Once Georgia gets into something, she's into it. And then, like other teens her age, she can be off it abruptly, leaving her parents with tonnes of oatmeal, pudding rice or maple syrup. After about three months of French toast and nothing else for breakfast, she recently informed me she's tired of it. So was I.
On the last night of our trip to the UK in June 2009, the night before Georgia and her mum would leave me for the summer, we went to London's West End theatre district to see what half-price tickets we could find. My brother-in-law, who teaches theatre in Los Angeles, had mounted productions of Wicked and Grease and said they were both worth seeing. I'd seen the Travolta-Newton John film version of Grease when I was a teenager and loved the music, so that was my first choice. My wife wished for Wicked. Georgia was non-committal. Teens!
Wicked was sold out. Grease was the word.
We got sixth-row seats and by intermission, Georgia was hopelessly devoted. The show was perhaps a bit raunchier than the movie version and maybe that had something to do with Georgia's fascination; with her parents in the seats next to her, it was legitimised naughtiness. At intermission, we had ice cream and bought a show programme. After curtain, we filed out a side door and found ourselves among a group of women of varying ages, some no more than Georgia. "Let's wait here," I said.
"I'm tired," Georgia asked. "I'm hungry."
"Can we just wait? It won't be long."
"I want fish and chips."
"Give her a pen," I said to my wife. But there was no need. Ray Quinn and Emma Stephens came out the backstage door and we pushed Georgia, bashful all of a sudden, towards the stars.
"They're a couple," my wife said.
"How can you tell?" I replied.
"Oh, Beauch," she said.
(Quinn and Stephens, who played Danny and Sandy, were engaged last February.)
Stephens, with her own ballpoint pen, asked Georgia: "So did you like the show?"
Georgia was speechless. She thanked her. Stephens wrote: "To Georgia, Lots of Love, Emma."
At the airport I found a copy of the cast recording for Georgia. I had also arranged for my girls to spend a night in London on the way back from Canada. It wasn't cheap - even the cheapest London hotels are outrageous - but it was worth it: they went to the West End again and got half-price tickets. This time for Billy Elliott. They were a little disappointed with the show; both agreed the movie was better and the political back story in the theatrical production made it sag. At intermission, Georgia had her ice cream and after the show they sought out autographs.
Lest you think this is now a tradition, well, it is. In New York last summer, the girls bought half-price seats for In the Heights. Ice cream, autograph, CD. And a life-long love for musicals has begun.
Isn't it rich?
