City of Angels

Chapter 6

My motivation to update finally returned from a three-week hiatus. To those of you who've been awaiting this next chapter, thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy it. :)

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"Well, everybody . . ." Don adjusted himself in his seat, "this is it—the last scene. What do you say we finish this up and then take a break?"

Dick threw his hands up and stretched over the back of his chair. "I say hallelujah!"

"I concur with Dick," I replied. After almost two solid hours of going through the script—reading, revising, and even returning to earlier scenes to make changes—the four of us were eager for a respite.

"All right, then." Don glanced at me over the top of his glasses. "Carrie, why don't you read for Mary Poppins; Bob, you read for Michael; and I'll read for Jane. Dick, you can start us off with the scene heading."

"You got it." Dick looked down at his copy of the script. "'Scene 12—Nursery and Living Room. In the living room, a worried Mrs. Banks, Ellen, and Cook are talking amongst themselves while the Constable talks on the phone. In the nursery, Michael and Jane are watching Mary Poppins pack her carpetbag.'"

"'She doesn't care what will happen to us!'" Bob read Michael's line.

Don cleared his throat, raised his eyebrows, and adopted a girlish falsetto. "'She only said she would stay until the wind changed. Isn't that right, Mary Poppins?'" Unlike Dick and Bob, who used their normal voices regardless of whose lines they were reading, Don fully assumed the persona of every character he read for; and I couldn't help chuckling to myself at his impersonation of Jane. However, I managed to suppress my amusement long enough to read Mary Poppins's part.

"'Will you bring me my hat, Jane?'"

"'Mary Poppins, don't you love us?'" Don pulled his face into such an exaggeratedly pathetic pout that I burst out laughing.

"'And what would happen to me, may I ask, if I loved all the children I said goodbye to?'" I gasped amidst a fit of giggles.

"There, Don—look what you did." Bob gestured to me and shook his head with mock exasperation. "You broke her."

By that time, I had almost succeeded in bringing my laughter under control, but Bob's dry remark set it off all over again. Then, suddenly, that all-too-familiar tightness took hold in my lungs; and I crumpled forward, pressing one hand to my mouth and the other to my chest as a series of coughs racked my body. Don and Bob ceased their banter and looked at me with concern. "You all right, Carrie?" Don asked.

I nodded. Liar, taunted a voice in the back of my head, but I ignored it. Then, mustering all my strength, I drew a long, deep breath and held it, straining against the urge to cough again. After five seconds, I blew it out slowly, then reached for my glass of water and took a drink. When I finished, I looked up to see the three men staring at me.

"Sorry," I sighed. "I guess I haven't laughed that hard in a while."

"Are you okay now?" Don asked.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I assured him.

Dick pointed to the script. "Should I read the next part, then?"

I nodded. "Go ahead."

"All right, where were we?" He scanned over the page. "Oh, here we are. 'Mary Poppins continues to silently pack her bag.'"

Don took the next part. "The Constable, talking on the phone, says, 'Yes sir . . . George W. Banks. 17 Cherry Tree Lane. About six foot one. Yes, we rang the bank. No sign of him!'"