We decided to go Italian.
And what, I ask you, was the main topic of conversation during the evening? Well, his work, of course, and of course, of course, mine, too, and the kids, and also...well...let's put it like this...
It started as we were driving to the restaurant. We were on the highway, going about 65. I had one one hand on the wheel, the other hand entwined with Corb's, and I was listening to Corb talk about one of his friends, while at the same time maintaining a running interior monologue about the appalling state of my car.
And then, I heard it. Coming straight out of Corb's mouth. The last thing I ever expected to hear.
"I went to Kansas City on a Friday," he sang, slapping his knee with his free hand.
It was way to infectious, and I found myself drawn in. "On Saturday I dum dum dum dum dum," I sang, not in the least concerned about the fact that I had spent four months working on the show and still couldn't remember half of the fucking words.
"I went and saw a skyscraper seven stories high, about as high as a building oughtta go," we both sang, and laughed.
I pulled off the highway and on to Route One, feeling the usual satisfying tingle in my belly as I navigated around the bend. "The play ended Sunday, Corb! I didn't you'd even want to mention the word 'Oklahoma,' not even if you entered me in a geography bee."
"Oh, I've been singing Kansas City all afternoon," confessed Corb.
I grinned. "Better'n me. I've been singing 'I'm just a girl who caint say no.'"
"I'm in a terrible fix," he sang, and I chimed in, too. Of course, he was better with the lyrics. I have a decent voice, but the words somehow seem to fall out of my head.
It continued through dinner. There we were, chomping down garlic bread smothered in butter, and plucking big fat olives out of the salad, and suddenly, without warning, it'd creep up on one of us, and--
"Out of your dream and into his heart you long to fly..."
I set down my beer and we stared at each other. "You don't need Egyptian smellin salts to tell us why," we sang together. From the table behind us, the waitress look over, concerned.
"That does it," I said. "We're buying ourselves a CD right after dinner."
I made my way to the counter with the Trevor Nunn directed revival of Oklahoma in my hand. The DVD had been one of my best source while I had been preparing for the show. I had used three other productions, as well (including the movie), but that had been the one that turned me on, that I had turned to, time and again.
There was a Hispanic girl behind the corner, with dark brown eyes and puffy hair, and she immediately assaulted me as I made my way to her. "Would you like to support our store by subscribing to three magazines?" she chirped.
Ah, there's a novel approach. "Support the store" by subscribing to three magazines I don't really need. I may not be able to make ends meet, but hey, at least the good old record store will be in the black!
"Um, no thanks," I said, and placed the CD on to the counter.
Her face suddenly brightened. "Hey, aren't you that director guy?" she asked. "My friend Valerie was in your show, and I saw the last rehearsal. It was good!"
Through my Greek skin, I blushed, and glanced over at Corb, feeling something like a movie star.
After the last performance, we held a cast party, and the cast, of course, gave me a nice memento for my hard labor--a gold statuette with the words "Director" on it.My last memory of the evening was driving off from the party, and watching Eller and Laurey walk to the cars, their arms around each other. Laurey was clearly crying. It must be the effect that Eller has on people, because I had gotten choked up myself, after saying farewell and thank you during the intermission. I rolled down the window and called out to them.
"I love you guys," I called out, and got Laurey bawling again.
Well. I guess, despite all the bitching and moaning that I've done about the show these past few months, I sort of will miss working on it. And I guess it is cause to spontaneously burst into song, for at least the next few weeks.