yes. The Fleetfoot sisters were at the height of their fame. I’m the one who discovered them, you know. They weren’t really sisters. Take this one, the shortest and sweetest of voice. Lottie. Yes, Lottie. She was working in a shoe store. And the most miserable girl you’d ever seen.
sadie’s father’s secretary ran copies of the script, and then sadie held the tryouts. no one really came for those. everyone already knew who would play which roles. sadie herself would play old roger, wearing one of her father’s winter suits and a hat, and Jane, one of the discovered girls. young roger was the only role she couldn’t cast. The boys would only participate in the annual Haunted woods held every year at the end of the summer. Then they were always available to climb trees and glide bedsheets down strung fishing line at certain cues, to make howling noises, smear themselves in fake blood, and arise from cardboard-box graves. but they refused to play a talent agent who discovers the fabulous Fleetfoot sisters. sadie cajoled them and attempted to bribe them. “you don’t have to sing,” she said. “you’re just the guy who talks the girls into joining the troupe!” but there was little she could offer that they would consider. In the end she had to relinquish her role as Jane, the woman discovered singing out her open window as she washes her dishes, and play young roger. she did this for the play, she said.
“I’m willing to sacrifice to keep the play going.”
And it was a sacrifice. she had already picked out the silver lamé dress her character would wear, one her mother had on in a photograph labeled Officer’s Club, 1971. This went to Darlene, one of betty’s sisters, the only one who could fit into it properly. Another of betty’s sisters took Darlene’s spot as Genevieve, the klutzy but brilliant singer of “The Man That Got Away.” Practice was scheduled every day, and sadie typed up a contract that everyone had to sign to commit to showing up on time. The performance would be held in three weeks. They met in her backyard, in the cool grass under the apple tree. sadie always let them in the sliding glass doors, believing that the allure of being the stars of their own show, of performing in front of the neighborhood families and hearing their applause, was enough to keep everyone showing up. They practiced for a week in the larger half of sadie’s basement. They’d emerge in the humid afternoons to find the ice cream man had come and gone, the boys’ baseball game had ended. Plastic kiddie pools dotted the yards, abandoned, filled with spiraling cut grass. First one of betty’s sisters, then another quit the play, the lure of their usual summer activities, the boys’ planning of the Haunted woods, too much to give up. And eventually sadie retreated to Mrs. sidelman’s, to the books, the love letters, to the emptiness of the rooms. she felt the disappointment keenly, as if there was more at stake than just the play.
but then one morning, as she sat at Mrs. sidelman’s bedroom window watching for ray Filley, she saw Francie bingham make her way up the road toward the dead end on her bike. The binghams’ house was at the very bottom of the hill where the newer houses sat on flatter plots, with younger, less substantial trees. There the brook often overflowed its banks, seeped into the grass and thwarted Mr. bingham’s feeble attempts to maintain a lawn. How he spent his days was open to speculation. He had some type of hobby shop in his basement and maintained a vendor booth at the eastern states exposition. It was said that Mrs. bingham worked in the high school cafeteria, although this was later proven to be false and unduly cruel information. There were three children—Francie had two younger brothers who looked the same and were thought to be twins, but this, too, was untrue. The binghams didn’t socialize with anyone in the neighborhood, and no visiting cars were seen parked in their
sadie’s father’s secretary ran copies of the script, and then sadie held the tryouts. no one really came for those. everyone already knew who would play which roles. sadie herself would play old roger, wearing one of her father’s winter suits and a hat, and Jane, one of the discovered girls. young roger was the only role she couldn’t cast. The boys would only participate in the annual Haunted woods held every year at the end of the summer. Then they were always available to climb trees and glide bedsheets down strung fishing line at certain cues, to make howling noises, smear themselves in fake blood, and arise from cardboard-box graves. but they refused to play a talent agent who discovers the fabulous Fleetfoot sisters. sadie cajoled them and attempted to bribe them. “you don’t have to sing,” she said. “you’re just the guy who talks the girls into joining the troupe!” but there was little she could offer that they would consider. In the end she had to relinquish her role as Jane, the woman discovered singing out her open window as she washes her dishes, and play young roger. she did this for the play, she said.
“I’m willing to sacrifice to keep the play going.”
And it was a sacrifice. she had already picked out the silver lamé dress her character would wear, one her mother had on in a photograph labeled Officer’s Club, 1971. This went to Darlene, one of betty’s sisters, the only one who could fit into it properly. Another of betty’s sisters took Darlene’s spot as Genevieve, the klutzy but brilliant singer of “The Man That Got Away.” Practice was scheduled every day, and sadie typed up a contract that everyone had to sign to commit to showing up on time. The performance would be held in three weeks. They met in her backyard, in the cool grass under the apple tree. sadie always let them in the sliding glass doors, believing that the allure of being the stars of their own show, of performing in front of the neighborhood families and hearing their applause, was enough to keep everyone showing up. They practiced for a week in the larger half of sadie’s basement. They’d emerge in the humid afternoons to find the ice cream man had come and gone, the boys’ baseball game had ended. Plastic kiddie pools dotted the yards, abandoned, filled with spiraling cut grass. First one of betty’s sisters, then another quit the play, the lure of their usual summer activities, the boys’ planning of the Haunted woods, too much to give up. And eventually sadie retreated to Mrs. sidelman’s, to the books, the love letters, to the emptiness of the rooms. she felt the disappointment keenly, as if there was more at stake than just the play.
but then one morning, as she sat at Mrs. sidelman’s bedroom window watching for ray Filley, she saw Francie bingham make her way up the road toward the dead end on her bike. The binghams’ house was at the very bottom of the hill where the newer houses sat on flatter plots, with younger, less substantial trees. There the brook often overflowed its banks, seeped into the grass and thwarted Mr. bingham’s feeble attempts to maintain a lawn. How he spent his days was open to speculation. He had some type of hobby shop in his basement and maintained a vendor booth at the eastern states exposition. It was said that Mrs. bingham worked in the high school cafeteria, although this was later proven to be false and unduly cruel information. There were three children—Francie had two younger brothers who looked the same and were thought to be twins, but this, too, was untrue. The binghams didn’t socialize with anyone in the neighborhood, and no visiting cars were seen parked in their
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