Riven (6 page)

“I don’t know. I—”

“Of course we will. Unless you’re just wasting my time. You’re here to audition, right?”

“I didn’t even know today was—”

“Well, you’re here. Listen, you have to know I don’t get—don’t take this wrong—‘your kind’ here often. Ever, actually. Is it a look, just for today? You trying out for the role of Conrad Birdie, or—?”

“Like I said, I didn’t know. But I’d rather try drama than football, so . . .”

“Experience?”

“You mean in drama?”

“What else? You’re, what, a senior?”

“Junior.”

“You look so old, and you have that ethnic thing happening, almost Italian.
Are
you Italian?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Dark skin. Fast beard growth, am I right?”

Brady nodded.

Nabertowitz seemed to study him. His delivery slowed. “You know what I’d do with you? I’d lose the ’burns, and you could play much older. You could be the dad. I mean, you look like Birdie, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got the guy for that. Unless you have experience. What did you say about experience?”

“I didn’t. I don’t.”

“But you love drama. Live theater.”

“Well, I love movies, and I mean
love
’em.”

Nabertowitz looked crestfallen. “So, like, what,
Terminator 2,
Naked Gun
?”

“Nah. I’m goin’ down the list of the best hundred ever and trying to see them all. My favorites? Of all time?
The Verdict
and, um,
Deer Hunter.
”

The drama teacher nodded and smiled with his mouth closed, then slapped both palms on the table and roared. “I get it! This is priceless! It’s a gag, right? Someone put you up to this! Who was it?”

Brady shook his head. “You’ve lost me.”

“C’mon! You come in here looking all retro—and, pardon me, but like a burnout—yet your two favorite movies just happen to be mine, too, and you expect me to believe . . . ?”

“You pulling my chain?” Brady said.

“No! You’re pulling mine! I love it! Okay, quiz time. Tell me your favorite picture this year.”

“I’d have to think about it.”

“Of course you would. Until you remember what someone told you mine was. Come on, there’s lots to choose from. Crystal and Martin have comedies out. Costner as a really bad Robin Hood. The Jodie Foster–Anthony Hopkins vehicle that’ll probably win it all.”

“
Fried Green Tomatoes
actually.”

Nabertowitz leaped from his chair. “I love it! You’re good! Now who?”

“Who?”

“Who set me up? This is priceless.”

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t know you or anybody who knows you, and I feel like you’re laughing at me.”

“What’re you, serious?” Nabertowitz said, sitting back down.

“Dog-dyin’ serious.”

“I like that line. Now, are you swearing on a stack of Bibles no one told you that the three pictures you just mentioned include two of my all-time favorites and my favorite from this year?”

“How many times do I have to say it?”

The teacher finally fell silent and just stared. “All right,” he said at last, “pop quiz. Tell me what you liked best about each of those pictures.”

Brady leaned back and looked at the ceiling. “Can’t pick just one thing about
Deer Hunter.
The acting was dead-on. The torture scenes were like you were right there. Everybody was good. Streep was fantastic. But, okay, favorite? Christopher Walken when he was, you know, shell-shocked.”

In Brady’s peripheral vision, Clancy Nabertowitz sat nodding. “Where have you been all my life?”

“The other two? I just think Newman was at his best in
The Verdict.
But mostly I like movies that aren’t afraid to be quiet.”

The teacher cursed in a whisper. “You’re going to make me cry. Tell me one more time this isn’t a put-on.”

“Ask me that again and I’ll punch you in your face.”

Nabertowitz held up both hands. “I believe you. It’s just . . . I work with a lot of great kids. But what do
they
love this year?
City Slickers,
Addams Family,
Sleeping with the Enemy,
Father of the Bride.
”

“Those were okay.”

“But you know what I mean.”

“’Course I do,” Brady said. “There’s good, and there’s great.”

“What’d you say your name was again?”

Brady told him.

“Your last name’s an anagram of your first. How quaint. Was that on purpose?”

“I don’t even know what that means, so I doubt it.”

“You must audition today, Brady. Tell me you will.”

“If you think I should. Like I said, I got no experience.”

The teacher tossed him a script. “Speed-read. Everyone else knows what they want to try out for. And as I said, the role of Birdie is set.”

Oldenburg

Thomas Carey found himself relieved that Paul Pierce had not joined the swarm from the church that was busy transforming the parsonage from a hovel to a cottage. He was twenty-sixth-mile exhausted, and Grace looked the same, but it had to warm her heart as it did his to have so many people determined to make them feel welcome and comfortable.

The Jonah sermon had seemed to go over well, and the crowd was the biggest in a long time, according to Paul. People were already taking turns committing the Careys to meal invitations. Grace said, “Thomas, I may not have to cook for weeks.”

Paul finally showed up late in the afternoon, dressed in a suit.

“I thought you were retired,” Thomas teased.

“And I thought you’d be ready,” Paul said.

“For . . . ?”

“The ride to Colfax. You’ve got just enough time to jump in the shower.”

“We’re meeting them tonight?”

“They’re having church tonight, Tom. And don’t worry, Jonah will suit ’em just fine, though you might want to shorten it a tick. We’ll meet with their board after the service.”

“Paul, I wasn’t even aware—”

“Come on, Pastor. You put me in charge of overseeing all these churches; you got to know I’m on the job.”

Thomas stole a glance at Grace. “Why, I haven’t even eaten, and I’m bushed.”

“We’ll grab something on the way,” Paul said. “And your wife ought to be there too.”

Little Theater

“I’ve got to run, Brady,” Mr. Nabertowitz said, looking at his watch, “but here’s how this works: Everybody who wants to audition sits in the house, and I talk about the play—in this case, the musical—from the stage. Then we switch places. I sit in the middle of the house, and everyone gathers backstage and picks a number. They audition in that order. Got it?”

“I don’t even know what to try out for.”

“Well, read fast. Look at the part of the father, like I said.”

“I need more time. Is today the only day?”

“Today and tomorrow, but there might not be much left by then.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

7

Colfax

There was no getting around it. The tiny flock of the faithful that met in the rec room of one of the parishioners’ homes seemed more than pleased to welcome the new circuit pastor and his wife, but the iciness between many of them and the Pierces chilled the room, not to mention the service.

Thomas didn’t want to probe that history. He also decided that using the little music stand for a pulpit or even standing to preach seemed too much in the small space before so few people. So he remained seated and joined heartily in the singing; then he and Grace answered a few questions about themselves before he launched into Jonah going down to Joppa.

Someone called out, “I hope you don’t see Colfax as Joppa!”

Thomas laughed. “Anything but,” he said. “I’ve heard so much about you all. You know, the Lord’s not interested in numbers. He’s interested in souls.”

“But the more the merrier,” Paul said.

Thomas endured the awkward silence before continuing.

Addison

“Thought you got cut, Darby,” someone said on the activities bus.

“You thought wrong. I quit.”

“So now you’re in the chess club?”

The laughter made Brady flush. “You lookin’ to get hurt?”

That stopped the chuckling. The smart mouth, who would abandon the bus as soon as he was old enough to drive whatever car his parents gave him for his sixteenth birthday, held up both hands. “Relax, big boy. Just teasing.”

Brady turned and stared out the window, trying to shut out the whispers. At times like this an ache washed over him for something new, something different, something better. Everybody else sat with a buddy or a cluster of friends. He was empty-train-depot lonely, and he hated everything about his life. Hated everybody.

Except Aunt Lois and Uncle Carl. They were embarrassing and weird but hard to hate. And of course Brady didn’t hate Petey.

Petey.

What kind of a brother was Brady being to him? The kid was smart, that was clear, already starting to question everything. Used to be Brady could tell him anything, and Peter would buy it. Now the kid could see through Brady when he didn’t make sense. Peter wanted to know why he couldn’t do what Brady did.

If he was to be any kind of a role model and wanted anything good for Peter, Brady knew he ought to quit smoking, stealing, lying, being a bum. He ought to study, change his look, get a real job. But it was too late. He wasn’t sure his grades would qualify him for a role in the musical even if he somehow landed one.

Brady dug the script out of his bag. Was Nabertowitz right? Should he entirely change his look and avoid what Hollywood called being typecast? That would shake up the school, wouldn’t it? Not that he was known by more than a few, but it would be noisy if a guy like him suddenly became normal, an actor with a whole new look.

When the bus rolled into the trailer park, Brady was deep into the script of
Bye Bye Birdie.
He had heard of the old movie with Dick Van Dyke and Ann-Margaret, but he had never seen it. Musicals were hardly his thing. But now he was reading fast, imagining himself in the role of the father.

As he reached the front of the bus, still reading, the kid in the back hollered, “Checkmate!”

Brady spun and glared, and the kid and his friends looked away, snickering. Brady considered charging back there and drilling the kid with his fist, but the bus driver—an older version of himself—growled, “Don’t do it. Not worth it.”

Brady was still fuming as he trudged along the asphalt. It was unlikely his mother was home yet, and he hated the idea of Peter being there alone, but something in the script drew him, and he wanted to get through it. The sun was fading, so he stopped under a streetlamp and read fast.

By the time he was three-fourths of the way through the pages, he knew. Typecast or not, Conrad Birdie was his part. Nabertowitz said he had already cast it, but that probably meant he had some preppy trying to affect a look. Brady already had the look, the attitude, the swagger. The father’s role was fun and grumpy and maybe had a little more meat, and even the manager had way more to offer. But Brady knew he wasn’t ready for a lead like that. Maybe someday.

If Nabertowitz could be believed, all that would be left the next day would be bit parts. Even the father would likely have been cast, unless the director was saving it for him. Well, Clancy Nabertowitz was in for a surprise. Brady headed for the trailer with a spring in his gait that hadn’t been there for months. Soon he was actually jogging.

Glad to see his mother was not there yet, he burst inside, lit a cigarette, and hollered for Peter. “Get your jacket! We’re going shopping!”

“For what?”

“You’ll see. Now hurry.”

While Peter was shutting down his video game and getting his coat on, Brady went to his car-fund stash and pulled out two hundred dollars.

“Hitchhiking again?” Peter said.

“Yeah, but just into Arlington.”

Oldenburg

By the time Thomas and Grace finally returned to the parsonage and sat sipping tea, he was exhausted. “Amazing what they’ve done here,” he said.

“Most of these people seem wonderful, Thomas.”

“Most?”

“I’m not blind or deaf, dear,” she said, “and neither are you. Paul Pierce is going to wear you out. You’d better start setting your boundaries now.”

Thomas nodded. “This is unusual, though. I’m like the old circuit-riding preachers. I wonder what they did about church politics. Someone had to run the places while they were away.”

“Paul doesn’t just want to run this place. He wants to run the whole circuit. Maybe you ought to get Jimmie Johnson in your corner before Paul makes a mess of everything.”

“How would that look? All of a sudden Paul hears from headquarters? No, I’ve got to face this—and him—myself. It may not be pretty, but you’re right; I have to do it soon.”

They sat in silence.

Grace smiled at him. “Kind of nice not to have a telephone ringing all the time, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “But we’ll need one before long.”

“Tomorrow soon enough?”

“Really, Grace? That’s faster than in town.”

“It was my first order of business. I can’t wait to bring Ravinia up to date without having to stand at some pay phone.”

Euclid Street Haberdashery | Arlington

“That’s a funny name,” Peter said. “What’s it mean?”

“Just clothes, I guess,” Brady said.

It was an unusual place, one of few outlets where kids like Brady could get the kind of clothes they liked. The store had all the traditional men’s fashions—suits, slacks, sport coats, ties, socks, shoes, belts, hats—but it also had a section that catered to, well, Brady’s type. Leather jackets, big wallets with chains, tight pants, and best of all, just the right kind of shoes. It all seemed out of place in a suburban store, but apparently the owner knew a revenue stream when he saw one.

Brady, his curled script still in his hands, told the salesman exactly what he wanted and why.

“You’re in luck, sir,” the man said. “I have just the thing. Follow me, and may I make a suggestion?”

“Sure.”