Page 43 of Intermission
No, IknowI’ve fallen for him. Hard. Beyond crushing. Far beyond it. But I don’t know what to do about that, especially within the framework of the scene—the kiss—we’re about to perform.
The Abbess and Maria are working through the “Climb Every Mountain” song now. When Dr. Hitchings is satisfied, he dismisses them and calls out, “Rolf! Liesl! You’re up!”
While the stage crew exchanges the last scene’s props for ours, Dr. Hitchings sends us through a scale or two to warm up and has us sing our duet by the piano once before sending us up to the stage. There’s no set yet, but the stage crew has provided a bicycle, a lamp post, and a park bench.
I can’t remember the last time I had butterflies this crazed in my stomach. But they’re not just in my stomach. They’re fluttering around my chest, pressing the outer walls of my windpipe.
Breathe, Faith. Breathe from your diaphragm. Be a professional.
My silent pep talk takes me off the fluttery edge.
We get through the lines, hit our marks, but the scene feels stiff. Off. And I can’t shake it. Noah sings. I react—
“More flirtatiousness, Liesl!” Dr. Hitchings hollers, and a moment later, “No, no, no! Stop.”
The piano halts. Dr. Hitchings motions us downstage. He puts hishands on his hips, scowling up at Noah and then at me. “What happened?” He crosses his arms at his chest. “Are you kids having a spat or something?”
“No, sir,” Noah says. I shake my head.
“Do you evenlikeeach other? Atall?”
“Very much,” Noah responds.
I nod, but my brain is an echo chamber, repeating Noah’s answer.
“That’s what I thought. But even if you reach a point where you are sworn enemies, your guts writhing with animosity toward each other, it dies,”—he slices a finger across his throat—“before you take the stage. It. Dies. Understand? The nanosecond you step upthere... all else disappears. You.” His points at me with such force I almost expect a sound. “Once you set foot on my stage, you cease to be Madeleine. You are Liesl. You don’t ease into being some wishy-washy version of Liesl. YouareLiesl. Instantaneously. And you?” He jabs his finger Noah’s direction. “You cease being Noah. On this stage, you are seventeen, going on eighteen, and you are alone with a pretty girl you want to impress with your maturity and worldly wisdom. You are Rolf. Clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Noah says, and I echo him.
Dr. Hitchings drops his arms and gives us one emphatic nod. “Nowshowme.”
We return to our opening blocking marks.
“Show me cat and mouse, Liesl!” Dr. Hitchings calls. “Man versus minx, with just a touch of innocence hiding behind your desire to fully develop your inner minx-ness. Got it?”
My inner minx-ness. Um . . . sure. I think.
“Okay.” I nod again, feeling a little bit like my head is on a spring. “Got it.”
“Go get him.” Dr. Hitchings flourishes a hand toward the piano. “From the top!”
My cheeks match my ears for heat. I’m so glad I wore my hair down tonight.
Top of the scene. Noah’s lines. My lines. He sings. I sing. We dance, we dance, and then comes the first lift—oh! It’s like flying! He’s never lifted me this high before—a spin, another lift, dance, dance, lift, twirl out, back and...
It’s time to kiss Noah.
Rolf.Rolf!
I reach up on my tiptoes... and plant my lips squarely on his lips.
He does not respond.
But that is the response expected from poor shocked Rolf.
I hold... hold... and then pull away, grinning: first at the boy I just kissed and then at the audience, but it’s a forced smile.
As the script and direction requires, I let out a “Whee!” and then kick up my heels and flounce off the stage, leaving Noah—er, Rolf—dumbfounded, center stage, awaiting the lights out that won’t actually happen until tech rehearsal, the week before the show opens.
