CHAPTER 23 – Karma Police (2)

While the students got a chance to grieve and boast, the Theatre Faculty checked over their tapes and discussed their candidates.

Unlike the Junior and Senior auditions, Sophomores were done in a matter of a day.

Deep in the belly of the Old Music building, Costello and Cooper were joined by their colleague, the Production Manager of the Playhouse, Susanna Tyker. Like themselves, Tyker was an old LAPA instructor and a veteran production manager for several of LA’s finest theatre companies.

Susanna Tyker was forty-one, or thereabouts, with the kind of face that had been strikingly beautiful in her prime, before the habits of tobacco and alcohol took their toll. Now, her face was merely interesting. Unlike Costello’s perchance for Italian jackets and Cooper’s love of turtle necks, Tyker dressed practically: dark trousers, a blazer with the sleeves pushed up, boots that should have seen a polisher a year ago, and carried a battered leather folio that she set on the table beside her. In recent years, she had successfully managed many “postmodern” re-treads of the classics to critical acclaim, a process she hoped to also repeat for her students at LAPA.

“So that’s Eppie Fontaine,” Tyker straightened her spine when Eppie’s recording came on. “Your replacement for Luciana Mio.”

“Don’t say that,” Cooper grunted. “Mio’s still out there somewhere. You know, I tried to contact her family. We all did. Besides, Eppie is Eppie. No one is an understudy for anyone else.”

The gloominess of the conversation dimmed even their interest in the school’s rising star.

“Right,” Tyker changed the subject. “This resume, is it real?”

“As far as I can tell, yes,” Cooper’s face returned to one with fewer lines and creases marring his stoic looks. “Three songs for Sony BMG. One acting credit. We can easily check the site to verify her SAG and AFTRA membership, so none of this is… hyperbolic.”

“Why isn’t she doing music?” Tyker asked. “One would think this is her forte. Is she not interested in Musical Theatre?”“Is her acting poor?” Costello interjected. “I don’t believe her side hustle is objectively relevant to our discussion.”

“It is if she’s shipped off to become a pop star mid-production,” Tyker said drily. “It has happened before.”

“But that hasn’t affected our decisions here before,” Costello retorted. “Shall we agree upon a new policy then?”

Cooper watched his colleague watch Eppie’s recording for a few seconds.

“No,” Tyker shook her head. “She’s the best we have.”

“I thought as much,” Costello concurred. “I’d rather Madison as well, but she’s still head-acting. If her facial expressions are in the A-range, her body movements are B at best. Eppie, however, acts with her body.”

“It’s a difficult role,” Cooper agreed. “Antigone’s tragedy isn’t about snot and tears. It’s not even about breaking. It’s about… how much you can bear.”

“Where was she last year?” Tyker asked. “I never saw her anywhere.”

“She had a fall,” Costello explained. “I am not privy to the details, but it appears she fell from the roof of our main building. They said it was a suicide, but the school denied it. From the looks of her vivacity, I guess the rumours were false.”

“That was her?” Tyker’s brows rose. “She seems perfectly hale. Kids can really survive anything, I guess.”

“VP Thomas offered her a full-ride Scholarship for her to return,” Cooper explained what he knew. “I do not believe anyone, including Arthur, was consulted on this. I am glad, however, that things worked out. She seems to have adjusted far better than last year, and her skills have blossomed into something truly prodigious.”

“You think she will be another Sandra Holmes? Or Eva Ainsworth?” Tyker named two of LAPA’s recent graduates. One for a Tony, and the other for an Academy nomination for best supporting actor. “Maybe a Grammy is in order. I’ve heard Vincent, actually. I very much look forward to visiting the Met after our Fall Gala concludes.”

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