She shrugged. “You never know. There’s a lot of talent out there.”
He chuckled again. “Not as much as you’d think. Anyway, I’ll stop dawdling and tell you...you’ve got the part.”
Sonya smiled. “Oh. I’m so pleased. But, which part.”
He laughed. “Why, Ms.Song, the lead role, of course.
Shocked, she stared at him. “What?”she whispered.
“You heard me right. You are the Songbird we’ve been looking for.”
Sonya covered her mouth with both hands, unable to contain her excitement.
“That song,” Annabelle said. “I’m familiar with many Asian operas. I’ve never heard the song you sang for us. Where is it from?”
“Indeed,” Brian said. “I’m intrigued as well. It was such the perfect song for such an audition.”
Sonya thought of that period in her life when she’d begun to hum the now familiar tune. The words came easily enough, filling the song with every imaginable emotion. And while the melody had evolved over time, it was basically the same as when she’d first hummed it.
“I wrote it,” she finally said.
Brian’s jaw dropped. “Well, put me to shame,” he let out with a laugh. “And here I am boasting that I’ve composed much of the music for this musical and here you are, a talented composer.”
If only he knew how much time she had to ponder on every word, every note. She dared not tell them of a time when she’d been imprisoned. Could they understand that she’d once been an Empress? The Last Empress, who had wasted away in a prison thrown in by the Communist guerillas?Would they take her on if they knew that her beloved country had been overtaken by communist guerillas?
No. Best to keep that to herself.
“I am more than impressed, Ms.Song....So incredibly aptly named.”
She wanted to let them know how she also knew how to play the piano. She wished she could talk to them about the beautiful poetry she enjoyed writing, something she’d learned from the very best while Empress.
Annabelle came forward and took her hand. “Congratulations. After all the women we listened to today, we were beginning to lose hope.”
“In addition to your powerful voice,” Brian said, “you bring a much-needed sense of nobility to the part, something most of the women here today lacked.”
“I am unbelievably flattered.”
“And when he says nobility,” Annabelle added. “There’s a quiet strength about you. There’s wisdom in your eyes, and just enough vulnerability.”
A bald man with round glasses and an equally round belly walked in. “Ah, and here she is. You’re the beautiful songbird who goes by the name Song, right?”
Sonya nodded. She hadn’t noticed him in the room as she’d auditioned.
“This is Karl Zwick,” Brian said. “He’s the producer of The Muse.”
Annabelle leaned in closer and whispered. “He likes to hide up in the private booth to watch the auditions. Makes him feel like God.”
“I heard that,” Karl said with a laugh. “I must say, Ms.Song, your decision to sing in Mandarin is very much on the nose.”
“I’m sorry? What does that mean?”
A small woman who’d walked in behind the big man came out from the shadows. Her jet-black hair was pulled into a tight bun, giving her a rather stern appearance. “I’m Betty,” she said through pursed lips.
“Betty is the writer and director of this little project,” Annabelle said.
Sonya cocked an impressed brow. Not many women held such positions. Even after the war, after women had proved their abilities, women were still undervalued. But this was America. This was far from the old country she knew, and its old ways.
As an Empress, such work was unthinkable.
