Rest, Fiddler!

Sorry I've been out of commission the past two days. I've been sitting at the Radio Shack headquarters in Sistercity getting paid upwards of $200 a day to do...well...nothing. There was a big national commercial shoot (directed by the guy who directed 'Nanny McPhee'--everyone wanted his autograph. No, seriously) and they needed a bunch of extras. My agent called and asked if I had anything going on and, when you consider that $400 is almost as much as I make working for Eventual for two weeks, it wasn't too difficult to leave a message for Consuela that I wasn't going to be at work for the next couple of days.

So for two days I sat, sat, sat. Eventually they got PRETTY close to using me but, like the Angel of Death did with the Hebrews all those centuries ago, I was passed over.

However, something DID come of all this. The first day I was sitting there when I noticed Lola Levenstein, a respected actress and director of musicals in Everycity, looking at me with her head tilted to the side and one eye squinted. Either she had a migraine or she was deep in thought about something. I discovered it was the latter when she said,

"What voice type are you?" she asked.

"What voice type do you want me to be?" I replied.

"Well, y'see, I'm directing a production of 'Fiddler on the Roof' that runs for one weekend at the Jewish Community Center in late March--and Billy Lawler, yes, THE Billy Lawler, just dropped out to do another job. And I was just thinking that you'd be fantastic in his part."

"Which part is it?"

"Perchik."

My blood ran cold.

"I've played Perchik before," I said.

"You HAVE? Well then it would be SO EASY for you, wouldn't it? I mean--you could probably do it with your eyes closed!" She was clearly desperate.

I thought back all those years ago when I was still a fledgling actor, always thinking I was much better than I actually was. I remembered my 'Fiddler' experience. It's a great show. However, my memory of it was utterly marred by some OTHER memories.

Bad memories.

Memories of one of the cast members filming the very end of my song--the one that ends on a bizarre, Ethel Merman-esque high note. It was the last tired note, in the last tired show, of the last tired production of our long, tiring summer. And it was awful. It was unbelievably bad. And nobody ever told me how bad it was. NOBODY. Not even my closest friends. Instead, I got to see it for myself. I was shocked.

Suddenly I realized why everybody was always so quiet when I entered the dressing room after that number. Suddenly I realized why the director told me I really needed to work on my singing. Suddenly I realized why my mother and sister said, immediately after seeing the show, "Oh honey, singing is just not for you."

I called it the Great Betrayal. Ever since then, I've been terrified of singing. I'm always convinced that I'm flat or sharp or completely off and nobody's telling me.

My instinct was to tell Lola Levenstein no. But then I felt a tiny tug of curiousity. Knowing what I know now, could it turn out differently? Could I face this beast that had scarred me so deeply...and win? Could I make amends for the damage I'd done to all those eardrums those many summers ago by tackling that Merman note one more time?

"I'll do it for fifty bucks."