Ivy primps in front of her mirror and does a breathy run through of “Let Me Be Your Star” before her voice cracks. Derek, asleep in the bed behind her, harkens at the first sound of pitchiness. Ivy assures Derek she’s fine and they snuggle.
At the rehearsal hall, Julia attempts to rearrange scenes like a harried florist with a particularly recalcitrant Rhododendron. Derek harrumphs that it’s a musical, dammit, not a high school science project (which is a good thing; I don’t think Julia could even get a Chia pet to sprout at this point) and Julia counters that it’s a workshop, and a first workshop at that. Derek is baffled at Julia’s naiveté and points out that it’s a workshop investors are coming to see, and there’s no discernible story for 25 pages. (I, myself, would have called that a teen-baiting homage to Twilight, but something tells me Derek’s not a fan.) Continue reading
Karen makes an awe-eyed, 360-angle entrance to the rehearsal hall for her first real, live Broadway workshop. To paraphrase Pulp Fiction, some workshops get produced and become off-Broadway shows. Some don’t, and become nothing. Hopefully Karen isn’t performing in one of the ones that become nothing. The ensemble chorus/dancers eye-roll and tongue-cluck over Karen’s “All-County Craft Fair and Gun Show Queen” resume – apparently “State Fair” is only de rigueur during a Rodgers & Hammerstein showcase. Michael is excited, too, and tells Julia he thinks things are going to be fine and she’s quick to agree that yes, they’re both adults and can be cool about this. A musical beat, and then Michael tells her he meant the workshop. Burn. Julia blinks rapidly and deflects that with enough “great, great, SO great” that she’s only a bad perm and a gay best friend (oh, wait) away from vintage Grace Adler. Continue reading