Page 14 of Mazywood

“When good changes happen, sometimes other changes also have to happen,” Mr. Lorenzo said. “It’s just one of those unfortunate rules in life—so I’m excited about the good changes, but some of the other stuff is hard…”

Worry lines returned to Daddy’s brow. “What’s this about, Mr. Lorenzo?” he asked. Mazelle had heard her parents complain that Hollywood people claimed the sky was blue even when it was storming. The three kids who had lost their contracts thought everything was fine the same day they were fired, and she and Jake had cried when they didn’t come back.

“Sound.” Mr. Lorenzo dropped his glass with a loud clatter on his desktop to emphasize the word. “I take it you saw The Jazz Singer.”

“Not much ‘talking’ for a ‘talkie,’ ” Daddy mumbled. No one in her family had liked seeing the star, Al Jolson, singing “My Mammy” in blackface. “But I guess the music was all right.”

“It’s just the start,” Mr. Lorenzo said. “Audiences are crazy for it—not just the singing. They love hearing how the actors talk. Their actual voices. So Li’l Gumshoes is transitioning to sound. Instead of being stuck behind the curve forever, we’re gonna run ahead of it.”

In an instant of terror, Mazelle hoped she wouldn’t be expected to sing like in The Jazz Singer. Aunt Ruby had convinced her that her voice was a disgrace.

“You think talkies will replace—?” Mother began.

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Mr. Lorenzo said. “Or I’m a monkey’s uncle. In a couple years, every picture will be a talkie. Anyone who can’t adjust will get left behind. Like Jolson said, ‘You ain’t heard nothin’ yet.’ ”

“I’m great at talking!” Mazelle said.

Mr. Lorenzo and the Sharpes laughed. “That you are, kiddo,” Mr. Lorenzo said.

Mazelle looked at her parents, grinning, but Mother and Daddy weren’t smiling, their eyes on Mr. Lorenzo. Waiting for bad news.

“You always play the scene just right,” Mr. Sharpe said. “You’re a perfect professional. So you’ll have no trouble learning scripts.”

“I knew my family’s whole act by heart when I was six,” Mazelle said. “Every word.”

“See?” Millie Sharpe said, beaming. “You’re more than ready for the changes.”

Just as Mazelle’s excitement began to rise, she thought about Davie and Amelia, who didn’t like to read. And Stan and David Wu were so restless, always blurting out complaints when the cameras were rolling. How would they be able to work with sound? They would have to learn to keep quiet. And Jake! Would his squeaky voice work with sound?

Mr. Lorenzo seemed to see her thoughts. “Don’t you worry about the rest of the cast, Mazelle,” he said. “You know, this whole thing started like a sandlot, kids who’d never done a lick of acting. My new hires are a different breed, more like you. And I’m looking at a couple more kids from vaudeville to make it even more professional. But no matter what, you and Scout will always be on top. When people think of Li’l Gumshoes, they think of Mazy and Scout.”

No smiles from Daddy and Mother. They were still waiting. And Mr. Lorenzo knew it.

“Okay, I’ll come out with it,” Mr. Lorenzo said. “Millie’s family is from Atlanta. You’d never know it, right? Her uncle’s an expert on folklore at the university.”

“I’m just a transplanted belle,” Millie Sharpe said, exaggerating a Southern accent. “But for the record, I fled west at my first chance to join this party.”

“She’s great with voices, she’s worked with stage actors for years,” Mr. Lorenzo said. “She’s gonna help you with Mazy’s voice.”

“Help me how?” Mazelle asked.

Mother’s arms were slowly folding across her chest. Maybe she already knew.

Millie Sharpe leaned close to Mazelle, staring at her with happy eyes as blue as Chaplin’s. “You—the true-life Mazelle Washington—you’re a worldly kid. You come from an educated family. But your character of Mazy… she’s had a simpler life. And your audience already knows Mazy from the voice they’ve been hearing in their heads.”

Mazelle understood at the same time Daddy said it aloud: “The title cards.”

Millie Sharpe’s cheeks pricked red. “Yes. Those titles have been Mazy’s voice—until now.” She handed Mazelle a script page. Mother and Daddy huddled close to see it too.

“Can you read that for me, Mazy?” Millie Sharpe said. “That’s how it will look.”

Mazelle felt embarrassed to read the script in Mr. Lorenzo’s office—and something worse than embarrassed she couldn’t fix words to—but before she could say so, Mother said, “If Mazelle is auditioning, she’ll need time to prepare.”

“Relax, Mom,” Mr. Lorenzo said. “It’s not an audition.”

The niceness in his voice thinned away. His tone shifted so fast that Mazelle wondered how much of his niceness was ever real. No wonder Mother pursed her lips when Mazelle said Mr. Lorenzo loved her: Making money from people wasn’t the same as love. Mazelle guessed that Mother must be cussing at Mr. Lorenzo in her head. She and the other stage mothers didn’t like it when Mr. Lorenzo called them Mom in a way that sounded like a jibe.

“Sorry, my fault,” Millie Sharpe said, addressing Mother directly. “I just wanted Mazy to try it. I’ll be her dialect coach. It’s my training.” She turned back to Mazelle, her voice going soft. “Want to hear how I would say it if I was Mazy?”