On the surface, Raoul might seem like a paltry rival, easy to defeat, but he has an advantage over me with this prior connection to Christine. He is kind, talented, andhuman. If I underestimate him, I might fail, so I must treat him as a serious threat. I must discoverwhat it would take to unravel him down to his core, to lay his heart bare and pulsating before me so I can thrust a blade through it.
And perhaps, when I have him at my mercy, I’ll torture him with my alterations to his musical score and show him how he could have been so much better if he had only a shred of my creative genius.
7Christine
Maybe I didn’t ruin everything. At least not yet.
I screwed up by not researching the musical ahead of time. But they handed out some information about it backstage, and I’ve been reading the sheet over and over while I wait.
Basically, it’s a musical about space cowboys with superpowers, with a passionate love story at its center. The concept seems wild, but in a good way. Flamboyant, dramatic, and romantic.
I bounce on my feet, trying to expel my nervous energy. They’re holding the voice auditions first, with the dance auditions taking place later this afternoon. I’m not so worried about the dancing part. I’ve been taking lessons since I was tiny, and I’m skilled at lyrical, jazz, and hip-hop styles. I pick up choreography fast, too. The part that terrifies me is opening my mouth and singing for strangers whose entire job is to judge me and decide if I’m good enough to sing in front of evenmorepeople.
Maybe I’d be less nervous if Meg were here, but I don’t see her. She’ll show up for the dance auditions this afternoon, whereas I was foolish enough to try for a singing role, as if one month of lessonswith a ghost could ever be enough to prepare me for something like this. As if I could ever compete with the theater kids waiting all around me, the people with training and plenty of achievements to list under the “Prior Experience” heading on the audition form.
If by some miracle I do get a part, there will be practice and rehearsals, and my schedule is already filled with work, dance classes, and nighttime escapades with random men. How will I ever squeeze in rehearsal time?
This was a mistake. I shouldn’t be here.
I crumple theSidewinderinfo sheet in my hands and turn to flee, but I nearly collide with a set of heavily perfumed boobs that are trying to escape the red dress that’s barely covering them. A familiar cascade of caramel locks drapes over one of the boobs, and with a growing sense of dread, I look up into the flawless face of Carlotta Vanetti.
“Watch where you’re going!” she exclaims. “Arabesque, do my nose.”
Arabesque, a person with huge false lashes and a shiny aqua jacket, whips out a compact and powders Carlotta’s nose obediently.
She waves them away and frowns slightly, scanning me up and down. “I know you. How do I know you?”
“I’m the girl from the front desk,” I reply. “The one you spoke to when you reserved the New Orpheum for your birthday.”
“Oh, of course. You work here. Perfect! I need a sparkling water, preferably San Pellegrino. And a chair with a cushion. If I sit on plastic, the toxins mess with my tone.” She strokes her throat.
For a moment, I actually consider fetching her what she wants, just to be able to escape this situation. I used to have more fight in me, but I spent it all surviving the trauma of my childhood, then trying to get my family fortune back from the Progeny cult. I’m done. All that’s left are shreds of my willpower and scraps of self-worth.
I’m already turning, yielding to Carlotta’s will. But the Angel’s voice speaks in my memory.The only thing that matters is the power you possess to stir a soul, to move emotions, to alter the course of a heart. I am resurrected every time I hear you sing.
I can’t disappoint him. He’ll be out there, listening to the auditions, waiting for me to come onstage and sing for him. He might be invisible, but he’s the only one who really sees me. I won’t give up, not after trying so hard to improve myself.
“I’m not working right now,” I tell Carlotta calmly. “I’m auditioning.”
“You’re auditioning? Okay.” She laughs. She fuckinglaughs, and not in an apologetic way but in an aw-how-cute-that-you-think-you-have-a-chance kind of way.“Good for you. Break a leg.” And she flounces off with her assistant, loudly critiquing the backstage aesthetic and trying to find “a good place to go live.”
Just like that, my fight is back. Hell yes, I’m auditioning, and I’m going to be brilliant just to spite her. I step away from the group and turn my back to everyone else. I breathe deeply from my belly, slow and steady, and I do the vocal warm-ups the Angel uses at each of our sessions.
When I close my eyes, I swear I can almost hear him running through the warm-ups with me, his voice chasing mine up and down the octaves. I feel the shiver of delight when he dips into the bass range, and I thrill when he soars into the higher registers with me. I’ve never heard a voice like his, so versatile and vibrant. Such purity of tone in those high notes, such fervency behind every phrase. I think I might be addicted to his voice, because it’s always there, in my head. The duets we sing at the end of each lesson linger in my mind for hours afterward.
Was he once a voice teacher, now a ghost? Or is he a muse, a spirit birthed to inspire artistic endeavors? Whatever his story is,I’m one hundred percent sure he has made me better, not just technically but emotionally. Before I encountered him, I didn’t realize how much I needed someone to take an interest in me, not for my tragic past or my pretty face but for my voice. I craved a constant in my life and a goal to work for. He provides both.
When my name is called and I step out onstage, I won’t be singing for Carlotta, for the casting team, or even for Raoul, no matter how kindly he treated me earlier.
I’ll be singing for the Angel.
8Raoul
It’s agony listening to some of the auditions. Most of the voices are decent, but during a few of the performances, I genuinely want to cover my ears. How can these people truly believe they can sing? What lies have their families fed them in the name of supporting their dreams?
I hope to god Christine can sing. She certainly has a lovely speaking voice, not to mention the lithe body of a dancer.
Seeing her here, at the auditions for my musical, was a complete shock. She’s been enshrined in my heart for a long time, ever since she defended me during that awful year in middle school. Over Christmas break, I’d realized I liked boys as well as girls, and after watching far too muchGlee, I told myself things were better for my generation, that people were more accepting, that tolerance was a thing. When February rolled around, I mustered my courage and gave a paper heart to Damian, the smartest, cutest boy in my class. He’d always been cool to me, so I thought at most I might have to endure some mild rejection. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?
