Chapter Eighteen
Eighteen
“I feel like a judge on Britain’s Got Talent ,” James leaned in to whisper in her ear during auditions on Saturday afternoon.
It was dark in the stalls where they were situated just beyond the orchestra pit. Harriet was sandwiched between James and Gideon. On Gideon’s other side was Mallory, dutifully taking down all of Gideon’s notes like a court transcriber.
“You would be Simon Cowell, I presume?” Harriet queried.
“Clearly, I would be Amanda Holden,” James shot back. “I am always quick to put people at ease.”
She snorted. “Where was your inner Amanda Holden when I was being held at the police station?”
“That was different. It was taking all my effort not to keep visualizing you naked.”
Harriet blushed into the darkness, feeling stupendously pleased.
“I expected more professionalism from you, Mr. Knight,” she teased.
“I dare anyone to act professionally when being faced with the person who blew their mind and shagged their brains out the night previous.”
“Oh!”
“Shhhhh!” hissed Grace, who was sitting two rows back.
“I blew your mind?” she asked. She pressed her thighs together and did a few sets of Kegels. It couldn’t hurt to be prepared in case it ever happened again.
“In every way, Ms. Smith.”
Holy shish kebabs!
On the stage, Ahmed graveled out Ebenezer’s words. “And the Union workhouses? Are they still in operation?”
“Louder, please, Ahmed!” called Grace, who had adopted the self-appointed role of theater critic.
Mateo, a man who favored a Miami Vice style, had sidled into the row in front of Harriet and turned in his seat to speak to her and James.
“Hiroshi, my husband, is up next. He was a professional dancer, years on the stage. Mostly ballet but he dabbled in interpretive dance, did quite a few pop videos in the eighties, big names too, he worked with Kate Bush.”
“Wow! Really? I probably watched his videos on Top of the Pops ,” said Harriet.
“Most likely,” Mateo agreed. “He teaches now.”
“Dance?” James enquired.
“He teaches a Jazzercise class at the Great Foss sports center, but he gets on the stage whenever he can.”
“Next! Hiroshi, you’re up!” Gideon’s voice blared out beside her, making her jump.
“I’m so nervous for him.” Mateo held both his fists to his mouth. “He really wants this!” He swiveled in his seat and began clapping and whooping as his husband took to the stage. Harriet kept craning her neck, looking for Isabel; she’d told Harriet last night that she wanted to be in the play, and she didn’t want her to miss her chance.
“Who are you looking for?” James whispered.
She bit her lip. “Isabel. It’s gone six, she said she’d be here early.”
“Maybe she’s slipped in through the back?”
She nodded but couldn’t help feeling antsy. Isabel was so nervous she’d asked Harriet to run through her audition piece with her before she went on. She let out an anxious sigh and shifted in her seat.
Hiroshi had dressed in a long black cloak with a hood that covered his face for his audition for the role of the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. Prescilla, seated at the side of the stage, fingers poised over an electric keyboard piano, began to play Mussorgsky’s “Night on Bald Mountain” and Hiroshi started to dance.
“Oh my god, he’s terrifying!” Harriet whispered, awed, as Hiroshi slithered across the stage on feet so light it was as though he floated above the boards. There was a menace to his movements as he taunted and stalked his invisible prey.
“I’m having Chitty Chitty Bang Bang child catcher flashbacks,” James mumbled.
Mateo leaned his head back and hissed, “We met him once, wonderful dancer!”
When Hiroshi took his bow, hearty applause snapped out from both stage wings and everyone in the stalls.
“Thank you, Hiroshi!” called Gideon. “Once again we are humbled to have your talent in our little gang.” Then he leaned toward Harriet and James. “I don’t think there’ll be any dissension if I give him the part, will there?”
“He’s got my vote,” Harriet said.
“No arguments here,” added James.
Gideon nodded, contented, and tapped Mallory’s book, saying, “He’s got the part. Put his name in.”
Isabel arrived at half past six, with Billy and Sid in tow. Harriet’s relief was short-lived when she noticed that Isabel was a bit unsteady and more than once, she leaned a little too readily on Billy.
Oh no , she thought. Maybe it’s just the nerves…
“And which part will you be auditioning for today, young lady?” called Gideon.
Isabel squinted past the spotlights trained on her. Harriet’s stomach was a snake pit of nerves.
“Um, I wanted to try out for Bob Cratchit.” Her voice sounded hesitant, and Harriet wondered if anyone else could see her swaying. “I waz-gonna-do-the-ouse-scenes…” She slurred the last few words together, and that was when Harriet knew for sure.
Silly, silly girl! Harriet quickly extricated herself from the stalls and made her way silently toward the stage, waving furiously at Isabel, but Isabel was too dazzled by the spotlights to see her and continued to sidestep left and right, occasionally stumbling into Billy, whose lips were pressed so thin with tension he looked like he might shatter.
“Billy!” Harriet hissed, but Billy appeared to have become stage-struck.
“Read on, Isabel!” Gideon encouraged.
“Um, would it be okay if Billy read the part of Mssscratchit?” Isabel asked. She covered her mouth and let out a loud belch. “He helped me with my lines.”
“By all means,” said Gideon, completely oblivious to the disaster waiting to happen. “Our Ms. Cratchit needs a scowling spouse as a counterbalance to her sunny disposition, and young Billy would appear to have scowls in spades.”
Harriet heard the titters of laughter as she raced onto the stage to wrestle Isabel off it, just in time for the girl to vomit red wine all over the newly varnished boards. Isabel swayed for a second, eyes wide with horror, and then fled from the stage in drunken zigzags and a flood of tears. Billy followed, with Harriet hot on their heels, leaving the squawks of disgust and outrage ringing out behind her.
Harriet turned onto a dim corridor and saw Billy barring Isabel’s exit despite her heartfelt protestations. Billy acknowledged Harriet with a nod and Isabel turned, her face streaked with mascara and foundation, and puked again.
“Oh, sweetie.” Harriet opened her arms, and after only a second’s hesitation, the stricken girl collapsed into them and sobbed.
“I’m. Sorry,” she hiccupped into Harriet’s fourth-favorite cardigan.
Harriet sighed and rubbed her back. “What were you thinking?”
“I. Was. Nervous. I thought it would hellllp…” The end was lost to a slurred keen.
“Did you see how much she drank?” she asked Billy.
He ran his hands over his head as he sidestepped the pool of vomit. “I only saw one bottle. She’d already drunk it all by the time we met her. That’s why we were late. I thought maybe if we walked for a bit, you know, it might sober her up.”
One whole bottle of red was more than enough to floor a sixteen-year-old as slight as Isabel. Harriet hoped she’d thrown it up before she had a chance to get alcohol poisoning.
“Let’s get you into the dressing room and get some water down you.” Harriet turned with Isabel still curled into her like a baby bird and walked haltingly back along the corridor.
“I’ve ruined everything,” Isabel wailed. “I really wanted the part! And I’ve got sick on your cardigan!”
“Never mind. It’s not my favorite.”
James met them as they reached the dressing room, his expression serious.
“Everything all right?” he asked tersely.
“Well, we’ve reached the remorseful stage of inebriation,” Harriet replied, folding the still-lamenting Isabel into a chair and handing her a bottle of water. She knelt down beside her. Billy stood to one side, managing to look even more uncomfortable than usual.
“I’d better go and check on Sid,” he said.
“Was this your doing?” James flared at him.
“He had nothing to do with it!” Harriet snapped. “Isabel is plenty capable of making her own mistakes.” She looked at Billy, who was staring at James with such hatred she thought fire might shoot out of his eyes. “It’s okay, Billy, I’ve got this, you go and find Sid. And maybe see if anyone on the maintenance team has any sawdust for the mess.”
This caused Isabel to howl anew. Billy shoved past James as he left the dressing room.
“You can apologize to Billy when you see him again,” Harriet said tersely without looking at him. She put an arm around the sobbing girl and Isabel leaned into her.
James stared out the empty doorway. “I’m not going to apologize for asking a question.”
“You didn’t ask, you accused. He’s not a defendant in one of your prosecutions, so don’t treat him like one.”
“It’s not Billy’s fault.” Isabel sniffed. “He tried to sober me up.”
Harriet glared at James, lips pursed in the universal expression of Told you so . James pulled his shoulders back, and she watched agitation scudding across his face.
“Right. Is there anything I can do here?”
Isabel pulled her face out of the crook of Harriet’s neck and looked up at James with big watery eyes. Her face was pale and blotched.
“Can I still audition?” she asked in a small, sorrowful voice.
Harriet could almost see James’s stiff upper lip eroding under the force of Isabel’s pitiful gaze.
“Are you sure you want to?” Harriet asked her.
Isabel nodded, still looking at James. “If I’m allowed.” The hope in her voice was heart-wrenching.
Harriet met James’s eyes in a challenge. “Well, there’s something you can do: use your powers of persuasion to fix it so that Isabel can audition.”
James looked as though he wanted to argue but thought better of it and left the room.
Forty-five minutes later, Harriet ushered a freshly rehydrated and somewhat shamefaced Isabel back into the auditorium by the side door. All evidence of her stage faux pas had been eradicated. The only clue was the faint scent of disinfectant lingering in the air.
As they made their way over to the stalls where the panel and acting hopefuls sat, it occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Ricco or Carly yet. She hoped they hadn’t succumbed to the same nerve remedy as Isabel.
Up on the stage, Destiny took a bow and everyone clapped.
“An immaculate performance, good woman!” Gideon shouted. “I have never seen a more agonized Jacob Marley. Thank you, Destiny.”
Gideon shined his pen torch on his notes and scribbled some more. James looked up and saw Harriet. He didn’t smile, nor did she, but he nodded once in acknowledgment and leaned across to speak into Gideon’s ear, causing Gideon to beckon Harriet over, while James excused himself. She watched him head toward Billy and wanted to follow, but Gideon was already speaking.
“Is the young lady ready to audition?” he asked tentatively, glancing around her at Isabel, who was hanging behind her like a nervous puppy. “James has explained that her unfortunate incident was the result of an overzealous dose of Dutch courage. I hazard to say that only someone for whom the role was deeply important would go to such a length to quell their nerves. We have time, if she would like?”
“Well?” Harriet asked her. “Would you like to try again?”
Isabel looked very small as she nodded. She was probably still a bit tipsy, and she was deathly pale but, Harriet reasoned, sober enough to go onstage if that was what she wanted. Billy came to join them, as did James. Since neither of them were glaring daggers at each other, Harriet hoped James had done the right thing.
“You still want me to read with you?” Billy asked.
“Yes, please. I’m sorry. About earlier.” Isabel cast her eyes around to encompass all present.
“Nothing that hasn’t been seen or done before, my dear,” said Gideon. “Richard Burton would be proud of you. When you’re ready.”
Billy and Isabel made their way to the stage, and Harriet took her seat. Sid plonked himself down beside her, and James settled beside him. They regarded each other over the top of Sid’s head.
“I jumped to the wrong conclusion,” said James.
“Did you tell him that?” She didn’t want to mention Billy’s name with his little brother sitting in the chair beside her.
“I did.”
“Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t.”
It was hard to stay angry at someone so quick to take responsibility for his actions. Plus, he had smoothed the way for Isabel to have a second chance at auditioning. Harriet was wise enough to know that any kind of relationship required equal amounts of goodwill and forgiveness if it was to succeed.
“Thank you.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
“Ready when you are!” Gideon called.
Billy cleared his throat and haltingly began to read the part of Mrs. Cratchit. But Isabel, high on being given another crack at the part and the relief of knowing that the worst had already happened, spoke loud and clear. Every syllable was perfectly enunciated; every nuance and cadence in the words of Bob Cratchit was executed with precision. And at the end of her audition even Grace, with all her censorious hubris, had nothing negative to say. The applause was enthusiastic, and Harriet hoped that this would be the moment people associated with Isabel.
“And so, we have our contenders for the parts of Roberta and Mr. Cratchit!” Gideon boomed. “Magnificent!”
Billy held his hand up to protest. But his objections were lost as Carly and Ricco barreled down the center aisle, rucksacks swinging wildly, shouting, “We’re here! Don’t stop the auditions!”
They brought in the refreshing scent of cold evening on their clothes and generated enough electric excitement to recharge the battery on a flat Tesla.
“We’ve put together a set list that we think could really work,” Carly shouted from the stage while Ricco handed a folder of music to Prescilla. “We’ve only properly learned three so far, but if you want more, we have loads of ideas.”
“Hmmm.” Gideon’s expression was dubious. “I am not yet sure that singing has a place in this particular production…”
“Please, Gideon,” Harriet entreated. “Give them a chance. Hear them out.”
He flapped his arms in the air. “Okay, so be it. Sing on, yonder duo! Convince me!”
Prescilla gave Carly and Ricco a very enthusiastic thumbs-up, and Harriet thought maybe under those nice manners she was a bit of a dark horse.
Prescilla played the opening notes to “Underneath the Christmas Lights” by Sia, and Carly and Ricco began to sing, Carly’s alto having the slightest amount of scratch to Ricco’s clear tenor. Their voices echoed around the auditorium like a lament, a call to all the ghosts who resided in the walls. Harriet heard the doors being pushed open and bodies filling the aisle behind them and the balcony above as the maintenance crews were drawn into the auditorium.
“Brava!” Gideon shouted as he stood in ovation as they finished. “Magnifico! Stupendo! Fantastico!”
Harriet worried he would run out of Italian compliments. Applause filled the theater.
Carly and Ricco took a bow.
“You said you had more,” Gideon almost panted with desperation.
“You want another one?” asked Ricco, shielding his eyes against the lights.
“I’ve never wanted anything more!”
Carly ran over to Prescilla for a brief confab before taking her position back at Ricco’s side. This time they sang “What If.”
When they finished, half the maintenance crew were sobbing into their mugs of tea. Harriet was a mess. She could tell from the amount of black all over her tissue that she had no mascara left on her lashes. James’s mouth hung open, and even Grace was silenced.
“Sold!” Gideon enthused loudly. “It would be a criminal offense of the gravest kind not to share your talents with our audience. Your voices are in the show!”
Harriet jumped up and down whooping and punching the air as more tears streamed down her face. These kids were amazing, all of them, and her heart was full and overflowing for them.
Ricco, skin glistening in the heat from the lights, stepped to the edge of the stage.
“We were thinking, maybe for the end of the play, that we could sing ‘Put a Little Love in Your Heart,’ and that the whole cast could join in?”
“Sing it to us, dear boy, you and the lovely Carly, sing on!” called Gideon. “And let us see how it will sound.”
It sounded every bit as good as the ones before, only this time the energy was super high, positivity pulsing around the stalls. It was the perfect end to the auditions, and as they poured out of the theater, calling their goodbyes along the dark snowy streets, everyone was filled with the sense that this could be the start of something exceptional.