by Sara Hooper
“Nothing. Just…” His laughed returned.
Alice wanted to know just what he was thinking, so she slammed her fist on the table. “So what?”
“Sorry. Seriously. But… a dancer? Come on, sweetheart. Dime a dozen. Hardly original.” He had kept that bullet locked and loaded long enough.
Alice started to move her feet when Peter reached across the table for her wrist.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
Alice stamped her foot. “Dime a dozen? Well I have news for you. Comedians never win these things.”
Sure they got the audience applause and favorable judges’ comments, but at the end of the day, beauty always slayed the beast.
Peter continued to eat as he spoke. “No one’s seen me yet. I’m busting this thing wide open.”
Alice had to swoon, ever so slightly, in the wake of his confidence. He still didn’t have a chance of making it to the finals, but he could give her a run for her money. It would be one of those shocking eliminations where everyone would watch them sweating in separate white hot spots. The murmuring consensus would be that Alice was safe for another week. But these things never went viral if the script wasn’t flipped. She could already see herself the victim of lazy voters because Peter got a few laughs. For him, this wasn’t life or death. It was a flip off to an establishment that had never shown him what he believed to be the proper respect. “Born Stars” could change that, but if Peter was the last man standing, he would be an arrogant, surly winner at best. The powers that be would never tolerate his victory.
Still, Alice had no intention of allowing him to deny her a chance.
She settled back into her seat and took another drink. “Busting it open. Really? You.”
“Yup. I’m the real deal.”
In his own mind and nowhere else. Alice forced a smile and continued to munch on the onion rings.. “Then I look forward to your… act.”
Peter finally recognized the napkins in the silver dispenser and put them to proper use. “Likewise. But I doubt you’ll be around for long.”
Alice fought the urge to smack his smug face and resumed looking around. She had already gained her bearings to the point where she knew she could make her way to street level without his assistance.
But Peter Brandt didn’t have to know that.
He drained his soda dry and offered her his arm. “Care to share a cab?” he asked.
She cared for it to appear that way.
They hit the street of smog and noise. Peter led her to the taxi stand, and they waited in line for their turn. In the air of the city, she noticed the firmness of his arm. If she was a different type of girl, Alice would forgo the competition and suggest a hotel that rented by the hour. That idea was pregnant with its own possibilities. She could beckon him up a rickety staircase and order him to strip while promising delights as she bound his wrist to the headboard. She’d leave him like that and buy enough time to make her way to the area of assembly, and he would miss the call. Alice could already see the outtakes before commercial that showed Peter fuming and accusing as Alice settled under rented sheets. A play of that sort would leave her vulnerable to all kinds of innuendo.
A simple misunderstanding would serve her better.
One of the yellow cars eased against the curb. Peter gave the driver their shared coordinates. She knew that this was her chance to be rid of him, and she seized it. “Peter?” She purred liked the weakest girl who had ever lived. He seemed to take to her confusion and bowed.
“My lady?”
He was on the hook. It was time to reel him in.
“Can you help me?”
Like the gentleman he was pretending to be, Peter loaded her luggage into the trunk and held her door open. Alice slipped against the leather cushions of the backseat and lowered her eyes as the door gently shut. He was moving around to the other side of the cab. Alice only had seconds to act.
She quickly reached into her purse and thrust a wad of bills in the driver’s face. So she’d miss a few meals. It would only strengthen her resolve. “Step on it. Now!”
The cabbie seemed momentarily mixed up by her request, but the money spoke a language he quickly understood. He pocketed the cash and slammed his foot against the gas pedal.
Alice craned her neck though the window and saw Peter abandoned, flabbergasted, on the curb. He went from confused to enraged in a split second and spat all manner of obscenities as the cab departed Penn Station.
She simply waved.
Interesting Competitors
The lobby was immense and humming with all manner of activity. Alice saw semi-finalists of every shade and stripe. There was an animal act. The mustached trainer was yappier than the dogs. A magician threw down flares and made wands disappear while pulling coins from tourists’ ears. If Peter didn’t stand a chance, this clown was way out of his league. Alice checked in and was told that her room would be ready momentarily. She took a seat next to a harmless-looking boy wearing glasses and a thick sheen of sweat.
They met with smiles.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Alice Rogers.”
His palm in hers, he deposited the bulk of his sweat in her hand. “Nice to meet you. Louis Franks. Isn’t this surreal?”
Alice had left a man to fend for himself in a strange city so that she could dance for a mostly unseen audience in the hopes of fame.
Yeah. It was surreal.
“So,” Alice started. “What do you do?”
Louis Franks blushed. “What me? Hardly anything. Just a good listener.”
Was that his talent? Alice had this in the bag.
“I… see.”
He leaned in closer. “But I have a secret weapon.”
Oh no. He wasn’t about to whip out his little friend and extol the virtues of his upcoming prowess on national television. Was he?
“Oh?”
Louis reached into his bag and revealed his weapon. It was hard wood to be sure.
And it wore glasses.
“Alice.”
Louis’ mouth didn’t move as the dummy sprang to life. Louis’ tones sank an octave as the secret weapon spoke.
“Mortimer here. I’m always up for a pretty girl. Of course, the last one saw me as something of a walking stick, but I’m flexible.”
The creaking of the dummy’s joints quickly disproved the imagined point, but Alice still marveled and laughed at the joke. Lame as it was, Louis knew how to work his weapon, and Alice clapped her hands.
“I guess I had better watch out for you” she teased,
Louis was starting to share the laugh when a woman wrapped in too many scarves to count, all of them affixed with a broach in the shape of a turtle, swooshed in their direction and sniffed down at the dancer and the dummies. She dragged a piece of dyed brown hair behind her ear and smirked.
“Amateurs.”
She was off without another word. Louis kept his lips tight as Mortimer’s teeth started to chatter. “Danger. Danger, Will Robinson!” Louis morphed his clenched voice into robotic tones.
“Who is she?” Alice asked.
“Enemy Number One. Inhuman. Exterminate. Exterminate!”
A faux Dalek was not about to deprive her of the answer. She started to grab Louis’ arm but quickly thought better of it and shook Mortimer. Hard.
Louis let out his secret weapon’s screech and swiftly placed him back in his case. He was just Louis again, and he quickly spilled. “Marissa Michaels. An artiste among the mob. Think she’s just here to stir the pot.”
Alice had no idea who she was or what she planned on presenting. But Marissa Michaels suddenly seemed more dangerous than Peter Brandt could ever hope to be.
The rooms were ready.
Alice stuck close to Louis as they rode the elevator to their respective floors. When it turned out that they were to be neighbors for the duration of their time on the show, Alice was glad. Louis blushed and sputtered as she saw him into his room of two full size beds.
“Wo
nder who your roomie is?” Alice asked.
Louis didn’t need another word as he retrieved Mortimer and laid him out on the bed nearest to the door. He crouched beside him and flexed the dummy’s jaw. “No respect for the man in the bed. Why not? I’m so hard.”
Louis winked at Alice before she had a chance to be offended. She thought of staying for more of Mortimer’s innuendos as the thud of bags falling on the other side of the wall grabbed all of her attention.
“Guess you better see who that is,” Louis spoke in his real voice as Alice went into to hallway and opened the door to her own room to see the hand that she’d been dealt.
In an instant she was met with the figure of someone she recognized from too many Nathan’s Fourth of July hot dog eating competitions to count. It was the short and firm form of one Darlene O’Dea. She had doused enough red hots with water to set Alice’s tongue on edge. Jests aside, she was an athlete.
Alice extended her hand to her roommate. “Hi. I’m Alice.”
Darlene chugged water and bypassed the complimentary fruit tray. She slapped Alice on the back with a smile. “Alice?”
The dancer nodded.
“Awesome! Call me Dar. Glad to know you. What an opportunity, right?” She performed a series of ten quick push-ups before springing back to her feet. “Glad it’s you and not the Marble Lady.”
Somehow Alice knew that the label meant Marissa Michaels. Alice was already regretting using the one act of sabotage that she could muster on the comic no one even mentioned.
Dar asked for the bed by the window, and Alice wondered how she could pack so much food away without an ounce of fat on her body.
The dancer in her was jealous until the outer door on the other side of the wall opened and slammed in a single motion. Alice was worried for Louis. And Mortimer.
She went out into the hall and tried the knob to the room, and when it would not give, she pounded until it opened. “Louis? Are you---?”
Alice caught her words in her hands as she saw the source of the slam.
Peter Brandt was sweating and breathing hard as he stood within the doorframe. He obviously hadn’t expected Alice, and it took him a second to smirk at her presence. “Guess…I… made it… after all.”
Alice instantly regretted leaving him to fend for himself. She wasn’t that girl. She wasn’t about pushing others down so she could rise higher. Alice had simply been lost in the spirit of the competition. She didn’t want Peter as her enemy, and she tried to voice as much, but the words wouldn’t come.
“I’m here, my lady. So watch out.” Peter slammed the door in her face before she could offer any apology.
Chilly Rooftop
Alice remained at Peter’s closed door for several seconds. She had done him wrong and was trying to make amends. She was about to knock again when she thought better of it. Sometimes I’m sorry just didn’t cut it, and Alice had no choice but to swallow her medicine.
Alice returned to her room to find Darlene O’Dea on the phone with room service.
“That’s right. Two.”
Despite the guilt ripping away at her soul, Alice was excited at the possible prospect of the champ in her midst stuffing down two triple layer chocolate cakes without so much as breaking a sweat.
Darlene realized that Alice was back, and she pressed the phone to her shoulder. “You want anything?”
Her stomach was still churning from the onion rings and every other flavor of Peter Brandt. Alice slowly shook her head as Darlene completed her order.
The competitive eater deposited her toiletries in the bathroom before hitting the floor in a series of manic sit-ups. It was like watching an engine rev up before resolving to complete the endless series of circles at NAASCAR. Alice settled herself on her bed and tried to shift her focus from the man in the next room.
“So. Darlene.”
Her little body worked up a sweat as she rose then fell then rose again upon the diamond patterns of the carpet. “I…said. Call…me…Dar,” she said between her thrusts. Dar wasn’t so focused as to not be friendly.
“Right. Sure. So…Dar.”
Darlene’s pace intensified. “Alice…what’s…your…deal?”
Who was she really? Dancer. Star in the making. Born Star.
She could add villain to the mix.
Peter Brandt was a jerk, but like her, he had earned his place in the competition. He probably wouldn’t even make it past the first round, so why had she lashed out? Why had she betrayed him when his only crimes were some crude remarks and a lunch that barely was? Alice wanted to be her, and she wanted to win. But not at the expense of her conscience.
“Alice? Cat…got…your…tongue?” Darlene was panting to the point of exhaustion when a knock mercifully rang out on the other side of their door. She fell to the floor with a great groan. Glad for the distraction, Alice hurried to her feet and expected the chocolate cakes or two ten-inch subs or a pair of pizzas.
Her disappointment knew no bounds as she opened the door on two watercress salads. Alice blinked and actually turned away from the man in the vest and bowtie in total frustration. He didn’t have time to react as Darlene scrambled to her feet.
“Just in time. Awesome!” Darlene beckoned the man with the cart inside and tipped him generously. She settled herself on the bed closest to the window, the one that she had completely claimed, and started to munch on one of the pitiful plates of green.
“Mmmm.” Her bites were delicate, far too lady like for Coney Island on a summer’s afternoon, and when she saw Alice staring, Darlene smiled with pieces of lettuce between her teeth.
“What?” Darlene asked.
Alice sank to the other bed with a sigh. “Nothing. Guess I just thought I was going to get a free show.”
Darlene laughed and spit bits of salad on the sheets. “Sorry. I gotta pace myself for show night. So, what is your deal?”
Alice told her most of the truth. She was a classically trained dancer destined for big things, but she left out the bit about her stunt with Peter. It was already working its way back to the front of her mind. Once again, Alice wanted to set it right.
She stood to leave the room.
“Hey! Where you going?”
Alice looked over her shoulder and managed to smile. “I owe someone something.”
She would try again, and Alice needed I’m sorry to be enough.
She knocked on Peter’s door again and held her breath as she heard footsteps approaching. Maybe they were already on the same wavelength, and he understood that she’d just gone a little crazy, but it wasn’t who she really was. Alice felt as if she would burst out of her skin as the door cracked open.
Louis Franks appeared with Mortimer on his arm. The ventriloquist’s mouth didn’t move as Mortimer babbled suggestive comments at the sight of a pretty girl. Alice didn’t have a chance to blush as Louis whacked the back of Mortimer’s head with his free hand.
“Mortimer! Manners!”
The dummy went limp, and Louis smiled at her over Mortimer’s bowed head. “Settling in okay?” he asked.
Alice was on her tiptoes and looking over his shoulders in a desperate effort to see Peter.
“Alice?”
She sank back to the soles of her shoes. “Yes? What? Oh. Oh fine. You?”
Louis nodded. Mortimer tried to speak again as Louis clamped a hand over the dummy’s mouth. “Don’t mind him. Jet lag.”
Alice peered into the room again. “Um…where’s…where’s…?”
“The comic?”
Alice quickly nodded.
“Went to the roof for a smoke. He’s pretty steamed that this is a smoke free hotel.”
Mortimer flailed about in an interpretation of Peter’s annoyed state of mind. Alice thanked them both and headed for the roof.
The night air hit her face, and the wind drew a tear without sorrow from her left eye. Alice wiped it away and saw Peter below a single strand of smoke as he leaned over the edge of the building. She ap
proached him carefully and silently rehearsed every word that would make him understand.
I just want this so much. I can tell that you’re good. I freaked. I’m sorry.
Alice was still running through her script when Peter turned and blew a trail of smoke in her already-watering eyes. She watched his face morph from a ready assault to utter concern before the smoke had a chance to evaporate in the air.
“You crying?” he asked.
Alice wiped her eyes dry. “I’m… no. It’s cold out here.”
Peter considered her for a few seconds before shifting his stance back over the edge. She tentatively took the place at his side.
You have every right to be mad. I was a jerk. I don’t know what came over me.
“I…” Out of her head, the words just wouldn’t come.
Peter took another drag and glared down at her. “Yes?”
Even though she didn’t smoke, Alice suddenly craved a puff, but she didn’t dare ask him. “I… shouldn’t have… you know. Just left you. That…that was pretty crappy. And I’m---”
“Forget it,” he said.
Alice exhaled and could feel his smoke entering her lungs. Had he just needed a chance to cool down? Literally? She could hope…
“Not like it’s the first time.”
The first time? The first time what?
“I---”
Peter smiled between puffs. “Sorry to disappoint you, my lady. I’ve been screwed countless times. Not all of them pleasurable. You get over it.”
His words didn’t make Alice feel any better. “I… look. I need to win this. It’s my one shot. And I guess… I guess I just lost it a little. I’m not excusing it---”
“But you want me to.”
Alice was seized with the feeling that she had sliced him deeper than she had even imagined. That had never been her intent. Here, under the moonlight, he looked soft, and she wondered where they would be if they had met under different circumstances. The truth was they had reunited after the train in a space where he was truly trying to make friends. Alice was the one who had blown it, and she was desperate to collect the pieces.
“Peter---” She tried to grab his arm, but he quickly shook her off.