Hello, everyone. This is Rhea with a quick note.
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Now, onto the show.
This is Rhea. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People.
On my way into my studio, I stepped barefoot on a cactus.
Then, when I sat down on my hard metal stool, I nearly fell out of it because it was ice cold.
The air conditioning in my studio is on full blast and I can't seem to turn it off.
Tell you the truth, I didn't even know I had air conditioning in here.
Oh, and there's a crow, perhaps the biggest one I've ever seen, glaring at me through the window from a nearby tree.
But I'm a professional, okay?
Did you think these strange and puzzling experiences would deter me from telling you a story?
Au contraire, the show must go on.
Let's get to it. Our story is called The Understudy.
Take it away, nudie.
Remember, there are no pictures.
You'll have to imagine the pictures in your mind.
You can imagine them however you want.
Okay, here we go. Bravo.
Jimothy T. Ratsby, the farm theater group's long -time director, stood on his feet, puffing up the lapels of his signature red vest.
All of my hard work has paid off.
I mean, all of your hard work has paid off.
That was pitch perfect, everyone.
The best dress rehearsal I've seen in all my years in the business.
From her spot backstage in the enormous barn, Tess, a white feathered goose with a bright orange beak, could not stop smiling.
As assistant director and Ratsby's right hand, she'd spent months making sure the cast and crew members were ready, the dance numbers were flawless, and the set design believable.
Opening night was a mere 24 hours away.
It was going to be the most successful show the theater group had ever put on.
Tess just knew it. But as the cast members filed off stage, jovially slapping one another on the back, great job, guys, ready to fall into bed for their last jittery night's sleep before the big show, there was an enormous crash, followed by a scream, followed by silence, a metal slop bucket, a stage
prop essential to any production of the award -winning musical Beyond the Meadow, had fallen from the rafters, hitting the show's leading lady, a one Starletta -esque goose, directly on the head.
By the time Tess waddled to the scene of the accident, Starletta was prone on the ground, surrounded by a flock of sheep, a gaggle of geese, several astonished pigs, one horse, Gerald T.
Rooster, Starletta's co -star, and the director, Ratsby, who clutched his head in distress, as if he himself had just received a slop bucket to the head.
What will become of my show?
I mean, poor Starletta, what will become of her?" Tess watched in dismay, as Starletta was carted off to Dr.
Alpaca's barn. Well, I have good news and bad news.
Tess and Ratsby stood in a fenced area outside Dr.
Alpaca's office as he glanced at Starletta's medical chart.
The farm was dark, the lights long out for the evening.
Give us the good news first, Ratsby said, puffing out his chest.
The good news is, Starletta is alive.
Oh, what a relief, Tess exclaimed, putting a wing to her heart.
Excellent, Ratsby boomed.
She can perform tomorrow night.
His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, and he twirled a whisker.
I haven't told you the bad news yet.
Tess's stomach lurched.
Starletta has amnesia.
It was not a mild case of amnesia, as they learned upon entering Dr.
Alpaca's office. I'm a goose.
I don't know how to be a goose.
Do I fly? How do I fly?
How does anything fly?
Starletta's personal assistant, an excitable pig named Marcy, put a hoof on Starletta's wing.
There, there. You'll be just fine.
You'll fly great. Beautifully.
You'll see. It's like riding a unicycle.
What is a unicycle?
Tess felt lightheaded.
This cannot be happening, but she can perform, can she?
She'll be better by tomorrow night.
A vein threatened to pop from Ratsby's forehead.
Who am I? Starletta said, glancing around the barn with a vacant look in her eyes.
What kind of name is Starletta?
It's your stage name.
You chose it yourself, Marcy said brightly.
How could I? It was the middle of the night.
By the time Ratsby and Tess stepped out of Dr.
Alpaca's barn into the dark pasture, Tess's mind was ablaze, racing over all the things she'd have to do in the morning.
She'd have to refund all the tickets, change the opening night sign.
I can't believe we have to cancel the show, she whispered.
Ratsby whirled around, blinking his beady rodent eyes.
Who said anything about canceling?
But Starletta... What kind of actor are you?
Huh? I haven't acted in years.
But you're in show business.
And the first rule of show business is...
The show must go on?
The show must go on.
Get Starletta's understudy up to speed.
She'll have to fill in tomorrow night.
At the very least, Ratsby massaged his temples, his face grim.
Tess's stomach did a flip.
Starletta's understudy?
What was her name again?
Ratsby asked, steepling his paws.
Marsly? Marmalade? Tess?
Gopet? Marla? That's right.
Marla? I take it you've been preparing her all this time.
Hmm... Tess was quite sure her heart had stopped beating.
What are you waiting for?
She's got to be ready to perform.
You have until the curtain rises tomorrow night.
Tess gave a nearly imperceptible nod.
Tess, look me in the eye.
Yes? You embarrass me with this.
I'll see to it that you never work in charm faux business.
I mean, farm show business again.
Ratsby stalked off into the night, leaving Tess alone in the dark pasture with no idea what she was going to do.
Because Marla? Starletta's understudy?
The one who needed to fill in the lead role in Beyond the Meadow in just a day's time?
That? Marla? She didn't exist.
There is so much more to this story.
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