A Summer of Kings

by Han Nolan

  I eyed the bag again. "Are you staying, King-Roy? Are those all your clothes in there?"

  King-Roy turned back around and walked on toward the kitchen, and he didn't say another word.

  FIFTEEN

  Later that morning on the train, King-Roy and I sat side by side, with his grocery bag held under his arm on the side away from me, and listened to the train going over the tracks. We stared out the window at the rain and the towns flashing past and said nothing to each other. We couldn't; Sophia and Stewart were doing all the talking. They had flipped the back of their seat over, so that it faced us, then sat down across from us. The two of them had decided King-Roy needed an inch-by-inch description of every town we rode through, so they gave it to him.

  "We're coming to Tarrytown now," Stewart said. "It's named after the settlers who would go into the pubs and tarry awhile."

  Sophia, not wanting to be outdone, said, "The Old Dutch Church is near here, too, you know, the one Washington Irving mentions in The Legend of Sleepy Hollow."

  "And there's a beautiful example of Gothic Revival here, the Lyndhurst mansion," Stewart said, jumping back in.

  I had tuned their noise out for as long as I could stand it, but finally I said, "Would you two be quiet? King-Roy can't see anything, sitting in the train, so how's he supposed to get excited about a fine example of Gothic Revival architecture if he can't even see it? You two are just showing off, anyway." I looked at King-Roy to see how he was taking everything.

  Sophia swung her leg out and kicked my shin. "We're not showing off," she said. "We're just curious, so we believe others would be curious, too. Not everyone's as uncurious and stupid as you are, Esther." She opened the Jane Austen book on her lap with great dramatic flair as a way of reminding me of her great brilliance, compared to my stupidity.

  I was about to say something but King-Roy beat me to it. He wrinkled his nose at Sophia and said, "Girl, being ugly is stupid, and that was ugly. If I were your mother, I'd wash your mouth out with soap for disrespecting your sister like that."

  Stewart raised his brows and said, "It's not disrespectful if it's true. Esther is the stupid one in the family and that's a fact. Just ask my parents."

  "I don't need to ask them anything. I can judge my own self who's stupid in your family," King-Roy said, looking Stewart up and down like he was seeing stupid all over the place.

  I had to bite down on my lips to keep from laughing, but then Sophia burst into tears and stood up and pointed at King-Roy and said, "If I blow my audition, it's going to be your fault. I have lost my focus." She turned to me with her mouth turned down and tears falling from her eyes. She spread her hands out, palms up, and said, "Esther, I've lost my focus!" She looked at me as though she expected me to get down on the floor of the train and look for it like it was a lost bracelet.

  I stood up and wrapped my arms around Sophia and pulled her down with me and into my lap. "It's all right, Soph. You'll get your focus back. You'll see. It's all right."

  "The heck it is," I heard King-Roy mutter before he stood up and stepped out into the aisle to pace with his grocery sack.

  Other people in our car kept giving King-Roy suspicious glances as he passed, so when he reached the end of the car, he turned around and came back and sat down again, crossing his legs.

  The four of us stayed quiet all the rest of the way into the city.

  Once we got to Grand Central Station, King-Roy went off to find a phone booth, to call Ax, while we waited for him by the big clock. I watched the back of him retreating, his baggy brown pants flapping when he walked, and I wanted to run after him. I felt suddenly that I'd never see him again, but I couldn't run after him because I had to run after Stewart instead.

  As soon as King-Roy was out of sight, Stewart said, "I'm not going with you to the audition."

  "What? You have to. You're auditioning for the part of Bobby," I said.

  Stewart shook his head. "Mother wants me to audition, but I want to take a ballet class over at the school, and if I hurry, I can get in on the ten o'clock class. I've got my ballet slippers and tights in here." He patted the satchel he had hanging from his shoulder, the one I thought held all our lunches.

  "I'll meet you afterward, at the theater," he said.

  "But you can't! Stewart, Mother would kill me a million thousand ways if she knew I let you go."

  Stewart shrugged and started backing away. "I do it all the time. I ride in with Mother and Sophia to the theater, cut out for a class, and get back in time for the audition. She never knows I'm missing."

  "Well, you can't do that with me," I said. "What if something happened? What if you got hurt or lost or someone attacked you?"

  "Bye." Stewart turned and ran off toward the steps leading to the subway platforms. I looked at Sophia. "Listen, Soph," I said, my hands grabbing her shoulders, "you wait here for King-Roy, and you don't move. I've got to go after him."

  Sophia nodded. "Okay," she said, "but you'll never catch him."

  "Oh yeah? Watch me."

  I ran after Stewart, through the main concourse, feeling constricted in my narrow skirt and good shoes with the slippery soles. I wanted to take the shoes off, but I knew I would tear my stockings. I hiked up my skirt some and just ran. I ran down to the subway platform, past all the people rushing to catch the train that had just come thundering in, and chased after Stewart. I don't know what made him turn and look back—it was too noisy for him to hear me—but he did and he saw me, then took off at full speed. I ran after him, calling out his name, running into people who wouldn't get out of the way fast enough, and finally caught up to him just as he'd reached his line and was trying to slip onto the subway train. I caught him by the collar of his shirt, then by his arm, and I grabbed it tight and pulled him away from the train. "No you don't," I said. "You're coming with us."

  The train shot out of the station and another one came in while I struggled to get Stewart under control. People around us stood and watched us as if we were some kind of an act.

  "Esther, lay off of me! I want to dance. I just want to dance," Stewart said, when I had full hold of him and he could hardly move.

  "Stewart!"

  Stewart tried to wriggle away from me, twisting his head so he could reach my arm with his mouth and bite, but I was too fast for him and I changed position, grabbing both of his arms and pulling them back behind him.

  "Stewart, stop!" I held him close to me and shouted into his ear over the noise around us.

  "I want to dance!" he shouted back.

  "Stewart. Stewart, listen. I know you do. I know you want to dance more than anything in the world, I do, and I'll do anything to help you. I'll talk to Mother and Dad. I'll convince them that you have to dance. I'll do it, I promise, but I can't let you go today. Don't you see? I can't risk something happening to you while I'm in charge. Now, please, come on. Right now, Sophia is standing all alone down below. What if something's happened to her?"

  Stewart relaxed. "You promise you'll talk to them?"

  I let go of Stewart and crossed my heart with my index finger. "I promise I'll do it. Now, come on, let's run."

  As we ran back toward where I hoped both Sophia and King-Roy waited for us, Stewart said, "Tell Mother, no more play auditions. Tell Mother I want to be in the Nutcracker. Tell Dad that I'm not a fairy. Tell him that long ago men used to dance all the parts in a ballet. Tell him that it takes a strong athlete to be a ballet dancer."

  While we ran, Stewart continued telling me what to tell Mother and Dad and I nodded and prayed with everything I had in me that both Sophia and King-Roy would be waiting for us when we got back to the clock.

  SIXTEEN

  I didn't know who I was more relieved to see when we reached the main concourse again, Sophia or King-Roy, but both of them were there and I had hold of Stewart's hand, so I felt everything was going to be all right. Then King-Roy told me he wouldn't be going to Harlem for a couple of hours yet, so he wanted to join us, and I felt on top of the worl
d.

  As we headed for the subways, Sophia said, "I can't believe you caught Stewart. You run really fast, Esther. You'll make a good gym teacher."

  I ignored Sophia and smiled at King-Roy, and King-Roy ignored me and smiled up at the zodiac constellations painted in blue and gold in the huge arch high above us.

  King-Roy tried to hide it, but I could tell he was excited when we got to Broadway, even if it was in the rain. I could tell he enjoyed seeing all the people walking around, and watching the traffic, and seeing all the shops and theaters. His eyes looked bright, and he walked fast and peppy, bouncing up on the balls of his feet, still clutching his paper sack.

  We went down an alley, to the back of the theater, where a lady named Mrs. Holden checked us in. She said we were early, but she let us in even though she kept giving King-Roy suspicious glances. Still, she never said anything and we gathered around Sophia and I made sure she had everything she needed.

  Sophia said, "I don't want you back here. You'll ruin my focus. I need to get into character. Go out front the way Mother does and leave me alone."

  We had turned around to leave, when Sophia said, "Wait!"

  I looked back and saw Sophia staring at another little girl who had just entered backstage.

  Sophia ran up to me and whispered, "Who's she?" She pointed at the girl.

  I shrugged. "How should I know, Soph? Stewart?"

  Stewart said, "Never saw her before, but she's pretty."

  That was the wrong thing to say.

  Sophia started jiggling herself up and down as though she had to go to the bathroom, and tears spilled from her eyes. "She's prettier than I am. Esther, she's prettier than I am, isn't she?"

  Sophia had begun to flap her hands up and down in front of her chest like some baby bird trying to figure out how to fly. Her face had broken out in red blotches.

  "Sophia, you're both beautiful," I said.

  "No!" Sophia said, her voice rising so that the other girl and her mother, who had been talking to Mrs. Holden, looked over at her. The little girl had a beautiful smile and big round blue eyes with long eyelashes and blond hair with ringlets.

  I put my arm around Sophia. "Shh," I said. "It's all right. There's room for more than one pretty girl on the planet, you know. You're prettier than me, aren't you?"

  "But, Esther, that doesn't mean anything. I'm prettier than her, aren't I? Aren't I?" Sophia looked up at me, her eyes holding such a pleading look in them.

  "Sophia, you're the prettiest, smartest, most talented girl I've ever met," I said, squeezing her. "You're only six years old, and look at you. But you know, it wouldn't matter if you weren't, would it? I still love you, and Stewart and Mother and Dad—we all love you." I thought to include King-Roy in the list of people who loved her, since he was standing right there, but when I looked up at the scowl on his face, I decided to just leave it.

  Sophia shot a glance over at the other little girl, who was trying to keep her focus on her script and not look at us, but I could see her peeking sideways at us.

  "I'm much prettier, I think," Sophia said, wiping her eyes.

  I let go of Sophia and straightened up. "Well, then, see. There you go. Do you want me to stay here with you until your turn to audition?"

  Sophia took a deep breath and looked at King-Roy—who stood watching us with his arms crossed, shaking his head—and said, "No. Leave me. I have to compose myself. I've already been upset twice today. If I don't get this part, I'll know whose fault it will be." Sophia glared at King-Roy.

  "Sophia!" I said. "That isn't fair and you know it."

  Sophia picked up her script and said, "I don't like the way he's always looking cross at me. I don't like him."

  "Sophia!" I said, jumping in between the two of them, not wanting either one of them to look at the other. I didn't want Sophia to say anything that would make King-Roy leave, and I didn't want King-Roy to say anything else that Sophia could blame him for later.

  I knew that Sophia always got grumpy before an audition, but King-Roy didn't and he said to me on our way out front, "That child's got a problem."

  I said, "Oh, that's just the way she gets sometimes. She'll be better when she's through her audition, you'll see."

  Stewart said, "No she won't. Not unless she actually gets the part. If she doesn't, she'll be worse."

  I didn't want to think about that.

  We took a seat right behind where the director was sitting, because that was where Mother always sat so she could hear all the comments, and we got ourselves settled.

  Stewart pulled his copy of the script he had for the auditions out of his satchel along with my French notebook from last year, which had my one line in it for the play I was writing, and the book The Sun Also Rises. He handed me my notebook and the script, then opened his book up to where he had last left off and started reading, taking advantage of the lights while they were still on in the theater.

  "Are you sure you don't want to audition?" I asked Stewart.

  He didn't even lift his head; he just shook it and kept on reading.

  Other mothers—usually it was mothers who brought their children to these things—came into the theater and took seats behind us. Many stayed backstage with their children, but Sophia hated anyone hanging around her, looking at her or primping her. She needed to keep her focus.

  I looked over at King-Roy, on the other side of Stewart, and I saw that he sat on the edge of his seat, staring at the stage as though he expected that any minute a big production was about to begin.

  The first auditions were for the part of a girl named Zelda, a fifteen-year-old amnesiac. After more than an hour of bad acting, a very pretty dark-haired girl came onstage to read for the part, and I noticed a bit of motion in front of me, as though the director was interested in this girl. I had slumped way down in my seat, with my knees up against the seat in front of me, and even King-Roy had sat back in his seat with boredom. The girl read her lines, and she didn't seem to be any better than the rest of them. I was in the middle of yawning when I heard the director in front of me say to the woman by his side, "What do you think? I like her. She might fit the part, don't you think?"

  I sat up in my seat and leaned forward, and without thinking what I was doing I said, "No, you can't. She's all wrong."

  The director turned around. "I beg your pardon? Either be quiet or leave the theater."

  "But she is. Zelda is strong and courageous. She's energetic. That girl up there is lethargic. She even talks tired. And her body is all wrong. She's too thin."

  "Who are you?" the lady next to the director asked me.

  I was busy flipping through Stewart's copy of the script to find the part the girl onstage had been reading.

  "And where did you get a complete copy of the script?"

  I looked up. "From my father. I'm Esther Young."

  "Herbert Nelson Young's child?" the director asked.

  "Yeah, look here," I said, pointing out the place in the script. "See where Zelda says, 'Now I remember. I was on the sled and you were there. You were with me, behind me on the sled, and we were going down Bowman's hill.' See that part?" I looked at the two of them. "She's remembering. It's all coming back to her, and that's exciting. She should sound eager and hopeful, and her words should come out faster and faster as she's remembering. She should be like 'You saw the tree, didn't you? I remember. You said, "Look out for the tree." You cried, "Look out!" and then I saw it, too, but it was too late. That's when we crashed.'" I looked at the two in front of me and said, "Now, it shouldn't be read too fast, but, you know, she's been in the dark for so long and here she is; it's coming to her all at once. That girl on the stage, no offence to her, but she's reading those lines like she's scared. Like she's afraid to remember. But see, she doesn't know there's anything to be afraid of yet, right? She's..." I stopped speaking. The director and the lady were looking at each other and nodding, and I said, "What?" Then, realizing I should have kept my mouth shut, I slid back in my seat and p
assed the manuscript over to Stewart. "Sorry," I said. "It's just that it would be a crime for a part like this Zelda's to go to that girl up there."

  I slid back down in my seat.

  The lady said, "Pretty sneaky way of reading for the part, Miss Young, but it worked. You've got the part."

  "Oh, no! I don't want the part," I said, sitting bolt upright in the seat again.

  Stewart clapped me on the back and said, "Hey, Esther!"

  I turned to look at him and said, "No, Stewart, you know I couldn't."

  "Why not?" the lady in front of us asked.

  "I can't act," I said, shaking my head and feeling my eyes ready to pop out of my head with the shock of it all.

  The director said, "But you just did. Of course you can act. Very well done, Miss Young."

  "Excuse me, but is everything all right?" The mother of the girl up onstage had come out to join her daughter and was calling out to the director.

  The director looked down at his notes and said, "Thank you, Miss Kelly, we'll be in touch," and the mother and daughter stalked off the stage.

  The two faces in front of me stared back at me, expecting me to say something, so I said, "No, you don't understand. My sister, Sophia Young, is here. She's the actress. She's reading for the part of Clarissa."

  "So, this is for Zelda," the lady said. "Do you want the part or not?"

  Stewart spoke up, "Of course she wants it."

  I turned on Stewart. "No, I don't."

  "But this is your chance, Esther. I never knew you could act. Think of what Mother and Dad will say. They'll be so proud of you."

  I said, "But I can't. Think of Sophia, Stewart. I couldn't do that to her. You know it. You know that I can't."

  Stewart and I looked at one another, and I knew that he understood. I didn't have to say any more. We both knew that Sophia was too fragile and too young. She needed to think she was the best, the prettiest, the smartest, the greatest, and the most loved one. Someday she would find out that she wasn't, I knew that, but she didn't ever have to know about this. She didn't ever have to know that I could act. Acting was too important to her, and as desperately as I wanted to impress my mother and father and show them I wasn't the dolt they thought I was, I knew acting wasn't the way. Sitting there, I realized that even if I really could act, it would mean nothing to me. I didn't need a stage or an audience the way Sophia did. I didn't need it to go on living, and I realized that Sophia, little Sophia, just six years old, did.