by Jo Duchemin
After teaching us the choreography, Donna wanted to watch the whole song to see how it looked. “I suppose you’ll want to dance to the soundtrack, rather than the backing track? You probably can’t sing and dance at the same time yet.” Donna stared at me, willing me to admit defeat. I had other ideas.
“I’d love to sing to the backing track, as long as the other girls don’t mind?” I turned to look at the chorus girls, whose faces were amused – I think they wanted someone to beat Donna at her own game. They quickly glanced at each other, smiling and nodding.
Donna’s face looked like she was chewing a wasp. “As you wish, ladies.” She went to the tech box to put on the correct track. I spun round to face my cast mates.
“Thanks, girls, let’s show Donna what we can do, show her that her barbed comments won’t break us,” I smiled at them.
“Damn straight, Claudia,” one girl, whose name I couldn’t remember, smiled back. “I’m sick of her constantly trying to catch us out.” There were some quick utterances of agreement and I felt like part of a team for the first time since my parents had died. It felt good.
The music started and I easily identified my cue to begin singing – that morning spent in the library had paid off. The words came naturally, leaving me free to concentrate on the movement and character. All my built-up sexual tension from the situation with Marty had found an outlet – I could be as provocative as I liked here, it worked in my favour. When the other girls joined me on stage, I remembered why I had loved performing so much. The number ended and the watching students burst into applause. Donna was quiet for a few minutes and then her voice came out over the speakers, amplified from the tech box:
“Not bad. Not bad.” There was a pause. “Claudia, I didn’t realise you were so short. I hope you can dance in heels.”
I bit my tongue. I’d always been a bit sensitive about my height (or lack thereof) since I’d stopped growing. I was a little shorter than average, but I’d met people who were smaller than me. I took a deep, calming breath.
“Of course, Donna, I have dance shoes with heels at home, I’ll bring them in next rehearsal.” I kept my breathing even.
“You should have brought them in today. Right, I’d like to work with Mark and Helena on their duet now, everybody else, learn your lines and keep the noise down.”
As I left the staging area, I glanced at the other girls. They were all in flat shoes, like me, and one of them was shorter than me. I was sure Donna was picking on me and I had no idea why. I grabbed my bag, found a seat, got my script out and continued to memorise the dialogue. I decided staying one step ahead of Donna was going to be difficult on this production.
Absorbed in my task, I didn’t hear Donna call my name.
“Claudia. Earth to Claudia. Could you possibly come and work on your solo?”
“Sorry, which song?”
Donna rolled her eyes, “Your solo: ‘His Shining Star’. Everyone else can go.”
I heard the other students leave and my heart sank. Her comments were cutting in front of others; I dreaded to think what she might say without witnesses. I knew the song very well; in fact, it had become my second favourite from the whole show (just behind the song Marty had sung to me in the kitchen). Hopefully, I could impress her and get out to meet Marty as soon as possible. The thought of seeing Marty made me more anxious to get started on this song and I went up to meet Donna in the staging area.
“Right, Claudia, you’re going to be on the stage on your own, so you’d better not cock this one up. Stand in the middle, I’ll put a spotlight on you and we will see what comes naturally to you.” She walked briskly off to the tech box, leaving me standing in the open space alone. That was it? That was my direction? I’d never met a director like Donna, but I quickly imagined what my old drama teacher would have told me – believe in yourself, become the character and let the song tell the story.
The lights switched off, and then a spotlight cut through the darkness, inching its way across the stage to where I stood. Once it was focused on me, it blocked out everything in front of me, leaving me free to imagine that Donna wasn’t there, that the whole room was empty and I was just singing for myself. The music started, a sultry, jazzy melody filling the space around me. I lost myself in the song, feeling every word, thinking of Marty, wanting to share in my character’s hope. Like my relationship with Marty, I tried to make each moment of the song count.
There was just silence after I finished singing. I waited for Donna to say something. Finally, her voice cracked through the speakers, she sounded odd.
“That was… that was satisfactory.” I thought I heard a sniffle from Donna.
“How can I improve it?” There was a pause.
“Be able to do that in front of everybody,” her voice cracked, “and you might not be the worst Lydia Mills in history. Do it again. I want to check it wasn’t a fluke.”
She put the music on again. I repeated the emotions, the vulnerability and power of the words pouring out of me. At the end of the music, I stood and waited, my heart pounding from the intensity of my singing. There was just silence.
“Donna?” I started to feel uneasy.
“You can go.” Donna didn’t come out of the tech box, but turned the full lights back on. I jumped. Marty was standing at the back of the studio, by the door. I’d been so involved with my song that I didn’t even hear the door open. I grabbed my bag and ran over to him.
“How long have you been here?” I whispered. I wasn’t sure what Donna’s view was on friends coming to watch rehearsals and I didn’t need another reason for her to cut me down.
“Long enough to see your amazing performance. That was something else. You made your lecturer cry – that’s why she hasn’t come out yet.”
“How do you know she’s crying?” The tech box had one-way glass – she could see us, but we couldn’t see her.
“I can see her.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I won’t ask. Let’s go home.”
We headed off for home. It was dark outside, and it felt as though winter was almost upon us. Our breath hung in frosty clouds in front of our faces, as we briskly walked the few minutes back to our house.
He unlocked the front door, always quicker than me to find his key. I stumbled into the doorway and he caught me in his arms. I kicked the door shut and melted into his embrace. I was home.
“What did you mean by – you could see Donna – can you see through the one-way glass?” I couldn’t resist asking.
“I could, but I can also see her sadness – she had big dreams and she didn’t get them.”
“How do you know?”
“I overheard her talking after one of your lectures, as we were walking away. She was talking to herself. Wishing she could have her time again.” He looked sad too.
“Is that why she picks on all the students?”
“It’s a part of it. She’s jealous, she’d rather be on the stage herself. Enough of her, what about you? That song was amazing – you really moved me.”
“Thank you. I was thinking about you while I was singing.”
He held me close. “I know.”
He kissed me.
While we waited for our dinner to cook, I showed Marty the rehearsal schedule that Donna had handed out. It was going to take up a considerable amount of time and I would have quit the production in favour of spending that time with Marty, if I didn’t already know he wouldn’t let me do that. Donna had unrealistic expectations of the amount of time her students could dedicate to her show and she wanted to complete the rehearsals and stage the show in an unacceptably short time. In my somewhat limited experience, most shows took a few months to rehearse and perfect and she had allotted only a handful of weeks.
“I’m hardly going to see you,” I moaned.
Marty put an arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure if I tal
k to Donna, I can arrange to watch rehearsals – after all, I can’t imagine she’d be happy for her leading lady to be walking home from these late night rehearsals, in the dark, on her own. Anything could happen to you.”
I smiled. “I’m not sure that even you could persuade her to let you watch rehearsals.”
“I can be very persuasive,” he kissed me gently, “when I want to be.”
“Oh, I know you can!” I smiled. “You can’t use the techniques you use on me with Donna though!”
“I can use the technique I used on your aunt.”
“What do you mean?” I felt surprised, yet not really worried – I knew Marty would never do anything to hurt Aunt Sandra.
“I shouldn’t really tell you this, but then I’ve told you lots of things I shouldn’t have told you. Angels have ways of making things happen so that we can complete our task. I needed to convince your Aunt Sandra that I was the right person to share the house. I arranged for the other students to find accommodation, so that I would be the only option. And then when I met her, I charmed her.”
“Charmed?” Somehow, I couldn’t be angry with him.
“It’s a term we use – no real magic is involved, it’s more of a trance really – I can stare into someone’s eyes and make them trust me, agree with me, do what I want them to do.” Marty paused. “Well, normally I can. It didn’t work on you. You’re the only person I’ve never been able to charm. Not in my usual way, anyhow.” He stared into my eyes again.
“Are you doing it now?” I stared back at him.
“I am.” His gaze was fixed.
“What are you trying to do?” I couldn’t look away.
“I’m trying to get you to do something.” His eyes were breathtaking. I had no idea of what he wanted me to do, but I desperately wanted to please him, so I kissed him, thinking that was a good bet of what he might want me to do.
“Was that what you wanted me to do?” I looked at him hopefully, but saw defeat in his eyes.
“No, well, yes, I always want you to kiss me, but I was trying to charm you into picking up the wine bottle and refilling your glass.”
I laughed. “Sorry, I didn’t pick that up at all. Why can’t you charm me?”
He sighed. “I have no idea. It has never worked on you – even before I fell in love with you. Perhaps that is why I was so attracted to you – I knew you wouldn’t love me just because I wished it to be so. If you fell for me, it would be your own choice, without any interference from me.” He reached for the wine bottle and refilled my glass automatically.
“And I do.”
“I know,” he smiled. “It means everything to me.”
“Marty, there’s a couple of other things I’m curious about,” I smiled and he rolled his eyes. “Can I ask you about them?” I stared into his eyes.
“It’s almost like you’re charming me – I can’t seem to do anything but give you what you want.” He reached over and gently caressed my face. “I’d do anything for you; even answer all your questions.”
I closed my eyes and savoured the feeling of his touch. He’d almost managed to distract me from my questions.
“When you said about making people forget – how does that work?”
“Please remember that I have never done this maliciously, it’s just a part of getting a task completed without anybody finding out what I am.”
I nodded and placed my hand on his. “I understand. I just want to know how it happens.”
“I look the person in the eye, think about the information I wish to erase from their memory and then I emit a beam of light into their eyes, which wipes the information. The light isn’t visible to human eyes, so nobody notices. Then, I think of what I want to replace the information with – usually, I picture a brick wall, so that nothing comes back to them.”
I had a moment of recollection – he’d done this to me – this was why I couldn’t remember the names of his referees when he applied to live with me. This was why the receptionist at the hospice couldn’t remember the hospital he had previously worked at.
“You did that to me – when you first interviewed to live here.”
“I’m sorry.” He snatched his hand out from under mine and put his head in his hands. “I would never have done it if I’d known how things would turn out.”
“It’s OK, I understand.” In my head, I pictured myself ripping down that wall, brick by brick, the cement holding the bricks in place crumbling under my fingers.
“Other angels have probably done it to you in the past and you wouldn’t have noticed. Have you ever had déjà vu?”
I nodded, still fixated in my head on the imaginary bricks tumbling down around my ankles.
“That’s sometimes an effect of an angel erasing a tiny part of your mind. You see the moment in a reflection of the erased memory.”
“Susan Berry and Kim Ashman.” I blurted the words, with no idea of why I was saying them. My hand flew up to my mouth in shock.
There was silence in the kitchen for a few moments.
“Claudia, how did you do that?” Marty looked stunned.
I realised what I’d just said. “Those are the names I couldn’t remember. The names you erased from my mind.”
“Yes, they are. How did you do that? I removed it from your mind – the knowledge isn’t there anymore. You shouldn’t have been able to do that.” Marty looked pale.
“I pictured myself ripping down the brick wall. The names were behind it.”
“Impossible.” Marty shook his head.
“That’s what I did.” I was whispering now, but I didn’t know why.
“I removed the information. Exactly the same way I would for anyone else. This isn’t possible.” His eyes searched my face. “I don’t understand how you did that.”
“I don’t know what to say. The words came to me after I imagined ripping down the wall. I tried to think of them the other day and couldn’t remember them at all.”
“That’s as it should have been. Unbelievable. It’s like you’re becoming immune to my powers. I wonder if it’s because I’ve fallen for you and now I don’t wish to hide anything from you. I just can’t explain it any other way. Even so, the knowledge shouldn’t have been in your head. It was removed.” He looked like the rug had been pulled out from underneath him and he was shaking his head slightly. I so desperately wanted to make it better.
“Does it matter? If you’re not planning to erase any memories, or hide information from me?” I gesticulated with my hand to my head and, in doing so, I knocked my wine glass. Marty’s hand steadied it, before I’d even realised what I’d done.
“Nothing matters but you.” He smiled and looked more like his usual, composed self. “Go on then, what was your other query?”
“Well,” I had a quick sip of my wine, “you said that angels don’t use wings to fly and that some angels don’t even have wings. I just wondered why some angels did have wings – if they serve no purpose, why are they there?” I felt stupid asking these questions, but the more I thought about the things he said, the more I wanted to learn. I was intrigued, not only about Marty, but about the whole angel situation. Now that I knew it was real, I wanted to know everything he could tell me.
“Oh, the wings serve a purpose, for those that have earned them.” His eyes shone with tears.
“Earned?”
“Those angels who have served with impeccable grace and kindness can earn their wings. It takes many centuries of perfection and dedication to reach that level.”
I understood why he had tears in his eyes. Now, he would never earn his wings.
“What does it mean, if an angel has earned his wings?”
He snapped out of his sadness, but I sensed his carefree attitude was forced. “It’s mostly used as a status symbol. Silly, really. It just shows that you were very good at wh
atever tasks you were assigned. A bit like a bonus for good work, that everyone else can see.”
I knew there was more to it than that. I also knew, whatever it was, he didn’t want to tell me. I had to ask. “Is that all?”
He knew he was caught. “Well, legend has it that wings can be traded for wishes.”
I mulled it over for a heartbeat. “So if you earned your wings, you could wish to be human and we could be together forever. But you’ll never earn your wings, because of falling in love with me while you’re an angel.”
“Exactly. It’s ironic, isn’t it?” Marty’s smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“And there is no other way to earn your wings?”
“Not that I know of. Did you have any more questions?”
I sensed he didn’t want to talk anymore. He looked subdued and pensive. I stood up and walked around the table to where he sat. I carefully perched myself on his thigh and kissed his cheek. “No more questions tonight.” Our eyes locked and the room suddenly seemed warmer. He wrapped his hands around my waist. I could feel his heartbeat speeding up and his sadness transforming into longing. He lifted me up and, kissing me all the way, carried me to bed.
Chapter 12
We slept, curled up together, all night. It was as though we were both trying to make the most of the physical contact we could have, rather than wish for what we couldn’t have. I think we had both, finally, accepted that this was how it was for us.
The next day, being a Saturday, should have been a day to indulge in spending as much time as possible together, but unfortunately, even that simple pleasure was unavailable. Donna had scheduled a rehearsal to last all day. I was reluctant to leave Marty’s arms, the warmth of our bed, but it had to be done. As I started to move away from him, Marty wrapped his arms around me tighter.