I scowl.
“That’s enough, Melissa. I’m tired of hearing that from you. If you think everyone in the theater is gay, then what are you thinking about me? Huh?”
“Aw, come on, Neil.” Melissa looks me in the eyes. That puppy dog look, the one that really annoys me. “You know I don’t think that about you. I love you. I just have my doubts about Zane.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you had seen Zane’s audition. None of his personal mannerisms….” I stop. I can’t believe what I said. Lately I have been noticing Zane’s peculiar mannerisms. Is Zane gay? Do I care? Do I want him to be? I shake my head at the thought. It invaded my mind without warning. Maybe he just acts that way for some reason or other. I’ve said it again and again, theater people are different. “Nothing about him personally,” I repeat, “gets in the way of the character. That’s what makes him a great actor.”
“Well, I hope for your sake, you’re right. You don’t want him messing up the show, I’m sure.” She grabs my hand. “What did your aunt say when she heard you got the part?”
Hmmm. And what would Melissa say if I told her Aunt Jenny’s news? She certainly has a lot to say about Zane. What if I told her I’m close to someone who really is gay? Would it make a difference in our relationship? But that’s for another time. “She’s very happy for me, of course.”
“Of course.” She smiles. “Come on.” She yanks my arm. “Remember? Kenny said we were rehearsing in the sanctuary this evening.”
We go into the sanctuary where Kenny is already waiting for the choir.
Early evening sunlight streams through the stained glass windows. The colors. They’re there, dappling the carpet, the blond furniture, the choir members, Kenny. It isn’t until after we sit down to wait for Kenny to begin I’m hit with it.
I’m not bothered at all by the colors.
Why is that?
Am I becoming so comfortable here that the colors no longer bother me? Will this feeling carry over in my life outside the church choir? That would be a relief.
After a prayer and about ten minutes of warm-ups, Kenny takes us through next Sunday’s special music. It’s a lush arrangement of the old standby “Softly and Tenderly.” The song tells me everything I need to know. If the inner peace the music provides is God, then I’m finding him. And if I’m finally finding God again, then that has to be why the colors are no longer bothering me.
Last up in the rehearsal is another read-through of “Suffer the Little Children.”
“Excellent, brothers and sisters,” Kenny gushes when the song ends. “We will make the Lord proud when we sing for the broadcast.”
The TV show. On the Agape Broadcast Network, a cable channel—one of those way up in the numbers. I guess there’s not a huge viewership for that channel, but it is national exposure.
“Now,” Kenny adds, “before we have our closing prayer, I have an announcement. As I told you before, this Family First rally is also a fair with booths and games for the family. They are in need of volunteers to work at the fair on Saturday. I was hoping some of you would sign up to work. I don’t need to remind you the Church of Shelton Road is known for its community outreach programs. There is a sign-up sheet posted on the bulletin board out in the hallway.” He closes his music folder. “Now, let us pray.”
As Kenny leads the group, I offer my own prayer. “The colors are only colors now. Thank You for that.”
A chorus of “Amens!” echo Kenny’s. The choir members file back into the rehearsal room.
“We’re gonna volunteer, right?” Melissa asks as she puts her folder back in the rack.
“I don’t know,” I answer.
“I know you, and I know what you’re thinking. The fair is just one weekend. It won’t interfere with your rehearsals,” Melissa pleads.
“But I might want the weekend to study lines.”
“We might get a chance to meet Miriam, since she is in charge of all this.” Melissa gives me her “please, please” look. Manipulation? Probably. But she said the Miriam word, the magic word.
I give up. I act like I can’t resist the batting of her puppy dog eyelashes. She apparently thinks that act is one of her most appealing qualities. But, left unsaid, I like the idea of meeting Miriam Railston.
“Okay, okay.” I start toward the bulletin board, leaving her in my dust. “Let’s go sign up.”
Chapter 18
MY SPORK almost melts as I excavate the tomatoey/gooey glop of today’s fiesta.
“What’s that?” Zane tosses his steak finger basket on the table, then straddles the bench.
“This is what is known as Fiesta Surprise,” I say, nodding with a smirk. “Surprise—guess what’s in it.”
“Can’t tell.” Zane rips open his ketchup packets. “What’s in it?”
“No—I was hoping you could tell me.” I joke, but I am having a hard time recognizing the components of this culinary delight. I see the tomatoes with flecks of something dark… maybe chili powder, I see the cheese, maybe a tiny crumble of what goes for hamburger meat around here. And wait… I see two layers of soggy, flat noodles. Ladies and gentleman, what we have here is Mexican Lasagna.
“Hm-m-m. Tasty—you and your fiesta line. Have you considered trying something else?”
“Yeah,” I say, blowing on my first bite of blood-colored lava. “But the fiesta line is familiar. There’s something comforting in that.” And the fiesta is true to its name. It is a big surprise: the surprise is it’s not half-bad.
“I know what you mean.” Zane chomps on a steak finger. “First review came in. Guy says she’s gonna be a major star.”
I know who he is talking about. Ever since I told him I couldn’t go to Satine’s concert, he has needled me. Little comments here and there. Just to see if I weaken. But, I know deep down, he knows I won’t change my mind, and furthermore, he knows I shouldn’t. We have the same work ethic when it comes to performing.
“Yes, Zane. Satine is great. And, no, Zane, I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Can’t fault a guy for trying,” he mumbles through the wad of food in his mouth.
I change the subject. We only have twenty-three minutes here. I don’t want to spend it arguing about Satine.
“So what do you think of rehearsals?” I say.
“Talk about comfort—rehearsals are the same no matter where you are. I feel right at home.”
“You really heat up that stage as Jud, man.” I swig my bottled water.
“Thanks.” Zane beams. “I try.”
“You’re more than trying, you’re incredible. Where does that come from?”
“I don’t know.” Zane opens another ketchup and squirts it on his remaining fries. “I guess I understand his loneliness and his rage.” He’s concentrating on the ketchup/fries task, so he has his head down. I almost get the idea he’s weighing opening up to me.
“Why’s that?”
He stuffs his mouth with his newly architectured concoction, chews longer than I’ve ever seen Mr. Gulp chew, then eventually he speaks.
“I was just so angry when my parents moved us here.” He pauses, either to make the decision to tell me more, or to give a dramatic pause. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, Zane’s life is drama, from the tiny to the earth-shattering. “Like I told you before, not only did they not ask me about it, they didn’t even tell me we were moving until two weeks before. That sucked.”
His words thrust me back. I had to leave. I had to give up Oliver!. I had to start a new school, start a new life. Thank God I had Aunt Jenny to see me through. She’s always been there for me, unlike Zane’s parents.
“Yeah, guy, I’m sure it did suck.” Sometimes making it better is just agreeing.
Zane flashes a grateful smile at me. He takes a steak finger and gobbles it up. Fortified once more, he says, “They took me away from Carnival and my only friend, Cara. And for what? So I could lie around the house in a new town while they ignore me. Dad’s always at the plant, and M
om’s doing her volunteer thing. If I didn’t have Jud right now, I’d go postal.”
Having poured out his anguish to me, he silences. I’m helpless. I wish I could do more.
“Wow, man.” My words are almost reverent, like I’m saying a prayer for him. It’s not much, but maybe it’s enough.
We continue our lunch in silence. But I’m torn. Do I try to cheer him up? Do I simply let it lie, hoping just my presence will make him feel better? For me, the silence becomes uncomfortable. I want to help him, to reach out, but I don’t know how. Friends are supposed to be there for you. And here I am at a total loss.
Finally, Zane speaks again. “So I guess that’s why I understand Jud Fry.” He chuckles, a look of embarrassment on his face. “So what’s your story? Why are you so good onstage?”
I look at him. I’m still reeling from my helplessness with him, and he snaps out of his funk like it was nothing.
“Come on,” he pleads. “I just stripped my soul naked. Now it’s your turn.” He smiles and plants his hand on my arm.
I jerk back, instinctively, then I remember—I’m not bothered by Zane’s touches anymore. I kinda like them. What a butt I am to treat my best friend this way.
“Sorry.” Zane puts his hand in his lap.
“No,” I say, hoping I’m telepathing sorry with my eyes. “I shouldn’t have jerked away. You’re just trying to be nice. I guess I just overreacted, out here in the open like this.” Now I’m sounding dumb. If Zane is gay, he’s going to think I care. Or worse, he’s going to think I care that the world thinks I might be gay. Damn. I’m getting paranoid here. I don’t care if Zane’s gay. I don’t care if anybody thinks I’m gay. I don’t care if anybody is gay. What difference does it make? What I do care about is being a butt in front of my best friend.
“In answer to your question,” I continue, banishing the trash from my head, “I guess I just like being someone else. When I was younger, I didn’t much like being me. I didn’t have any friends either. When my parents died, I felt so alone. Thank God for Aunt Jenny.”
“She seems like a really nice lady,” Zane says.
“Nice doesn’t even begin to describe her. She’s the best.”
“So, here we are—two little lost boys.” Zane laughs. “All we need is Peter Pan….”
“Well, we’re not lost anymore.” I laugh with him. “We’ve found each other. We may be two screwed-up messes, but at least we’ve got each other.”
Our eyes lock, light up, and we burst into the song: “Together wherever we go!”
Serendipity, they call it—both thinking of the song from Gypsy at the same time.
This having a friend thing is awesome.
Text Messaging: Zane and Cara
Zane: making progress, babe
Cara: progress?
Zane: with neil
Cara: curly’s coming out?
Zane: yeah
Cara: how do you know?
Zane: lunch today… he said, ‘we have each other’
Cara: wat’s that supposed to mean?
Zane: we connected. i told him about my sucky family
Cara: WHOA… daddy and mommy can be scary
Zane: yeah. but neil understood
Cara: how sweet
Zane: keep your fingers crossed
Cara: i will. how’s show?
Zane: great. luv jud
Cara: made for you
Zane: and gypsy?
Cara: packing them in
Zane: marvelous, chita, dear. daddy seize when he saw u strip?
Cara: u no it. i can handle him. sweet talk. he melts. daddy’s little girl, u no
Zane: wish he’d give on the webcam
Cara: i pick my battles, babe
Zane: miss seeing u, gorgeous
Cara: was gonna surprise u. coming to see Oklahoma
Zane: best news of my life, ethel
Cara: thought u’d like it. look for me front and center
Zane: i’ll play just to u. now, wat’s next at carnival?
Cara: wildcat. the old lucille ball show
Zane: who’d they get for it?
Cara: daughter from the old roseanne show
Zane: sarah?
Cara: other one. the one who fell into obscurity
Zane: figures. a role for you?
Cara: wildcat’s sister, janey… sweet and innocent
Zane: perfect
Cara: why—your so nice, sweetie pie
Zane: i know… gotta go… homework
Cara: bye, z
Zane: luv ya
Cara: luv ya, 2
Chapter 19
ZANE’S HOUSE is a far cry from the little two-bedroom cottage I share with Aunt Jenny. This place is a mansion.
“Make yourself at home,” Zane says as we come through the back door and stop in the kitchen. “Phone’s on the wall over there, if you want to call your aunt. Sorry my cell was dead.”
“Aren’t we a pair? Your phone’s dead; I left mine at home. You’d think I’d remember to carry it. I fought hard enough to get it. Aunt Jenny says cell phones are evil, they disrupt serenity, and people are rude, taking calls in public places. And don’t get her started on texting while driving.”
“Your aunt’s a trip. You’re lucky, having someone in your life who is so passionate.” Zane uses the word like it is always on the tip of his tongue. Talented and intelligent. Perfect package. “But I doubt you had to fight very hard. That woman would do anything for you.”
“Don’t kid yourself. Aunt Jenny can be a pain sometimes too.”
“Look, guy. Your aunt may be a pain, but it’s a good pain. Be thankful, you don’t have my folks.”
He doesn’t add more, and I let it lie.
I grab the phone. “Well, the pain will be wondering where I am.” I punch in our number and get the machine. I leave a message for Aunt Jenny.
“Not home, huh?”
“Nah. She’s probably out with Kris.”
“Who’s Kris? I didn’t know your aunt had a boyfriend.”
I laugh. “No, no, no. Kris is a woman, old friend of Aunt Jenny’s. They just reconnected, and they are thick as thieves, as my aunt would say.”
“Reconnected?”
I’m not sure how much of the story I want to share, especially since I know so little, so I just add, “Yeah. Went to high school together, I gather. Hadn’t seen each other for years until Kris showed up at the craft show we went to a few weeks ago.”
“And now they’re seeing a lot of each other?” Is that a smirk on Zane’s face? No, it can’t be. He doesn’t even know Aunt Jenny.
“I guess they used to be best friends or something. Anyway, I’m just glad Aunt Jenny has someone besides me in her life. I’ll be going off to MTM in a few months. It’s good to know my aunt won’t be alone here.” I’m almost tearing up here, but Zane, ever changing, doesn’t notice.
“That was some rehearsal. Novak worked our tails off.” Zane is rummaging in the refrigerator. The bottomless pit is no doubt foraging for a snack. “How about some cheese and crackers?”
“That’d be great.” I stretch. “I’m whipped. And can you believe he wants the whole thing memorized by tomorrow? ‘Pore Jud’ is a long song, plus there’s the dialogue too. I’ve never worked with a director who started a scene on one day, then expected it perfect the next.”
“Yeah, Novak’s a real ballbreaker. But it’s good to know he has so much faith in us he wants to use us as an example for the whole cast.” Zane slices cheese and deposits it onto a plate.
I imitate Mr. Novak. “‘I want to show the full cast at tomorrow’s rehearsal what a little hard work can accomplish….’ Meanwhile, we’ve got to bust our butts to get the thing learned.”
“Get over it, Neil. Grow a pair.” Zane’s words are hurtful, his tone is not. I suddenly realize who he is doing.
“Satine, right?”
He twists his Satine lips into the exact imitation of her pushy style. “If the man believes in
you, then don’t let him down. Be the few, the proud.”
I start to laugh, Zane cracks up, and we guffaw for almost a full minute.
“I love it when she launches into her Marine self.” I do my own Satine impression—“Soldier on, recruit!”—but I’m not as good as Zane. He has the advantage of having those luscious Satine lips.
More laughter, then Zane turns serious.
“We’re pros. We can do it!”
“Speak for yourself, Mr. Carnival Dinner Theater.”
“And a full scholarship to MusicTheatreMidwest counts for zilch?” Zane piles crackers on the plate with the cheese. “Just go relax a minute before we run lines. The living room is through there.” He indicates a hallway. “Get comfortable while I get us some drinks. Diet Cokes all right?”
“Does a pig like slop?”
“Huh?” Zane’s mouth gapes open.
“Just an Aunt Jennyism.”
“Gotta love her,” he says, turning to pull a couple of drinks from the fridge.
I nod and go through the hallway. It feels great to have someone else appreciate Aunt Jenny as much as I do.
The living room is gigantic. Our whole house would fit in here. The room is painted a pale orangey color, kind of a flowerpot color. A ginormous, curving solid white couch fills up about two-thirds of the space. It faces a fireplace that is probably fifteen feet tall. On either side of the fireplace are two enormous stained glass windows. The late afternoon sun shines through them, dappling the couch with spots of color….
My knees buckle. Trembles. Sweat. Dizzy.
What the…? I thought I was over this.
A fleeting thought as I sink into the couch, totally collapsing. I rest my swimming head on the back of it and close my eyes. Feeling my head swirl and my stomach churn, I pop my eyes back open. Funny how you think closing your eyes can black out everything, when it just makes things worse.
I grasp at something—anything—to take my mind off the colors. I cling to the crunch, crunch sound of the ice crusher in the refrigerator door.
Colors Page 14
