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She has worked too hard for it all to go waste.
She has degrees in history and fashion, and a shitty Jersey apartment with several roommates, all friends from college, and she’s stuck juggling a few dead-end jobs while she seeks out something better.
She submits her resume for what feels like the billionth time and pours herself a glass of the cheap wine.
“How’s it going, Denice?” one of her roommates, Leila, asks her. “You seem stressed.”
“Submitted my resume, again.” She takes a sip of the wine. “Want some?”
“No,” Leila replies. “Hey, you’ll find something. You literally have to.”
“You haven’t,” she replies, feeling bitter and irritated. “The only one of us with a real job is Marianne.”
“Low blow.” Leila rises and touches the ends of her hijab absentmindedly. “But you’ve worked super hard. Something is bound to appear soon.”
“For both of us.” Denice turns back to her old computer. “Just gotta keep trying, I guess.”
Leila yawns. “Sure.”
“We got this.” She takes another sip of her wine, pretending to be the sophisticated woman she thought that she would have been by now. “Right?”
“Right.” Leila doesn’t exactly seem convinced, but she smiles back anyways. “I’m going to get groceries. We’re out.”
“Again?”
“Kind of how adulting works,” Leila says.
“Ugh, alright, go get us some food, then.” Denice turns back to her computer, deciding that she might as well take advantage of her free time and search for another listing. She pauses for a moment and turns back to Leila. “When’s Kayleen getting back?”
“No clue,” Leila replies. “Text her and let me know if she responds.”
Denice nods. “Okay, see ya.”
“Bye.” The door shuts behind her roommate and Denice returns to scouring the Internet for literally any job opening she can find.
Something catches her eye: a listing for a costume designer for a new musical. “Must be knowledgable in period pieces, particularly late 1800s fashion,” the description reads.
Well, that definitely looks interesting. She clicks on the link and starts reading the application, making a few notes as to what she wants to write in her cover letter. This could be a really good job, she thinks.
And it would be an interesting one as well.
She doesn’t know much about musicals, but she did dabble in stage management in college. There’s no reason why this should be any different. More professional, perhaps, but all in all, rather similar. And she has missed being part of a large production.
She spends the rest of her night preparing her application, and submits it the next day.
“What if I don’t get this job either?” she asks her cat, Cheddar. “What if this was just another waste of time, like every other job I’ve applied for?”
“Don’t talk like that,” Marianne says. She’s (finally) emerged from her and Leila’s shared bedroom, her hair still in the same braided space buns that she’d had when Denice had last seen her. “If I actually can get published, then you can get a job.”
“Shouldn’t you go back to editing or something?” Denice asks.
“Leila took my computer away before she went to work.” Marianne opens up the cupboard and pulls out a wine glass and the bottle of wine. “Do you want some? I ordered pizza.”
“Leila literally went shopping yesterday.” Denice gets to her feet after Cheddar bounces off her lap. “Why?”
“I’m a greasy writer,” Marianne replies, filling up her glass. “You never answered my question. Wine?”
“…why not,” she says. “It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”
Marianne slides her a glass. “Anyways. How’s your latest project coming along?”
“The cocktail dress?” Denice snorts. “That’s fine. Wish I had more money for embellishments so it could be, you know, actually fancy.” She scoffs. “Doubt I’ll have a place to wear it anytime soon though.”
“Hey,” Marianne says. “You never know when you’ll get a job at some fancy fashion company. Could be tomorrow. Leila mentioned that you submitted another application?”
“I don’t know how you can be so positive about this.”
“Maybe I’m just lucky,” Marianne admits.
The doorbell rings.
“Pizza’s here.” Marianne grabs her wallet. “I’ll pay.”
The more concerning thought occurs to her later than it should have. “Marianne,” she says. “It’s ten in the morning.”
“Good thing I’m a disaster, huh,” Marianne says mildly, and Denice stares at the glass of wine she’d started on.
Day drinking? Is this really what she’s become?
Marianne opens up the pizza box. “Want some? Life is a mess, the way I see it. Just don’t drink too much alcohol. Leila will kill me.”
“She’ll kill you for ordering pizza.” Denice grabs a slice anyways and takes a bite. “The way I see it, you’re screwed either way.”
“Mmm.” Marianne chews her pizza thoughtfully. “Where’s Kayleen?”
“Have not seen her. She said she was spending a few nights with a friend though.”
Marianne laughs. “Our darling STEM friend has found love.”
“She mentioned something about robots.”
“Okay, so she’s going to take over the world.” Marianne picks up her second piece of pizza. “Good. While she’s at it, she should make some kind of reminder system to make sure that I actually eat.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t died already,” Denice replies.
“I’m immortal.”
Denice laughs. “Here’s to immortality.”
Marianne lifts both her glass and pizza. “To immortality.”
She laughs. “I’m going to head back to my room,” she says. “I’ve got a lot to work on.”
Marianne grins. “Good luck! I’m sure you’ll be awesome.”
She grins back before making her way back to her room. The unfinished cocktail dress glares back at her, and she’s tempted to abandon it.
Instead, she sets her wine down and makes her way to the dress, picking up a few strands of beads, lace samples, and some green fabric. She takes her time pinning things to the dress, losing herself to the rhythm of the work. A particularly cute lace ruffle has been pinned to the hem when the phone rings.
“Oh shit,” she says, diving over her work table and snatching it up. “Denice Ford speaking, how may I help you?”
“Hi,” the woman on the other end of the line says. “I’m Georgia Martin, calling on behalf of the Newsies production. I received your application for the costume design?”
“Yes, that’s me.” She leans against the wall, releases her breath, and places her pins down. “How may I help you?”
“We’d like to conduct an in-person interview,” Georgia Martin says. “If that’s alright with you.”
“Absolutely. I’m free this coming Monday?”
“Mnoday at eleven would be great,” Georgia tells her.
When the call ends, Denice races out to the tiny cluttered living/kitchen area. “I got an interview!”
Marianne is sound asleep on the kitchen table, head resting on her arms.
Denice sighs, just as the door opens.
“I got an in-person interview!” Denice exclaims. Then she sees the woman behind the door. “Oh! Kayleen!”
“I’m back!” Kayleen calls. “You got an interview? That’s fantastic!”
“You think?”
“I know,” she replies, setting her backpack down. “That’s like, what you’ve been hoping for! That’s…” Kayleen turns to their sleeping roommate. “Did Marianne pull two all-nighters in a row?”
“Probably.” Denice glances at their sleeping roommate. “Leila took her computer.”
Kayleen sighs. “The instant I leave, you all fall apart.”
“That is not true,” Denice retorts. “I got an interview, remember?”
“Heck yeah you did!” Kayleen high-fives her. “You’re going to slay it, and you’re going to get your dream job…what’s the position even for?”
“Costume designer for a new musical, called Newsies,” Denice says.
“You’re going back to theatre?” Kayleen asks. “I thought theatre kids were ridiculous?”
“Once a theatre kid, always a theatre kid,” Denice replies, and Kayleen scoffs. “I’ve got the voice to do it. I know fashion. I know history. It’ll be fine.”
Kayleen grins. “I’m rooting for you! You got this!”
Denice nods. “Thanks. Also, Marianne ordered pizza. Want some? Leila’s gonna kill us if she finds any left.”
“Sweet.” Kayleen makes her way to the fridge and pulls out the box before making a face. “This is literally all I’ve eaten for the past few days.”
“There’s no way that’s healthy.” Should she be concerned for her roommates?
“It was vegetable pizza though. That’s balanced.” Kayleen takes a bite. “Ugh, I missed regular old cheese pizza.”
“You’re not even going to heat it up?”
“Pfft.” Kayleen takes another bite. “Who do you think I am?”
“Valid.” Denice sighs. “Well, I was making progress on my dress, so I’m going to finish that up.”
“Yeah, go for it,” Kayleen says through a mouthful of pizza.
Interview day (the day she’s been waiting for). She wakes up early and spends more time than usual fixing her hair and makeup (as in, messing around for a bit before sticking with her regular headband and minimal makeup look). She looks through her closet, seeking out things that are both comfortable and professional, before tossing a green sweater over her outfit. Then she settles down and pets Cheddar (maybe not the best move).
“I don’t know if this is even going to be okay,” she confesses. “I gave up on stage managing because it was a lot of effort. This could be a disaster.”
Cheddar purrs contentedly.
“What if I don’t get this job?” she asks.
Cheddar butts his head against her hand. She hadn’t realized that she had stopped scratching his head.
Eventually, she gets up, gathers her things, shouts a quick good-bye to her roommates (are any of them even there?), and leaves. She makes her way to the station and sits down, wondering if this will become her commute.
The ride is smooth. She reaches her destination and walks the few blocks to the off-Broadway theatre. The building doesn’t loom over her, necessarily, but it’s taller than her and she suddenly feels impossibly small.
She’ll be fine.
She adjusts the strap of her bag and takes a deep breath before walking into the small theatre.
“Hello,” she calls out.
“Hi!” A tall woman comes out, her brown hair pulled in a bun. “I’m Georgia Martin. You must be Denice Ford.”
“Yes,” Denice says. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Georgia Martin leads her to a room off the side. “Thank you for coming. So, would you mind telling me what interested you about this job?”
She smiles. “I was a stage manager for the theatre at my college, and I have a love for fashion and history. This job in particular was interesting to me because of my background in all three things, and it seemed like the perfect way to bring all of my interests together.”
Georgia grins. They run through some more questions, things about her experience in fashion, particularly costuming, as well as managing a group of people. Finally, Georgia says, “So…how loud can you yell?”
Ford blinks. “Pardon?”
“Would you mind yelling? Now?”
“I guess? Anything in particular you want me to yell?”
“Something about when call is, perhaps?” Georgia asks.
She feels a little confused, but takes a deep breath anyways. “CALL! IS 4:30 PM! SHARP!”
Behind her, she hears a quiet, “Yes, Ma’am.” She turns to see a dark haired boy standing in the doorway, looking seriously at her.
Georgia laughs. “Thanks, Tango.” She turns to Denice. “Thanks for letting coming in. I’ll call you in the next few days.”
Denice smiles back. “Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” she replies, and walks out.
That wasn’t so bad, right? She makes her way down the street, heart pounding. That was a good interview, she thinks. She even had to yell, and she must have yelled loud enough that the boy—Tango—responded. So she’s probably in good shape.
She makes her way into a small coffee shop and purchases a cappuccino as a reward for her successful (?) interview.
It’s been a waiting game since she left the small theatre and made her way back home. She lets herself wander New York for a little, still awed by the city, despite having lived there (or in the proximity of it) for several years now. Something about the city never gets old, however, as she passes the tall skyscrapers and gazes up at the light grey sky. It’s a good place to live, she thinks, one she wouldn’t have expected to like but one she’s glad she landed in. When she makes it back home, she stress-cleans the entire apartment (not like it was that big of a space anyways), much to Leila’s surprise, Kayleen’s general amusement, and Marianne…doesn’t notice at first, actually. She finishes her dress (spends too long trying to sew the lace ruffle to the hem) and realizes that she has run out of fabric. A trip to the Garment District is in her future, hopefully, if she gets the job. She’s on pins and needles (ha!) for the rest of the day, and the day after.
Her gut starts to sink when she doesn’t hear from Georgia Martin. It’s been two days, she reminds herself. It’s not a big deal. There’s still some time left, honestly. She’s overthinking it.
She picks up Cheddar and buries her face in his fur.
Funny how as soon as she does that, the phone rings, and it’s not within easy reaching distance.
She groans, dumping Cheddar back on the floor (he is not happy about that development, but it’s fine), and getting up to grab her phone.
“Hello?” she says.
“Is this Denice Ford?” a voice asks.
“Yes. How may I help you?”
“Hey, I’m Larissa Duan, calling on behalf of Georgia Martin and the Newsies production. Are you still open for the job?”
She silently fist pumps. “Yes, absolutely,” she breathes out.
“Excellent. Can you come back to the theatre next Monday? Around nine?”
“Absolutely.”
“Thanks. Looking forward to working with you.” Larissa hangs up.
Denice gasps. “I GOT IT!” she shouts.
“Hell yeah!” Kayleen shouts back, bursting into the room and scooping her into a hug. “It’s what you deserve!”
“That’s awesome!” Marianne calls from somewhere. “Leila’s out, but I’ll let her know.”
She laughs. She did it! She has a job!
She makes her way to the theatre, nervous, unsure of what she’s about to face. Theatre kids are loud. Theatre adults, louder (probably). And who knows what she’s walking into? This could be a huge mistake (there’s a reason she left the theatre department during her time in college. But she…she had missed it, hadn’t she?).
The theatre stands tall and proud, and she looks up, feeling smaller than ever.
“Calm down,” she tells herself. “You already got the job.”
She takes a step towards it, and then is stopped by a slightly taller women with long curls held back by a floral headband.
“Excuse me,” a woman says. “Is this the Two River Theatre?”
“Yeah,” Denice says. “Why?”
“I’m supposed to start working here,” the woman says. “I’m in charge of hair, wigs, and makeup.”
“Oh me too!” Denice grins. “Well, I’m in charge of costume design.”
The woman grins. “Rose Johnson. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Denice Ford,” she replies. “I look forward to working with you, Rose.”
Rose grins. “Shall we?” she asks, gesturing to the theatre.
“Absolutely,” Denice says, and together they step inside.
At first, it seems quiet. She looks at Rose, who shrugs in response. They make their way to the large double doors and Denice pushes one open.
Chaos greets them.
“RANSOM, HOLSTER, PUT ME DOWN!” a short (shorter. Everyone in the theatre is tall) blond man shouts, from his perch on the shoulders of two tall men.
“LIFT ME NEXT!! I WANT TO BE LIFTED!” A tall man (barely shorter than Ransom and Holster) exclaims, his hands clapping together.
“ZIMMS, YOU BEAUT!” another man yells (short. not as short as the one who’s being carried. but shorter than most of the cast), tackling a tall (quite tall, but not the tallest) man with enough force that they both fall down.
“Hey,” a woman says, climbing over a few chairs to get to them. Her long brown hair pulled in a high ponytail. “Teagan Glynn, choreographer. Who are you two?”
“Rose Johnson, hair wigs and makeup,” Rose replies, her mouth in a perfect “O”. “Is this normal?”
“I’m Denice Ford,” Denice introduces herself. “Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah.” Teagan waves her hand at the stage. “You have to be loud to work these boys.” She yawns. “Lardo’ll yell at ‘em soon enough. I’ll tell her that you’re here.” She turns back to the stage. “HEY! LARDO! ROSE AND DENICE ARE HERE!”
A short (like. actually short. a dwarf compared to those on stage) woman stands up and cups her hands around her mouth. “HEEEEEEEEY!”
The entire theatre freezes. One man, who was just about to climb down the ladder, falls and lands with a thump.
“What is it Lardo?” the man (Zimms?) who was tackled by another man asks, sitting up.
“Yeah, what’s up, Lards?” the tall blond man who is carrying the shorter blond man asks.
“Denice is here for costuming and Rose is doing hair and makeup,” Lardo says. “I expect all of you…all of you…to treat with them respect.”
“Always,” says a tall, dark haired man. There’s a tattoo inked onto his bicep, and Denice realizes that she will probably have to cover that.
Or maybe Rose could take care of it. Makeup can cover tattoos, right?
“Okay, then introduce yourselves!” she shouts.
And it’s chaos. There’s a LOT of boys. Jack Zimmermann (Zimms) (his character is called Jack. What kind of irony is that?), Eric Bittle (“Call me Bitty,” he said, a warm smile spread across his face. “What’s your favorite type of pie?”), Camilla Collins (is everyone in this cast tall??), and B. “Shitty” Knight (is that actually his name? She has…concerns) are the main leads, and they seem nice enough.
But then there’s the rest of the cast. Loud, bright, and exuberant. Ransom and Holster (Justin Oluransi and Adam Birkholtz, respectively, but they have nicknames picked out, and have also given nicknames to the rest of the cast), Nursey (tattoo boy, who seems surprisingly…chill, especially when compared to the rest of the cast), Chowder (some of his first words are “I don’t even like Chowder that much!”. She likes him immediately.), Tango (the one who had responded to her roll call. It’s nice to see a familiar face, even if they aren’t friends), Whiskey (so serious! But he also fell off the ladder, so…?), Bully (who might be even chiller than Nursey), Hops (such a sweet kid. She likes him too), Louis (and why doesn’t he have a nickname?), Tater (and she thought the rest of the cast was tall. He’s a giant), Snowy (who has killer eyeliner, dang), Thirdy (honestly, he’s the least weird one here), Caitlin Farmer (as best she can tell, her nickname is just “Farms”), and others who she can’t remember just now.
She’s also not entirely sure she can keep everyone’s names and nicknames straight.
“Ford definitely suits you more than Denise. Can we call you that?” Ransom (or Holster?) says to her, cheerfully. She shrugs and they turn to Rose. “And Rose…are you, by any chance, related to John Johnson?”
“He’s my older brother,” she replies promptly. “He’s mentioned you a few times.”
“So she’s the mysterious Rosie,” Holster (or Ransom?) says. “Neat.”
“So nice to meet you, Ford and Rose!” Bitty exclaims. “I promise we’re not always this chaotic.”
“That’s a lie, Bits,” Shitty says. “We’re usually more chaotic.”
She laughs, already feeling both regret and comfort rising in her stomach. This is going to be a lot of work. It’ll be great fun, of course, but also…really, really long.
But…she had forgotten just how much she missed theatre people.
She groans and lets her head fall with a thump on the drawings she’s made of potential costumes.
“AHHHH!” she screams. “These aren’t good!”
There’s a list of each of the actors’ measurements pinned to her board and fabric is everywhere, haphazardly thrown over chairs, dress forms, and tables. The one she’s having trouble (right now, anyways. She has a feeling if she works on something else she’ll get stuck too) with is Medda Larkin’s costume. Really, what is she supposed to do with that? Cait Farmer, Lardo, and Georgia have all been nothing but helpful and understanding, but time’s starting to run out and she needs more than the dress base she has.
She sighs and turns back to Camilla Collins’s costumes instead. They’re both nice, simple, stripes and warm colors that fit her perfectly. And rather impractical for Medda Larkin.
No, Medda Larkin has a vibe of her own that cannot be found in the colors of Katherine Pulitzer or any of the newsies (she looks to their artfully torn shirts and dusty pants anyways). She sighs again and shoves the papers off her desk, where they fall to the floor gracelessly.
Cheddar rubs against her legs.
“Thanks,” she says aloud, feeling like she owes it to her cat for putting up with all her stress yelling and all the traveling they’ve been doing lately. “You’re a sweetheart.”
She presses play on “That’s Rich” again, before screaming and stopping it. She knows what Medda sings. She’s done with that stupid song. She’s going to listen to something else or she will go crazy (if she hasn’t already).
She puts her music on shuffle and closes her eyes, absentmindedly tapping her fingers and humming under her breath.
And then she hears it. Ariana Grande’s “Seven Rings”.
Oh, she thinks. This is exactly the vibe Medda Larkin would have.
She gets to sketching.
Her fingers ache and if she never has to sew another jewel onto fabric again, she would be 100% okay with that.
But Medda Larkin’s costume is finished, and that’s all she can ask for.
Cait Farmer is spinning around in the dress. “This is awesome,” she says. “You did a really good job, Ford.”
“Thanks,” Ford says, sticking a pencil behind her ear. She surveys the room, which has the products of all her labor everywhere. She still needs to get March and April to come in for their final fittings (both the nun costumes and the dancing girl costumes), but other than that she’s gotten everyone else taken care of. Shitty needs her to whip up a hat, and Bitty’s costume needs a few edits to make it more conducive to his crutch. But for the most part, everything is finished, and she couldn’t be happier.
She thinks that these past months have been some of the greatest months of her life.
Yes, she’s still splitting the shitty apartment with Leila, Marianne, and Kayleen (real estate is expensive, and the four of them have been rooming together for a while now. Why break up a good thing?), and yes, she’s making costumes for a theatre production, which is a ridiculous amount of work. But the cast and crew feels almost like a home, or a family.
Like, take today. Nursey tore one of his shirts during “Seize the Day”, so she’s mending that while Rose is aggressively stamping blue and black powder around his eye. Overhead, they hear Jack belt out the last note of “Santa Fe”. Intermission will be starting soon, which is good, because there’s a lot of boys in need to costume changes. And make-up changes.
And also, a pie break for everyone.
She truly does not understand how Bitty has the time to make pies for the whole cast.
“It helped me memorize my lines,” he had told them, when he first brought in some pies. “So I don’t think it was a waste! And really, I love baking. It’s no big deal.”
Teagan kicks open the door, carrying four plates with a slice of pie on each. “Rose, Ford, Nursey,” she says. “I grabbed our slices before the boys descend on it.”
Shout-out to Teagan Glynn for being a perfect human. And Rose definitely seems to agree, because she puts down the palette and makes both grabby hands and a kissy face at Teagan.
“Take care of Nursey and then you can eat,” Teagan says, sitting down gracelessly on a random chair. “This is going really well, guys. Do you think we’ll get to go to Broadway?”
“How many of the cast would be debuting?” Rose asks, picking up her palette and brushing out the colors. “Shitty and Bitty, but both Camilla and Jack have already debuted…”
“Chow and I would be debuting,” Nursey adds, “Along with Tango, Whiskey, Hops, Bully, and Louis.” Rose releases him and he grabs the pie. “Oh, and Farms.” He swallows. “Bless Bits for this, truly.”
“Boy works too hard,” Teagan agrees.
“He’s a miracle worker,” Ford says.
“Something we can all agree on,” Rose adds. She takes a bite of her own pie. “So do you think we can actually do it?”
They look at each other for a long moment.
“I hope—”
And then the door swings open and in tumble Hops, Bully, and Louis, and the pie break is officially over with a flurry of “Ford! Rose! Help!”.
They’re prepping for one of their performances (it’s looking to be one of their final ones in this theatre, which sucks) when Lardo and Georgia call them all onstage.
Including the cast and crew (what?).
“What’s up, George?” Jack asks.
“What’s the news, Lards?” Shitty asks.
Lardo smiles. “George just got some exciting information today.”
Everyone turns to Georgia. Ford holds her breath. Georgia just smiles at everyone.
“You did it,” Georgia says finally. “You’re going to Broadway!”
The room erupts into chaos. Ford high-fives Tango and Hops. Bitty is practically thrown in the air by Ransom and Holster. Someone’s crying, or maybe several someones.
“We did it!” she shouts into the chaos.
“Group hug!” Tater yells, and then everyone is piling onstage, and it’s messy, yes, but it’s fantastic and bubbly and everything is going to be great.
“Ford,” Georgia says politely. “Some things are changing, since we’re going to Broadway. We’re going to make a few changes to the script. Do you think you can make a few more costume changes? It would be much appreciated.”
Can she? She would be delighted. Ford nods. “What do you want me to do?” she asks.
Georgia smiles. “Well, do you think you could make an alternate costume and hat for Medda? As well as a different waistcoat for Pulitzer.” She pulls out the revised script. “Here’s the new script, if you wanted to look that over, and there’s a list of a few other changes. Feel free to revise any of the other costumes if you want as well.”
Ford grabs the script and leafs through it briefly before smiling at Georgia. “Absolutely,” she says, and leaves to go to her costume shop.
“Another vest,” says Nursey, studying himself in the mirror. “Really, Ford?”
“Oh yes,” she says, grinning as she pins some of the fabric to his shirt. “This way, if you snag it on something, I can take off the outer layer and do repairs later. Hold still before I stab you!”
“This is a direct attack on who I am as a person,” Nursey replies.
“It’s not. It’s me being practical.” Ford circles around him, satisfied with her work. “Okay, take it off now. Thanks for your help.”
“Anything for my favorite costume manager,” Nursey says with a grin and a wink. He pulls it off, taking care not to damage her work, and she gets back to work.
Move-in is literally next week, and she’s so not prepared. About two nights ago she had the brilliant idea to change Katherine’s Act Two skirt, and after receiving the go-ahead from Georgia, she’s been frantically matching fabrics to the set, the songs, and the other pre-existing costumes.
Right now she’s just running fabric through the machine. Making a skirt isn’t that complicated (it’s not like she’s making a bustle dress or anything. This is a simple piece for a late 1890’s dress) but the sheer amount of patience required for pinning and sewing the large pieces of fabric.
Still, it is exciting to see the products of her labor come to life.
She wipes her hand on her brow and finishes attaching the skirt to the waistline. When Camilla comes in, she’ll pin the hem and get that sewn in place, and then she’ll be (mostly. Late night inspiration is bound to occur) finished with the costumes.
As if summoned, Camilla enters her workshop.
“Hey, Ford,” she greets her. “How’re things going?”
“Pretty well,” she says. “How is everything on your end?”
Camilla laughs. “Good! Tiring, but good.” She lifts her leg onto the table and does a brief stretch. “I think I strained my calf on accident, though.”
“Oof.” Ford picks up the dress. “That sucks. Here’s your dress, I need to test the hem.”
“Of course.” Camilla tucks some of her blond hair behind her ear and puts the dress on. She does a test spin and surveys herself in the mirror.
Ford studies her as well. Where to pin, where to pin…the fabric drapes really nicely, and she’s ridiculously proud of this edit.
“Hold still,” she says, bending down to start pinning fabric. Camilla stills, and Ford goes around, carefully pinning the hem to the desired length. Soon enough, she’s finished, and Camilla takes off the dress and hands it back to her.
“Hope your leg feels better,” she says.
Camilla nods. “Yeah, it should be fine. Good luck on the costumes! You’ve done such a great job so far.”
After she’s taken care of, Ford turns to the dress. Hemming is easy. This’ll be fine. What was she worried about anyways?
The Broadhurst looms over her, and she suddenly feels very, very small. This is it. She is officially moving her work into a Broadway theatre.
Oh god, is she going to be famous?
Could she get nominated for a Tony?
That’s too many thoughts for now. She suppresses her yawn before adjusting her bag over her shoulder and walking to the side door to make her way inside.
True to Lardo’s word, the door is unlocked. The cool dimness of the theatre greets her as she makes her way in.
Rose waves at her before floating over to join her.
“Move-in day, huh?” she says in lieu of greeting. “You ready to get everything prepped and set up?”
“Yes,” she says. “This is going to be—”
“An absolute disaster!” William Poindexter, their new stage manager, shouts as he passes by them on the stairs. “We need to get the name plates up, I’ve assigned rooms, here—“ He tosses a sheaf of papers at both of them, and Ford begins shuffling through the papers, handing the duplicates to Rose, who looks over them herself. “There’s racks for the costumes and shelves for wigs and props, chop chop, let’s go people!”
And then he’s gone.
Rose looks at her. “Well…shall we?”
She laughs. “Today’s going to be great.”
The rest of the day passes by in a blur. She takes out the costumes (including the new ones!) and hangs them all neatly on the racks. Individual dressing rooms get their own costumes, carefully hung up in show order on the hangers. She passes by Rose, who’s carrying several foam heads with carefully styled hair piled on top. Teagan is helping her carry some of them. She offers Ford a wink and a nod before they disappear up to the fourth floor. William Poindexter (“Call me Dex,” he had said before vanishing) is everywhere, a blur of motion and hands, but able to provide a hand when she needs it. The set has already mostly been put in place, she notes on one of her many treks up and down the stairs, pausing briefly to admire the painted pieces of the set resting on stage.
“Looks great,” she calls out as she passes by.
Someone—Davy Mack?—shouts back, “Thanks! Need a hand?”
“I got it, but thanks!” she replies, rushing outside and grabbing the final few costume bags out of the moving truck. She passes by Rose (again), who is followed by Teagan (no surprise there, and are they dating? She’s not sure), and deposits the costumes on the rack, not bothering to flip through the labels before flopping into a random chair. She grabs her water bottle and drains the last of it, relishing the cool water before sighing and sticking her feet on the table.
“Tired?” Rose asks, entering the room with wide brimmed hat perched atop her curls. “It’s been a long day.”
“It’s been like four hours,” Ford groans. “I want to go home.”
“Nope,” Teagan says. “Hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it appears that we’ve still got a few more hours before we can leave.”
“You don’t even have to be here today,” Ford grumbles.
“I’m supporting my girlfriend,” Teagan replies (that answers her earlier question, then).
“I can tell.”
Rose laughs. “Shall we finish unpacking? Maybe we can convince Dex and Lardo to get dinner with us afterwards.”
“Bitty will be bringing pie for everyone tomorrow,” Teagan says, scrolling through her phone. “Frankly, I can’t wait.”
“How many pies do you think he’ll bring for opening night?” Ford asks.
“He really should be in Waitress,” Rose remarks. “Literally perfect for the role. All of them.”
“If Jack brings a protein shake are we legally allowed to dump it out?” Teagan wonders. “You know, the cast of Anastasia, when they were here, they always had candy. A lot of it.”
“Christy Altomare and her candy corner,” Rose finishes. “And now we have Eric Bittle and his pies.” She pokes Teagan’s cheek. “But seriously, let Jack drink his protein!”
Ford groans as Teagan starts poking Rose back.
“Help me organize the costumes,” she grumbles, standing up and starting to do just that.
Move-in day (the one for the actors, not the crew) is hectic but amazing. The actors glow with pride and excitement when they see their rooms. Bitty’s Twitter and Instagram are flooded with pictures of him in the mirror, his name tag, the simple room he has and how he decorates it for his time there (they have fan art already. She’s delighted by that). There is a gleaming cherry pie on the snack table. Nursey gets in a fight with Dex (multiple fights, actually, but who’s counting?). Even Jack Zimmerman joins in on the festivities, something Ford appreciates and Teagan makes jokes about. Lardo makes the boys do a run-through of the show to see how the set flows, how the stage feels, how it should all look and sound. Full dress, she says. They put on costumes, makeup. It’s hectic. No one knows how it should go. Rose panics when she misplaces two wigs. Ford forgets that some of the boys are already in their costumes when she’s searching for said costume. Chowder almost missed his cue because he was eating pie. How he sang and danced while digesting cherry pie, Ford will never know.
“You did well,” Lardo says at the end. Everyone, cast and crew alike, has been crammed onto the stage. “We’ll smooth out the kinks, and once we’ve all adjusted to our new home this show will be fantastic.” She smiles at everyone. “We did it guys! We’re really going to open on Broadway! Rehearsal tomorrow, so call is at 4:30 sharp! I trust you all know your routines now. Get some rest, we’re going to start previews in a few days.”
And that’s that.
Ford exchanges a glance with Rose, who lets out the weakest laugh.
Their first preview is going to be horrible if this keeps up.
Around them, cheers and shouts surround them.
The preview is fine. She was definitely overthinking it. In fact, each preview goes smoothly, the actors adjusting to the larger back stage area and and adjusting to the newer set. They look fantastic.
Only a few days before their official debut. Ford’s excited.
She has no idea if she’s ready. Sure, she may not have much to do, just ensure that costumes fit, help people get into them, make sure they’re all ready for the actors, and do some quick repairs should the need arise (if Nursey could stop tripping, that would be great), but their first real show is tonight. On Broadway. She might not be an actor, but this is, essentially, her Broadway debut.
She strokes Cheddar as she rests on her couch, taking in the rest of Jersey below. Soon she will make her way out of her tiny high-rise apartment and ride the subway to Broadway, and walk to the Broadhurst. Soon she will walk through the side door and help wrangle the actors into their places.
It’s going to be fantastic.
Still, just in case, she puts Cheddar in his carrier and brings him with her. He’s something of a good luck charm, in her opinion.
It is not fantastic.
Chaos has already descended and they’ve still got an hour before opening. It’s a mad stampede everywhere she looks. It’s as if they boys forgot the costumes, their lines, their routines. Bitty is panicking over lines. Jack is nowhere to be found (but he signed in, and Shitty said that he saw him earlier). Teagan can’t find her shoes (and yells at anyone who tells her that she doesn’t actually have to dance tonight). Dex and Nursey have gotten into three (or was it four?) different fights already.
Well, Dex is a new addition. She supposes she can cut Nursey some slack in that department.
Lardo blows a sharp whistle over the sound system, and everyone freezes.
“All of you are going to be fantastic!” she shouts. “You know this show. Just breath easy, and we’ll be fine!”
“Agreed,” the calm voice of Georgia Martin adds. Ford wonders when Georgia got here. “You have all worked incredibly hard. One hour until show time. Break a leg, everyone!”
And then the sound system is off.
It’s still chaos.
“One hour?” Chowder yells, and upstairs, something falls (please not the costume rack, please not the costume rack).
“Ford? The costume rack fell!”
Fuck!
Ford sprints up to the boys’ changing room and groans when she sees Bully, Hops, and Louis all staring at the rack with varying looks of fear and wonder in their eyes.
“It’s not that hard,” she grumbles, lifting the bar up and placing it in the closet. The hangers are (mostly) undisturbed (mostly. mostly. Her labels are still on them, and that’s all that matters). “I mean, it is, but just…fix it.” She starts hanging the fallen costume bags back up and organizing the ones that got disturbed. “Are you guys dressed yet?” she asks.
She gets varying degrees of yes, and decides that quite frankly, it does not matter that much. They’ll be ready when it’s time, and she has other things she can do.
“Ford!” someone shouts, and she runs back downstairs. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees March, April, Farmer, and Esther Shapiro (a new addition to the cast. She seems sweet) all petting Cheddar. Good. Her cat seems to be doing okay, which is good, because there is actual chaos here tonight. And the girls are mostly in costume (mostly. They’ve got an hour anyways, it’ll be fine).
There’s still no way this can end well.
“I need help with the zipper,” Camilla says when she reaches her room. “It’s not going.”
“Zippers,” Ford says, and zips it up for her. “We’ve still got an hour?”
“Thirty minutes, actually.” Camilla takes a sip of water. “The costume rack fell upstairs? That took you a while to deal with.”
Oh.
“Ford!” Rose shouts. “Help me with Jack!”
“Coming!”
She leaves Camilla’s dressing room and runs down the stairs to Jack’s dressing room. Rose is running hair spray through his hair.
“What’s up?” she asks.
“Can’t find his damn hat,” Rose says. “Have you seen it?”
She looks around, then picks it up off the couch, where it was lying on the pillows. “Here.”
“You’re the best,” Rose says, and plops it gracelessly on his head. “You’re going to be fine, Jack.”
“Merci,” he murmurs. “I…I hope so.”
“It’s going to be great,” Rose repeats. “We’re going to have a really good debut. And then Newsies will become famous, and we’ll join the list of long running Broadway shows. We’ll be in the ranks of Waitress, Wicked, Phantom, etc.”
Ford leaves to see if there’s other issues to fix. She passes Bitty on the way out, who gives her a quick grin.
“Hey,” Teagan says, popping up out of nowhere. “Twelve bucks says that Bitty and Jack make out during curtain call tonight.”
“Okay,” Ford says. “I kind of doubt it, but okay.”
“Ford!” Shitty shouts. “Where’s my vest?”
“Should be in the closet!” she shouts, already running back up to his room.
Despite the backstage chaos, their Broadway debut goes fantastic. The audience seems to be loving it. Ford collapses into a chair during the finale, Cheddar in her lap once more (she had seen various cast members playing with him during their breaks. And she’s pretty sure that Cheddar made it into Bitty’s Insta live), and takes a huge gulp from her water bottle. She takes the final bite of her pie and closes her eyes, not eager for the closing chaos to begin.
And then she hears the rest of the crew lose their shit.
“ROSE AND FORD OWE ME TWELVE DOLLARS!” Teagan crows victoriously. Ford jumps. “Bitty and Jack just kissed during the curtain call!”
“GODDAMNIT!” Rose shouts back.
“Really thought they’d wait longer,” Ford remarks to no one, petting Cheddar (bringing her cat was…maybe not the smartest move, but whatever). He butts his head against her palm affectionately. “But opening was a success! We did it guys!”
Then she hears the cast come thundering back in, screaming and cheering.
She laughs, and gets ready to help with the costumes.