The competition within the Chicago troupe was fierce, and naturally, many were cut along the way. This time, the troupe was recruiting roughly five new members, yet two to three hundred actors of all kinds had come to audition. This was after the initial resume screening—the first round of interviews had a selection ratio of about three to one. By the second round, only about ninety people remained. This round of interviews was correspondingly more complex, featuring assessments of fundamental skills and requiring pairs of candidates to perform scenes specified by the judges.
These tasks were precisely what Jenny had been training for over the past six months, so she completed them smoothly without excessive nervousness. She had gradually grown accustomed to the atmosphere of interviews filled with people, as if a mental switch allowed her to block out all distracting gazes. Only the camera remained, along with her and the human-shaped prompter across from her.
To be honest, the theater troupe's interview atmosphere felt more open than a film crew's. The auditions took place directly in a large rehearsal studio, with candidates sitting on the floor waiting. Consequently, the crowd of onlookers this time was particularly large. Jenny could observe others' audition performances to gauge her own chances.
True to a Chicago audition, those who made it to the second round had at least passable acting skills, delivered lines naturally, and possessed beautiful singing voices with stable pitch and volume. Among the many auditionees, while some sang stiffly due to obvious nerves, not a single one was severely off-key. Jenny reckoned her acting might be among the stronger performances here, but her singing was merely average—nothing overwhelmingly impressive.
Still... if looks counted toward the total score, she'd still rank near the top. —Pretty girls who can sing well usually head straight for the music industry. Very few actually consider pursuing musical theater.
After the second round of auditions, Cesare called to check on her progress. Jenny truthfully shared her impressions. Cesare—naturally offering no praise—simply informed her, "Agata has a favorable impression of you. She told Rob she has 'a little faith' in your third audition. If either Rob or I have time, we'll attend too."
Jenny had joined the cast quite late, and filming for Chicago was nearing its end. With the Christmas-New Year holidays approaching, the crew going on break early was a distinct possibility. Jenny was deeply touched by Rob's kindness. "He's been so good to me."
"Then you absolutely must not disappoint him," Cesare said. "As far as I know, James Schubert will be at the third round too. Whether you break through to become Roxie hinges largely on his decision, so don't take it lightly. At the very least, you can't embarrass Rob—he made several calls to James just to get you this interview."
Don't assume America lacks family dynasties. In fact, family-run businesses are extremely common here. Beyond the political realm with father-son presidents, the entertainment industry is rife with sons following in their fathers' footsteps. Since Broadway's boom in the early 20th century, this small theatrical world has been divided among two or three families. Off-Broadway boasts dozens of major theaters, with Chicago permanently staged at the Schubert Theatre. The Schubert Theatre belongs to the Schubert Organization, one of Broadway's three major powerhouses. This company owns over a dozen renowned theaters, and to this day, a significant portion of the Schubert Organization's shares remains under the control of the Schubert Foundation. The company's leadership still bears the Schubert surname. James Schubert isn't the group's head. According to Cesare's introduction, he's the manager of the Schubert Theatre, and his influence over the Chicago production naturally surpasses that of the troupe leader.
—Correct. Within Broadway's power hierarchy, the theater manager ranks above the artistic director and choreographer. This stems from Off-Broadway's deep-rooted tradition where each major musical has its designated home theater. Chicago has always been staged at the Schubert Theatre—it could never move to Lincoln Center. From the troupe's formation to its performances, all expenses during this period are borne by the theater, and box office revenue is collected by the theater. Everyone from the company manager to the director is paid to do their job. The one who pays calls the shots, which is why Cesare said James Schubert was the one who decided whether she could become Roxie.
Judging by Agatha and Rob's conversation, Cesare had likely approached James Schubert beforehand, pitched herself, and perhaps even proposed some outlandish publicity scheme. But since he didn't elaborate, Jenny didn't press further. She asked, "This James—he—"
Cesare paused briefly before replying, "Speak plainly, Jefferson. I don't care for mind games."
"Is he straight?" Jenny made a face at the air.
"Yes," Cesare replied. "But don't worry too much. Remember? Rob even mistook us for a pair of lovebirds."
Jenny exhaled in relief, suddenly feeling that night's "going with the flow" had been worthwhile. "Okay, speaking of which, have you mentioned this to Lily?"
Cesare didn't answer immediately, choosing silence instead. Jenny almost retorted, 'Honey, what happened to not liking mind games?' But remembering the last time Lillian and Cesare had argued, she decided to drop the subject.
"Then I'll call Lillian to explain," she offered. "By the way, Cesare, do you think we should establish a system?"
"What kind of system?" Cesare's voice carried a hint of confusion.
"The 'Call Me Jefferson and Get a Buck' system?" Jenny asked. "Seriously, every time you call me Jefferson, I feel like replying, 'Yes, Lord Vigili, yes, Lord Vigili.' So maybe stop calling me that."
"Alright, Jefferson." Cesare replied.
Jenny was momentarily stunned—was Cesare joking with her?
Unfortunately, Cesare seemed to be joking, and before she could think of a witty retort, he had already hung up.
...
Between these two auditions, she spent her time uneventfully attending classes. This time, Agatha didn't dwell on her fundamentals but began pointing out oversights in her singing passages.
"Your dance skills are quite strong, and the choreography in Chicago isn't particularly difficult," she remarked with the precision of a seasoned professional. "With your physical expressiveness, dance shouldn't be too much of an issue. Comparatively, your vocal technique is weaker. I suspect your training time is limited, as your breath control still has significant problems. However, your vocal quality is quite good, and the Chicago numbers aren't overly demanding. I noticed during your audition that you're already using technique to mask your flaws—that's commendable."
After being "conquered" by Jenny's performance, Agatha warmed up to her, speaking more and even offering encouragement and praise. "If you can stabilize your breath and volume, I think you have real potential. Your rhythm and pitch are quite solid—did you come from a choir background?"
In truth, Chen Zhen had indeed participated in a choir briefly as a child. However, she credited her vocal foundation to her obsession with KTV during her time as a wealthy housewife. Now, in front of Agatha, she couldn't admit any of that and instead attributed it to natural talent. "No, but I've always loved singing and often hum to myself when I have free time."
Agatha eyed her skeptically but wisely chose not to press further. "After this session, I want you to practice vocal exercises at home. Find a scented candle and practice singing while keeping the flame steady—don't let it flicker or go out. Also, keep practicing the deep breathing technique I taught you earlier. You need to do some basic training to expand your lung capacity..."
No need to say more. Over these past ten days, Jenny had been exhausted like a dog. She was like a sponge, wringing herself dry each morning only to soak up knowledge all day. Every night after returning home, she entered the performance space—not to watch videos, but to practice relentlessly in the dark, urging her brain to process Agatha's teachings at breakneck speed.
Agatha instructed her to do vocal exercises, but strictly limited their frequency to avoid damaging her voice through improper practice. Fine, Jenny practiced in the performance space—shouting herself hoarse here had no impact on her real vocal cords. (Out of curiosity, she once recorded her outward appearance while in the space. She looked as if asleep—no matter what she did inside, her exterior showed no signs of activity.) Stabilizing breath primarily required extensive vocal practice, cultivating the awareness of 'holding a breath within the lungs.' She spent at least nine more hours daily in the space honing this skill.
With steady breath control, singing volume no longer fluctuates wildly—this progress is undeniable. Agatha's gaze grew more astonished each day, and even William, the young heartthrob in her class, couldn't help but exclaim in envy, declaring Jenny "God's favorite—you must've been kissed by an angel at birth."
Jenny found this both amusing and exasperating, but William remained adamant. "Of course I know you're beautiful, a talented actress, and a wonderful singer—but none of that makes me truly jealous of you. What I envy most is how fast you improve, Jenny dear. You progress at a maddening pace that makes others lose confidence. If I ever meet a few young men with talent as high as yours, I'll give up on making it big on Broadway—really, I absolutely refuse to compete with monsters like you for a role. It would be utterly devastating."
Seeing Agatha's look of understanding, Jenny felt a bit speechless. That guilt of bullying someone with a golden finger welled up inside her, so she tried to console William from a different angle. "Actually, I'm not a naturally gifted performer, William. You see my progress, but what you don't see is the practice I do after returning to the hotel. My only extracurricular activity is practice, practice, and more practice. Of course, I believe you work incredibly hard too, but you have a family, William. All I have right now is my studies."
She was telling the truth. Nine hours straight of homework—was straining her voice for nine hours on end enjoyable? Not really. For a whole year, she hadn't known what it meant to eat her fill. To save money, since arriving in New York, she'd subsisted almost entirely on tasteless supermarket salads. At least in LA she could get somewhat fresh vegetables, but here the salads were all stale, with a strange taste beyond description. Moreover, Jenny had no personal life whatsoever this past month. To fulfill Cesare's fanciful demands, she had to compensate for her vocal weaknesses by studying relentlessly, sacrificing sleep and meals. She couldn't even tell herself what was keeping her going anymore.
Probably poverty—though musical theater wasn't exactly a lucrative field, landing the role of Roxie would mean a weekly paycheck of two or three thousand dollars. That was a significant sum for Jenny, at least ensuring she wouldn't have to worry about putting food on the table anytime soon. But if she missed this role, even if Cesare didn't lose faith in her, his perfectionist approach meant who knew when the next audition chance would come—months from now, perhaps. Facing a return to dog-walking and waitressing if she failed, she was determined to fight tooth and nail for this Chicago role.
William grimaced at her reasoning. "If success means giving up your life, why would I want it?"
"But without the resolve to sacrifice your life, you'll never achieve even the smallest success in this business." It wasn't Jenny who answered him, but Agatha, her tone still stern toward William. "No one becomes famous overnight while enjoying life, William. You only see the glamorous lives of big stars after they succeed. Only we know the madness they endured before they made it."
Jenny's "You have no idea how hard I've worked" motivational spiel failed to move her. Agatha reiterated her point: "If you still want to pursue musical theater, practice rationally. I know you're eager for success, but one vocal collapse could ruin all your hopes. So I'll say it again: practice moderately and protect your voice."
This was their final lesson before the third audition. Agatha gave no homework, instructing Jenny to speak sparingly tonight to protect her voice. William grinned as he hugged her, wishing her luck. "If I could, I'd love to watch your audition—see you crush others' hopes underfoot. That'd be quite a spectacle."
Even Agatha broke her usual stoicism with a rare smile. "I'll attend your audition, Jennifer. Think of tomorrow as my final test for you. Trust me—the interviewers' questions won't be any tougher than what I've given you these past days."
Her rare humor prompted Jennifer to laugh along heartily, feeling a warmth inside. In a way, showbiz might be the fairest circle—if you had talent and basic decency, most people would lift you up rather than push you down. After all, paths inevitably cross again in this networking-driven world, and investing in new talent was part of the job.
Of course, this referred to behind-the-scenes people like Agatha and Rob—they were never Jenny's competitors. What she saw was the warm, compassionate side of showbiz. As for its ugly underbelly, Jenny was confident she'd have ample chances to witness that through her fellow actors. Take Veronica, Renee's manager, and that hamburger sauce incident—a pretty basic preview of what's to come.
All her current efforts, this almost masochistic training, are to earn her place among the big kids. To play the game, to experience the glitzier, more extravagant—and uglier—side of showbiz.
The third audition was a closed-door session. Even if William showed up, he wouldn't witness the spectacle he hoped for—Jenny unleashing her talent and shattering countless fragile egos. Yet the atmosphere was already thick with tension and gloom. This theater troupe had five openings, with thirty hopefuls still waiting—mostly young women. Statistically, their elimination rate far exceeded one in six—possibly as high as one in ten. Other actor types might face only a two-to-one ratio. One middle-aged Black woman, for instance, had no direct competitors in her category; her spot in the troupe was virtually guaranteed.
During the waiting period, Jenny had endured many wary glances, making her feel slightly on edge. She feared becoming the protagonist of a catfight or, like in a shoujo manga, discovering shards of glass under her shoe while changing...
Of course, that was impossible—musical auditions didn't require changing shoes; only ballet did. Even so, she remained cautious, declining the coffee offered by the troupe and sticking to her own bottled water. She sat in a corner, far from her competitors, eliminating any chance of soiling her clothes.
Her audition slot fell in the middle of the lineup. As names were called one after another, Jenny's heartbeat inevitably quickened, accompanied by symptoms of excessive adrenaline—this truly felt like the most uncertain audition she'd faced yet. Even now, she couldn't claim absolute confidence in landing the role, with her singing ability remaining the most critical hurdle.
She dared not enter the performance space, afraid she might miss her name being called. Instead, she idly scanned the room, bored and restless. The auditions proceeded slowly; each person spent at least ten minutes inside. To her nerves, those ten minutes stretched endlessly, making the entire audition feel like it would last a lifetime.
The audition room was still in the rehearsal hall of the Schubert Theatre. About half an hour into the auditions, a dark-haired man caught Jenny's attention.
Or rather, his attention toward her caught Jenny's attention—by the time she noticed, he'd been watching her for at least a minute.
He stood in the corner by the doorway, leaning casually against the doorframe. His attire was equally relaxed—a plaid shirt and jeans. Were it not for his well-styled hair, his fashion sense might have bordered on nerdy. Either way, he stood out from his surroundings. He was quite good-looking, somewhere between handsome and ruggedly good-looking, certainly memorable, though Jenny was sure she hadn't spotted him among the actors auditioning.
He kept staring at her. Even after being caught, he showed no embarrassment, instead smiling and nodding at her. Jenny returned the smile, then lowered her head to resume her task, avoiding his gaze.
Yet she could feel his gaze still upon her, so openly, so unapologetically revealing his interest. Truthfully, she often encountered men who stared at her, but none with such unabashed candor as this nameless stranger. He seemed to regard her as an exhibit, observing her every move with the detached scrutiny of a scientist.
For the first ten minutes of his scrutiny, Jenny's irritation grew steadily. But after that, it began to fade. A suspicion took root.
This man had scrutinized her for nearly an hour—the most uncomfortable hour of Jenny's life—before he simply pushed open the door and entered the audition room.
About five minutes later, Jenny's name was called. She pushed open the door and saw the man again, this time seated right in the center of the audition table.
Just as she suspected, Jenny thought. Ah, so this is James Schubert.
Given his behavior today, she was almost certain he'd come specifically to see her—and honestly, Jenny had to admire Cesare. His talent for agenting was nothing short of masterful. She had no idea how Cesare had persuaded someone as high-ranking as James Schubert to make a special trip just to see her, let alone dedicate an entire hour to her (though that last part might have been James's own initiative). She suspected it had something to do with Cesare's sales pitch and found herself genuinely curious, resolving to ask him about it later.
But for now, the interview was the priority. Jenny spotted Rob among the observers behind the audition table (she hadn't expected him to actually show up), along with Agatha. She gave them a brief nod with her eyes before turning her full attention to James Schubert. Taking a deep breath, she entered battle mode.
Schubert once again took her in from head to toe before offering a friendly smile and picking up the microphone. "I originally only intended to see you dance, but I hear your vocal skills have improved significantly, and you're quite familiar with several of Roxie's musical numbers."
He gestured behind him, and a familiar-looking black actress stepped forward, smiling at Jenny. Jenny recognized her as Delilah, the actress who played the black female prisoner in the film. They had even shared lunch together several times, chatting on occasion. Jenny had considered them almost friends, or at least acquaintances. Yet now, Delilah acted as if she didn't recognize her.
"This is my Verma," Schubert said, exchanging a cheek kiss with the actress. "She'll be joining you for the final number, 'Nowadays' transitioning into 'Hot Honey Rag.' No rehearsal—one take only. You got confidence?"
—Nowadays and Hot Honey Rag featured singing followed by dancing, with constant stage movements throughout. It was surprising Schubert could smile so amiably, given the high difficulty level they were facing right off the bat. And that "Are you confident?" was clearly just polite talk. No sooner had he finished speaking than the surrounding dancers began clearing a space for them.
Jenny glanced at 'Verma,' who had already begun stretching her limbs in preparation, avoiding eye contact entirely. Her attitude was decidedly cold—clearly, she wasn't planning any pre-performance communication.
To play it safe, Jenny had already intended to use her golden ticket. Now, she wouldn't consider any other option. Withdrawing her gaze, she nodded firmly. "Hell yeah, I'm totally confident."
Her attitude bordered on arrogance, utterly self-assured and entirely without bravado—given the chance to prove herself, Jenny welcomed challenges with open arms. The greater the difficulty Schubert presented, the more time allotted, the more confident she felt she could captivate the entire crowd with her performance.
After all, as Agatha put it, 'she possesses a special talent,' didn't she?
Schubert let out an admiring laugh. In the crowd, Rob chuckled and shook his head. Jenny stepped back toward 'Verma'—this time, it was her turn to turn and look at Jenny.
Jenny paid her no mind. Closing her eyes to 'center herself,' she selected these two arias within her performance space.
Then, the music began, and Roxie Hart opened her eyes.
She began to sing.