Author: Bob Cherny
Company: Organization Name

"Our Last Summer Musical"
By Robert H. Cherny
Published by Robert H. Cherny
Copyright April 2011 by Robert H. Cherny

With most sincere and deepest apologies to:
William Schwenk Gilbert
Arthur Sullivan
The D'Oyly Carte Company
Gilbert and Sullivan fans all over the world

Kindle Edition.

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without written permission.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely co-incidental.

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CHAPTER ONE - - "Dad, I need a favor."

Thaddeus Rubinstein glanced up at his daughter from the print-out covering his old-school style drafting table and looked back down. He was revising the computer generated lighting plot and floor plan for the July Fourth Weekend Christian Music Festival. He keyed a number into a spreadsheet on the computer next to the drafting table, clicked "Save" and looked up. 
Debbie stood patiently waiting for her father to finish. She knew that his job as a lighting designer for conventions and festivals often took him away for weeks at a time so she cherished when he was home working in his tiny office. Among her earliest memories were the times she had spent in his lap while he explained what all those funny little lines and symbols meant. She also knew that interrupting his work was one of the fastest ways to make him angry and you did not want to make her father angry. You don't spit in the wind. You don't pull the cape of the old lone ranger and you don't piss off her dad.
"Hey, baby-doll, what's up?"
Even though she was sixteen, Debbie liked her dad still calling her "baby-doll" in private although they both knew better than to mention it in public. The protectiveness made her feel good.
"Dad, I need a favor."
Tad loved his daughter and would do anything for her, but he knew her body language well enough to know whatever this favor was, he was probably not going to like it. Tad met her eyes thankful that both of his girls looked like their mother. Their son, Mike, looked like a huge version of him, but the boy's lack of his mother's beauty did not seem to be a misfortune. Except for the last few months when Mike could not get a date to save his life. Of course, Mike hadn't exactly been aggressively out looking either.
"What kind of favor?"
Debbie took a deep breath. "A big one."
He could see his wife, Amelia, and younger daughter, Theresa, peeking around the door frame watching. He was getting a really bad feeling. "Amelia, are you in on this?"
"Teddy, this is important," Amelia answered, knowing his use of her proper name and not her pet name, "Ami", was a sign her husband was already beginning to resist. She knew he would pick up on her calling him "Teddy" and not "Tad" like everyone else did, which meant this was as important to her as it was to Debbie and if he resisted, he would have a fight on his hands.
Tad looked at the three most important women in his life and sighed. He had already lost whatever battle this was and resigned himself to dealing with the consequences. "Theresa, please get a pitcher of iced tea. We'll sit at the dining room table and discuss this like reasonable people."
Theresa took off. "He's gonna do it," Theresa whispered to Mike as she detoured through the living room.
"No way," Mike said. He knew what the project was and had heard his father turn down similar plans in the past.
"Way. Dining room table. Family chat," Theresa said.
"Does he know what Debbie wants?" Mike asked his fleeing sister.
"Not yet," she said as she skidded around the corner.
Mike put away his e-reader and way too casually wandered into the dining room.
Tad met his son's eyes, which was not an easy task given that Mike towered over him, and said, "Do you know what this is about?"
"Yes."
"Are you in on it, too?"
"Dunno, Dad, do you want me to be?" Mike evaded the question. This was his sister's fight. He would support her, but she needed to be the point person.
"Should you be?" Tad asked. Mike's unwillingness to give him a direct answer annoyed him.
Mike rolled his eyes, "Look, Dad, just because I'm the resident engineering geek does not make me the only rational one in the family." He held his hands up in submission. "This is Debbie's mess, not mine."
They gathered at the table and took their places. Tad collected his thoughts. Tad did consider Mike the only rational one in the family, sometimes even including himself. Tad smiled at his son. Mike would make a great dad someday. Some woman would be lucky to land him, if he ever started dating again.
"Debbie, since I appear to be the only one in the dark, please explain," Tad said.
"First, I have a question. Before I ask what I want to ask, we don't even know if you'll be in town. When is your next out-of-town job?" Debbie asked.
"It's a dry summer, even dryer than normal. I only have two jobs. The Christian Music Festival I've done for the last ten years is July Fourth weekend here at the Convention Center. I have one other show at the end of August in Las Vegas," Tad replied. "My summer is yours."
"Dad," Mike interrupted. "Will we have enough money to live on if you don't have work?"
"I was planning on talking to you on that subject. We may have to cancel vacation," Tad said.
Mike quickly read his siblings for a consensus. "We're cool. A family project is better than an expensive vacation. Especially since we fought most of the time on the Alaska cruise we did last summer. We wasted a lot of money."
"And Mike's gone in the fall," Debbie reminded her father.
"It's not like you're going far. College is only two hours from here," Tad said, already missing his son.
"Out of sight, Dad," Mike contradicted. "Out of sight, out of mind."
"Well, Debbie, I still haven't agreed to do this project of yours. What is it?" Tad asked.
Debbie looked at her mother who nodded and motioned for her to continue. "Dad, the instructor for the summer program at the arts center wants to do a full musical. We knew what the show was and we've been working on bits and pieces, but he handed out the revised scripts we'll be using for the first time this morning."
"A full musical in a summer program? Depending on the talent, it could be a stretch," Tad said.
"That's not it, Dad. He wants to do this stupid show nobody's ever heard of. Who are Gilbert and Sullivan anyway?"
Tad smiled and said, "Two of the best known creators of the light opera genre which later developed into what we now know as musical comedies. Which one?"
"Da-ad, you're not helping. Why can't he do 'My Fair Lady' or 'Brigadoon' or something normal?"
"I always loved Brigadoon. It's a great show." Tad smiled and began singing, "Come ye to the fair..."
"Dad!" Debbie exclaimed. "You're not helping."
"Sorry, baby doll, but it's up to him. He's the director. Which show are you doing?" Tad asked.
Mike's grin caught Theresa's eye. She knew as much about the project as Mike did having seen the rehearsals that afternoon. Mike confirmed her suspicions that this was setting up to be a great summer. She hoped it would be as much fun as the summer they all pitched in to help Tammy, their mother's employer, build a new studio after the old one burnt down in a fire which had started in the restaurant next door. Theresa remembered the care her father had taken to find new speakers for the studio. He knew that these speakers had to be capable of running all day long at high volume so the student dancers could hear the beat. She had been there when the big truck pulled into the parking lot next door and two big guys rolled out of the cab. She had been disappointed when she learned that the rock star who owned the truck whose logo was emblazoned on the side was not coming, just his truck. She had helped lug the speakers and amplifiers that had toured with a dozen rock stars and now were being retired to the peace of a small town dance studio.
Debbie caught the smile and knew her father was teasing her. "Some stupid show called 'Ruddigore'. Have you even heard of it?"
"It's one of my favorites." Tad smiled with an old memory. He had done the show and knew it well. But then, his memories of the show had mostly to do with the people in it and one soprano in particular who made the show much more fun.
"Da-ad!"
Theresa swatted her sister. "Stop whining!"
Tad smiled at his daughters before continuing. "It's a fun story." Tad paused melodramatically. He put his hands over his heart and looked heavenward. "Oh, the poor, misunderstood, not-so-evil Barons of Ruddigore beset by a witch's curse to commit a crime every day or die in excruciating pain." He smiled at a joke he did not reveal. "It's not particularly lofty or deep, but it has opportunities for humor. We had a great time with it in college. I'm sure whatever your director is doing has been done before," Tad said.
"Dad, the play is more complex than you give it credit for," Theresa said. "You have the main love story of Ruthven and Rose and the two parallel love stories between Despard and Margaret and Roderick and Dame Hannah. Not to mention the triangle with Ruthven, Rose and Sailor Rick. For a piece of fluff, there's a lot going on. He's completely messing it up."
 "It's not like it's the end of the world," Tad said. "It's an amateur summer musical. His adaptation can only be awful. It won't kill you."
"He's asked the university drama recruiters to see it," Debbie said. "I'll die if they see me in this. I'll never get into college. I'll be a laughingstock."
Tad shook his head. "I've seen a lot of bad shows in my day. How horrible can it be?"
"What if they see me in this and think that's what my acting is really like?" 
"College recruiters see lots of bad directors. They look for the actor's ability to rise above a bad director and still turn in a believable performance," Tad said.
"Do you really believe that, Dad?" Theresa asked.
"Yeah, I do. Nothing ventured, nothing gained," Tad added.
Mike interrupted. "Dad, you should read the script. Debbie gave it to me when she came home from rehearsal. I just finished reading it. She wanted an independent opinion. The changes are pretty bad. After I read you the opening you'll understand."
"Fire away," Tad said.
Mike read from the script.
Stage direction: The director appears on the open bare stage. There is no grand drape and no scenery. The stage is surrounded in black drapes with only a pilot light on an antique lamp pole with its frayed and patched cord running off into the wings. A costumer's dummy stands in the downstage right corner of the stage next to the proscenium. A witch's costume is draped over the dummy. A Styrofoam wig head with a wig with long black hair sits on an adjacent table.
"Sounds like a hundred other projects," Tad said.
"So far," Debbie said.
Mike continued.
The director runs frantically around the stage carrying the light peering into the corners and looking out over the audience.
Mike looked up from the script. "Dad, I know this is supposed to be a comedy but it is becoming a travesty."
"Just read the script," Tad said.
Mike read from the script.
The director looks up into the control booth.
Director (shouting): Hey, you up there! Can we start the show yet?
Director: (claps hands for attention) Is your union break over?
Tad sighed. "Who is this guy?"
Amelia answered, "He used to be a ballet dancer until his knees gave out. He teaches English lit at the junior college."
Mike said, "Dad, it gets better." 
Technician: (shouts from the booth) Two minutes and ten seconds.
"Nice," Tad said sarcastically.
Mike picked up where he left off.
Director: Can you at least blink the house lights so the audience will sit down?
Technician: House Manager blinks the house lights. We can't start without their approval.
Director: The House Manager is busy. We need to start.
Technician: no doubt Dealing with some patron who wants their money back.
Director storms off. 
House lights blink. 
Stage lights to half. 
Director returns and takes the costume off the rack. He slips it over his head and fusses over it, straightening it into place. He takes the wig and puts it on. Picking up a hand mirror from the table, he preens before facing the audience.
"Not exactly the most original opening I've ever seen," Tad said. "I know it's hard to believe, but I have seen worse."
"Oh Dad," Theresa said in a simpering tone with her pinkie held in the air in what was clearly intended to be an imitation of the director she had seen in rehearsal that day. She jumped up from her chair and swished as she pranced in a circle. "Work with me, here. Work with me, people." She shook her head, flailed her hands and twitched her hips.
"Theresa," Tad scolded. "That is not appropriate."
"I'm afraid it is," Amelia said. "He reappears at the beginning of Act II in a Shakespearean era waistcoat with a codpiece attached that would make a porn star look small."
"And the strap cuts up his butt," Theresa added. "Lift and separate," she said with a giggle. "Butt cheeks for days! He's juth-t tho man-ly." She held her hand up and flipped her wrist.
"Just because he has an alternate lifestyle does not mean he's not creative," Tad retorted.
"Dad, it's not his creativity we're questioning. It's his sanity," Mike said. "Let me read you the narrator's prologue." 
Director, in witch costume: listen my children and you shall hear the story of an evil midnight riding man who crossed the wrong woman in his lust for power. His sons and their sons paid for his sins with their lives. Not all women are witches and not all witches are women, but you don't know. Don't ask and don't tell, my children! You must use caution young man lest the woman you seek be inclined to do you ill. All you silly ones who follow vampires these days have no idea where the real power lies. Foolish mortals all! A vampire may drink your blood and give you a quick death, but no one can make you suffer like a wronged witch, as we shall soon see.
"It would be one thing if he had a voice like James Earl Jones, but he sounds like a real flamer," Debbie complained.
"It's only a little over the top," Tad said. "I've heard worse."
"Dad, you must have seen really horrible stuff if you've heard worse than this," Debbie said.
"You have no idea how hideous some of the stuff was," Tad said. "When I was in college, it seemed like the play writing classes had contests to see who could be the most vapid and inane. Trust me. This pales by comparison."
"Mom," Theresa asked. "Did you have to deal with the same kind of stuff Dad did when you were in college?"
"No," Amelia said. "There was no play writing program where I went to school, but some of the modern dance got pretty strange. I know what your father is talking about. Some of the shows at a neighboring college were horrid. Some were brilliant, but you never knew."
Mike read from the script.
Director: carrying the curse of his ancestors, a young descendant of the evil baron, madly in love with a maiden of the town, the beautiful and naive Rose MAYBUD hides among the villagers in the small British seacoast town of Red Herring to avoid the fate that has befallen the men of his line.
Fade off Director to full stage for opening production number.
"Production number?" Tad asked.
Standing up so she would not knock anything over, Debbie launched into her imitation of the opening production number. Using an overwhelming amount of body language considering she was restricted by the walls of the dining room, Debbie described the opening dance number done to an instrumental version of "Ghost Riders in the Sky" as she had seen it in rehearsal. 
While she gyrated around the tiny open space, Mike read the concept description.
Four female ghosts enter from the wings on either side wearing white body stockings and trailing long diaphanous fabric streamers.
"Eight foam-enhanced, amply endowed ghosts," Debbie elaborated. "Mostly the ghosts run around the stage in circles trying desperately not to trip on the streamers."
The eight previous barons of Ruddigore enter the stage one at a time in reverse order. The most recent one, Roderic, enters first from the house. The next six enter from the wings, The barons greet each other in turn, some with more civility than others. The last baron TO ARRIVE, Rupert, descends from overhead amidst cat calls and curses from the others which he arrogantly ignores. However much the other barons might not like each other, they all hate Rupert. When Rupert enters from above, the others openly show their disdain for their ancestor who caused them such pain with crude gestures. Rupert arrogantly ignores the plight of his descendants. He is convinced of the rightness of what he did in spite of the consequences. The dancers and the barons re-enact the burning of the witch and the initiation of the curse. The witch points to each baron in turn and they fall to the ground as if they have been stabbed in the lower back. Their partners drag them off. When only Rupert is left, The witch kills him and he ascends to the heavens defiant in his arrogance. The witch disappears in a puff of smoke and the stage is dark.
Tad paused in thought. "It's an interesting take on the story. I almost like it. The dance will be difficult to choreograph. I don't know how many people in the audience will understand dance language enough to follow the story, but it's worth a shot."
"You actually like this?" Debbie asked.
"Not really, but it's different," Tad said. He paused as a thought occurred to him. "That theater's a hemp house, isn't it?"
"Hemp house?" Mike asked.
Based on the mystified expressions on his family's faces, Tad realized that none of them knew the answer. Even though he had spent his life in a wide variety of theaters and performance spaces, his children had not. There was no reason they should necessarily know the answer to his question. "Ropes. There's no steel in the rigging. It's all ropes," Tad explained. "If it's a hemp house, and even in some theaters with steel rigging, there is not enough structure to safely support the weight of a person on a line set. There are ways to do it safely, but I seriously doubt your director knows the techniques."
"Do you?" Theresa asked.
"Yeah, the safest method is with a traveler track, but the most common is called a 'Peter Pan' rig," Tad answered. "I've done it more than once."
"Sounds like fun swinging through the air like Peter Pan," Theresa said.
"He's already swinging," Debbie quipped imitating an elephant walk with her hips.
"Until you drop someone," Tad replied, ignoring Debbie's wisecrack.
"Have you ever dropped someone?" Mike asked.
"Yes," Tad said.
"Do you want to tell us?" Mike asked.
"No," Tad said, hiding his shame, trying once more to banish the frightening memory back to his subconscious where it would quit bothering him for a while.
Theresa quickly glanced at her mother. Amelia turned away from her children at the same time Tad looked down avoiding eye contact. Whatever secret he was hiding, she knew about it. Theresa's curiosity was piqued by her parents' closed reactions.
"But, you'll help us," Debbie pressed after a moment of silence oblivious to her parents' emotions. "This show sucks. Maybe you can beat some sense into this flaming idiot's head. The entire cast would appreciate it."
Tad paused before answering. "I promise I will think about it, but you need to understand there are valid reasons entertainment industry professionals like your mother and I do not normally get involved with amateur productions. We can harm the spirit in which the production is intended. We have different standards. We see the work differently. It's not the same for us as it is for people for whom this is fun. They don't have to be good to enjoy themselves. We have to be at our best all the time, because in our business you're only as good as your last show."
"Do you think being involved with this show could hurt your reputation?" Mike asked.
"Probably not, but if there's an accident, even if it's not our fault, yes, I think it could," Tad answered.
The silence appeared to last longer than it really did.
Tad said, "Give me the script, I'll read it tonight and we'll see your director tomorrow. Debbie, what part are you playing?"
"Margaret."
"Really? How cool. We'll find out if you really can act. Should be a stretch for you. Margaret is so random and irrational unlike you, 'Miss Levelheaded All The Time, Thank You Very Much.'" Tad reacted to Debbie's distressed look and said, "You'll be fine."

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