Ethan’s World

by Daphne Childress

Ethan Martin and his mother live a simple life in a small Southern town... with a twist: She makes dresses to pay the bills and he helps out as best he can.
 

Chapter Forty: Ethan Takes the Stage

Ethan is put in the spotlight, and his whole world turns upside down.
 

Ethan never really liked the smell of the auditorium. It was part paint, part old curtains, part dust and that peculiar burnt scent from the stage lights. He preferred working backstage, quietly sewing hems or sketching costume patterns in the soft glow behind the curtains, far from the echoing boards where people shouted “Line?” into the darkness.

But lately, he had been feeling watched. Not by the usual suspects—his mother, his aunties, or Dani lurking around with that glint of mischief… not even Claire or, God forbid, Samuel Torres—but by Mrs. Cecelia DeMille, drama instructor, scourge of shy middle-schoolers everywhere.

And sure enough, there she was that morning, floating across the stage like a galleon in full sail, her multicolored scarf trailing behind her.

“Ethan Martin!” she exclaimed, her voice echoing over the empty seats. “My darling boy. I’ve heard… rumors.”

Ethan froze where he was crouched over a pile of sequins. “About what?”

Mrs. DeMille’s eyes narrowed. “About wigs.”

“I don’t own any wigs,” Ethan said quickly. Then realized how suspicious that sounded. “I mean, my mom owns wigs, and my Auntie Penelope, but that’s not the same thing. They’re not mine.”

Mrs. DeMille stepped closer. “Marvelous. Then we’re halfway there.”

He blinked. “Halfway to what?”

She pressed her fingers together as though in prayer. “Ethan, darling. The Lincoln Middle School production of Singin’ on the Brain is in crisis. Claire Madison is a triumph as Debbie Reynolds. Marcus Epperson is adequate at Gene Kelly and… oh, what’s his name… starts with a B… Bobby something….”

“Benji Thompson?” Ethan squeaked.

“Yes! That’s it. Benji Thompson!” The teacher clapped her hands. “I knew it would come to me. Anyway, he’s not bad in the Donald O’Connor role—he’s cute, but not very funny, to be honest. And so we need something. Something special… that French thing… Jenny say something—”

“You mean je ne sais quoi,” Mrs. DeMille?” Ethan sighed. “My Auntie Penelope is always saying stuff like that.”

“Yes! I knew it would come to me.” Mrs. DeMiller waved her hand about dramatically. “We lack that… je ne sais quoi… an essential comic contrast. I have the perfect part for you. Small. Hilarious. And—” she lowered her voice conspiratorially— ”female.”

Ethan felt his stomach drop. “I—I can’t. I don’t act. I’m strictly backstage.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Mrs. DeMille said, sweeping one arm toward him. “I’ve seen you. I’ve heard you. Coaching people on how to walk in heels, and how to speak from the diaphragm without sounding like a donkey braying.”

Ethan gaped. “I was just helping! Lucy was wobbling like a baby deer—”

“And the other girl?” Mrs. DeMille demanded. “The one you taught to sound breathless yet project her voice?”

“Juanita Reyes? I, um… was just trying to keep her from passing out.”

Mrs. DeMille sighed. “Ethan Martin! I’m a woman at the end of her rope. You have comedic timing, you have a natural grace—”

“I really don’t—”

“—and you have access to wigs and possibly heels in your mother’s closet.”

Ethan opened his mouth to argue. Instead, he squeaked, “No.”

 

* * *
 

He escaped Mrs. DeMille, but barely. For the next two days, he lurked around the edges of the drama department, sewing in silence and praying to become invisible.

It was no use. The next ambush came during lunch, when Claire and Dani plopped their trays on either side of him.

“Ethan,” Claire said sweetly, “guess who Mrs. DeMille says would be perfect for Lina Lamont?”

He blinked at her. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, c’mon,” she coaxed. “It’s a tiny part. Just some funny lines, and then you pretend to sing while I’m actually singing 'Singing in the Rain.'”

“Pretend singing is still singing,” Ethan hissed.

Dani nudged him, her eyes wide with mischief. “Dude, you have to do it. Mrs. D’s practically losing her mind.”

“I’m not a girl, Dani!”

“Never said you were,” Dani said. “But you’d kill in that dress.”

Claire grinned. “Think of it. Sequins. A platinum blonde wig. High heels. You’ll be adorable.”

Ethan buried his face in his hands. “I’m going to throw up.”

“Too bad,” Dani said. “’Cause I already told your mama.”

 

* * *
 

The classroom was unusually quiet for study hall, a few students bent over math worksheets or whispering in the back. Ethan sat slouched at his desk, his pencil tapping like a metronome of nerves. After a moment, he slid out of his chair and approached Julia Campbell’s desk with the kind of look that said I need help but I’m embarrassed to admit it.

“Mrs. Campbell?” he asked softly.

She glanced up from a stack of quizzes, peering over her glasses. “Yes, Ethan?”

“Can I—uh—ask you something? Not about homework.”

Her lips curved in a faint smile. “That usually means it’s about something far more important. Sit down.” She gestured to the chair beside her desk. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

Ethan dropped into the chair and folded his arms, cheeks already hot. “I know I’m going to end up doing it,” he muttered. “Dani told Mom, and Mom’ll insist, and I hate disappointing her. But if I do, then the whole school is gonna see me in a dress… acting like a girl… or woman… whatever. I’ll be humiliated! And then I’ll have to go into witness protection and be forced to move to Australia and—”

Julia waited, hands folded neatly on the desk. Years of teaching had taught her that silence was sometimes the best nudge.

Finally, she said, “You’re talking about the upcoming play… the one Mrs. DeMille is producing?”

“Um, yes, ma’am.” Ethan bit his lip. “Sorry. I just got carried away and—”

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” The pretty teacher smiled. “I heard about this in the teacher’s lounge. I wondered how you’d handle it. It’s not exactly being Emily for your mother, is it?”

Ethan sighed. “No ma’am. It’s totally different.” He fought to keep his voice low. “I don’t know what to do, Mrs. Campbell. I don’t want to let everybody down, but at the same time… I’m afraid of what the other kids will say when they see… you know….”

Julia nodded. “You’re not going to want to hear this, but—”

“You think I should do it.” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. “It figures.”

There was a pause, then: “Bobby! Melissa! If you have something to say then come up here and share it with the class, please.”

Ethan felt a chill go up his spine as his teacher returned her attention toward him.

“Sorry about that.” She turned a switch, going from stern disciplinarian to understanding mentor. “That’s not what I was going to say, Ethan. If you’ll give me a chance, please.”

The flustered boy nodded. “Sorry, Mrs. Campbell.”

“That’s all right, dear.” Julia’s eyebrow was still raised, but her smile was telling, authentic. “What I think is: you need to do whatever you need to do. Just keep in mind that sometimes ‘the need’ and ‘the want’ can be two very different things. I’m not here to tell you what to do, but maybe to help you figure out how to decide.”

“Okaaay…”

“One thing I think you’re overlooking—well, two things, actually. But let’s start with the obvious one.”

Ethan glanced up warily. “Which is?”

“It’s a play. It’s not real life. If you do it—and I mean if, not when—you’ll be acting like one of the characters.”

“Two of them, actually,” Ethan grumbled. “Mrs. DeMille thinks me running back and forth trading out wigs and dresses will ‘bring down the house.’” He made little quotation marks in the air.

Julie chuckled softly. “All right, so you’ll be acting like two characters. Twice the challenge, twice the applause. But the important word there is acting. This isn’t the same as modeling for your mother or serving tea to your Aunt Penelope. This is theater, Ethan. The audience knows you’re pretending. And believe me—actors get forgiven for all kinds of costumes.”

He bit his lip. “But the kids at school…”

“They’ll laugh at the lines, not at you,” she said. Then, tilting her head: “Well, they may laugh at you, but only the way they laugh at any actor in a funny role. You’d be in on the joke.”

Ethan exhaled through his nose, unconvinced. “You said there were two things.”

“Yes.” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice though the room was still quiet. “At some point, people are going to learn about your dressing up. About Emily. About helping your mother. Secrets have a way of leaking. I suspect some of yours already have.” She pursed her lips. “My point is, this could be an opportunity for you to control the story—how people find out, how they understand it. Instead of whispers behind your back, you set the stage.”

“That’s not an opportunity,” Ethan scoffed. “That’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Maybe,” she said evenly. “Or maybe it’s a gift. If you choose when and how, you take the sting out of it. You show them you’re brave enough to laugh at yourself, strong enough to act, clever enough to pull off something nobody else could. That’s not humiliation, Ethan—that’s power.”

He blinked at her, unsure whether she was serious or just good at pep talks. “Power? Wearing a corset and fake eyelashes?”

Julie hid a smile. “Some of history’s greatest queens ruled entire nations in corsets and eyelashes. Don’t underestimate them. And don’t underestimate yourself.”

That drew a reluctant laugh from him.

“Look,” she continued more gently, “I’ll support you either way. If you truly don’t want to do it, I’ll talk with Mrs. DeMille myself. But if you decide you do want to—whether for your mom, or the challenge, or just to prove you can—I’ll be there in the audience, cheering you on. You won’t be alone.”

Ethan rubbed his forehead. “I wish people would stop wanting things from me.”

“Welcome to growing up,” Julie said dryly, patting his hand. “But remember, this is still your decision. Nobody else’s.”

He gave her a weak smile. “You make it sound less horrible, anyway.”

“That’s my job,” she said, returning to her quizzes. “Now, go pretend you’re studying before I start handing out real work.”

Ethan shuffled back to his seat, a little straighter than before—still anxious, but not quite as crushed under it.

 

* * *
 

As expected, Ethan arrived home that evening to find his mother, Auntie Penelope and DeeDee sitting at the kitchen table, looking entirely too pleased with themselves.

“Sweetie,” Colleen said the instant he stepped through the door, “I hear you’ve been offered a part in the school play!”

Ethan groaned. “I said no.”

Colleen fluttered her hands. “Oh, honey. It’s a small sacrifice for the theater, darling. And besides—you’ll be adorable.”

“Everybody keeps saying that! I’m not going to be adorable! Especially not in front of the whole school!”

“Yes, you are,” said Aunt Penelope. “In fact, I have the perfect accessory. A vintage white fox stole. It looks magnificent with sequins.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. “I’m not wearing a dead animal!”

“Oh, hush,” said Penelope. “It’s glamorous.”

DeeDee snorted, cigarette dangling from her lips. “And I’m doing your makeup,” she announced. “I’ve been wanting to do that since last summer.”

Ethan backed away. “No. No, no, no.”

“Oh, please,” DeeDee said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “We’ll go big. Crimson lipstick, high-arched brows, wide dumb-blonde eyes. The works. It’ll be great!”

She waggled her eyebrows. “And we’ll give you some big ol’ boobies, too.”

Ethan wailed. “Traitors! All of you!”

 

* * *
 

Somewhere between Colleen’s laughter and DeeDee’s eyebrows and Penelope’s rummaging for the fox fur, Ethan’s battle was lost. Adding to his angst, Mrs. DeMille pushed him to take on the second role. He almost talked her out of it, but, again, his mother got involved, so now his musical comedy resume would include:

Ulla Inga Hansen Benson Yansen Tallen Hallen Svaden Swansson, the secretary from a scene stolen out of The Producers, involving an exotic white mini-dress, stockings, a padded bra, and the immortal line: “I go to work!” in a European accent and dancing during the song "Bialystock and Bloom.”

Lina Lamont, the vain silent movie actress from Singing in the Rain, complete with a platinum blonde wig in tight 1920s curls, a flapper-style dress dripping with sequins, the fox stole, and a comedic New Jersey accent screaming “People? I ain’t people! I am a shimmering, glowing star in the cinema firmament.”

 

* * *
 

The following week, Ethan was staggering under a load of costume boxes when he rounded a corner—and almost ran into two other eighth-grade boys, Travis Wilson and Dylan Mitchell.

Travis sneered. “Hey, Martin. Heard you’re gonna be wearing a dress on stage.”

“Or is it two dresses?” Dylan snickered. “You planning to keep one for after the show, you little faggot?”

“Yeah, you mama’s boy! You gonna wear them to school—”

Ethan’s face burned. He was about to fire back when both boys suddenly stopped grinning, eyes widening.

“Uh—never mind,” one muttered.

The other slapped his friend’s arm. “Let’s go.”

They bolted down the hall.

Ethan blinked, completely baffled—until he turned and nearly collided with Samuel Torres, who’d appeared behind him like a tall, black thundercloud.

Samuel didn’t say a word. He just stared down at Ethan with a dark, unreadable look, then turned and lumbered away, shoulders tense.

Ethan stood there, shaking, hugging the boxes to his chest. He couldn’t decide whether he wanted to cry—or chase after Samuel and yell at him for scaring people.

 

* * *
 

The day of the play arrived faster than Ethan could believe. He’d done most of his rehearsals with just Mrs. DeMille and Claire, adamant that none of the other kids see him or he’d run off to Australia. Julia Campbell volunteered to be his assistant scene director—though her real job was to intervene when Mrs. DeMille was too dramatic or demanding.

Colleen helped her son with his costumes—though he did the designs and most of the sewing—and Miss Estelle contributed two pairs of the highest heels he could manage. His Auntie Vivian even got in on the act, taking him for a full salon day, getting his legs waxed, his nails done and getting two of his wigs inspected, trimmed, washed and curled.

When he protested that he didn’t want to lose what little hair he had on his legs, Vivian was quite firm. “Don’t complain, Ethan. You made a commitment and you will stick to your word. Besides, there’s not much to lose, so it’s a small sacrifice for the theater. All you have to do is keep your promises like a proper and honorable young lady—and not renege on them like an irresponsible man.”

That hit Ethan to the core. He knew she still harbored suspicion toward him because of his father, and that hurt. Still, his masculine pride—what little he had left of it—caused him to push the issue.

“But Auntie, instead of waxing or shaving or whatever, I was thinking—”

“Do not think, Emily. Let me do the thinking for you.”

In the face of such a scolding he had no choice but to reply: “Yes, Auntie Vivian. Sorry, Auntie Vivian.”

 

* * *
 

It was still daylight when he arrived at the school in his Ulla costume and makeup. He carried a garment bag with his second costume and a large case for the other wig and his shoes. Most of the student actors wore their regular clothing, choosing to change in the makeshift dressing rooms in the school restrooms.

After getting a touch up on his lipstick and mascara from DeeDee, he stood backstage, staring into a mirror under the harsh bulbs, trembling.

“Stand still, Princess,” DeeDee growled. “You’re gonna mess up your boobies and you’ll end up looking foolish.”

“Too late,” he muttered. He stared down at his breasts—a size 36D padded bra with two balloons filled with water—and sighed. “I already look like an idiot.”

DeeDee chuckled. “Believe me, Jane Russell, nobody’s gonna think that when they see you shakin’ these things.”

“Who’s Jane Russell?”

“Old pin up girl. I’ll show you later. Now come on, your first scene is coming up.”

The cross-dressed boy was about to run off when Colleen’s voice floated in from somewhere behind him. “It’ll be fine, sweetheart. You’re going to be great.”

“I’m scared to death, Mother.” he whispered. “I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can, my love,” said Colleen firmly. She kissed him on the top of his wig. “You look gorgeous and you’ll be fabulous.”

“That’s for danged sure.” DeeDee gave her handiwork a final inspection, turned him around and gave his comically enhanced—and girdled—rump a hard slap! “Now go out there and knock’em dead, little mister!”

 

* * *
 

Ethan had intended to stay invisible. But once on stage as Ulla the secretary, something clicked and he couldn’t help hamming it up. Poor Tommy Rawls—playing Max Bialystock—found himself confounded by the exotic “Ulla,” who glided around him, shamelessly flirting and vamping—and flaunting her exaggerated curves—until the bewildered boy lost his train of thought… and almost forget his lines.

Ethan: “My name is Ulla Inga Hansen Benson Yansen Tallen Hallen Svaden Swansson.”

Tommy (as Max Bialystock): “Um, okay. Wha.. what is y-your f-f-first n-name?”

Ethan: “Oh, that vas my first name, dah-link. Vould you like to hear my last name?”

Tommy (his pubescent voice squeaking awkwardly): “Um, er… we don't have, uh… the time?”

Which, to their credit, got a lot of laughs. But then, cued by the ringing phone, Ethan announced—in the worst Swedish accent in middle school theater history:

“I go to verk! I go to verk!”

He then broke out into a rather sexy but equally silly dance (based largely on his Aunt DeeDee’s rather, um, risqué moves) during the song “Bialystock and Bloom,” all while trying to keep his balance as he wiggled his hips and did an outrageous shoulder shimmy that sent the audience into shrieks of laughter. He nearly fell twice—but caught himself each time, triggering repeated rounds of hilarity.

“Oh my!” Mrs. DeMille clutched her throat as Ethan went into an improvised second set, this time with some impressive DeeDee-inspired boob shimmies, waggling his 36D water balloons and padded butt about with the skill of a professional stripper.

“He… he didn’t dance like that during rehearsals. What will Principal Willis say? The school board? They… they’ll be furious. I… I’ll be disgraced… I’ll be fired—oh Julia... I’m not ready to retire!”

Julia Campbell wrapped her arm around the shaken teacher. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Cecelia. Listen to that crowd. You’ve never had this kind of reaction… Oh look—” She gave the worried woman a nudge, pointing toward where the school principal and the board members were seated— “Henry and his wife are laughing their heads off. And so are the board members. How about that? I think your job is secure.”

(In the meantime, Tommy Rawls had to be led off the stage and tended to by Miss Barton, the school nurse. Which was just fine as that was Tommy’s last scene for the evening.)

There were two more scenes before Ethan’s big finale. He did a quick prancing—that tight dress and Miss Estelle’s high heels were not for running—to Mrs. DeMille’s office to change into his Lina Lamont costume; then another dash—in a different but equally dangerous set of heels—to arrive backstage just in time to step into the limelight and recite:

“I caaaan’t staaand it! I’m a staaaar, see?” Ethan minced about the stage as if he owned it, his padded butt swaying, eyes gleaming, candy apple red lips shining as he sneered just like Jean Hagen in the movie. “And if youse guys don’t like it, youse can go jump in the Hudson!”

The audience howled.

The scene then jumped forward to him giving that immortal line: “If we can bring a little joy into your humdrum lives, it just shows that all our hard work ain’t been in vain for nuthin’!”

He punctuated his speech with a sexy hip-wiggle and an overtly flirtatious wink toward where the majority of the school faculty was seated, causing Mr. Feeny, the science teacher, and several other male staffers to shift awkwardly in their seats.

The roar of the audience grew so loud the cross-dressed boy could barely hear the band starting up for the big finale.

At last, Ethan had to pretend to sing “Singing in the Rain” while the curtains pulled away to reveal Claire in the Debbie Reynolds’ role singing her heart out. As the final curtain dropped he was breathless and flushed, clutching Penelope’s fox stole like a lifeline.

He tried very hard to look like he wasn’t having fun.

 

* * *
 

The final blackout came. The lights rose on the cast lined up across the stage.

Mrs. DeMille stepped forward, beaming… and sweating ever so slightly. She took most of the credit, of course, and then finally introduced the cast and crew. Ethan sighed with relief as she passed him by; if he was lucky he’d make his escape soon and be home before—

“And now… for the real star of our show…”

Ethan stared at Mrs. DeMille in horror as she took his hand and drug him to center stage.

“It was a small role—or rather, two small roles—but crucial ones nonetheless. Let’s hear it for…well, we’ll just call her our leading lady.”

The cross-dressed boy turned, scanning the crowd—and froze.

There was his mother, front and center, eyes shiny with tears. Penelope beside her, clapping wildly. DeeDee whistling through her fingers. Dani bouncing up and down in her seat screaming, “You go, sister girl! You go!”

Even his Aunt Vivian, usually so immovable and stoic, sat forward in her seat, clapping and smirking with unmistakable pride.

He then saw Mrs. Campbell—and the confidant, knowing smile on her face—and he felt something twist inside his chest. For an instant, a mere millisecond, which was just long enough, he closed his eyes… cleared his mind… and blocked out the noise.

“…You need to do whatever you need to do… don’t underestimate yourself…”

Opening his eyes, he looked over at Mrs. DeMille, who nervously prompted him to do… or say something. Before he could stop himself, he dropped into the most perfect low curtsy he’d ever performed in his young life. The audience gasped—then erupted in cheers.

And as if possessed, Ethan took a deep breath, reached up and—

He yanked off his wig.

A sharp intake of breath rippled through the room.

Then the place went wild!

Mrs. DeMille grabbed the microphone. “Now that’s acting!”

The applause swelled and everyone in the auditorium came to a standing ovation. Including Principal Willis… and his wife… and the entire school board. More shocking, several of his classmates, Maddy Franks and Vanessa Brightwell and Jennifer Walker and (surprisingly) Travis Wilson and Dylan Mitchell and a dozen others, clapped and stomped and shouted, taking up the unlikeliest of chants:

“EEE-THAN! EEE-THAN! EEE-THAN! EEE-THAN!”

Ethan glanced over to where Julia Campbell stood, clapping and cheering, just as promised. He gave her a slight nod—she replied with a broad smile and a wink.

 

* * *
 

The stage slowly cleared. Ethan, exhausted, hair plastered to his forehead, stumbled offstage with his arms full of flowers.

Someone blocked his path.

Samuel Torres.

The tall, muscular youth stood there with that crooked grin, his green eyes flicking over Ethan’s costume, the fox stole, the red lipstick.

“That was pretty wild, little man,” he said, nodding at the wig in Ethan’s hand. “Took some guts.”

Ethan blinked at him. “You—you’re not gonna make fun of me? Beat me up?”

“Why would I? You killed it. You one brave little dude, little dude.” Samuel raised an eyebrow. “Where’d you learn to dance like that?”

“Um, my Aunt DeeDee?”

“The badass chick? Man, I gotta meet her sometime.”

Ethan turned toward where DeeDee and Julia Campbell were talking with his mother. “She’s the, uh, badass chick over there.”

Samuel grinned and held out his fist.

Ethan looked suspiciously at the coal black hand for a second—then bumped it.

The smirking boy sauntered away, hands in his pockets.

Dani and Claire swarmed Ethan a second later.

“Oooo, Emily’s got a boyfriend!” Dani crowed.

Claire giggled. “Or maybe Ethan does.”

“Shut up!” Ethan shouted, cheeks flaming.

Mrs. DeMille swooped in, eyes shining. “Ethan, darling, that was magnificent! Never would I have expected such a reaction—you gave me such a fright with that dance, of course, mercy sakes alive!—but you absolutely stole the show!

“Well, I, uh—”

The smiling woman moved in, trapping him with her presence and flamboyance. “So, I assume you’ll be signing up for our next production—a fun and rousing rock opera, The Flying Nun Strikes Again! You’ll be Sister Birdie—you’ll get to fly, of course—and do a side role as well, maybe the novice nun trying to get into show business. I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but—”

Ethan folded his arms. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

Standing just behind him, his entourage, consisting of his mother and aunts, and Julia Campbell and Penelope, of course, all exchanged looks.

Colleen coyly sidled up to Mrs. DeMille and whispered, “Don’t worry. We’ll wear him down.”

Ethan closed his eyes and sighed.

“Anybody know how to get to Australia?” he muttered.

Dani smacked his arm. “Better pack a wig, Emily.”

 

Next up, Claire