Stage Fright (Bit Parts) (6 page)

The woman’s red curls bobbed as she thoughtfully nodded her head.  “Maybe it’s because most people haven’t found the proper energy channel to suit them.  They try to channel harmonics when they should be using aroma.  Or they’re into aroma when chakra would be better.”

Toby discretely cleared his throat to interrupt her.  “Well?  What do you think of the house?”

The woman consulted the fact sheet.  “The furnace is over twenty years old, the roof needs to be replaced, and there’s no central air.  Still, it has possibilities.  I’ll add it to my list of ‘maybes’.”

I swallowed back my disappointment.  After all, ‘maybe’ did not mean ‘yes.’  Then again, seeing the way Toby’s eyes gleamed, I knew he’d be using every trick in his bag to convince her to buy.  As he ushered her out of the house, he flashed me a triumphant smile, as if he’d already closed the deal.

Before I could dwell on my bad luck, my cell phone rang.  It was Andrew.

“Do you hate me?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I said.  “Thanks for the cookies and for cleaning my house.  I want to hire you on as domestic help.”

“Ah, shucks, your offer came too late.  I got called to do a shoot next week.”

Most of Andrew’s paying jobs came from modeling, yet the boy still didn’t realize how beautiful he was.  I never would have thought such a person existed until I’d become friends with one.  “Awesome!  I’m sure people will buy a million of whatever you’re selling.”

He gave an uncertain laugh.  “It’s only a group shoot, though.  Caleb says I’m getting passed over for the solo stuff because my body’s not up to par.”

I rolled my eyes, and mentally told Caleb to shut the hell up.  “Your body is perfect,” I assured him.  I squashed my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I raided the fridge.

“Want to come over later?” he asked.  “I’m still thinking about auditioning for
16 Voices,
and I need to practice.  I could use a partner.”

“Will Caleb be around?”  No way would I visit Andrew if his poisonous boyfriend was lurking somewhere in their condo.

“His family is celebrating his mother’s birthday tonight, so I’m solo.”  There was a hint of sadness in Andrew’s voice.  Not because Caleb was gone, but because Caleb’s family didn’t want Andrew around.  They, too, hated the fact that their son was gay.  In fact, Andrew and Caleb had met at a support group for members of the LGBT community whose families refused to accept them.  Unfortunately, this was a really, really large group.

“I’m waitressing for my sister in an hour,” I said.  As much as I wanted to hang out with Andrew, I was desperate for money, especially if I was going to be kicked out of the house and into an apartment.

“How about afterwards?” he asked.

After work, I planned to collapse on my couch with a quart of ice cream and a pile of DVDs.  I was about to turn him down when he said the magic words: “I’m cooking.”

“Count me in,” I said and shut the refrigerator door.  If anything could draw me out of the house on a cold night, it was Andrew’s cooking.  I
definitely
needed to make that man my roommate.

Chapter Four

Although my sister Elena had graduated with a degree in art history, she’d left the art world to start her own catering business.  Since her home kitchen wasn’t certified for commercial use, she’d been forced to rent space elsewhere.  After scouring the city for the perfect location, she’d finally settled on an old, stone church that hadn’t held a worship service in years.  It wasn’t the beautiful building that had convinced her to lease the place, however.  Elena, ever practical, had been attracted to the spacious, basement kitchen with its industrial-sized appliances, the reasonable rent, and ten-minute drive from her home.  I, on the other hand, loved the old building’s twin spires, slate roof, and stained-glass windows.  It looked like the perfect setting for a gothic mystery.

Because I’d been so busy with
County Dracula
, I hadn’t waitressed for Elena in months.  During my absence, the old church had gotten a facelift.  The parking lot had been resurfaced, and a new wheelchair ramp installed.  A large banner now hung above the arched, wooden doors: Holy Comics – Grand Opening!  Smiling at the name, I snapped a picture with my phone and sent it to Andrew along with the message:
Found u a new retail therapy spot
.

Elena came through the side doors pushing a cart stacked with foil-wrapped pans.  “I wondered when you were going to show up.”

I guiltily shoved my phone into my pocket.  “Sorry I’m late.”

Elena’s phone chimed, and she groaned.  “You can make it up to me by dealing with Geoffrey.  He’s being a real pain in the ass today.”

Geoffrey Leopold, the curator of the Muse art gallery, was one of her regular customers.  Elena had met him back when she’d still been pursuing an art career.  Ordinarily, he was very easy going, but today was an exception.  According to the conversation history on Elena’s phone, Geoffrey had texted her a dozen times in the past hour.  The current message read: 
Don’t forget –  NO garlic on any item.

I read the text aloud, and Elena rolled her eyes.  “He’s told me that a hundred times already.  Text him back.  Then go pour me a vodka tonic.”  With her wide eyes, rosebud mouth, and heart-shaped face, my sister looked like an innocent schoolgirl from a Manga comic, but she had the spirit of a warrior.  Especially when it came to her cooking.  If Geoffrey became too unreasonable, she was liable to stick a pickle fork in his eye.

I texted back to Geoffrey
Got it
, and helped Elena load the steam trays into the van.  “He must be working with a tough artist,” I said, “or else, he’s trying to impress someone.”  Ordinarily, Geoffrey didn’t pay for extras like real china or hot food.  He was more of a hors d'oeuvres and wine-in-a-box type of client.

The last thing to go into the van was the cart, and after it had been loaded, I climbed into the passenger’s seat.  “Holy Comics is a cute name for the new store,” I said, buckling up.

Elena pulled out of the lot.  “Yup.  The owners are pretty nice guys, too.”  She frowned.  “Well, one of them is friendly.  The other one can be intimidating.  Still, I’m glad someone moved in upstairs.  Being the only renter in that big, old church was freaking me out.”

When we stopped for a red light, Elena dumped her purse in my lap.  “Here.  Maggie drew more pictures for you.”

I happily dug out a dozen drawings of balloon-shaped cats.  Like her mother, Maggie loved to draw and paint and always willingly supplied me with new masterpieces.  The woman with the ketchup-colored hair had been right.  The positive energy in my niece’s drawings fizzed like a freshly-opened can of pop.  “Tell Maggie thanks,” I said.  “You have no idea how much these things mean to me.”

Elena pulled onto the expressway’s entrance ramp and sped up to merge.  “Are you okay, Cassie?  I mean seriously?”  Her worried eyes met mine in the rearview mirror.  “Since you’ve been working on the play you seem happier, but you’re still – I don’t know – off.”

I looked out the window, wishing my big sister was less intuitive.  “I’m fine.”

“Is this just a moody actress thing?  Or should I be dialing the Betty Ford Clinic?”

“I’m not on drugs,” I assured her.  And after my lingering hangover, I was completely swearing off alcohol.  “I had a bad audition a few months back,” I admitted.

Immediately, Elena’s face relaxed.  Clearly, she’d been expecting worse.  “Oh, that’s a shame!  But a bad audition isn’t the end of the world.”  For the rest of the trip, she gave me a ‘buck up, little trooper’ speech, saying that I was an amazing actress, there would be other auditions, and I’d find another part soon.

As Elena’s words washed over me, I leafed through Maggie’s drawings.  My sister’s talk was heartfelt, but compared to the energy contained in those purple scribbles, it was nothing but empty chatter.

The Muse art gallery dominated the top floor of an old glove factory that had been converted into a ritzy galleria.  The first four stories had shops that sold things like handmade silk scarves, Pewabic pottery, and artisan jewelry.  The only thing I could have afforded there was an espresso in the main-floor coffee house, and even that would have been a splurge.  Above the shops was a floor of exclusive apartments.  The sixth floor housed the Muse – the building’s crowned jewel.  A place where the crème de la crème came to add to their art collections.

Before the elevator’s doors were fully open, Geoffrey reached in and nearly dragged Elena and me into the lobby.  “You’re late.”

“It’s my fault,” I confessed.

“We still have plenty of time,” Elena assured him.  “Take a deep breath.”

He fanned his sweating face.  “Tonight can’t end soon enough for me.”

“Why?  Isn’t this just another opening?” I asked.  Geoffrey usually handled these events with aplomb, but tonight, there were damp half-moons under the arms of his Moroccan shirt.

“It’s not the opening; it’s what’s happening afterwards that concerns me.”

Elena frowned.  “What’s happening afterwards?  You only ordered enough food for the opening.”

“There’s a small, private gathering following the public reception.”  He managed a strangled laugh.  “Nothing for you to worry about.”  From the panic in his eyes, however, that nothing seemed like a whole lot of something.

Our footsteps echoed off the vaulted ceiling when we left the sixth-floor lobby and entered the gallery.  The space had been gutted and stripped down to its exposed brick walls and hardwood floors.  A row of tall windows gave a view of the Detroit River and the Ambassador Bridge.

As much as I loved the gallery, however, I rarely connected with its art.  A few months before, an exhibit entitled “Herstory” had featured five-foot models of the Sphinx, the Eiffel tower, and the Statue of Liberty, all of which had been built from tampons.  Before that, an artist named N’Rico had covered the walls with blank canvasses of different sizes.  Each one had carried a five-figure price tag.  That had been a wine-in-a-box night.

Tonight, however, I actually
liked
the installation.  Most of the pieces were portraits created with lively splashes of color.  Yet, in spite of the cartoonish hues, the models’ faces conveyed deep emotions: grief, pensiveness, peace, and joy.  An enormous white sheet on the main wall concealed the artist’s latest exhibit which would be unveiled after all of the guests had arrived.

“They’re here, they’re here!” Geoffrey sang out to an angular man who leaned on a walking stick and frowned out at the darkening sky.

“Oh, goodie.  I’ll release the doves.”  Hooded, gray eyes glared at us from above a hawkish nose.  The man dressed like an aging rock star who was desperately trying to regain his glory days: spiked hair, tight leather pants, purple frock coat worn without a shirt, and silver platform shoes that added a good four inches to his height.  Even Geoffrey, who wore a ring on each finger and paired socks with sandals, didn’t look as absurd.

The man lifted his upper lip as he eyed the covered steam trays on Elena’s cart.  “Food, waitresses,
wine
…  How much is Hedda paying for this circus?”

My head jerked up.  Hedda as in Hedda Widderstrom?  I shot a look at Elena, but she was absorbed with setting up the chafing dishes.

Geoffrey twisted his rings around his fingers.  “If we treat the clients well, we’ll increases sales.”

“If the art can’t sell itself, it shouldn’t be put up for sale.”  The man waved his walking stick in an arc.  “Look at this mawkish display!  No wonder your finances are in the red.”

Spots of color bloomed on Geoffrey’s cheeks.  “This isn’t something you’d buy in a furniture store!  This is
real
art.”

The tall man sniffed.  “
Real
art.  I wonder how much
real art
you sell.  Certainly not enough to cover the rent.”

“This isn’t New York, Victor.  Real estate and taxes are cheaper here.”

My eyebrows lifted.  This could only be Victor Stuyvesant of the New York Stuyvesants.  He might have been an impressive lawyer and a powerful financier, but he dressed like his wardrobe had come from Halloween USA.  I wasn’t surprised that he’d written a play called
16 Voices Talking at the Same Time
.

Victor’s smile grew cunning.  “So, fat man, if Hedda were to cut you off without a dime, you could still run this gallery?”

Geoffrey hid his outrage by turning to the buffet table.  His hands fluttered like bejeweled birds as he rearranged the silverware and re-creased the napkins.

Victor watched with amusement.  “I thought not.”

Geoffrey flushed and began fussing with the flowers in the centerpiece.

“Or maybe it’s Hedda’s afterglow party that’s upsetting you.  I’m looking forward to it myself.”  He poked Geoffrey’s large belly with his cane.  “What do you say, fat mouse?  Are you going to squeak?”

“Victor, so glad you could make it.”  Hedda Widderstrom, dressed in a sparkling red, mermaid dress, swept into the gallery.  Once again, she was with a man, but this was a sickly-looking specimen who hung onto her arm like she was the only thing keeping him upright.

Upon seeing her, Geoffrey nearly whimpered in relief.  Hedda ignored him, however, and kept her unblinking eyes fixed on Stuyvesant.  “Surely you didn’t come all the way from New York just to torment my employees?”  She asked the question lightly, but something lurked beneath her cool exterior.  Something with jagged edges and sharp corners.

“You needn’t worry.  I was only having a little harmless fun with fat boy here.”  Victor’s gaze fixed on the pale swell of Hedda’s breasts rising from her low décolletage.  “You look beautiful as always.”

Hedda acknowledged his compliment with a regal bow of her head.  She was beautiful, of course, but also unduly formal for the opening of an art exhibit.  Red feathers had been glued to her eyelashes, setting off her stunning dress.  Her blue-black hair had been pulled into a sleek updo, and her thin shoulders had been covered in gold powder.  She looked like a priestess of flame.