “Great. I’ll see you later.”

“Wait, I’ll walk with you,” Veronica says, following her out. She lifts a hand in a wave. “Have a good day off tomorrow, Rosie. I’ll see you Saturday at the first rehearsal!” She singsongs that last bit, and a wave of excitement rushes through me.

I can’t believe it, but I’m actually excited to begin.

And I’ve completely forgotten anyone’s age.

Once they’re gone, I’m alone on the stage with Arthur, who is holding his keys and staring at me.

After a three-count, he sighs like an automated phone system just asked him to reenter his date of birth again for the fifth time. “I can’t leave till you leave.”

“Oh! Sorry. Right, I’ll just...” I hurry and pack up my things, shoving my laptop and notebooks and callback notes haphazardly into my tote bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “Thank you, Arthur, for being here. And for all the insight.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he says, walking toward the stage-right wing. He grabs the ghost light and wheels it out onto the center of the stage.

Most theatres carry on this tradition of keeping an electric light on the stage once all the other lights are out. It’s said to act as a guide to the ghosts that surely haunt every theatre.

It’s an old tradition, and I don’t believe in ghosts, but I do love that the theatre world still holds on to it. And, of course, there are practical reasons to keep a light on a dark stage; otherwise, anyone who wanders in could tumble right off the edge.

Arthur spins the bulb and the dim light appears at the end of the pole.

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