What's Up, Pussycat?

by Louise Lyons

  “Hey,” James greeted, as he pushed open the door. “Which one are you?”

  “Mistoffelees.”

  “Skimble.” James grinned and stepped through the door. “Good luck, mate.”

  “Thanks, you too.” I followed him.

  The room behind the door was huge and looked as if it took up most of the floor of the building. At each end, a long table was situated, with two people sitting behind each. I immediately recognized Maurice Lipman, the stage director who had founded Forest Theater Company. I got to know him well when I’d been part of the Lion King. He was difficult to please, but profuse with his praise when things went well. Sitting beside him was a woman I didn’t know.

  “Mr. Harrington,” Maurice called out. “You’re here for Mistoffelees.”

  “Yes.” I nodded.

  “Where do I know you from? Come over here.” Maurice beckoned, and I walked forward. James was instructed to approach the other table at the far end of the room. Before I had the chance to open my mouth, Maurice spoke again. “Of course, you were Andrew McInnes’ other half, weren’t you? We were all devastated by what happened. I’m so sorry. How are you coping?”

  “Um…” I gulped, not having expected Maurice to bring up Andrew like that. “I’m, um, I’ve been better. But thanks for asking.”

  “You were a dancer too, weren’t you? Scar most recently, as I recall. Terrible stage-fright. And yet you’re back here again. Why?”

  “Um, I wanted to dance as Mistoffelees to honor Andrew,” I said clearly. “I know the songs and dances off by heart from when I helped him rehearse. I need to move on and do something with myself. I would very much like the opportunity to perform again.”

  Maurice nodded, while the woman beside him narrowed her eyes and tapped a pencil on the notepad in front of her. I wondered if she believed me, or if she thought I was trying to get the sympathy vote.

  “Ah,” Maurice said quietly. “Well, let’s see what you’ve got.” He looked over his shoulder at the man in the corner, whom I hadn’t noticed so far. He sat beside a sound system apparently awaiting instructions. James was still talking to the people at the other table, and it seemed I was intended to audition first.

  “Music for Mistoffelees, please!” Maurice called out.

  I backed away from the table and took up my starting position. As the first few notes issued from the speakers around the room, I began to move. My nerves made me stiff and awkward at first, but after a few seconds I managed to forget about Maurice and the woman, and the others in the room. I imagined I was practicing at home by myself, the way I had been that morning. I twirled and leaped and gesticulated, imagining sparks and explosions issuing from my fingertips, the way they would on stage when the special effects were used. I pictured the character of Rum Tum Tugger standing nearby, singing the words of Magical Mr. Mistoffelees as I danced. When the music ended, I finished by stepping up onto a chair at the side of the room and performing a split jump, landing perfectly just feet in front of the table. I stopped, chest heaving from the exertion, eyes lowered, and clasped my hands behind my back.

  “Hm,” the woman uttered, and tapped her pencil some more.

  “Nice, Mr. Harrington. Very nice.” Maurice smiled. I lifted my gaze as the woman frowned at the director. “Wait there, please.” Maurice pointed at the end of the table, and I moved aside as one of the people at the other table instructed the music man to play Skimbleshanks’ song.

  James Broughton was good—probably better than the current actor in that role. I gave him a surreptitious thumbs up when he finished, and James grinned.

  “Thank you, both. You’ll hear from us over the weekend,” Maurice said. “You may go.”

  We both thanked him and slipped out of the room. “You were awesome.” James patted my shoulder. “I hope you get the role. I heard what Mr. Lipman said.”

  “Thanks, I hope so, too.” I wiped sweat off my face with the small towel I brought with me. “You were really good. Better than the current guy.” I lowered my voice for that statement, and James beamed.

  “Thanks, bud! Fingers crossed for us both, then.”

  I put on my warm outer clothes and set off for home. I didn’t expect to get the role, even though Maurice had seemed impressed. I managed to pull off a good audition, but Maurice remembered my stage-fright and would probably be concerned it would interfere with the shows. Besides, I had a lot of competition. The changing room had been full of people getting ready to audition, and I remembered at least six with black cat outfits. The law of averages told me perhaps half of those in leotards or shorts and T-shirts, would be after the role of Mistoffelees as well.

  I looked forward to seeing Andrew the next night. I hadn’t heard from the theater company on Saturday, and even though I doubted I’d get the role, I was pleased I could tell Andrew I auditioned. I managed to smile for at least part of the time I sat on the bench looking at the carved letters in the gray stone. Andrew would be proud of me for getting this far. It was the first time I didn’t spend the entire hour crying my eyes out. I wept, but only as I said good-bye and returned to my car.

  Chapter Four

  The phone call came on Sunday afternoon. I had just ended a conversation with Carol and plugged my cellphone in to charge the battery, when it rang shrilly in the quiet room. I picked it up again.

  “Hello?”

  “Finley Harrington?”

  “Yes.”

  “This is Maurice Lipman.”

  My pulse quickened, and I clenched my free hand into a fist as I waited for Maurice to speak again.

  “I’m delighted to tell you we’ve decided to offer you the role of Mistoffelees.”

  “Oh my God! Really?” I turned to look at the photo of Andrew in his cat outfit, eyes wide.

  “Yes, really.” Maurice cackled a high-pitched laugh. “You sound surprised. I admit I was concerned that you haven’t performed in three years, and the stage-fright thing—well, hopefully that won’t be too much of an issue. I’m a soft touch. There were one or two better suited than you, but we all loved Andrew so much, and I thought it’d be too cruel not to give you a shot.”

  “You really didn’t have to offer it to me out of sympathy.” Disappointment dampened my excitement.

  “Oh, believe me, that swung it, but I wouldn’t have insisted if you’d been terrible. You need a little polish, but we have a month to sort that out. Now, how are you fixed for rehearsals? I’m assuming you’re not in full time work?”

  “Um, no. I work from home. A freelance writer.”

  “Good. Excellent. Twelve noon tomorrow, then. I’ll be back in Birmingham with the cast by then, but my assistant will be taking charge. You and the other two new recruits will be rehearsing with the understudies. When the Birmingham tour comes to an end on February 24, there’ll be three days for full cast and dress rehearsals before we move it to London. I trust you won’t have a problem with relocating.”

  “I don’t think so.” I hadn’t thought that far ahead. I was stunned I’d been offered the role, and the idea of moving away from Nottingham was an additional surprise.

  “A number of studio apartments have been arranged for the cast. The finer details will be worked out later, but the rent is covered. You’ll be expected to pay for utility bills and personal expenses only. Wages will be credited to your bank account weekly on Fridays.”

  I hadn’t thought to ask about money, but it wasn’t something that concerned me. I’d never had to worry about it, even after the rift between my parents and I developed. They set up a trust fund for me with money left by my grandparents, that I’d had access to when I turned twenty-one. I used it to help buy furniture for the house, but the rest of it remained untouched.

  The call ended and I rang Carol to tell her. It never crossed my mind to call my mother. She’d probably make one of those disapproving “tutting” noises about me putting myself “in the limelight” again.

  Carol was delighted for me and promised she and Andre
w’s dad and brothers would all come to one of the shows in London—the first one, if they could get tickets. I was glad of the support, but first I had to get through the rehearsals. I spent the rest of the day playing the DVD of the show and singing along to the songs in which I had to sing as part of the chorus, and I practiced Mistoffelees’ dance until I was exhausted. I was determined I wouldn’t fail. If I could perform in London and do a good job, I’d make Andrew proud and maybe, finally, I could start to move forward with my life.

  * * *

  The first day of rehearsals went well. I was happy to discover James Broughton had the part of Skimbleshanks. He was a nice guy and I could see us becoming friends. The girl who’d been given the role of Victoria was a little princess who seemed to think she was perfect at everything.

  The understudies were friendly and helpful and after my initial fears, I began to feel as if I could fit in and do well—better than I’d hoped.

  James was the only one who knew about Andrew. We talked quietly over lunch, and James admitted he’d heard what Maurice said to me at the auditions. He commiserated and I asked him not to mention my situation to any of the others. The last thing I wanted was a dozen people saying they were sorry for my loss, or accusing me of getting the role because of Andrew. Both would upset me, and I wanted to focus on doing a good job rather than falling apart.

  By the end of the day, I felt a small amount of pride in myself. I knew every word to every song and all the moves my character needed to make. James and Annette, who played Victoria, only knew their solo parts, and had to begin learning the rest from scratch.

  “How come you know every little detail?” Annette asked as we prepared to leave. “Have you done this before?”

  “No. I’ve just watched the show a lot,” I replied. James winked and smiled.

  “I suppose you know everyone else’s parts as well, then.” Annette pouted.

  “Some. It doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” I grinned back at James as the girl shoved her ballet shoes into her bag and rammed her feet into a pair of boots. She apparently hated to be outdone. When she flounced out of the room, James and I chuckled.

  “She needed to be brought down a peg.” James winked. “I’ve met her at previous auditions. She thinks she’s better than everyone else. You’re doing great. I should have practiced more, but I didn’t think I’d get the part, to be honest. At least we’ve got more than three weeks before we’re on stage.”

  “Thanks, but I only know it from repetition. I rehearsed with Andrew virtually every day for months, and I went to the show once a week.”

  “That’s dedication.”

  “Yeah.” I swallowed hard as a lump formed in my throat. I lowered my gaze and finished getting changed. James didn’t speak again, and the awkward silence was broken only by the sounds of some of the understudies preparing to leave. I mumbled a good-bye and left before James could reply. I accepted I would find this difficult, but I wondered if what I was doing was going to help me at all.

  Chapter Five

  Rehearsals progressed well over the next few weeks. I had good days, when I went home feeling positive about the whole experience, and bad days when I convinced myself I’d fail as soon as I stepped on the stage. I didn’t feel nervous when the cast practiced the songs and dances over and over, but I knew the minute they moved the rehearsals from the dance studio to the stage, even without an audience, my fears would kick in.

  James became a good friend after the first couple of days, and we occasionally spent time together away from the theater company. James lived only a mile from me, and we hung out at a coffee shop part way between our homes. James lived with his mother and his teenage sister. He had a girlfriend who was in her last year of university in Manchester, and the pair planned to live together as soon as she finished her course and came home.

  I rarely talked about Andrew, but I found myself telling James about how we met in our teens and spent the next seven years of our lives together. I described my years in boarding school, and my parents’ disapproval of my orientation. James was the first person to show a real interest in my life since Andrew had been gone. It felt good to have a friend, and I realized how isolated I’d become in the past few months. Most of the friends I had previously had been friends of Andrew’s, and we lost touch after he died.

  February flew by and suddenly the run of shows in Birmingham was over. The cast returned to Nottingham to take over from the understudies with rehearsals in preparation for London. James, Annette, and I arrived at the theater company that Tuesday morning ready to meet the cast, and found most of the understudies absent. They would be sent for if required, but otherwise there was no longer a need for them to be present for rehearsals.

  The members of the cast began arriving half an hour later when the three of us were warming up, and my impression of the first man through the door was one of shock. I’d seen Karl Rogers who played Rum Tum Tugger from a distance a few times when I attended the shows in Leicester, but never without his cat costume. He was tall—at least six feet—and his shock of peroxide hair and startling green eyes drew everyone’s attention. His lycra leggings emphasized a large package, and a bright orange cropped T-shirt and matching ballet shoes completed his outfit. He charged into the room like a whirlwind.

  “So! Who do we have here?” he shouted, looming over Annette and me, where we stood stretching our hamstrings. “You look weirdly familiar.” He jabbed a finger in my direction, before turning his attention to Annette. “What a pretty kitty. What’s your name, then, darling?” He pronounced the endearment “dahling” and I cringed. I hoped the rest of the cast weren’t like Karl. I’d met a couple of them, but I preferred to keep my distance and monopolize Andrew when the shows were over.

  “Annette,” the girl said. “And that’s Finley. The other guy is James.”

  Karl spun around to look at James, gave him a cursory nod, then turned back to me. He took a step closer, forcing me to look up.

  “Cute!” Karl exclaimed. “Cat got your tongue?” He proceeded to shriek with laughter at his lame joke, and my face heated under the scrutiny.

  “I’ve not had the chance to get a word in,” I blurted, and immediately cringed. My voice tended to sound more refined when I was irritated. I couldn’t help my parents or the school I’d gone to, but for the past few years I’d done my best to shake off the accent and sound more like everyone else. I knew Karl would say something, even before he opened his mouth again.

  “Ooh, someone swallowed a silver spoon, didn’t they? Wait. Finley? Finley Harrington? Golly, I’m surprised Mummy and Daddy let their little boy do something as lower class as performing on the stage. Shouldn’t you be a lawyer or a doctor or something?” Karl spoke in an exaggerated tone, and my face burned.

  “Wow, someone loves himself.” James moved to my side and cocked an eyebrow at Karl.

  “I have a sense of humor. You should try it some time.” Karl laughed, and James scowled at him. The boisterous dancer ignored him, and draped an arm around Annette’s shoulders. “You never told me your name, Kitty.”

  “Yes, I did. It’s Annette.”

  “Victoria suits you much better, beautiful,” Karl purred. Annette fluttered her eyelashes. James and I moved away to the other side of the room.

  “Oh my God, what a dick,” James whispered. “Have you met him before?”

  “No, but I’ve seen him from a distance. Andrew never said much about him. I hope the rest of them aren’t like him.”

  “No one else could love themselves that much.” James wrinkled his nose and curled his lip. “He’ll get on well with Annette.”

  I chuckled. “Hopefully he’ll give her all his attention in the future.”

  The rest of the cast proved to be what I classed as “normal.” Mostly they were more like James in attitude. None of them seemed to think themselves better than anyone else due to having spent months—or years, in some cases—on the stage. Karl behaved much the same way with many of the
m, and I noticed some merely ignored him and rolled their eyes, while others taunted him in return. They were clearly used to him, and I wondered if I’d ever get used to such a character, assuming I lasted six months in London.

  The next couple of days of rehearsals were hectic and stressful. I didn’t express my concerns, even to James, but I dreaded opening night in the theater. I was certain I’d freeze up on stage, or spend so much time in the dressing room with my head down the toilet, that my understudy would have to take my part. My feelings were mostly caused by lack of confidence, and my old stage-fright coming to the surface, but Karl Rogers didn’t help matters. He must have realized he intimidated me, and that I didn’t know how to respond, and consequently taunted me more. James and a couple of the other actors had words with Karl more than once, but he took no notice and continued to tease me when he caught me alone. The first full dress rehearsal was the last straw. It all went horribly wrong.

  I loved my costume. I looked very like Andrew had in the black lycra suit, white fluffy legwarmers, and gloves, with a long black tail attached to the back of the belt. My face was made up white, with dark “fur” around the edges. My nose and lips were painted to look like a cat’s, with “whiskers” either side of my nose. I gave myself a pep talk in the dressing room.

  There’s no need for stage-fright. I can do this, and Andrew will be delighted.

  I managed not to freeze or throw up before I stepped out there with the chorus. At the beginning, it was fine. My heart raced and my mouth went dry, but I only had to move around and sing with the other characters, so the spotlight wasn’t on me. It was only later, when Mistoffelees had his solo dance, that I panicked. Karl as Rum Tum Tugger prepared to sing the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees song, and my gradually-building confidence deserted me. I started well, but stumbled over my own feet on a twirl. After that humiliation, I was so certain I’d messed up beyond repair, that I forgot my steps and improvised. The whole thing was a shambles, and I couldn’t get away from the astonished and amused expression on Rum Tum Tugger’s face as he tilted his head on one side, catlike, and watched my every move.