Photocopying scores for twelve actors for the reading of your musical about the concentration camp Terezin: $212.64.
Taking a cab to your apartment and back when you decide in the middle of rehearsal to restore the old opening number, meaning you have no idea how the material will play: $46.
Finding out that the producer of the reading has invited both a woman who was an inmate of Terezin and the man who captured Adolf Eichmann, and they’re both coming: uh . . . priceless?
Luckily, they both liked it, or at least they said they did. I was so terrified that she would tell me my musical had made her wish she was in the concentration camp instead of in the audience or that he would leap up at the first entrance of the guy playing the commander of the camp and shout “Rahm! I’ve been searching for you for sixty years, and now I’ve finally found you!” that I could barely concentrate on what was happening.
But it all turned out okay.
I mean, not the Holocaust. That didn’t turn out so okay. But the reading.