Page 118 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

“Fine, yes. It’s a lot of water. It’s a big, fat mess. But you know what?” My eyes meet Booker’s for a split second, and then I go on. “So am I.”

I feel the rush of that admission.

“And so are you. We’retheatre people, for crying out loud—we’re as messed up as they come!”

A trickle of laughter and acknowledgment at that.

“We are all in various stages between brilliant and crazy—and that’s what it means to be alive.” Now I look at Arthur. “Someone a lot smarter than me taught me to embrace the hard stuff because it makes the good stuff that much sweeter. Well, you guys, this is about as hard a situation as I’ve ever had to deal with during a show.” A quick scan of the crowd tells me they’re with me. Most of them anyway.

“But this mess is going to make opening night that much sweeter. It’s going to make having an audience that much more special. If we can get through this, nothing can stop us, and our show will be stronger for it.”

“This show you’re embarrassed by?” Belinda says, eyes hooded under a raised brow.

“Let me correct you there, Belinda.” I face her, and at this rare show of strength, her expression shifts.

Good.

“I’m not embarrassed,” I say honestly. “I’m proud to be here. Proud of all of you and of what we’ve accomplished. You all have reminded me what it means to be a part of something amazing. We make each other better, and that’s why I believe we can still pull this off.”

“But how?” someone says.

“By adding a synchronized swimming part to the ballet sequence,” I quip.

A ripple of groans and laughter.

I smile.

“I will tell you that it won’t be easy,” I say. “We’ll have to roll up our sleeves and get a little dirty.” I look around, trying to catalog everything that needs to be done. “The floor will have to be pulled up and repainted. The set pieces will need to be dried out.Some of them repainted. The costumes—” I meet Ginny’s eyes. “We can start by dry-cleaning them, then see what needs to be remade.”

Others look at her, and she gives me a firm nod, as if to let me know she’s on board. I feel a surge of confidence just from that one small gesture.

“And the show?” Connie asks. “We haven’t even done a full run-through yet.”

Right.

The show.

“We can practice in the dance studio down the hall,” Veronica says.

“Yes!” I turn toward her. “Good idea. We’ll tape off the floor to the size of the stage and use whatever furniture we can find to mimic the set pieces.” I look around the circle and see that more of them have gathered. “The word of the day isflexibility.”

“I’d say the word of the day isdisaster,” Belinda muses.

“No.” I look at her, and it’s obvious from the look on her face that no one has dared stand up to her in a long time. “I’m done looking for the worst in every situation. That is not who I am, and it’s definitely not who I want to be. If we stick together and stay positive, we can get through this.”

I look around the group, which has continued to grow as word has spread. They’re all focused on me, waiting for me to lead them. It’s a strange, wonderful feeling because I actually think what I’m saying is landing.

For themandfor me.

“I may be the director,” I tell them. “But this isn’tmyshow. It’s yours. It’sours.And it’s important—you all know what’s on the line. So if we want to save the Sunset Players, then it’s time for all of us”—I let my gaze linger on Belinda—“To stop whining and start helping.”

Belinda looks like she wants to roll her eyes, but when thechatter among them is overwhelmingly positive, she resets her face to neutral.

“Where do we start?” Grace asks.

“We need to call in reinforcements,” I say. “Reach out to anyone in the area and see if they want to help us clean up a disaster.”

“If word gets out about this, nobody is going to come see the show,” Evelyn says.

---