by Traci Briery
"I haven't been," Phyllis muttered.
"Haven't been what?"
"I haven't been working on a routine."
"You haven't? My gosh, what have you been doing? Do you mean you've been reading about werewolves all this time?"
"I have to learn about them somehow," Phyllis said. "I don't trust the movies."
"But what about your work? You can't go into an audition and improvise the whole thing!"
"I've done that before," Phyllis said. "So have you."
"Yeah, but have you ever gotten a job that way? I haven't."
"Look, I haven't exactly been able to think about try-outs or auditions or anything else for awhile, okay?" Phyllis snapped. "I'm in trouble here! I have to take care of this little problem before I can do anything else, you know?"
"What 'problem?' That you're a werewolf?"
"No, that I can't get the stains out of my sweater," Phyllis grumbled. "Yes that I'm a werewolf! And yeah, I can see you don't believe me, but I don't know how to prove it to you except to change, and no way will I let that happen again!"
"So… you're telling me that you're not going to the tryout, right?" Phyllis said calmly.
"Not if I don't find a cure by then. I can't go to any tryout, no matter how great a break it would be. I have to… have to figure my way out of this." Phyllis gathered up her books in silence and avoided meeting Roxanne's gaze when she next spoke.
"I don't expect you to believe me," she said. "And right now, yeah, I do look crazy, especially with all of this 'occult' stuff lying around. If it helps, I haven't gotten into drugs, and I'm not a devil-worshipper."
"I don't know what to think about this," Roxanne said quietly. She, too, gathered up her belongings from the dining table. "I was planning on spending the night at Linda's tonight. Unless… do you need me here?"
"Go to Linda's," Phyllis said. "Don't worry about me. You will, anyway, but try not to."
"You're not making it easy."
Phyllis smiled bittersweetly, then went to her friend to put a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"I've never made it easy on people," she said. "And, take this for what it's worth, but I'm going to make a promise. Whatever happens, no matter what I end up changing into, I promise never to hurt you."
"That's… a nice promise," Roxanne said uncertainly. "I think I'm more worried about you getting hurt, though. I don't want you hurt. And this thing…" Roxanne said, pointing to the pentagram. "Who knows what'll happen if you start messing with stuff like that? I've heard too many bizarre stories from people. From people I know, who used to be friends."
"Gawd, where do you find these people you keep talking about, anyway?" Phyllis said. "Oh. I guess I'm one of them now, huh?"
Roxanne said nothing.
Chapter Eighteen
"We've been through this before," Phyllis said. "There's no way I can do this."
"You can't afford not to do this," Roxanne said. "Reality says that you need a way to pay the bills!"
" 'Reality' says that I need to get out of town! Besides, so far, the waitressing has been paying the bills."
"You didn't come here all the way from New York to become a waitress!"
"I didn't do it to become a werewolf, either!"
"Enough of the 'werewolf story already!"
"I already said that you didn't have to believe me! Just trust me on this, okay? You don't want a demonstration!"
There was a brief silence before Roxanne broke it with a sigh.
"Do what you have to do, then," she said. "If you want to throw away everything you've ever wanted, then don't do anything. Don't dance, don't teach, just serve people all day and run away to the woods at night. I guess that's what you want."
"Look, this is not the most important tryout in the world!" Phyllis said. "It's not going to be the only chance I have!"
"It could be!" Roxanne said. "All of our chances are, you know that! That's the first rule of this business, and you know it! Any break could be the big one: any break. And there's something else I've been thinking about. If you won't let me help you, then…"
"Then what? Oh, not the therapists again…"
"Well, I don't know what else to say," Roxanne said in growing frustration. "Maybe… what about a priest?"
"A priest?" Phyllis said warily.
"Well—I meant just—you know, somebody," Roxanne said. "Anybody, I don't know. Just… get help. And um… you really sure you want to cancel this one? We don't have much more time to get there."
Phyllis looked down in thought. She started shaking her head, then looked up and cocked an eyebrow.
"Fine," she said. "Yeah, I'll do it. But you know I haven't even been able to work anything out. I'll have to improvise."
"It's better than not going at all," her friend advised.
"I suppose it is," Phyllis said. "Come on, let's go."
Roxanne smiled and hugged her friend briefly before gathering up her purse and leaving, with Phyllis bringing up the rear.
Security was quite tight, which only mildly surprised the two women. A bouncer at the only entrance to the stage had a list of names. No name, no entry. Many people were turned away. Phyllis had been to auditions like this before, and never could understand the logic of them. This was the way of the entertainer, however; most of the time what mattered was not how good you were, but how good your agent was.
Both women expected a stage packed with hopefuls, but there were surprisingly few people. That is, it was possible to take a deep breath and not be crushed by a mass of bodies. At first there was no sign of Taylor, until the double doors leading from the lobby burst open, and she appeared, already deep in conversation with an entourage. Phyllis remembered reading something about how Taylor was down-to-earth and disliked the pomp and circumstance of fame; this scene made her shrug to herself. No doubt, avoiding a mob of one's own employees was sometimes unavoidable.
Taylor and her manager, producer, publicist, boyfriend), friends, and perhaps her third grade teacher, as well, reached the front row of the theater and seated themselves. The man next to Taylor never stopped talking, except to call out "Next!" Apparently he would be calling the shots.
Phyllis found herself strangely indifferent to everything that was going on. She did not stretch out or practice any moves as most of the hopefuls did, but stayed far back in an offstage corner. She stared at her hand for a long time as though expecting it to change. If the calendar was correct, the full moon was not even a week away. Strange things could happen before that time, then. Abruptly her senses returned to her. Nothing was going to happen. She was going to give a knockout performance whether she was prepared or not, and no wild animals would destroy the moment. Yet, if this had been a full moon night, Phyllis's confidence would not have been so firm. She knew this.
She decided to rejoin the group and wandered up to watch the latest hopeful. Roxanne was at the other end of the stage, but neither friend made a move toward the other. Everyone who deserved to be there was there, and no one else was allowed inside, but Phyllis turned around as a cool breeze hit her back, as if someone had just opened the door. The door was shut as firmly as before, and no one appeared to be near the exit. The bouncer had stationed himself outside long ago. Phyllis gave this mystery only a moment's thought before turning back to the music.
The list of names used to call up each dancer was in no discernible order, so no one dared go anywhere until his or her name was called. Phyllis was almost bored with all of this. Of auditions, she liked it least when no one could go outside to get fresh air. All of these sweating bodies onstage and in the theater seats were making the air unbearable.
Wiping away some sweat, Phyllis felt someone touch her shoulder. She looked back briefly, but saw nothing. In fact, she stood in the far rear of the group, so no one was ever behind her. She told herself repeatedly that this meant nothing, but nevertheless found herself inching her way toward the other side of the stage where Roxanne waited. Roxanne smiled at Phyll
is and patted her shoulder briefly before returning to the "show."
Again there was no one directly behind her, but Phyllis sensed that someone was, and he (she?) was staring at her. She whirled around.
"Phyllis Turner!" Taylor's manager shouted. Phyllis fought the urge to keep searching behind herself, and pushed quickly through the crowd, fighting a racing pulse and cold hands. Simply the jitters? Perhaps, but Phyllis had never known stage fright like this. She handed the sound man her music tape and shook herself out while waiting for the music to begin.
"Name."
Phyllis finished her trek to the front of the stage, but remained silent.
"Name, please."
Her eyes fought to pierce the darkness that always covered the director's face.
"Loraine," she said. Behind Phyllis/Loraine, Roxanne's eyes went wide, and her jaw dropped.
"Uhhh we called up Phyllis Turner," the director said.
"Oh, yeah, that is me," Phyllis said. "I'm using… a middle name."
"Oh," the director said. "Okay, Loraine… Phyllis. Whoever you are. Whenever you're ready."
Phyllis nodded in comprehension. There were a few seconds of silence as her music was cueing up, until the melodic strains of "Moondance" filled the stage. Before this time Phyllis had never used any music other than the most recent and "hip-hoppenist," but today she needed to hear something somewhat more personal.
A chill then crept down her spine. Whoever had been watching her before was doing it again. Phyllis could pretend that the other dancers did not exist, but not this new presence. There was no opportunity to confront it once the music began, either. She had been unable to work on a new routine and had no choice but to improvise. That may have been to her advantage this time; her attempts to remember a routine would have been destroyed at this audition. No matter which way she faced, something was behind her, watching her, trying desperately to unnerve her.
If this was the mysterious presence's intention, it eventually failed. Phyllis was unnerved, and frustrated, and even a little frightened, but somehow, this time, she took this growing negative energy and focused it into a dance that took her to limits she had never before dreamed of reaching.
Almost anyone else attempting her stretches, spins, contortions, flips, and leaps—not merely hops, but stage-length bounds—would have shown far too much strain, but not even a bead of sweat appeared on her forehead. At one point she spun for a full ten seconds, then immediately flowed into a forward flip that only moved on to more feats of aerodynamics. Few are allowed to complete a dance at tryouts, but Phyllis was allowed to complete it, and then some. There was a silence after she struck her final pose.
It was too dark in the theater to truly see the faces of the spectators, but Phyllis clearly saw the bright flash of Tamara's smile. She was leaning over and whispering excitedly to someone. Phyllis fought the growing urge to smile as brightly.
"Um…" came the director's voice, "Um, thank you. Could you go and talk to Gordon, please?"
"No problem," she said, and bowed quickly before rushing over to "Gordon," a bookish man who had always stood far off in the shadows of stage right. So far only two other hopefuls had talked to him on their way out.
"Hi," Phyllis whispered. Gordon nodded to her and smiled politely.
"Hello," he whispered back. "Congratulations. They'd like to see you in a call-back. Now, you are—?"
"Yes!" Phyllis whispered. "At last, at last!".
"Shhhh," Gordon said as the next hopeful's music began. "I need your name."
"Oh, yeah! It's Phyl—Um, just Loraine," she finished.
"Last name?"
"No last name," she said. "Yet," she whispered to herself.
"Okay, no last name," Gordon said to himself as he scribbled. "Address_ ?"
Loraine startled the security detail outside as she burst through the doors, beaming brighter than the sun. The bouncer quickly shut the doors behind her and attempted to silence her. There was no longer a need, as Loraine was already out of earshot, having somersaulted her way to the main sidewalk. She finished off her tumbling with a great cry and a six-foot leap straight up, to the surprise of an impromptu audience of passersby.
She strutted down the street to her inner music, only to yelp at one point and whirl around to face… no one. A man who had been walking behind her frowned as he swerved to pass her quickly. Loraine watched him pass, then looked back down the sidewalk. Somebody had been right behind her—close enough to feel his (her?) breath on the back of her neck; then it was gone.
Loraine's "secret admirer" had not returned by the time she made it back to the apartment. It was not unusual for either roommate to leave an audition without the other, but now she sorely regretted not waiting for Roxanne to finish. Loraine bolted the door tightly and clicked on the television. She hadn't felt the "presence" for nearly a half an hour now. Perhaps the noise of the television would keep it away for good. Hadn't primitive people danced and yelled and screamed to frighten away evil spirits? Don't civilized people do that, too, in their own way?
Loraine considered taking a shower, but she was resuming her work at the health club by teaching a beginning dancercize class that night. Roxanne had raised Loraine's ecological awareness at every opportunity—in this case, to save water whenever possible. It was after she had clicked on the TV that she noticed the answering machine's blinking light. Playing it back revealed one hangup and one unexpected call, from Michael.
"Um, hi," his voice said. "Phyllis, I hope this is still your number. If it is, thank God you finally got a machine. Ummm, anyway, this is Michael, and I'm at lunch right now, so if you hear this before one o'clock, here's my work number. They should be able to page me or something. Um, 555-6281. But, if you don't, call me at home like after seven. They're going easy on me today. Usually I get home like ten, but, um… anyway, I hope you still have my number. I'd… like to talk to you again. I know it's been awhile, but… you probably think I'm lying, but I'm not seeing anyone right now. Not since we broke up, I mean. Anyway… please call me today or tonight, and… and then we can talk. Okay? Bye, Phyllis. Oh, say hi to Rox for me!"
"Ahhh, boy," Loraine muttered to herself. There were no other messages. She let out a loud sigh and scratched her head. It was after one, so she would need to call Michael at home. If she called him. Under normal circumstances she might have called him back, but this was not a good time. She did want to talk to him and even see him again, but not if it meant trying to explain what was happening.
Roxanne had not checked in by the time Loraine had to leave for the club. She usually went straight to Linda's after an audition; lately she had been spending more time than usual there. Loraine was no fool; she knew that she was largely the cause of her friend's increased absences. She probably would have done the same thing.
At the club Loraine caught herself a few times doing too much for her class. This was a beginning class, but no one in her advanced class could have kept up with her if she hadn't reined herself in. Loraine's energy had not diminished since the audition; if anything, it had increased. She tried to diffuse it some by teaching the class some extra steps involving leaping and kicking, but this only frustrated her. This soon became the longest class that Loraine had ever taught—or rather, it seemed to be. Afterward there were always some stragglers who wanted to chat with her, so Loraine deliberately kept her answers brief and hurried to pack up her things.
Eventually everyone had left, only to be replaced by early arrivals for the next class. Loraine only remembered that it was a martial art of some kind. There were only six people in the room now—five students and Loraine. She was hunched over her bag, slamming clothes into it, when she felt a familiar sensation of somebody breathing down her neck. She started and whirled around, attempting to smash her bag into who/whatever was behind her. The bag swung at empty air and came loose from her hand. It slid halfway across the floor, to the surprise of most of the pajama-clad onlookers. At least, they always looked lik
e they were wearing pajamas.
Standing up slowly but breathing heavily, Loraine apologized meekly as she shuffled over to fetch her bag. She briefly entertained the thought that one of these kung fu fighters had tried to spook her, but none of them had been at the audition. Whatever person or presence had been at the tryout had followed her here. Loraine glanced at her watch. She didn't actually care what time it was, but the motion of the watch hands helped her think about the date, and how many days were left until the next full moon.
Chapter Nineteen
As of Tamara Taylor's initial tryout, four days remained until the next full moon. With the callback at two days after the tryout, that left two. Loraine had no intention of being anywhere near the city then, whether she was finally picked or not. In the meantime, besides the work and money, she had a new reason to keep trying for a position: she was either becoming paranoid, or somebody was watching her every move. It was possible that she could still leave town, and her "secret admirer" would follow, but she would just as soon confront it here than out in the middle of the desert or the woods. Another question for her was: Why now?
It was always in the back of Loraine's mind that Roxanne was right. The human brain was capable of coming up with the most bizarre images and make them seem real. It was completely possible that her hand had never actually grown fur and claws, but—she was suffering hallucinations from spiked aspirin or food. Stress could be doing this; perhaps a therapist could uncover some post-traumatic "flashbacks" of that wild animal's attack. She would have to look into other possibilities, then, other cures. After she got back from the desert, of course.
"Hello, everyone," Tamara said, yanking back Loraine's distant thoughts. "I guess you all know who I am."
Five of the six lucky callbacks chuckled to themselves. Loraine was still trying to bring herself back to reality. This was her first callback in far too long and was no time to be daydreaming.
"Even if you do, I'm Tamara Taylor," she continued, "and you may not know that this is the last stop I'm making to get some dancers. I never wanted them all to be from one place. Out of five, there's actually only two positions open for a dance troupe, and one of them could be the choreographer, too."