Duet Rubato

by Claerie Kavanaugh

  Midway through the understudy’s cue, Maddy shakes her head and the tinkering notes of Elphaba’s Ozdust dance plunk to a halt. Both actresses give us sidelong glances, and Maddy shields her frustration with a smile more closely resembling Audrey II before swallowing Mushnik than Cinderella killing her stepsisters with kindness.

  “Look, guys, that was great, but—”

  Her phone alarm goes off and she glances at it. I peek over her shoulder. 2:34 p.m. Shit! I really have to go. Catie’s gonna kill me! I sprint for the door. “Sorry, Maddy, but I gotta go.”

  “Addie, watch—”

  Bam! I hit something and land on my back, curling inward in time to avoid cracking my skull open. Literal stars dance across my vision as the black fog dissipates to the blinding lights of the studio. I push myself into a sitting position with quivering arms and press my palms against my temples.

  “Addie?” someone calls. It sounds like I’m stuck in a wind tunnel. “You okay?”

  “Fine,” I wheeze. “Got the wind knocked out of—” I get to my feet and shake my head, biting back a string of curses “Ow! Oh, what was that? I feel like I whacked into a brick—” The clearing of a throat cuts me off.

  “Um, Addie?” I squint behind me at Maddy, who swallows and points at the door again.

  I swivel and come face-to-face with none other than the ogre herself.

  “Miss Davidson, about time you showed up,” she drawls, her pointy-toed shoe tapping death march into the floor.

  Fuck.

  “Mr. Johnson has been trying to call you for the better part of three hours.” Hellsworth’s face is the color of a mint condition Red Rider BB gun. Her green eyes pop out from her Botox-injected cheeks, and her nostrils flare.

  “Y-yes ma’am,” I stammer. “I talked to him and—”

  “In light of recent events, we need you back to work immediately. And Miss Klarken as well.”

  “What?” I toss a desperate plea in Maddy’s direction but she watches me like a pig gone to the slaughterhouse on Christmas Eve. “But she’s on—”

  “Leave. I know. Mr. Johnson is hopeless and thanks to the incompetence of our maintenance staff, we are fresh out of candidates for her part.”

  “But—” Hannah pipes up. Hellsworth fixes her with a sharp glare.

  “You, Miss Moore, are nowhere close to par.”

  Hannah deflates as the director turns back to me. “So, if Miss Klarken has any interest in keeping her job, I suggest she get down here as soon as possible.”

  My stomach constricts, but her unwavering, expectant stare gives me no choice but to dial my phone. “Let me see what I can do.”

  Scratch the previous thought. If Catie wants to kill me, she’ll have to resurrect me first.

  After another hour, I catch my breath. The quiet rings in my ears and tingles skitter up my arms. Ever since the accident, I’ve always been surrounded by people. If not Grayson, his parents. Even when I left their house and moved in with Megan, she and Brayden hardly left my side for the first few months. Then, of course, there was Lyssa, who seemed incapable of saying anything other than, “Mama!” for the first year and a half.

  I laugh aloud. The sound echoes through the house and I blink as it bounces back at me without so much as a giggle in reply. It’s unnerving, this newfound silence, but not unpleasant.

  After a minute, I stand. My limbs are lead. My body groans and aches as I head toward the kitchen, where my phone is still overturned on the counter. I frown when I flip it over. Nothing. Looking around, I can’t help thinking I’ve forgotten something. I pour myself a cup of leftover coffee, still warm thanks to the heated burner, and sink onto a stool.

  A few minutes later, I stifle three yawns. My eyes droop, and I force myself away from the mess of dishes and Lyssa’s toys in favor of finding a nap. As I shift my legs in the stiff denim and pull down my crumpled top, I notice I’m still in my wrinkled jeans and T-shirt from the day before. After taking my phone and heading toward the guest room, I peel them off and toss them in the laundry hamper by the dresser. I text Lyn before hopping in the shower. The hot water soothes my aching muscles. I massage some conditioner into my scalp, which pulses with a dull headache after the commotion of the day.

  It takes fifteen minutes to dry off, throw my hair up in a towel, and slip into a comfy pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but when I punch in my passcode at 2:41 p.m. I still have no unread messages .

  There’s no way it’s taking her almost three hours to get burgers.

  Even if they did go to a full-service restaurant rather than the drive-through down the street, this is ridiculous. And none of it explains why Lyn isn’t at least answering my texts.

  I open my contacts and hit “Favorites”, but the phone rings before I pick out her number. I smile as her picture flashes on the screen. Maybe she wasn’t up to anything. Her cell probably died and she had to charge it in the car. “Hello?”

  “Catie?”

  My brow furrows when her voice hisses through the speaker, so muffled I swear she’s pressing her lips against the receiver.

  “Lyn? Where are you? It’s almost three!”

  She pauses, and it’s a beat too long for my comfort. “It’s. . .a long story.”

  “What?” I bolt upright and my eyes narrow. “Addie, you took my daughter out for burgers. What about that story could possibly be long?”

  Another pause. I swallow as my heart thump-thumps. “Adaline?”

  “Look, I promise you, Lyssa is fine, but now isn’t the best time for this.”

  “Not the best time?” I shriek, standing. “Since when is there a ‘best time’ to tell a mother where her child is?”

  “She’s not missing, Catherine,” Addie retorts. “Calm down. Sam’s got her in the greenroom. She’s safe.”

  “In the greenroom? Why would a burger place have—” My eyes widen and air sticks in my throat. I about drop the phone.

  “Catie?”

  When I snap to attention, everything is tinged red.

  “Adaline Nadine Davidson, what the hell are you and Lyssa doing at Bright Light?” I’ve begun to pace, and my hand slaps the top of the dresser so hard it rattles the nerves in my arm.

  There’s nothing on the other end, and my teeth grind together the longer the silence separates us. “Answer me, dammit,” I seethe.

  “Well, you see, um, Frank called when you and Grayson were, erm, talking…”

  “What in the world would make you think—”

  “I believe I can answer that, Miss Klarken.”

  My hands tremble as I stare at the screen before coming to my senses and choking out a response. “M-Ms. Helmsworth?”

  “Well, look at that.” Her dry, scratchy bellow sends shivers down my spine. “It appears one of you does have a brain.”

  My tongue feels like sandpaper in my mouth, but I manage a nod. “Y-yes, ma’am. What’s going on?”

  “We need you back to work immediately. Your understudy is out of commission and we open in less than a month. How soon can you get here?”

  I blanche. “Well, I don’t have a ca—”

  “If you’re not here in fifteen minutes, your job will no longer be open for discussion.”

  I swallow a hoarse laugh. “Ma’am, I’m still on—”

  “Safe travels, Miss Klarken.” A short beep and then the ominous buzz of the dial tone in my ear.

  I stare at the cell, frozen to the carpet. What the hell?

  Ping.

  The sound clears the cobwebs from my mind.

  2:55 P.M. Addie: I’m sorry.

  The laugh vibrates in my throat as I stomp across the room, slipping my bare feet into a pair of flats and hitting number three on my cell. “Oh, believe me, you will be.”

  Ten minutes later, Grayson’s car skids up in front of Addie’s apartment. I barely wait for him to coast to a stop before yanking the passenger door open and sliding in. “Thanks.” I click my seatbelt and toss my damp hair into a bun.

&nb
sp; “What was she thinking?”

  “I have no idea.” The car shifts as he turns out of the lot. My eyes fly to the time on the dashboard. The numbers have grown wings and are attempting to flutter off the navigation screen, rolling forward faster and faster. “Step on it, will you?”

  The car jerks to a stop. The red light blinking above us bears a striking resemblance to Agatha Trunchbull, cackling each time she sends one of her students to the Chokey.

  “Look on the bright side,” Grayson says. “Having a girlfriend with a rap sheet will give you great material to draw from if you ever play Roxie or Velma.”

  “Ha, ha. Very funny.” I cross my arms. “Can you drive, please?”

  I clench and unclench my sweaty palms and try to remember my yoga breaths as my lungs threaten to collapse.

  The traffic starts to move and he guns the engine, the force sending me back into the leather seat.

  Only the actors in front of the stage on the bottom floor exhibit any signs of life. Even then, the most action is a hushed conversation, the rustle of sides, or a swig from a water bottle. Half of the cast can barely keep their eyes open, and the others twitch every time someone moves. Grayson and I share glances and my stomach tightens. I can only imagine the hell these poor people have gone through today. Scanning their faces, I lock eyes with Sebastian. Grayson gives him the abridged version of my dilemma. Upon noticing the wary looks passing between them, my throat goes dry and sweat beads my forehead.

  “Please, guys,” I beg. “Tell us.”

  And so, accompanied by reluctant sighs and pitying looks, they do.

  No one has seen Addie since Hellsworth went to check on the understudy rehearsal in Studio D. The understudies have been sent home for the day.

  I suck in my breath, and Grayson’s eyes go wide. Crap. Sending understudies home can’t mean anything good.

  An ensemble member pipes up and says she saw Addie walk into Helmsworth’s office when she went to double-check the call sheet. I thank her and turn to Grayson, who nods in answer to my silent question. Taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders and head toward the stairs.

  Mrs. Hyde, here we come.

  The floor is eerily silent until we round the final corner. The office is down the last corridor, at the end of the hall. Even with it’s door closed, their voices float through the theater.

  “All due respect, Mrs. Helmsworth, but I believe it would be in Catie’s best interest to let her take full advantage of the rest of her leave.”

  “Be that as it may, Miss Davidson, time is a luxury this theater can no longer afford. The understudies are not up to my standard and Gabby is out of commission. This is our last shot. If Catie refuses to perform, we have no time to find a replacement. The entire company could go under.”

  I wince and Grayson rests a hand on my shoulder. No pressure.

  “Is that what you want?” Ms. Helmsworth asks.

  “No, of course not.”

  “Well then, you’d better pray she comes through, or else—”

  “Here I am.” Pushing open the door, I draw myself up. It’s a conscious effort to enter the office. One more glance toward Grayson, who shoves me the few inches over the threshold, before letting the door click shut, and I’m left with no option but to stare straight into the horse’s mouth as Helmsworth whirls to face me from behind her oak desk. My heart battles against my chest like a boxer with a punching bag, but I force my gaze not to tear away.

  “Ah, Miss Klarken.” She breaks the silence and I allow my stiff muscles to flex. “I trust you heard our little discussion?”

  “I did.” I give a sharp, curt nod. In two strides, I’m at Addie’s side. She’s staring at me. I dig my nails into her arm and begin to tug her from the room. “I’m back and ready to work. We’ll be headed to rehearsal now.”

  “Thank God. You made it,” Addie whispers.

  I glower at her. “Like I had a choice. What are you doing here? We’re supposed to be on leave.”

  “I know. But Frank called.” She shrugs.

  “You disappeared with my daughter!” It comes out as a shrill shriek and my hand flies up from where it rested on the doorknob. Heat creeps up the back of my neck as Helmsworth turns to stare, but I don’t stop. I’m done letting her walk all over me. “How am I supposed to get help when the entire fate of the theater rests on my ability to get in that stupid bubble?”

  “That wasn’t my fault. She made me.” Addie’s eyes flash as she wrenches her arm from my grip.

  “Hey!” I stalk toward her, but she’s already nose-to-nose with Helmsworth, her hands pressing against the wooden desktop as she leans over it.

  “You may be a big deal in Manhattan, but here? Here, you’re nothing but a selfish bitch.”

  My eyes widen and I choke on a puff of oxygen as I slap my palm over my mouth. I rush forward and take her by the arm again. My cheeks warm as I center my gaze on Ms. Helmsworth’s stony features, coloring redder and redder. “Ms. Helmsworth, I’m so sorry!”

  She turns to us with slow precision. If looks could kill, she’d be my murderer, and the last nail in my coffin. “Get. Out,” she demands through clenched teeth.

  I scurry for the door. Before I turn the knob, a flash of color barrels through. Addie and I leap out of the way as the wood bangs against drywall, rattling the bookshelves behind the desk. The mini whirlwind swirls to a stop and darts back and forth from one person to the next. I blanche when big blue eyes meet mine. “Lyssa?”

  “Mom!”

  “Ooph!” I teeter on the balls of my feet as she crashes face-first into my legs and wraps her arms around them. “Lys?”

  “Sam said they were gonna fire you,” she whispers, gazing up with wide eyes. “Is that true?”

  I bite my lip, but don’t get the chance to respond.

  “What in the name of theater is a child doing in my office?” Helmsworth bellows. The sound shatters my eardrums.

  “Ms. Helmsworth!” Sam’s panting and out of breath, with half of her jean jacket flapping behind her. “I’m sorry! I turned my back for half a second and,” she makes a sharp clapping sound. “Poof. Gone.” Then she faces me and grins. “She’s your daughter all right, Miss Lightning Foot.”

  My gaze snaps to Addie at the old nickname. She gives a tight nod and some of my anger dissipates. Then Helmsworth clears her throat; all of us jump.

  “Ms. Klarken,” she says, raising her eyebrow. “Am I correct in assuming this. . . child is yours?”

  I gulp and twine my hands together. “Y-yes, ma’am. But I can explain.”

  She hums. “Indeed, you should.” Then she gestures everyone out of the room.

  Sam steps in to unwind my daughter from her koala grip on my leg, and Addie tosses me one more pleading look. A seed of guilt plants itself in my stomach as the door clicks closed, but I’m not ready to acknowledge it. Instead. I take a deep breath and sit opposite Helmsworth.

  “Speak,” she says.

  I do. I tell her everything. About who I was before the accident. How this was my first break. About Addie and Grayson and his insufferable parents. About having to move out of my apartment because I can’t pay the bills.

  Grayson would have a coronary if he knew how much I was revealing to a woman who wanted to roast me on a spit. And Addie. I can’t process her right now after what she pulled. All I have left is my reputation, and maybe, maybe, salvaging that will keep me from living in my car.

  When I’m done, it takes all of my concentration not to sag forward. Spilling my life story to a total stranger sapped my energy. I’m not sure how long Helmsworth sits there, hands folded beneath her chin, green eyes raking over my appearance, more critical with each swipe. I’m sure she wants the pleasure of seeing me squirm before throwing us all out. For as long as she stays still and silent, so do I.

  As her lips part, every muscle tenses, prepping for the daggers she’s about to aim straight at my throat. Closing my eyes, I center myself before levelling my gaze.

&nbs
p; You’ve said your piece. Now it’s up to fate.

  “You may go,” she says. I do my utmost not to let my features morph at the lack of spite in her tone, standing nonetheless. “I’ll see the both of you at 7 a.m. sharp tomorrow morning.”

  I freeze. Three strides from the door and I spin on my heel. “Ma’am?”

  She scoffs. “We must do something if you are to stand in for Gabby. You’re far too rusty.”

  What? I shake my head. Has she started speaking Greek? My legs quiver, but I push them to move, the room dissolving into a mess of colored wax until I can focus only on her face. “A-are you saying?”

  “I need the best possible cast if we are going to save this theater. The understudies are no longer on that list.”

  “Y-you mean, you want me to. . .”

  She stands and rolls her eyes. “Do you want the role or not, Miss Klarken?”

  I nod, half-contemplating asking her to pinch me. “Yes! Yes, I do!”

  She smiles thinly and crosses her arms. “Anyone who fights as hard as you do is more than worthy of a second chance.”

  This time, I can’t keep the giddiness from my voice. “Thank you, Ms. Helmsworth.”

  “Be aware, Miss Klarken, this is your only do-over. No more mistakes, or I will follow through on my threats.”

  Gulp. My palms sweat, but I don’t refute. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Good. Oh.” She rounds the desk and holds up her finger. “One more thing. Nothing in this business is free, and after what happened, this role is no exception.”

  Crap. I knew there was a catch. “Anything,” I force out, crossing my fingers behind my back.

  “You must convince your. . . Grayson, to interview the cast before opening night.”

  I balk at the idea of asking Grayson for anything, but it’s that or walk away from the last shot at getting my life back on track. “O-okay.” It’ll take a large dose of humility, but it won’t be impossible. I hope.