Duet Rubato

by Claerie Kavanaugh

  Yes, I’d walked out. I regret it every single damn day. But she never came after me, either. After all the trust I’d put in her, all the secrets we’d shared and the promises we’d made. I’d been there to pick up the pieces, and she still expected me to apologize. Hell no. There’s more to having a rich, fulfilling life than pushing everything and everyone away for a job.

  A tiny part of me hisses at my hypocrisy. I throw myself headfirst into my work to bury the memory of that night. To turn it into nothing more than a fuzzy bad dream. I don’t care. What she does with her screwed-up life is none of my concern. She made her bed. She has to lie in it.

  So I tell myself every time her name flashes across my phone screen.

  At lunch the Friday following callbacks, Sam, Logan, and I make a break for the lighting booth. I sigh and plop into the wheelie chair behind the light board, fishing out my small cooler and setting it on the edge of the table before letting my purse fall to the floor. I pull out two Tupperware containers, a salad, and some dressing, open both and pour the vinaigrette on before snapping the lids closed again, shaking the bigger container to mix it up.

  “Hey!” Logan snaps, vaulting from his seat. “Be careful around the equipment. Liquid could fry the circuitry.”

  “What?”

  Logan rolls his eyes. “Liquid makes board go boom.”

  “Relax, neat freak.” I say with a laugh. “Nothing’s gonna happen to your precious board.” I take a big mouthful. “See?” Logan grunts and shuffles to the couch. Sam follows suit.

  “Oh, thank God,” she moans, sinking into the cushions and crinkling a brown paper bag as she pulls it out of the embroidered tote hanging across her shoulders. “I swear, if Hellsworth orders me to redo these drawings one more time,” she ruffles around in the tote, pulling out a handful of crumpled sketches of costumes, “I swear I’m going to deck her.”

  “And risk getting fired?” Logan asks, shaking his head as he takes a bite of stir-fry. “Nuh-uh. I don’t think so.”

  I smother a laugh as Sam sits forward on the couch, glaring at him and waving her turkey sandwich. “Or really? Wanna bet?”

  Logan raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms. “What’s in it for me?”

  “Next person she goes off on tells her off. If you’re not fired, the other person owes drinks for a week.”

  Logan grins impishly and sticks out his hand. “Deal.”

  “Guys, seriously? Are you making bets on your jobs no—” My back pocket vibrates and “The Life I Never Led” from Sister Act echoes through the booth. I cringe at Sam’s devilish smile and the way Logan’s eyes crinkle at the sound. That’s the third time since callbacks.

  So, why aren’t I answering? She must be sorry.

  I scoff. For what? Hooking up? It’s not like we’re together.

  Then why am I so jealous?

  My face heats up and I ball my fists. Fuck.

  “It’s her, isn’t it?” Sam gives me a wide, toothy grin. “You know, you never told us what happened at the coffee shop.”

  I glare at her. “That’s none of either of your—”

  Sam moans and flops into the couch. “Come on,” she pleads. “You have to have some juicy details. What’s she doing now? Why did you look so shell-shocked when you first saw her? Have you two been sexting? Is she still a good kisser? What about—”

  I scramble over and slap my hand over her mouth as sweat dampens the tank top underneath my crop jacket.

  “Shut it, you pervert,” I hiss. “I swear, there’s nothing to tell. She and I aren’t talking right now, so.”

  “Wait, what?” Sam’s eyes gleam.

  Dammit.

  “Why not?” Logan this time.

  I sigh. “It’s a long story.”

  “Bullshit.” Sam shakes her head. “She’s called you like a billion times. What gives?”

  “It’s complicated.” I cut my gaze to the ground and head back to my chair.

  Sam sags and turns up her palms. “We’ve got forty-five minutes.”

  Swallowing, I glance up at the sound of Logan’s hand slapping her knee.

  “Shh!”

  “What?” she asks, twisting the cap of her water bottle. “She obviously still has a thing for her.”

  “I do not!” I retort, stabbing my salad. “At least, not anymore.”

  “You’ve had hearts in your eyes since you met her and they’re still there.”

  I squeeze the fork.

  “Whatever she did can’t be a big deal.”

  “Can we drop it?” I mutter. “She’s overflowed my damn voicemail. I don’t need you guys on my case, too.”

  “And you haven’t listened to any of the messages?” Sam asks.

  I shake my head with a long sigh.

  “Why not?”

  Fear, I guess? What if it’s worse than I think? “Guys, my plate’s already full.”

  Logan leans back. “Anyone who’s called that many times after a fight. Trust me, she has something to say.”

  “And what if you’re right?” I rest my forehead in my hand and set my elbow on the table. “What if it’s all a big mistake and I get pulled in again?”

  “Wouldn’t it be better to know for sure?” Sam asks.

  I hesitate and Logan throws up his hands. “Enough with the pity party. Listen to the damn voicemail.”

  I catch my lip and nibble, pulling my phone from my pocket. “Okay, you’re right.” They both grin as I step out into the hall, hitting play on the most recent message—the one she left before callbacks. I didn’t delete it thanks to my hectic schedule.

  Catie’s voice echoes through the speaker and I freeze. “Hey, Lyn, um, it’s me, Catie. I, uh, wanted to, uh,” My heart clenches as she sobs into the phone. “Listen, Lyssa isn’t my girlfriend, she’s my, my, friend.”

  friend? Why would she dedicate our song to a friend? Better yet, why dedicate and date it? I sneer. “Whatever.” She’s still talking, but I hit “END” before she finishes.

  The following Monday, the table read starts. Catie’s seat is three down from mine. Fucking perfect. The universe is trying to get back at me for walking out on her.

  This is going to be a long-ass production.

  The accompanist starts the overture. Natalia, who plays Glinda, has the pipes for Stephen Schwartz’ gorgeous but grueling score. In fact, she soars over the highest notes. This girl has to be classically trained. No one else could make such a difficult song sound like it’s second nature. Pride bursts in my chest at my insistence to cast her. Maybe I’ve done something right after all.

  My moment of reassurance is short lived. My stomach clenches when I cut to Hellsworth, seated next to the producer and musical supervisor. Her lips are pursed and her chin rests on her folded hands. One multicolored eyebrow is raised, and her green eyes flash. I’ve worked with her long enough to understand her tells. She’s unsatisfied with something Natalia’s done, but of course, won’t explain what or why. Instead she hums, nods, and flicks to the first page of the script. Her long nails scrape against the paper.

  “Again.”

  I wince as Natalia’s posture deflates and her smile slips. The cast and crew suck in their breath and there’s a beat of silence. We all jump when Hellsworth clears her throat. “I said, take it. Again.”

  Natalia shakily starts over.

  It’s two hours before we move on to the second number. By then, Natalia’s voice has gone hoarse and tears of frustration glisten in her eyes, but she clenches her jaw and shoves onward in the face of Hellsworth’s wrath.

  “Watching paint dry is more entertaining than this!”

  “Are you trying to celebrate, or lull me to sleep?”

  “Come on. A monkey could hit those notes with more power than you!”

  “Someone take me down to the lake. I’d rather drown myself than listen to this train wreck any longer.”

  When Catie’s first scene comes, I hold my breath. Despite everything, I don’t want to watch her be ripped to s
hreds. She speaks to Emily, the girl playing Elphaba, with a strange kind of understanding. Sympathy flashes behind her eyes rather than anger as she scolds her after the first magical outburst. I cross my arms over my chest when her eyes search mine. My tongue jets out to lick my drying, cracked lips. I keep my gaze trained to the page as I reach into my purse for a new tube of lip gloss and smear it on.

  Helmsworth notices too. I stiffen when her gaze bores into me.

  Pressing my lips together, I resist the tether begging me to match Catie’s adoring look as she speaks to Damian, the youngest member of our cast, who’s playing Boq, a few scenes later. The words begin to swim and jump around the page, and the actors’ voices become buzzes in my ears. I fold my legs under me and sit up straighter, but everything moves past me in a blur. At the end of act one, Catie is mouthing Glinda’s part in perfect sync with Natalia, but her eyes are brimming with tears while the chosen actresses’ sparkle with fiery rage.

  It’s been that way all along. Catie watches Natalia’s performance with close precision. Whenever she chimes in, silently, her facial expression and acting choices always capitalize on the part of Glinda the character tries so hard to keep hidden from the rest of Oz for the majority of the show. Her soft, vulnerable nature that wants to be accepted, and knows what it’s like to be wanted for the wealth and prestige that comes with her family name. Natalia’s choices portray her in a more serious, less forgiving light emphasizing her need and love for the adoration of others. The longer I watch, the more apparent it is.

  I frown as Hellsworth’s glower increases. I’m much more captivated with Catie’s heartfelt performance than Natalia’s cold approach. Though I have to give her points for making the role her own, I can’t help thinking she’s missing the entire nature of Glinda and Elphaba’s friendship.

  When Emily nails the last riff and the song tapers off, Helmsworth cuts her gaze between Natalia and Catie. “Miss McIntosh,” she says, looking at Natalia. “Do you take me for a simpleton?”

  She sits back in her seat. “N-no, ma’am.”

  “Then why, may I ask, do you think Glinda would treat her best friend in such a hostile manner as you demonstrated in the former number?”

  Natalia’s eyes dart back and forth as she swipes her long hair into a ponytail. “Sh-she’s fur—”

  “Did I ask for a response?”

  Natalia gapes. “Ye—”

  “That didn’t require an answer.”

  “But, you said. . .”

  “What I said, Miss McIntosh, is anyone who was not dedicated to this project should have left the moment I entered the room.”

  Next to me, Logan gasps, and Sam’s jaw has unhinged so it nearly touches the floor.

  “What?” Her cheeks match her cherry red water bottle. “I am ded—”

  “You may go.”

  “But—”

  Hellsworth holds up her hand and fixes the actress with a glare. “Go.”

  Natalia’s chair scrapes against the wooden floor. She gathers her things and the door swings closed with a slam.

  My heart does a tiny kick-flip in my chest when Hellsworth turns to Catie as if nothing has happened. “Miss Klarken, why don’t you take it from here?”

  Catie startles. “M-me?”

  “You know her lines, do you not?”

  “Of course I do, but—”

  She turns to the accompanist. “Top of act two, please, Jason.” She nods at Lizzie. “Miss Edenson you’ve been promoted. Take Catherine’s part.”

  “What?”

  Before either of them can protest, the music begins.

  Catie nails the opening. The song is a perfect mixture of longing, doubt, wistfulness, and a forced sort of satisfaction. My heart aches. She doesn’t take her eyes off me the entire time. I try my hardest to ignore the earnest, desperate looks, but once in a while, I can’t help peeking up over my script. By the middle of the act, I let the voices hissing at my still-shattered heart drown out my emotions. Dammit if she’s going to make me care again.

  By the end of the closing number, there’s not a dry eye in the room. Even I’m fighting against the wetness enshrouding my vision. When the reprise of the opening ends, I’m not the least bit surprised at Hellsworth’s announcement.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we’ve found our new Glinda.” She turns to Catie and, no joke, smiles. “Congratulations, Ms. Klarken.”

  The room bursts into applause. Catie’s pupils are as wide as the orchestra pit. It takes me a moment too long to register why that look of terror is so familiar. By the time I do, she has catapulted herself from her chair and disappeared into the hall.

  There’s a beat of shocked silence.

  Fuck. Clenching my fists in my lap, I push back and round the table, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.

  Hellsworth arches a pointed brow at me. “Adaline,” she says, her magenta nails thrumming along her waistline as she places one hand on her hip. “Do you know the meaning of this?”

  My eyes dart back toward the door, and my feet shuffle against the carpet. My body is betraying me yet again, as if there’s a force determined to push Catie and I back together.

  I’m fairly certain I know what made her bolt from the studio, what the with metal bubble Glinda is suspended in at the start of the show.

  “Miss Davidson?”

  I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. In spite of everything, I still care for her too much to give up her secret knowing full well it could get her fired from the production.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Helmsworth, Natalia and Catherine won their roles, and this was the first read-through. Isn’t this decision a bit rash?”

  “Changing tides are the nature of the theater, Miss Davidson. I would hope you know that by now.”

  Her glower makes me think the better of protesting. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Hellsworth nods. “Good then.” She turns to face the cast. “Catherine has until the end of the day to come back and explain her outburst. Otherwise she shall be recast first thing in the morning.”

  “I’ll find her,” I’m already stepping out into the hall as I say it. “You’ll have your answer by the end of the day.”

  I check the restroom. She, as I suspected, is nowhere to be found. I search the whole theater: the auditorium, the sound booth, the dressing rooms, the wings, and still, nothing. In a last-ditch effort, I pull out my phone, but I don’t know what to say. After running my fingers over the keyboard for several minutes to delete everything and start over, I settle on:

  5:55 P.M. Addie: Everyone is looking for you. Are you all right?

  With a sigh, I hit send, praying she’ll say something, even an insult.

  Another thirty minutes of searching, and she’s still giving me the silent treatment. I guess I shouldn’t have expected anything else, considering the way I treated her, but she seemed so desperate to talk to me during the read-through. I thought maybe, for the sake of her career. . . but no. Once again, her sense of self-preservation has risen above all else. Though it does make my heart clench. To think her own well-being is less important to her than her reputation.

  With nothing else to do, I make my way back to the studio and gather my things. Hellsworth pulls me aside before I can slink away.

  “Well?”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Helmsworth, but I haven’t found her.”

  The director’s brow furrows and her eyes narrow into slits. “If she doesn’t explain herself tonight, her career will be over. Is that clear?”

  I catch my lip between my teeth, but right myself and give a sharp nod. “Yes, ma’am.”

  I trudge across the asphalt, running this afternoon’s events over in my head. As self-absorbed as Catie Klarken has always been, she wouldn’t risk her place in the production for the sake of maintaining her vanity. And yet, I couldn’t find her, and my phone still had no new messages. It was unlike Catie to give up so easily. But then, perhaps she didn’t need the money as badly as I thought.


  I round the building one last time before going in search of my car—and there she is. She’s seated on the bench outside the theater, shivering and hunkered down in her tattered old white coat, the same one she’s had since freshman year, as the chilly air whips a few strands of hair against her frosted cheeks. Changing my course, I head toward her.

  “There you are. Hellsworth’s had everyone looking for you.” She says nothing, pulling her coat a little tighter to her chest.

  “What are you doing out here? Aren’t you cold?”

  Her eyes slip toward the leaf-littered ground. “A friend is picking me up. Her rehearsal ran late.”

  She has a girlfriend now. She doesn’t need me.

  I grit my teeth as I slide next to her on the bench. A chill slithers up my spine at the icy touch of the wood on my thighs through my leggings. “Don’t you have a car?”

  She stiffens, pressing her lips together so hard the skin around them turns white, and curling her fingers around the front of the bench. Her hard blue eyes are tinged with a storm of worry and panic.

  She must be in a pretty tight spot if she can’t afford to transport herself. Maybe she does need this job. I sigh.

  “Look, I know you’re scared.” She scoffs. “But Catherine, consider the opportunity. You can’t throw something like this away because you’re afraid of what a few people might think.”

  “Oh, like you haven’t done the same thing,” she spits, crossing her arms and glancing up at the road.

  I do a double take. “What? When have I ever—”

  “The baby?” Fire dances in her eyes. “That’s why you left, isn’t it?”

  How dare she? “That was different!”

  “This is all your fault, you know.”

  “How is your running out of rehearsal my fault?”

  “If you hadn’t read with me, I never would’ve gotten Glinda in the first place.”

  “That doesn’t make sense. You were reading for Nessa!”

  “Do you know the last time we fought like that?” she asks, blocking out my protests. “The night you left. Do you remember what you said?”

  Of course I do. Those words will haunt me forever, but what do they have to do with this show? She watches me, and I rasp out, “How could I forget?”