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Carousel PAGE
TWO: Ah, but New Orleans. We stayed on the edge of the French Quarter in a run-down but festive motel called the Vieux Carré. The lobby was small, but opened onto a huge courtyard thick with green bushes and blooming red flowers. There were white lights strung in the trees and in the middle of the courtyard was an old bar, a place the cast met after each show. Around the perimeter were the rooms, two stories high, with iron balconies -- very French. The whole place had the quality of another century. I had this eerie sensation that past and present collided here; that masked behind the party atmosphere, the eyes of those who lived before us were watching our every move, manipulating things just this side of dangerous -- like the day we arrived. My roommate, Patty, was still checking in and I was completely alone in the room. I walked into the bathroom and didn't just slip, but felt pushed from behind. I went up and then down with such momentum, and landed so hard on my right elbow, I was out of the show for two nights. I could feel the strange forces at work in this old town. Three days into our stay, we gathered at the bar as usual after the show. We ordered our first round of many drinks, and lit up our smokes. Patty was complaining about abdominal pain. Milton said, "Let me try something." He put his right hand on her belly and closed his eyes. Patty said she could feel heat coming out of his fingers, something shifting deep inside, then -- no more pain. Milton came out of his trancelike state, and moved on to talk with the director, leaving the rest of us to wonder what the hell had just happened. We all knew Milton was a gifted musical director, but this was a side of him we'd never seen before. Maybe he could do something for my elbow; I made a mental note to ask him about that later. I slept badly that night. I woke early and decided to treat myself to Café Du Monde for a chicory coffee and an order of their famous beignets -- square donuts dipped in powdered sugar, my recent downfall. When
I entered the lobby, I was surprised to see Sally, Milton's wife,
and Marie, a tough middle-aged redhead featured in the show. They
looked exhausted. Sally was at the front desk, crying, her bags
around her feet. She was wearing big dark sunglasses and a black
and white scarf tied under her chin, Audrey Hepburn style. I moved
toward her, but Marie put her hand on my shoulder and said, "Not
now, Cheryl." Just then, our stage manager approached Sally,
picked up her bags, and pointed to a blue van outside. She nodded,
and as he escorted her out the door, she wiped her nose with a tissue,
looked back at us, and shook her head. Her face was blotchy, and
her upper lip was bruised. "Milton
and Sally had a fight and Milton hit her; he hit her a few times,
the bastard." She walked away, and I was left alone in the lobby staring at a folding table that was holding a pot of stale coffee and a few Styrofoam cups. I walked outside. The Quarter was quiet, and the streets were wet from a light drizzle. There was no sun that morning, but the humidity was already on the rise. I went to the café, ordered my coffee as planned, then sat down at one of the outside tables. Pigeons pecked at crumbs as I tried to make sense of what happened between Milton and Sally. They probably stayed too long at the bar -- I'd seen them both tie one on more than once. I knew the show was in trouble, an added pressure. Milton was busy keeping our spirits up because the show wouldn't be going to Broadway after all. What
happened? Was Milton a jealous man? Did he drag Sally back to the
room where she made him chicken soup from scratch, and hit her because
he thought she was coming on to another guy? Or was it the other
way around? Maybe Sally needed Milton that night, and he wasn't
interested; maybe she taunted him, and he told her to knock it off
and when she didn't stop, he shut her up with his fist.
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Carousel
is a moving story about love, loss, and eventually hope. It's full
of dark undertones and beautiful dances and songs. It's one of the
great American musicals. Unfortunately, by the time we got to New
Orleans our production had been panned in every town. Our star couldn't
remember his lines so he ad-libbed all the way through the show.
