It's opera rehearsal day five, at least for Stephen and me. We're partially-costumed—Stephen in his opera shoes and military hat, me in my opera shoes and with my petticoat over my jeans—standing on a riser on the practice stage. I have my reticule, hung from my wrist, and a brown, wooden dowel rod that acts as a stand-in for the parasol I'll eventually get.
He is "the Admiral," and I'm "the Admiral's wife." It's 1904. Nagasaki, Japan. The Admiral and I are guests at the wedding of Cio-Cio San and US Naval Officer Benjamin Franklin Pinkerton.
And we're doing what background performers do a lot, which is hanging out and talking to each other, quietly, behind the action. While Cio-Cio San and Pinkerton sing downstage, the Admiral and I pretend to carry on a conversation with Laura (a fellow wedding guest) and the opera singer who plays Sharpless, the American Consul. This fake-talking thing seems like such an easy way to insinuate yourself into showbiz—you don't have to sing; you're just part of the action—but I still find it a little stressful. Like being at a party with people you don't really know. Trying to think of things to say.
Now Stephen, I mean the Admiral, does what he always does at this point in the production, and goes to talk to the young Naval officers positioned on a platform behind us.
I say, "Well, the Admiral's left me again."
Sharpless says, "Maybe he's arranging to get you a fifteen-year-old husband." A reference to Cio-Cio San, who's about to become Pinkerton's fifteen-year-old wife.
Scattered across the practice stage around us, the chorus sings in Italian. Back when I was in high school drama class, someone told me that when people in the theater act like they're talking at once, they're all just saying, "Peas and carrots, peas and carrots," over and over.
When the Admiral comes back, I say, "Did you get me a fifteen-year-old husband?"
"No," he says, "I thought the husband was for me."
Laura, with a petticoat over her clothes and a dowel rod in her hand but poised with the perfect elegance for an early-twentieth-century lady, leans in and suggests that maybe we can share.
I say, "Well, the Admiral's left me again."
Sharpless says, "Maybe he's arranging to get you a fifteen-year-old husband." A reference to Cio-Cio San, who's about to become Pinkerton's fifteen-year-old wife.
Scattered across the practice stage around us, the chorus sings in Italian. Back when I was in high school drama class, someone told me that when people in the theater act like they're talking at once, they're all just saying, "Peas and carrots, peas and carrots," over and over.
When the Admiral comes back, I say, "Did you get me a fifteen-year-old husband?"
"No," he says, "I thought the husband was for me."
Laura, with a petticoat over her clothes and a dowel rod in her hand but poised with the perfect elegance for an early-twentieth-century lady, leans in and suggests that maybe we can share.
I say, "I like to share."
Sharpless says, "I like Cher!"
We all agree. We all like Cher.
The chorus sings beautiful harmony.
The chorus sings beautiful harmony.
Sharpless turns to Laura and says, gentlemanly: "Do you believe in life after love?"
She considers this. She nods sagely and answers in the affirmative, with one condition: "If I could turn back time."
This is hysterical! I was right there; how did not catch most of this...?
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