Chapter 6 of The Fork’s Journey: A musical, a breakfast spread, and one very French New Yorker

There are Saturday mornings meant for sleeping in, and then there are Saturday mornings meant for watching a game troupe of actors pulling off such feats as trying to sound like a Frenchman impersonating the accent of a woman who is a New Yorker, in front of an empty house. This particular Saturday morning was one of the latter.

This weekend, tucked into the cozy west side stage of The Hive Collaborative – a plucky creative space largely built from my brother’s grit and Pythonesque taste for something completely different – we gathered for the first table read of The Fork, a musical comedy that’s been simmering on the creative backburner for more than a dozen years. Originally an idea for screenplay dreamed up by my brother (the aforementioned Hive-builder), the show has now found new life with toe-tapping songs and heartfelt lyrics by the ever-so-clever Aaron Edson – and, well, a script by yours truly.

Now, before you imagine opening night fanfare and red carpets, let me assure you: the audience count for this table read was a raucous zero. Unless you count the ghost of Puccini, who may start haunting the place, given that the show is fueled by his ability to spontaneously generate songs that will consume the stage for 14 performances only this summer.

But even with no crowd to clap or cough in the wrong place, something magical happened. The cast – an endearing bunch of adventurous souls – took to the material with gusto. There was laughter, a few raised eyebrows, and a surprising amount of passion in trying out accents. At one point, we all watched a brave actor tackle the vocal equivalent of a high-wire act: a French man pretending to be a New Yorker who happens to be a woman. Somewhere, Meryl Streep shuddered.

Health issues are keeping me mostly on the sidelines – life’s gentle reminder that Act III comes with more than its share of surprises – but my brother has taken up the mantle of director, producer, and all-around ringleader with a kind of cheerful tenacity I find both admirable and slightly dizzying.

And let me say this: The Hive knows how to treat a cast. The breakfast spread alone deserved a standing ovation. I’m not saying people would do shows at The Hive for the food, but I’m not not saying that either.

We’re not ready for an audience just yet, but this quiet little Saturday morning reminded me why we keep doing this – why we keep writing and reading and dreaming out loud, even if no one is watching. Because sometimes, the world gets noisy, and a little escape – into laughter, music, and mildly absurd accents – is exactly what the doctor ordered.

So when the time comes (and it’s coming), I hope you’ll join us. Not just for the show, but for a night that lets you forget the headlines for a couple hours and remember what joy sounds like when it sings.

And maybe – just maybe – we’ll save you a seat. Right next to the ghost of Puccini. Bonus: he loves whispering inspiration into any open heart, and he doesn’t even ask for a co-writing credit.