Wishing in the Wings (12 page)

“Becca,” Teel said happily. He inhaled deeply, throwing his head back so vigorously that I expected his ghastly rainbow wig to plummet to the ground.

Kira was also staring at the hairpiece, with her own expression of horror. “Let me guess. You were left free to roam New York, and the first thing you thought about was breaking into a Ringling Brothers show.”

Teel snorted. “Who’s to say I wasn’t entertaining children in the hospital? In the orphans’ home?”

“I don’t think we even have orphans’ homes anymore,” Kira complained.

“Let’s just say that I wanted to amuse some old friends. And what’s more amusing than a clown?” Kira didn’t look convinced, but Teel didn’t seem to notice. “Except the Garden, of course. It’s definitely more amusing.” He whirled on me. “Isn’t it fabulous?”

“Um, yes,” I improvised. “It’s definitely…fabulous.”

Teel jutted his head forward on his neck, as abruptly as a bird. “Just seven more wishes, your three, and the next wisher’s four, and I get to go in.”

“Go in?” I had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“As soon as I grant seven more wishes, I get to take my first sabbatical, my first extended visit to the Garden.”

I nodded, reflexively falling back on my dramaturgy skills. I was accustomed to working with artists, with directors who got so wrapped up in their productions that they forgot the parameters of normal, everyday life. That was actually one of my job responsibilities, channeling that type of passion, helping people share their dearest, most closely held beliefs.

Using one of my tried and true techniques, I repeated, “Extended visit to the Garden….”

And it worked. Teel rushed on, “Every genie gets rewarded after granting a certain number of wishes. We all dream of the time that we can spend in the Garden, the time that we can be away from the cares and demands of the everyday world. I thought that if I brought you here, if you actually saw what I’m waiting for, you’d hurry up and make your three remaining wishes.”

He said the last clause so quickly, with so much vehemence, that I felt like I’d been caught by whiplash. I turned to Kira to see how she was responding to this sudden demand.

But Kira didn’t look too concerned. In fact, she raised a hand to her mouth, covering an elaborate yawn. She made a point of studying her fingernails when she was done, broadcasting “boredom” so transparently that I would have protested her lack of creativity if she’d been an actor in any production where I was involved.

So. Kira clearly wasn’t worried about my delay in making my three wishes. And if she wasn’t concerned, then I wouldn’t be either. I started to run my fingers through my hair, only to find that it was still held against my neck in a loose knot. I settled for shoving my hands in my pockets.

My defiance was all well and good, but I should still try to keep on Teel’s good side. After all, I had no idea how much trouble an annoyed genie could cause.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, filling my lungs and rolling my head back until I stared at the nonexistent ceiling. Sky. Whatever. I exhaled slowly. “I can’t believe it,” I said, threading my words with pretend fascination. “I have never smelled…what is it? It’s so intense!”

Teel beamed. “Lilacs!” He shot a vindictive glare toward Kira. “You can smell the lilacs!”

I nodded slowly. “But there’s something else there…. Something more subtle.”

“Freesia! They’re just starting to bloom!”

“That’s it!” I exclaimed. Kira’s eyes widened, and I caught her flaring her own nostrils, trying to make out the scents that Teel described. I felt a little guilty for pretending.

But then I saw Teel’s excitement. He practically skipped forward, tripping over the magenta monstrosity of his shoes. Raising his gloved hands, he folded his oversized clown fingers around something vertical, clutching something tight at the level of his heart. “You understand!” he said to me. “You can see how important it is for me to get inside the Garden.”

With sudden comprehension, I realized that he had to be touching a fence, or a gate, some sort of barrier. I raised a finger and placed it just above his Bozo hands. “What’s that sound?” I said, taking something of a chance. “Do they even have those birds here in New York?”

Teel laughed. “It’s a nightingale! You’ve probably never heard one before, live.”

I hadn’t heard one in the dream-space of the Garden, either, but I nodded. “That’s incredible,” I said. “It sounds so…pure.”

“So you’ll help me?” Teel wheedled. His pout looked even more pitiful beneath his exaggerated face-paint. “You’ll get me in as soon as possible, by making the rest of your wishes?”

I forced regret into my voice, harvesting everything I’d ever learned in the theater, all the skills I’d ever glommed on to from the finest actors I’d ever met. “I want to, Teel. I really do. I’m just not ready, yet. I’m not certain. But I see how much the Garden means to you. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve made up my mind.”

Teel flashed a triumphant smile at Kira. “See?” he said. “That’s all I ever wanted. Just someone who understands what’s important to me. Ninety-nine out of one hundred wishers say kind things to their genies.”

Kira gritted her teeth. “I’m sure they do, when they can get a word in edgewise. When they’re not being harangued and harassed to make up their minds.” She sighed with something that might have been nostalgia. “I said kind things, too, Teel. Every once in a while.” She looked around uncomfortably, looking distinctly queasy as she struggled to find some stable point to settle her eyes. “You got your answer from Becca then, right? She’ll make her wishes as quickly as possible. Will you please take us back now? And will you please make sure you don’t drag me along again?”

Teel’s real smile beamed inside his painted clown one. “I can’t make any promises!”

“You can say that again,” Kira muttered.

Teel turned to me. “You’ll summon me then? For your second wish? Soon?”

“I will,” I agreed.

“Six out of ten wishers make their second wish within twenty-four hours of their first.”

I was going to be part of the outlying group of four. But there was no point telling Teel that. “Thanks for the information,” I said, trying to sound sincere.

Teel looked at both Kira and me. He stripped off one of his huge white gloves, raised his seemingly tiny human (genie?) fingers to his earlobe. He cast one last, wistful glance toward the invisible fence, and then he tugged once, hard.

And Kira and I were back in my office, with Teel nowhere in sight.

Kira stomped her right foot on the floor, as if she were trying to restore circulation after sitting still for a long time. “Ah,” she said. “Terra firma. I hate it there! Could you really see the Garden? Could you really smell it, and hear the birds?”

“God, no!” I admitted. Kira gaped, and I rushed on, “I figured it wouldn’t do either of us any good to be stranded in the literal middle of nowhere, with an angry genie who was dressed up like a clown. I lied about the entire thing.”

Kira’s laugh was refreshing. “Well, that’s a relief. I thought I was stranded with two people who could see the exact same hallucinations.”

“So, I guess the whole wish thing is really important to her. Er, him.”

“Whatever,” Kira agreed. “You’ll probably get pressured even more than I did—he’s that much closer to his goal. Just remember that the choice is always yours. Don’t let him railroad you into anything. I think he makes up most of those statistics, anyway.” She started to turn back to my office door. “Oh, and don’t worry. You’ll get used to the whole gender thing. The gender and the costumes…” She shook her head and turned to leave.

“Kira?” I said, before she could disappear down the hallway. “Thanks.”

As Kira smiled and walked away, the phone on my desk rang. I glanced at the Caller ID. It was him. Hal. And he’d had long enough to read However Long. My hand shook as I picked up the receiver. “Hey,” I barely managed to say.

“Call Ryan Thompson. Tell him I want to meet the author of the Mercer’s next production.”

I barely remembered to hang up the phone before I pumped my fist and cried out, “Yes!”

EVERY DRAMATURG DREAMS of the moment—the instant when all those years of professional training merge into an indefinable something, a soul-felt understanding, a perfect yes. That’s what it feels like when a new playwright is discovered.

Sure, I could have called Ryan to tell him that we were choosing his play. As he’d mentioned when he left his envelope, he’d included his business card with his manuscript, and that card had listed a home phone, a cell phone, an e-mail address, and an IM address. I had plenty of ways to reach him electronically.

But news this big required a personal touch. Besides, I’d already put in a long morning reading However Long—twice, no less. I deserved a break. I shrugged on my coat and headed toward the Mercer’s front door.

Glancing at Jenn’s desk, I saw that her computer was off; no amusing screensaver of cockatiels danced across her monitor. I winced as I thought about how much she’d drunk the night before. How bad was her hangover today? Had her husband reminded her to drink some water? Had he shaken out a handful of aspirin for her?

Oh well. Under other circumstances, I would have invited Jenn to join me in sharing the good news with Ryan. After all, she’d originally placed him on the stalking list. But she had introduced the two of us the day before; she’d asked me to get involved with his future.

And I couldn’t delay delivering my message. Not when there was so much to do in so short a time. And not when we’d promised each other that she would stay totally disconnected from the decision-making process, lest the bribes that we’d received corrupt our selection.

Not that Ryan had bribed anyone, I thought. I hoped. I didn’t really care. However Long was too strong a play for me to worry about who had given the gifts that Jenn and I had received the day before. Especially when we’d already worked out a system to avoid corruption.

I barely felt the cold as I raced back to the Bentley. Pushing the button in the elevator repeatedly, I was frustrated that it took so long to arrive. (It didn’t actually take any longer than it had the day before, and it certainly wasn’t slower than the ancient machinery in the building I’d shared with Dean. It just seemed to take forever.) On the eighth floor at last, I bounded up to Ryan’s door.

And then, I stopped.

I wasn’t a shy person by nature. I’d spent most of my life around actors—I was used to fighting to be heard in a small, crowded room. I knew how to express myself, how to get people’s attention.

But I suddenly wasn’t sure that I wanted Ryan’s attention.

Oh, I wanted it. My belly did a little flip-flop as I remembered that brief moment between us the night before, the instant when I’d almost invited him in, the split second when he’d thought better for both of us. What had that been about?

Of course, I knew what it was about. It was about Dean. It was about the fact that I’d had a boyfriend every day of my life, ever since I’d turned ten and Timmy Dayton had given me a friendship bracelet twined out of red and white lanyard. Note to self: Insert long, boring story about boyfriends I had known and loved through the years. Insert longer, more boring story about how I’d thought every single one of those guys was The One.

The simple fact was, I always had a boyfriend. Someone always wanted me. I was always special. Popular.

And in the midst of my personal disaster, in the midst of Dean walking out on me, leaving me holding the bag for our apartment, for the theater, for every aspect of our life together, there was a teeny, tiny part of me that was already shouting, already demanding that I hook up with someone new.

That little voice was totally sick. I knew that.

I absolutely understood that women could be strong and independent. I was a vocal advocate for women standing on their own two feet, for professionals carving out their own places in the world. I completely, one hundred percent supported women who broke down barriers, who built up their own accomplishments into towering edifices of independent success.

I just didn’t know how to live my own life like that. I didn’t know how to wake up alone, morning after morning after morning. I didn’t know how to succeed without immediately turning around to share that success with the special guy in my life.

All of which pretty much underscored why it was a bad idea for me to be the dramaturg on Ryan’s play. It was one thing for me to wrestle with my own personal demons, but my professional obligation to the Mercer went beyond those feelings, was bigger than those fears.

But what choice did I really have?

However Long was good. It was beyond good—it was magnificent, easily one of the top ten plays I’d ever read. And that was saying something. By a conservative estimate, I’d read about a thousand plays in the past five years. Ryan’s voice was going to reach the Mercer’s audience. It would open up the hearts and minds of theatergoers, make them see a world—a real world—so completely different from their own that their lives would never again be the same.

So why was I hesitating? Why wasn’t I pounding on Ryan’s door, shouting out the good news? Why wasn’t I giving a struggling artist the break that he’d worked for, for years? What was I afraid of?

Good questions, all of them. Especially that last one.

The rap of my knuckles on Ryan’s door seemed louder than it should. I half-expected our neighbors to peer out of their own doors, to shout down my disturbance. (Of course, I’d expected them to stare at me after midnight, too, when I’d staggered home drunk. Lucky for me, my neighbors didn’t seem the curious type.) I caught my breath and took a half step back, waiting.

Ryan blinked when he opened the door, looking like an owl disturbed in the middle of the day. He sounded almost guilty when he said, “Rebecca? Is your lock sticking again?”

“No,” I said, almost bouncing with excitement. “And call me Becca. That’s what everyone calls me at work. And since you’re about to spend a lot of time down at the Mercer….” I rushed on before he could get confused. “Congratulations, Ryan. However Long is going to fill our scheduling hole.”