Riven - Jerry B. Jenkins [21]
“Like I said, you’ll see.”
“I love that you’re coming prepared, but as I told you, we’ve cast most of the leads. We have a guy who would be perfect for the father, but he can’t carry a tune. Can you?”
“I think I can, but I’m not trying out for the father.”
“There’s nothing left, son. Just town kids, bit parts.”
“I’m auditioning for Birdie.”
Nabertowitz sighed and shook his head. “I told you I had someone for that.”
“Is it a done deal? ’Cause I don’t think I’m interested in anything else.”
“You’re going to have to thrill me, and I’m going to have a real problem if I change now.”
“Sorry.”
“Truth is, I wouldn’t mind the problem. My Birdie hardly has the bad-boy look I want. He’d be much better as the jealous boyfriend. But he wants the part, and he’s earned it. He’s going to Northwestern next year, and his parents are supportive of me and the program here and are thrilled to death he has the lead.”
“Birdie’s not the lead.”
Nabertowitz cocked his head. “I thought only I understood that.”
“Anybody who’s read the script ought to know Birdie is just the title character. The lead is the manager. Give hotshot that part. Can he sing and dance?”
“He sure can.”
“Then there you go.”
“I have an older-looking kid for that. Real promising.”
“Make him the father, hotshot the manager, me Birdie.”
Nabertowitz led Brady to the door. “You’d better get to class. And we’re way, way ahead of ourselves here. I’ll let you audition for Birdie, but you must know it’s a long shot. It’s not a terribly demanding part, as you know. The look is paramount, and you have that. But it’s also crucial you can sing and dance, and not even you know that yet.”
The rest of the day, Brady went over and over in his mind his plan for the audition. He sat in the backs of classes and assumed his bored, defiant look, so teachers didn’t bother with him. He carried no books, took no notes, just sat and thought. He’d never sung in front of anybody but Petey, but he always sang along to the radio—classic rock, oldies, and hard rock. Who knew whether he was any good? He sure didn’t.
Dancing was another matter. He had been to a few and there were those who seemed to appreciate a James Brown thing he could do. Birdie was, of course, more of an Elvis figure with a hip shake Brady would have to learn. But for today, he’d stick with what he knew.
Problem was, every time Brady really thought about the prospect of standing alone on stage, in costume, singing and dancing for Nabertowitz along with who knew how many kids, he seriously doubted whether he could go through with it. Part of him had a feeling this might be his ticket from trailer trash to respectability, something that would allow him to rescue Petey from the same horrid existence. But another part of him was certain this was a pipe dream, the ridiculous notion of a nobody from nowhere.
He sat watching the clock during his last class, weighing the prospect of just gathering up his suit and guitar and heading home.
Oldenburg
Grace had finally roused around lunchtime, complaining of fatigue and a lack of appetite. But Thomas persuaded her to try half a cheese sandwich—again testing his culinary skills—with a little more tea.
“Anything specific, hon?” he said. “You need to see a doctor?”
“I don’t think so. I’m just wiped out. We’ve been through a lot in just a few days.”
“Tell me about it.”
Thomas was stunned to learn that she had been wholly unaware the Pierces had been there. “You slept through all that? Paul’s not a quiet guy.”
She nodded. “How long were they here?”
“Long enough to try to supervise the phone installation.”
“What? You didn’t tell me! I want to call Ravinia!”
Thomas pointed her to the phone, encouraged that she suddenly seemed perkier. He cleared away the dishes as she dialed.
“Yes, thank you, just a minute,” she said, then covered the receiver. “Thomas, write this down. Rav’s suitemate says she has a new number. She’s moved.”
“Moved? What—go ahead, I’m ready.”
Grace recited the number and hung up. “She’s not in the dorm anymore. The girl says she found a roommate