Duet Rubato

by Claerie Kavanaugh

  Helmsworth’s eyes narrow and she smirks at my speedy answer, but I don’t have time to contemplate it before she shoos me out again.

  “Very well. Then both of you will meet me in Studio E bright and early tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

  “We won’t! You won’t regret this, Ms. Helmsworth. I’ll make sure of it.” I scamper into the hall.

  Her lips curl up, the grin is Grinch-like. “See that you do.”

  The door slams. I guess it is true what they say. Everything comes with a price. This is one, though, I’m more than willing to pay.

  “Well?” Grayson asks. Addie watches me from his left. “What happened?”

  I sigh and give him a small smile. “I’m not fired. And neither is Addie.”

  Her shoulders sag in relief. “Oh, thank God.”

  Grayson pulls me into a strong bear hug. “That’s great!”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But after what happened with Lyssa, it didn’t come without conditions.”

  Addie scowls. “Such as?”

  My eyes flit to Grayson. “First, I need a favor.”

  He hums. “Anything.”

  “Up ahead. Turn there.”

  I stifle a yawn and flick on the turn signal as my eyes follow Catie’s outstretched hand toward the drop off to the parking lot of WGBC Radio. Luckily, the building has a marquee sign brighter than fireworks on the Fourth of July over the entrance. Glancing at the time on the dashboard, I pick up my coffee from the cup holder and take a long sip. 6:37 a.m. The sun has barely peeked out over the horizon and two or three other cars cruise along the deserted street.

  “Remind me why we had to get here this early? The interview doesn’t start till eight.”

  Catie glares at me from the passenger seat, crossing her arms with a huff. “Do you want to risk getting fired?”

  I shake my head and cut off the engine after finding a parking spot. She has a point.

  Catie smirks and unbuckles her belt. “Didn’t think so.”

  I roll my eyes at the triumphant smile on her lips as we climb out of the car, coffees in hand, and lock it before traipsing across the asphalt. It’s been a week since the Bright Light incident. The fact that we’re still alive is a miracle.

  “I can’t believe you got Gina Helmsworth not to fire us after all that.” An indignant laugh escapes as I take another swig. “How did you do it?”

  Catie shrugs. “You know what they say, ‘A magician never reveals her secrets’.”

  I snort and nudge her shoulder. “You are such a closet geek.”

  She bites her bottom lip and her cheeks tinge pink. “That’s why you love me, isn’t it?”

  My heart speeds up for a few beats, but I drain my paper cup. Breezing ahead of me, she swings open the door and sweeps her arm forward in a grand gesture as I step through.

  “After you, Madam.”

  I oblige, tossing my empty cup in the trashcan inside the door. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

  Catie giggles, and I welcome the warm glow the sound courses through my veins.

  After showing the receptionist the badges Grayson gave us, we’re led down a long hallway dotted with autographed pictures and memorabilia from celebrities of every shape, size, and industry. We hang out in the greenroom and Grayson explains they’re going for a sort of coming home story. Once we’re called to the studio, we each duck through the door under a large red On-Air sign, though the light is dimmed now.

  Logan whistles as I step up next to him while the techs arrange a long row of black chairs, one for each member of the main cast and crew, plus Grayson. My eyes bug out at the sight of the industrial-sized soundboard along with the fifteen microphones lining the front of the desk.

  “Damn.”

  Logan nods. “You can say that again.” He has a gleam in his eye like a little kid on Christmas morning. By the way he stuffs his hands in his pockets and his sneaker-clad feet trace grooves in the carpet, I’m willing to bet it’s taking all of his energy not to rush over there and snatch control.

  As a woman holding a clipboard and wearing a thin black headset beckons Catie to her seat next to Donna, our Elphaba, I nudge his shoulder.

  “Let me guess, you know how to use all of this?”

  “Are you kidding?” He spreads his arms wide, almost whacking me in the chest. “This is like a wonderland!”

  I laugh. I’ve only seen Logan this excited once, when he arrived at Bright Light as an intern and went up in the sound and lighting booth for the first time.

  “Good to know one of us will be having fun.” My palms have gone damp and my tongue feels like sandpaper no matter how many swills I take from the water bottle I swiped on the way out of the greenroom.

  “You okay?” he whispers.

  The plastic gives way under my fingers and too many heads turn. My cheeks warm as Logan’s eyes bore into me. Fuck.

  “Uh, sorry.” I swallow around the lump in my throat and hold up the water bottle. My hand still hasn’t stopped shaking. “I’m, uh, going to go and uh, fill this. I’ll, be back.” I fly through the booth and studio doors, out into the hall, sinking back against the wood. What am I doing here? I’m not even a main cast member; surely, they don’t need me for this interview, right? Would anybody notice if I slipped out?

  Catie would. How is she going to get home without a car?

  Shit. I give myself three more minutes to catch my breath before standing. I steady myself against the wall as my knees threaten to buckle.

  Dammit! What the hell is wrong with me?

  I close my eyes to center myself—and regret it. The solstice of the corridor morphs into the booth from MACMA’s radio station. The fourth partition that separates the classrooms from the bustling hallways isn’t a wall at all, but large panels of glass held in place by white framing. I remember the bright, sunny, yellow walls meant to make the cramped space look bigger than it was. Somehow, I had walked in and bumped into the square gray-topped table that acted as a makeshift stand for the soundboard and two mics. The equipment hadn’t been a fourth of the size of the ones here, or at Bright Light, and even back then they’d left me baffled.

  The newscaster had seemed so welcoming at first. “Just an interview,” he’d said.

  Everyone had been curious, and why not? I was tied for top of my class in the vocal program and then—poof. Out of nowhere, I’d dropped out. It shouldn’t have surprised me when the media crew came knocking at my dorm, since I was still moving out. Catie’s big break into the dance world had happened not long before, and everyone suspected the connection. If they’d wanted one out of me though, they would’ve had to pry it from my cold, dead hands. My relationships were my business. Everyone else could go fuck themselves. I’d told the newscaster as much long before walking into the booth. He’d assured me there would be “no intrusions of privacy” and they wanted to focus on the so-called “culture shock” of dropping out.

  Right to privacy my ass. From the second I’d stepped into that recording booth, all he’d wanted was dirt. Turned out they’d been short on stories and were bound and determined to figure out the “real” reason behind my disappearance. It was then I learned to become an expert at dodging questions. The crew had tried every angle in their arsenal to squeeze it out of me—dredging up our breakup and Catie’s short-lived relationship with Grayson Which the whole school knew about because nobody had anything better to do than make up ridiculous reasons why they would date. Pathetic. There was even a rumor going around we were a threesome (I shut that down faster than the newscaster could finish running his sleazy yellow-journalist trap).

  I haven’t gone near an interview booth since. Still, with Grayson pitching it to the higher-ups as some sort of epic saga for Catie, who knows what will resurface to bite me in the ass?

  The unhinging of the doorknob draws me out of my reveries. I spring to my feet and jump out of the way in time to avoid getting my head bashed in by the door. Logan pops out from the crack in the frame and m
y hand flies to my chest. “Shit, dude. You trying to give me a heart attack?”

  Logan laughs as he steps out into the hall. “My bad. I wanted to make sure you were okay. We’re on in five.”

  Everything looks a shade brighter when I spin on my heel and start toward the water fountain between the restrooms at the end of the corridor.

  “I’m good,” I say, turning the corner and holding my empty bottle under the drain before pressing the worn gray “PUSH” button.

  Logan’s tennis shoes scrape against the carpet. “You sure?”

  My cheeks burn as I cut off the stream of water and recap my bottle. “Yep.” I let it dangle at my side, fingers fiddling with the lid. “Let’s go.”

  Clearing my throat, I shove past him, but he grabs ahold of my shoulder before I can. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know,” he says. “Especially if you’re not used to this kinda thing.”

  I press my lips together as gooseflesh blossoms on my arms.

  If you only knew. I head back toward the studio door, my smile stretching my skin like a stiff rubber band. If I lose my focus for one second, then the entire façade snaps like a twig. “Thanks,” I hiss out.

  He winks. “No problem. If Grayson puts you on the spot, pretend you’re talking to me ’n Sam.”

  Another gulp of water coats my throat as he turns the knob. “Got it.”

  He nods and we slip inside. “You’ll be fine.”

  As I step over the rest of the cast and crew, I focus on the far wall to avoid their curious gazes. Catie manages to catch my eyes from her seat between Donna and Lizzie, who flanks her right.

  Where were you? she mouths, turning up her palms and raising her brows as I squeeze in-between Helmsworth and Maddy.

  “Nice of you to join us, Miss Davidson.”

  I shrink a bit as she gives me a long side-eye, but don’t reply in favor of focusing on Catie. Before I respond, Grayson slides into his seat at the center of our panel, sporting a slim black headset and wide grin.

  “All right.” He drags out the words as he settles in. “Everyone ready?”

  We all murmur affirmative responses, but nerves roll off of us in waves. Grayson receives several glares when he chuckles at our mounting discomfort.

  “Relax,” he insists. “This isn’t a criminal trial. No one’s being persecuted. Pretend we’re chatting at the wrap party, okay? Low key, no pressure. We’re all friends here.”

  He looks at each of us and some of my cast mates’ shoulders drop, bewitched by his lopsided grin. A few people mumble. I hold my breath and sit on my hands in an attempt to quell their shaking.

  Grayson claps and the sound ricochets like a bullet through the booth. Several of us jump, followed by uneasy laughter.

  “Right, here we go.” He nods to the technician on the opposite side of the glass, who sits in front of an identical soundboard. She holds up her hand and counts us in, making the numbers with her fingers as she says each aloud.

  Finding Catie’s gaze, I give her a thumbs-up. She smiles back as the technician hits a button and Grayson launches into the opening.

  “And we’re back! Good morning, Boston! I hope all of you are having a pleasant morning. Today, we have a special treat. As most of you know, Bright Light has been a historical landmark here in the downtown theatrical district for over thirty years. The last few seasons, attendance has been at an all-time low and the theater has fallen into disrepair. There’s been talk of demolishing this beloved building among some members of the city council, but the new director of the thirty-sixth season hopes to change that. Please welcome back, hometown hero and legendary New York director, Gina Helmsworth!” Grayson nods at Hellsworth. “Tell us, what’s it like to be back after spending so much time taking the Big Apple by storm?”

  Hellsworth sits forward and speaks directly into the mic, keeping her focus on Grayson as if they’re having a casual discussion in the privacy of her office. “Thank you, Mr. Thomas.”

  He waves away the formality. “Please, Gina, it’s Grayson.”

  She purses her lips, but nods. “Very well then, Grayson. It’s a pleasure to be home after so much time away. Even though I no longer live in the Boston area, I still keep up with all of the theatrical happenings here. It nearly broke my heart when I heard they were thinking of closing Bright Light. You see, I saw my first show there when I was a girl, not much younger than these talented performers beside me. I owe my career to that theater and I refuse to sit on the sidelines and watch them reduce it to rubble.”

  My jaw unhinges and my brows shoot up. I share a glance with Catie, who shrugs.

  I turn back toward Grayson’s conversation with Hellsworth. I have never seen her so calm and collected, let alone giving out compliments willy-nilly. Gone is the air of ferocity and ruthlessness she always wears. In its place is a woman I’ve never met. Someone who has a heart and soul.

  Grayson’s smile widens. When he places his hand on his heart at her recollection of walking into the theater for the first time as a young girl, I swallow the impulse to dry heave.

  “How noble of you. And I’m guessing you have a plan to attempt to save this wonderful establishment?”

  Hellsworth nods. “It took a lot of persuasion, but I managed to acquire the rights to one of the most “popular”, pun intended, and long-running shows in Broadway’s history. I have gathered a cast of the most elite performers in Boston, and we have been working tirelessly to give you a truly magical experience.”

  Grayson laughs. “I would expect nothing less from one of the finest directors in Manhattan.” He nudges Donna. “Ms. Gomez, is it true you’re leading this production at only twenty-three?”

  Donna blushes and lets her dark hair fall over her face. “I guess you could say that.”

  “How does it feel to carry such a large responsibility as such a young performer?”

  Donna brushes her bangs behind her ear and fingers the stem of the microphone. “Well, it’s not me. I couldn’t do it without the brilliant cast and crew.”

  On and on the interview goes. Grayson gives everyone at least a little bit of airtime. He asks Lizzie what fostered her love for theater and what about Nessa as a character is most appealing to her. He asks the actor playing Boq about his favorite scene partner to work with. No one misses the way his face reddens when he mentions Lizzie. He goes one by one with the crew to find out some of the challenges of making such a well-known show our own.

  All in all, it’s going pretty well. I have no idea what came out of my mouth when he got to me, but I’m thankful he stayed away from any intrusive interrogation. He focused on my history with Bright Light and the rise from stagehand to assistant director; something I could at least talk about without throwing up. After twenty minutes, the tech makes a motion to Grayson to wrap it up; it’s time for them to go to commercial.

  “We’ll be right back with more from Bright Light’s cast of Wicked. In the meantime, enjoy these latest hits.” Grayson hits the “On” button on the soundboard and the red light at the top of it flickers off. The tech puts her hand to her headset, then nods.

  “Take five, everyone!” Grayson announces.

  Tension seeps from my shoulders as I stand. My legs quiver beneath me, but so far, all crises have been averted. Logan catches me on his way out, smirking.

  “See, I told you it would be fine.”

  I cross my arms over my chest, a grin twitching on my lips. “All right, smart aleck. Don’t go counting your chickens before they hatch. We still have another twenty minutes.”

  “Pessimist.” Logan slugs me and slips out the door.

  I follow him but pause when Catie catches the edge of Grayson’s sleeve out of the corner of my eye.

  “Gray?”

  He spins around from his spot fiddling with the soundboard. “Yeah?”

  “I wanted to say thanks. For doing this, I mean. I owe you.”

  “Any time.” He squeezes her shoulder and I clench my fists and grind my teeth against jea
lousy clouding my vision.

  “You sure there’s nothing I can do to pay you back?”

  He chuckles. “Nope, nothing. How are the rehearsals going?”

  “Good.”Catie sighs and drops into the seat next to him. “They’d be going a whole lot better if Helmsworth wasn’t trying to run us into the ground with the extra practices.”

  “Did you expect anything less?”

  Catie cringes. “No. I guess not. But she’s gotten extra anal lately. With opening day so close and the standby count nonexistent. Although, that wouldn’t be the case if Lyn wasn’t so stubborn.”

  “Excuse me?” In ten strides, I’m stationing myself on the arm of the chair next to them. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Catie flops back in her own seat. “Oh, please. Neal asked you to be the standby and you downright refused. Why?”

  The water bottle slips from my hand, landing with a slosh on the carpet. “That was a private conversation!”

  She rolls her eyes. “C’mon, Lyn. We both know you can sing circles around half of this cast. Why would you turn it down?”

  Sweat beads the back of my neck and I swallow before retrieving the bottle. I’m not about to tell that story now, in front of Grayson, of all people. “You know why.” I shrug. “Anyways, I already have a job. I’m not Houdini, Catie. I can’t be in two places at once.”

  Catie snorts and sits up in her chair, crossing her arms and giving me a long, hard look.

  I wipe my hands on my slacks and brush it off. “Seriously guys, it’s not a big deal.”

  “Really?” Grayson challenges. “Prove it.”

  Catie tosses him a bewildered look.

  My brows scrunch. “What?”

  “You heard me.” The sneaky grin slithering onto his lips makes shivers dance up my spine. “If you turned down the role because you were too busy and not scared, then it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  A small giggle slips out from Catie, but I’m not focusing on her anymore. My resolve hardens.

  They’re baiting me.

  But we’re the only ones here. What harm can it do to sing a few bars? Besides, nobody calls me chicken.