Colors (21 page)

Mr. Novak’s a wreck? More like a multiton train engine right on track prepared to wreck. Right into me.

I want to defend my tardiness, but I know better. The director is always right. Never cross him.

“Sorry,” I mumble, still hoping Zane is a no-show.

Suddenly, Zane steps out from behind Novak.

My heart jumps, a full-blown backflip, as Zane’s gaze penetrates me. I look away and pretend to concentrate on what Novak says to the seated cast members.

“Folks, Zane and his partner, the late Neil here, are going to show you what can be accomplished if you work really hard. And that’s the only kind of work we will do around here.” He punctuates the remark with a stern stare at me. “Curly, Jud….” He motions for us to begin.

As I pass him to go to stage right, Zane whispers, “We need to talk.”

I keep my head down, ignoring Zane, as I strap on the gun. I look up to see Ms. Walter, now in the front row. She is throwing good vibes my way. But they’re not helping.

I close my eyes. Three deep breaths.
Just concentrate on the scene, Curly.

You
and Jud are Laurey’s rivals. You’re trying to convince Jud to commit suicide by making him think he’ll have a wonderful funeral. Stay focused, Curly. Sell it.

The others laugh during the number.

There are gasps as Curly draws his gun and fires it. The rap of the gun startles me. Mr. Novak has loaded the gun with real caps. But I recover so quickly no one sees my momentary lapse of character. I’m proud of myself. Everything goes away when I’m onstage. Total concentration.

I deliver the last taunting lines of the script; Zane reacts.

We freeze, indicating the scene has come to an end.

Our audience sits silent for a moment, and then they rise and wildly applaud. Ms. Walter is even shouting, “Bravo!”

I feel my body go limp. This has drained everything from me.

Thank God that’s over. I purposely avoid looking at Zane.

“Great job, guys.” Mr. Novak leaps toward us, clapping. “Take a bow.” The director is all smiles now, and when the director is happy, everyone is happy. Except me. Even this doesn’t break the tension for me.

I bend slightly at the waist. Zane, however, milking the situation for everything it is worth, gives a grand gesture and bows deeply.

The others laugh at him.

As the applause dies, Mr. Novak speaks. “See what can happen when you apply yourselves? Now, the long hard rehearsal process has begun. It’s Friday, and I know you are all tired. I want Ado Annie and Will to stay. We’ll work on your songs for about an hour, okay? The rest of you—rest up this weekend because Monday we start the hard stuff.”

People stand and begin to disperse.

“And be on time,” Novak adds, shooting his words directly at me.

I take the steps from the stage two at a time and duck out the side door. Free.

“Wait up.”

His words are so loud I know he has come through the door immediately after me.

Zane overtakes me, grabs my sleeve, and turns me around.

I jerk away, but Zane has the sleeve wadded in his hand so I can’t budge.

I’m trapped. I stand. Frozen.

“About last night,” Zane begins. He releases the sleeve and smooths it out. “I just want….”

I don’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever.

I grope for something to say. Something to end it all.

“Fuggedaboudit,” I say, in the Brooklyn mobster voice I’d worked on for a scene from
Guys and Dolls
. “Gotta run.”

Text Messaging: Zane and Cara

Zane:
i blew it

Cara:
how so?

Zane:
kissed him

Cara:
u r kidding

Zane:
no. i’m a fool

Cara:
don’t want to hear that

Zane:
i shouldna done it

Cara:
watever made u try?

Zane:
he was on the couch. head laid back. eyes closed. he just looked so inviting.

Cara:
wat happened?

Zane:
he jumped and ran

Cara:
wat did u do?

Zane:
just sat. didn’t know wat 2 do

Cara:
and today?

Zane:
dodged me

Cara:
not good

Zane:
did our scene at rehearsal

Cara:
how’d that go?

Zane:
good. tried to talk after

Cara:
wat’d he say

Zane:
fuggedaboudit

Cara:
positive

Zane:
maybe. but i don’t think so

Cara:
why?

Zane:
ran away

Cara:
uh-oh

Zane:
agree. now i’m depressed. catch u later

I
STEER
the car into the civic center lot. An electronic sign flashes
Family First, 7:30 PM tonight
.

I’m really looking forward to this. Anything to keep my mind off Zane. And now I also have the threat of Sonny Broadnus hovering over me. I don’t need that kind of pressure. Please let the music take me away tonight. Far, far away.

I find an empty space in the Teal section, lock the car, and set out toward the entrance. The turnout is amazing. The Teal section is the farthest from the doors, and the space I got was one of the few left.

Right inside the wall of glass doors is a security guard next to a door with a sign reading
Participants Only
. I flash the backstage pass Kenny gave us.

“Through the door,” the guard says, “down the corridor, to your right… third door.”

I follow the instructions. I haven’t been backstage at the center before. The corridor is a dull green color, with a broad orange stripe running down the center of each wall. At the end, I make my right turn and find the door I was directed to. Bright fluorescent light pours from the doorway. Kenny, sitting near a rack of choir robes, waves me into the room. Several of the choir members are already milling about, zipping up robes.

Melissa meets me, a robe bunched over her arm.

“Here’s your robe.” She unfurls it, helping me into it. As she does, she sneaks a kiss on my neck. “Kenny says Miriam will be in about 7:15 to talk to us.”

“Wow. I didn’t think we’d get to meet her before we sang.”

As I’m fiddling with the zipper, Zane creeps into my thoughts. I could have apologized for how I treated him. I could have explained. What was I thinking? Just running out of there like I did. We can still be friends. I shouldn’t just leave him hanging, not understanding what made me act the way I did. But can I explain how I acted over the kiss without telling him about Brother Gramm?

No. I am here to sing. I will
not
think about Zane.

I return the hanger to the rack.

When the entire group has arrived, Kenny takes us through some warm-ups. Then we run through “Suffer the Little Children.”

How can this song make me forget everything? I smile at the thought, reveling in the music. Thank God I always have music. It gets me through everything. When I’m singing, I can shut out the world.

Suddenly, applause. One person thunderously clapping as we bring the reverence to a close. The doorway. A vision. Miriam Railston, more beautiful than I ever expected, stands there, clapping like she’s an audience of twenty thousand. Or at least that’s how it seems to me, seeing this recently discovered idol so happy at what we’ve done to her lovely song.

Next to her stands a little boy about eight or nine. He clings to her, obviously his mother. As excited as I am to see her, to hear her response, my mind wanders a bit: the vulnerability in this child strikes me like the blow of a cudgel. I see something in him. Maybe something no one else in this room can see.

Miriam’s voice chimes, bringing me back in focus.

“Heavenly!” She walks toward the choir, the little boy almost pulling at her skirt. “You make my song sound better than I ever imagined. I’m so glad the Lord led me to you, Kenny.”

Kenny kisses her on the cheek, then, holding her hand, introduces her—as if she needs an introduction.

The choir members applaud as Miriam stands there, smiling, her arm cradling her son’s shoulders.

“I am overjoyed you are here, doing my song,” she says after the applause has died down. “I know the Lord is blessing our gathering even as we speak.” She gently puts her hand on the boy’s head, directing it toward us. “This is my son Obadiah.” He shyly turns toward her, avoiding the attention she is giving him. “He’s the reason I created Family First. Wonderful things will come of this, our first rally. I’m certain of it.”

Again the choir members applaud, some shouting “Praise the Lord!” or “Amen!”

“Now,” she continues, “it’s about time to go in. Before we go, shall we offer thanks?”

Miriam leads us in a short prayer. As usual, my head is bowed, eyes open. I’m drawn to Obadiah. He, too, has his eyes open, almost as if he is afraid to close them.

At the “amen” we file from the room and through the stage door.

The choir loft is stage right at an angle so we can see the podium where a makeshift pulpit has been erected, a lectern flanked by two huge flower arrangements. A cream colored canvas cyclorama hangs at the back of the stage. Against it is a banner that proclaims FAMILY FIRST! Several colored spotlights flood the cyc with red, blue, green, yellow, orange, purple.

The choir files in and we take our seats.

I gasp at how full the auditorium is. Every seat is filled with throngs of people standing at the back and along the sides. I should have expected this from the full parking lot, but this is overwhelming. I’ve never been before an audience this gigantic before.

A voice booms over the speakers: “Brothers and Sisters, please welcome Miss Miriam Railston.”

Miriam walks from upstage right, appearing from behind the choir, with a follow spot tightly on her. The crowd immediately jumps up, clapping, whistling, and shouting. She walks to down center, bows three times because the crowd won’t let her continue, then she steps up onto the podium.

A fleeting thought: Where is Obadiah? I hope someone is taking care of him, protecting him.

“Welcome,” she says, the microphone squealing as she adjusts the gooseneck on it. She laughs. “Dear friends, I am so very glad to see you all. We gather here for this festival of family. Children are our hope for the world and for the next three nights, we honor them and God for entrusting them to us. We hope you and your families not only are inspired by our services but also enjoy the games and exhibits, which will be open for you all day tomorrow in the exhibit hall.”

Another round of applause thunders through the place.

She waits for it to die down before continuing: “When I initially thought of Family First, I envisioned a time for families to renew their commitment to the Lord and to each other. Children all over the world are suffering daily, from lack of food and medicine. But one thing keeps many of them from despair. That is the love of their families. This weekend we celebrate family while hopefully also raising awareness of our suffering children and collecting money to help feed them and keep them well. I wrote a song that means a lot to me. Tonight, we are blessed to have the choir from the Church of Shelton Road under the direction of Kenny Hawthorne to sing for you. Here is ‘Suffer the Little Children.’”

Kenny stands, gives the choir their signal to stand in unison. He counts off a four/four beat, then points to the pianist. The piano begins the delicate intro to the song, followed by a glissando from the harpist. Then a single cello accompanies the tenors as they begin the melody line. A familiar serenity falls upon me. After the first theme is established, I join my fellow choir members, our voices swelling to a glorious eight-part chord at the end of the first chorus. The sopranos take the lead, with Melissa singing a slow countermelody, a thrilling beauty rising above the others. I love the next part, the bridge, for it’s here I get to show my stuff. As I launch into my solo, I feel Melissa’s hand brush against mine, a gesture of confidence, support, and love. Finally the full choir sings the last verse and chorus, ending with a chord that is totally transcendent. A shiver runs down my spine as Kenny gives the final cut-off.

“Praise the Lord!” Miriam says into the mic. “He is certainly with us this evening. Let’s hear it for the Shelton Road Choir.”

Kenny bows and motions toward the group as the crowd erupts. My whole body tingles as my fellow singers and I take our seats. I’m still not sold on this God thing, but this feeling is mind blowing.

And it hits me once again: the colored spotlights dot our choir robes, flood the cyc. Yes, colors are all around me, and I’m not bothered. I am so confused. Miriam and her magical music seemed to have cured me, then something like earlier with Melissa happens. Are the colors only gone here, in church? And if so, how can I make this last, forever keeping my fear at bay?

Once again, Miriam speaks. “Throughout our services, you will hear from my friends and colleagues who will witness to you about God’s love and how it can be used to strengthen your family. Also, tomorrow and the next night, we hope some of you will volunteer to witness to us. We want to know how this conference changes your lives. If you want to share with us, there will be a sign-up booth at the exhibits area.”

Oh, goody, Neil. Rush right out and sign up for that. It’ll just be like a trial. I’ll be the witness, yes, sir, I will. I can tell them all about Brother Gramm and our little secret. Won’t that be fun?

I shudder.

“And now,” Miriam says, “let’s hear from Sister Hester Solomon, wife of Family First vice-chairman, Pastor Howard Solomon. Sister Hester has conducted successful Family Unity workshops at their church now for the past several years. She has insisted she be our first witness.”