A Simple Song

by Melody Carlson

  Katrina’s hands were shaking as she pulled out three hundred-dollar bills and handed them over to the woman in complete disbelief.

  “I’ll need more than that,” the woman told her.

  “But you said—”

  “Yes, I’m sorry if I was unclear. There are also taxes, and since you have no credit card, you’ll need to leave a deposit as well.”

  Katrina knew what taxes were. “Deposit?” she asked meekly.

  “In case you use the minibar.” She chuckled. “Or other services.”

  “What?”

  The woman explained that some things cost extra. “If you don’t use anything out of the cabinet that says minibar, and if you don’t order up movies or room service, you should be fine. Normally we’d need a much bigger deposit”—she smiled—“but I think I can trust you girls. An extra hundred dollars should cover it.”

  “Another—”

  “You’ll get it back,” the woman assured her. “I promise. Unless you steal the towels or—”

  “We would never steal anything.”

  “Yes, I believe you.” She explained that the hundred dollars would be refunded when they left.

  Katrina handed over the money, realizing she only had one hundred-dollar bill and some smaller ones left. Fortunately, they had their return bus tickets already, as well as the food they’d both brought from home. She hoped that would be enough.

  The woman took down their names and addresses and did some more clicking on her computer, then handed Katrina a piece of paper as well as a tiny envelope with some pieces of plastic in it. “Those are your keys.”

  Katrina stared at the strange things. “Keys?”

  “I’m going to get a bellhop for you.”

  “Bellhop?” Katrina gave Bekka a quizzical look, but she seemed as confused as Katrina.

  The woman was already on the phone. After she hung up, she pointed to a gigantic potted plant. “You go wait right there, and Vinnie will show you to your room.” She smiled again. “Good luck, Katrina.”

  “Thank you.” Katrina smiled nervously, and they went over to wait by the plant. The pot was as tall as Bekka.

  “I’m sorry,” Bekka said humbly. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Mamm and Daed got us a room at a guesthouse. Maybe I should’ve checked—”

  “Never mind. We’re here now. Let’s just hope we have enough money to stay here.”

  An older dark-skinned man in a red jacket with brass buttons came over. The nametag on his pocket said “Vinnie.” He smiled politely. “Afternoon, young ladies. Miss Campton asked me to see you to your room. Can I carry your bags?”

  Katrina looked at Bekka.

  “All right,” Bekka said, handing him her shopping bag of food. “But I’ll carry my clothing.”

  Katrina gave him her food bag too.

  With their bags in hand, Vinnie began to walk. “Right this way, please.”

  “Thank you for helping us,” Katrina told him as she hurried to keep up.

  “This your first time in the city?” he asked.

  “Ja,” Katrina said.

  “She’s going to audition for American Star,” Bekka announced loudly enough for anyone within shouting distance to hear.

  “You’re a singer?” he asked Katrina.

  “She’s an amazing singer,” Bekka told him as he led them down a corridor to where people were waiting in clumps in front of a bunch of steel doors.

  He pushed a button on the wall. “These are the elevators. You ladies ever been in one before?”

  They both shook their heads and he chuckled. “Well, it’s gonna take us up. Way up.” He pointed to the button he’d just pushed. “See how that says ‘Up’? You push it when you want to go up. And you push ‘Down’ when you want to go down. Easy breezy.”

  Katrina could see other people were looking at them, but suddenly the doors opened and everyone was going inside what looked like a fancy box stall. “Go on in,” Vinnie said. Then he stepped in beside them. “Your room’s on floor number 32.” He reached for the wall that was covered with buttons and numbers. “So you just push this one here.” He pushed 32 and it lit up. “See?” Now he pointed above the door. “When that number 32 lights up, it’s time to get out.”

  They waited, and when 32 turned bright green, they got out. “It’s this way to your room,” he said as he walked down a long hallway. “You’re in Room 3242. Right here. Get out your key and I’ll show you how that works.”

  Katrina pulled out a plastic card. “This does not look like a key.”

  “I know. I remember when hotels had real brass keys. Those were the days.” He showed them how to slide the plastic key into the slot, how to wait until a tiny light turned green, and how to open the door. “You gotta do it quick,” he said. Then he took them into a room much bigger than a bedroom. In fact, it had two big beds as well as two chairs and a table where Vinnie set their food bags.

  “Is this all for us?” Katrina asked in wonder.

  “Yep. All yours.” He showed them how everything worked. He told them what the hotel would charge for and what was free. “See this cabinet?” He somberly pointed to a door with the word minibar on it. “Do not touch it—or it will cost you a lot more than it’s worth.”

  They both nodded.

  “And behind this door”—he opened a wooden cupboard—“is your fridge.”

  A refrigerator in a bedroom? Katrina thought she’d seen it all now.

  He showed them a spacious closet with lots of pretty hangers and its own ironing board and iron. “This here is to the bathroom.” He pushed open a door to a brightly lit room with an enormous mirror. It was the third mirror Katrina had seen. Why did anyone need so many mirrors? “You can use anything you want in here,” he told them. “It’s all free.” He pulled something off the wall and pushed a button so that hot air blew out. “Hairdryer,” he said.

  “You’re sure these soaps and shampoos and things are free?” Bekka looked doubtful as she held up a basket filled with pretty little bottles.

  “Yep. Use ’em up, and you can have more if you need them.”

  “And the toilet paper is free?” Katrina asked.

  He laughed. “Yep. And the tissues too. You even get free coffee and tea.” He showed them an area for making it, giving them a quick lesson on the coffeepot. But he shook his finger at a couple of bottles of what looked like water. “Don’t drink these,” he said.

  “Why not?” Bekka asked. “Isn’t it just water?”

  “Yep. But those are not free.”

  “You charge money for water?” Katrina asked.

  “Just the water in those bottles.” He pointed to the glasses and coffee mugs. “All the water in the tap is free.”

  “Oh . . .” Katrina shook her head. Water cost money, but soap was free. And why put a water bottle in the room when there was water in the tap? So many things about the English made no sense.

  It seemed Vinnie’s tour was finished as he showed them how to lock and bolt the door. “If you have any trouble, you just call downstairs and ask for Vinnie.”

  They both thanked him, and he shook their hands and wished Katrina good luck with her audition, but before he left, he reminded them to secure the door. As soon as he was gone, they both burst into giggles and then thoroughly explored every little detail of this strange and luxurious room. They unpacked their bags and put everything away in the drawers by the bed and the hangers in the big closet.

  “Do the English really live like this?” Katrina picked up the phone receiver in the bathroom and laughed. Their room had three phones! And the bedding and pillows—each bed had half a dozen pillows on it! Why would anyone need all those pillows? But she was relieved that everything looked clean and smelled nice.

  Bekka was busy with the TV now, trying to figure out how to make it do something. Katrina went over to the window and pulled back the long, filmy curtains. She peered out and nearly fell over when she saw how far from the ground they were. “Come
and look at this!” she yelled. “We’re clear up in the sky!”

  Bekka came over and gasped. “Look how small those cars seem from up here.”

  “The people look like bugs.”

  “It’s making me dizzy.” Bekka stepped back, holding on to a chair. “And hungry.” They opened their bags, pulled out the assortment of food they’d both brought from home, and fixed themselves an early supper of peanut butter and jam sandwiches and applesauce, which they ate at the little table. Then they cleaned everything up and put the rest of their food in the little refrigerator.

  “A person could live in here.” Bekka flopped happily on the bed.

  But who would want to? Katrina wondered as she sat down on the other bed. She looked across the room, studying a painting of a faded red barn, a golden meadow, and an old oak tree. Why would anyone settle for a room like this when they could have what was in that painting—only for real? Nothing about this strange room, or this fancy hotel, or this big city . . . none of it felt very real to her. She remembered what Sadie had said last night. Katrina wasn’t sure, but she thought perhaps she was homesick. And she missed Cooper.

  10

  After they’d both had a short nap, they spent the rest of the evening “rehearsing.” At least that’s what Bekka had called it as she made Katrina sing song after song for her. By the time they went to bed—at nine o’clock—Katrina still hadn’t decided which song she wanted to sing for her audition, but her green dress, apron, and shawl were all neatly pressed (thanks to Bekka and the hotel’s nice iron and ironing board) and waiting for her.

  To Katrina’s surprise, it was nearly seven o’clock when she woke up the next morning. She realized the dark, heavy curtains they’d pulled over the flimsy ones had completely blocked out the light. Even in the daytime, it was as dark as night in the room, but the clock between their beds said 6:56.

  “Bekka,” she said as she jerked open the heavy curtains, “it’s morning already!”

  “Wh—what?” Bekka sat up, sleepily rubbing her eyes. Her red hair was sticking out all over.

  “Look at the clock,” Katrina told her. “My audition!”

  “Oh . . . ja.” Bekka climbed out of bed, yawning. “We need to go see when you’ll sing.”

  They quickly dressed, and without even eating breakfast, they went out in search of where and when the audition would be. It took them a while to figure out the elevators again, but thanks to a hotel worker carrying some towels, they made it all the way down to what she called the lobby.

  “The American Star auditions are down by the Erie Room.” The woman pointed toward a hallway. “Go that way and you’ll see the signs.”

  The hotel was much quieter than it had been yesterday. Before long they saw signs that said American Star in glitzy gold letters. Eventually they found a room where hundreds of chairs were set up and ready.

  “Will those chairs be filled?” Katrina asked nervously. “Will I have to sing in front of that many people?”

  “No,” Bekka assured her. “Those are for contestants.”

  “What?” Katrina stared at the rows and rows of chairs. “All those chairs will be singers?”

  “Lots of people want to win this,” Bekka explained. “But most of them can’t sing. Remember the auditions I showed you on my computer?”

  Katrina just nodded. She hoped Bekka was right.

  “Can I help you girls?” a pretty woman with pale blonde hair asked. She had on tight blue jeans, tall sandals, and a pale yellow shirt with the words American Star embroidered near the collar.

  “We’re here for your show,” Bekka said politely. “I’m Bekka Lehman and this is my friend Katrina Yoder.”

  “I’m Brandy.” She was flipping through papers on a clipboard as if she was quite busy.

  “Katrina is going to audition for your show. We preregistered her on my computer.” Bekka held up the paperwork. “We came to see—”

  “The auditions won’t begin for a few hours. The judges are supposed to be down at ten, although the contestants will start trickling in anytime now—not that it will get them on any sooner.” She reached for the paper in Bekka’s hand. “See this number here?” she pointed her pen to 1377.

  “Ja,” they said in unison.

  “That means you’re one of the last ones to audition. And that means you won’t need to be here until tomorrow afternoon. Probably not until after three or even later.”

  “What?” Katrina frowned at the number. Was that how many people were auditioning?

  “You must’ve been one of the last contestants to sign up. Some kids signed up six months ago.”

  “Ja.” Bekka nodded sadly. “We had to talk Katrina into doing this. She was being quite mulish.”

  Brandy made a tolerant smile. “Well, you girls should just enjoy yourselves in the meantime. See the lovely sights of Cleveland.” She laughed like that was funny.

  “Not until tomorrow?” Katrina said meekly. “After three, you say?”

  “Well, you never know. Sometimes we get a bunch of no-shows and everything goes more quickly than planned. Just check in tomorrow—say, noonish—and you should be okay.” She peered curiously at Katrina now. “Can you really sing?”

  “She can sing,” Bekka declared. “You want to hear?”

  Brandy tipped her head to one side with a curious expression. “Sure, why not? The day is young.”

  “Sing for her, Katrina.” Bekka nodded.

  “Right here?”

  “Come on,” Brandy urged. “If you compete on this show you’ll have to be able to sing at the drop of a hat—nobody waits for anyone around here.”

  Katrina took a deep breath, then began singing “Puff, the Magic Dragon.” She’d only sung one verse and was just getting warmed up when the woman held her hand up to stop her. She snatched the paper from Bekka, pulled out a black pen, and crossed out the number and wrote “LAST” instead. Then she put her initials next to it.

  “What is this?” Katrina frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

  Brandy smiled coyly. “Not at all. I just changed your number, Katrina.”

  “Does this mean I’m last to audition?” Katrina was confused.

  “Yes. But make sure you’re here today.”

  “Today?” She felt even more confused. “I thought you said—”

  “For some camera time.”

  “Camera time?” Katrina winced at the idea of cameras.

  “You girls are so cute in your Amish dresses and bonnets. We need to get that on camera.” She peered curiously at Katrina. “You really are Amish, aren’t you? This isn’t some kind of publicity stunt?”

  “What?” Katrina looked at Bekka.

  “People do all kinds of things to get on our show,” Brandy said, then frowned. “But if you really are Amish, why are you willing to be filmed? I thought the Amish had strict rules about not being photographed. Don’t they believe it steals their souls or something?”

  “We are on rumspringa,” Bekka said as if that explained everything. “We can be photographed if we want to.”

  Brandy laughed.

  “The reason Amish do not like being photographed is because we believe it’s vainglory to have your picture taken. Not because it steals our souls,” Katrina clarified. “Only the devil can steal a soul. And only if you let him.”

  Brandy grinned. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. Now, don’t forget. I need you girls down here today as well as tomorrow. Not the whole day, but for an hour or two. You got that?”

  They both nodded.

  “Let’s go eat breakfast,” Katrina said as they walked away.

  “Or go back to bed,” Bekka said sleepily. “I felt like I was awake half the night. Did you hear all the noises?”

  “Ja. Doors opening and closing. Sirens down below. I did not sleep much either.”

  They went back up to their room and had some breakfast and a short nap. Then, since it was only ten o’clock and seemed too soon to go back down, Bekka insisted Kat
rina should practice singing again.

  “Why do you think Brandy changed me to last?” Katrina asked as she pinned her apron back into place. “Is it because I’m not good enough?”

  “Maybe it’s like the Bible says.” Bekka helped Katrina straighten her kapp, pinning it snugly down. “The first will be last and the last will be first.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know, but my mamm says it all the time.”

  With everything put away, and feeling more confident about using the elevators and finding their way around the massive hotel, they went back downstairs. When they reached the Erie Room, they were both stunned to see it was packed. Not only was it packed, but it was noisy and crazy, and Katrina felt more out of place than ever.

  “Is it only young people who audition?” she asked Bekka as the two of them stood off to the side, feeling safer next to a large column.

  “Contestants must be between the ages of seventeen and thirty,” Bekka informed her. “But I do agree. They all seem very young to me.”

  “And their clothing . . . is very unusual.” Katrina tried not to stare at a skinny girl with hair that resembled a skunk except that the white stripe was as pink as Mamm’s favorite rosebush.

  “Maybe this is their rumspringa too,” Bekka whispered.

  Katrina pointed to three very large and prominently displayed photos. “Are those some of the contestants?” she asked with concern, wondering why some contestants would get such attention. One of them looked older than thirty.

  “No, those are the judges.” Bekka’s hand flew to her mouth. “I should’ve told you all about them by now.”

  Katrina was reading the names below the photos. “Ricky Rodriguez.”

  “Ricky was a pop singer in the eighties,” Bekka explained.

  “Pop?”

  Bekka shrugged. “I think it’s for popular. Anyway, Ricky is always making jokes. He’s the easiest judge.” She pointed at the photo of a very pretty blonde woman. “That’s Celeste Dior. She’s a really good singer, but a really hard judge.” Next she pointed to the photo of an unsmiling man with shaggy gray hair and a fuzzy beard. “That’s Jack Smack.”