Bullet dodged.
Mama Pearl began to wipe the already clean counter in front of him with swift, efficient strokes that telegraphed her irritation. Her fathomless dark eyes pegged him on the stool, made him feel like a kid called to the principal’s office. Brody fought the urge to hunch his shoulders.
“Took you long enough,” she said at length.
“I’m sorry?”
“You got unfinished business here. ’Bout time you took care of it.”
“Order up!” The short order cook slapped a bell and slid the takeout box through the window.
Mama Pearl took her time bagging it, fixing Brody’s drink, ringing him up. The better to let him stew in the juices of her disapproval. It might have been stupid to be bothered by that, but he was. As she passed over the bag, Brody wondered how many other folks were going to offer up their opinion about his long absence.
With no particular destination in mind, he started walking again, figuring there’d be a sidewalk bench where he could scarf down his sandwich. He turned off Main Street, noting the swanky new facade and the attractive patio seating they’d added to The Daily Grind, and made his way down Broad Street, toward his old stomping grounds. The restoration project hadn’t made it quite this far. The buildings were less well-kept, dingier with age and use. This was the street that came to him in dreams on the rare occasions he thought of home.
/> Home.
It gave him pause to realize he still thought of Wishful as home, but he’d spent the first two decades and change of his life here, after all. Shoved by a gust of autumn wind, he found himself propelled in front of the Madrigal Theater. It was here Brody was struck by nostalgia for the old and familiar. How many hours, how many nights had he spent here in his youth? He ran his gaze over the building, drinking it in like the sight of a long ago love.
The theater was less majestic than he remembered, huddling now with sedate and faded grandeur. He could see the deep red carpet of the lobby through the front doors, worn in tracks where decades of audiences had trooped through to find their seats. The interior doors into the theater itself were closed and the windows were coated with a film of grime. Stepping back, he surveyed the exterior, noting the ticket window and the poster cases displaying shows of bygone days. The Music Man. Carousel. South Pacific. Oklahoma! He’d played Curly in that. And it had been the show that changed everything.
He wondered how many of the old crowd were still here, still acting.
Well, if he were honest with himself, he really only wondered about one member of the old crowd, something he hadn’t permitted himself to do in years. It was normal, natural that he’d wonder about her. All his memories of this place were inextricably bound up with Tyler. His perfect leading lady. The one who hadn’t wanted to be his lady off stage in the end.
Brody shut down that avenue of thought in a hurry.
What had happened with Tyler was ancient history. He was a grown man. He’d moved on and made a damn good life for himself. And if that life wasn’t quite what he’d imagined, well, he was grateful for the continual string of adventures and surprises he’d gotten instead.
Brody shifted his attention up to the marquee, wondering what play was in the works.
Irving Berlin’s White Christmas. Auditions Sept. 18, 6 PM.
His mother had loved that movie and all the other musicals of that era. It had been her influence, and that of Danny Kaye, Fred Astaire, and Jimmy Stewart that had gotten him interested in dancing. Brody hummed a few bars of “The Best Things Happen While You’re Dancing” and did a quick step ball change, shuffle, and slide. It felt great. God, if his crew could see him now. Not that he’d ever been one to let a little friendly ribbing keep him from the stage. His itinerant lifestyle had done that for him for years. But he still felt the pull of the lights. The crowds. The music.
Brody did the math. Auditions tonight. Casting next week. The show would open in early December and run for two or three weeks. He’d be in town that long with the hotel job. He’d audition, he decided. See if he still had it in him to slip into somebody else’s skin. And maybe, just maybe, it would make him feel comfortable in his own again.
Auditions
Tyler slipped through the front doors of the Madrigal and into the relative hush of the lobby. Through the closed doors of the auditorium, she could hear a muted and incredibly off-key version of “Blue Skies”. If the guy could dance, she knew Nate would keep him on, put him in the chorus. Men without two left feet were definitely rarer than singers.
She took her time crossing the plush red carpet, waiting for echoes of the heartache that had chased her out of here years before. But she felt only the fluttering excitement in her belly that always preceded an audition. Smiling, she opened the auditorium doors and slipped inside as Mr. “Blue Skies” was exiting stage left.
“Next!” shouted the director. A balding man, somewhere north of fifty, with dark, square-rimmed glasses and the physique of a man ten or fifteen years his junior, Nate Sheffield was set up in the middle section of seats, about five rows back from the stage. He’d been directing musical productions at the Madrigal for well over two decades. He was as much a fixture of the theater as the lights and backdrops.
For a moment Tyler just stood there, closing her eyes and remembering.
It even smelled the same. Like velvet and lemon oil.
Then a familiar voice spoke up from the stage. “I’m Tucker McGee, and I’ll be auditioning for the role of Phil.”
“What’re you singing, Tucker?”
“‘Happy Holidays’.”
Tyler found herself beaming as someone started the music and Tucker launched into his number, blond hair gleaming beneath the lights like some kind of Hollywood prince. He still had it, she noted—the same happy feet that had helped him charm his way through the ranks of high school girls and made certain he was never without a date to dances. Yeah, she could play opposite him again.
Not wanting to interrupt, she quietly made her way to the front of the theater and headed for the door to back stage. It was like crossing into another world, entering this secret space behind the magic of the show. Climbing the steps with silent feet, she found Piper waiting for her, small duffel bag in hand. “I have us on the list for a double audition. ‘Sisters.’ We can do that routine in our sleep.”