Born Stars

by Sara Hooper

  “Some advice?”

  Alice nodded. She suddenly found that she couldn’t move or speak.

  “Get over yourself.”

  It would have stung less if he had punched her in the mouth.

  He sneered as he laughed. “And get some perspective. What are you? Twenty? Twenty-One?”

  Alice blinked as she struggled to recall her actual age. “I’m…twenty-three.”

  Peter laughed again. ”Wonderful. Come back and see me in fifteen years when you’re really out of chances.”

  He flicked his cigarette over the ledge and started back into the hotel. Alice was frozen where she stood when he suddenly wheeled around and grabbed her arms. She gasped as he held her off the ground for a moment before gently lowering her back to the rooftop.

  “You’re young. Very young. Very pretty.”

  Peter lightly touched her face, and Alice forgot the chill of the wind under his touch.

  It came back in a harsh gust as he pushed her away.

  “And you’re got every opportunity at your fingertips. So dance, Alice. But make no mistake. This is my moment. I’m coming out on top this time.” He stamped away from her and disappeared behind the door.

  Alice caught her breath and hugged herself close as the cold of the night returned and enveloped her again. She grasped the ledge and stared into the blinking abyss that was the city.

  Peter thought he was so smart. So attractive. Well, he was that. But if he was meant to make it big, it would have already happened. He had failed.

  Alice got over any guilt she felt and let the air of the city wash over her.

  She would win.

  Mona Lisa

  The next morning brought an early call to the theater that was to serve as her second home (or third if you counted the hotel), her studio, her everything. Darlene was already dressed as Alice stumbled into the bathroom and scrubbed her face clean. She bound her dark braids in a tight bun and slipped into her dancer’s tights and pull-away skirt. Darlene was checking her phone on the edge of her bed when she looked up for just a second and whistled.

  “Wow. Can’t wait to see what you do.”

  Let her not be the only one.

  They made their way to the lobby. In spite of herself, Alice looked for Peter. She saw him at one of the continental breakfast stations stuffing his face with croissants. His appetite obviously wasn’t soured in the wake of their rooftop rendezvous. Alice tried to turn her eyes away, but she was too late. He saw her over the rim of his glass as he chugged down a mouthful of orange juice. He slowly let it slip away from his lips and lifted the glass to her in a mocking toast. Peter seemed more confident than ever, and Alice forced her eyes from his mocking tribute.

  Maybe he should get over himself.

  Darlene pulled Alice from his line of sight before Alice could have another thought.

  “This is exciting. I’m excited. Are you excited?”

  Alice looked back at Peter again as he stuffed a stray piece of toast into the pocket of his green blazer.

  Excited? To see his act, lame as it had to be?

  Oh yeah.

  The contestants travelled on a chartered bus. Louis Franks and Mortimer worked their way up the aisle and settled for a second at Alice’s side.

  “Where’d you go?” Louis asked via Mortimer. “Thought you were down for a little wood.”

  Darlene started to stand with every intention of slugging Louis when he beat her to the punch and knocked his knuckles into Mortimer’s flimsy ribs.

  “I am sorry,” Louis said. “He just doesn’t know when to stop.”

  If Alice had a Mortimer, she might have been able to make Peter understand. Louis’ genius was such that he could get away with anything by chalking it up to the piece of wood on his arm. It was safe enough to take shots and spare him the blame. Alice only had herself, and as a dreadlocked boy with a perfect smile winked at her, she thought that that might be enough.

  He extended a hand across the aisle. “Porter Cole,” he said.

  “What’s your shtick, Porter?” Once again she was lapsing into Yiddish.

  Porter Cole shook her hand and stared at her intently. “My game is twisting the standards for today. And you… what? You dance or something?”

  Why was that the equivalent of a Scarlet Letter in this strange new world?

  Alice nodded as the bus came to a stop. The contestants rushed into the theater with squeals of excitement. Everyone knew that they were being filmed. It was an effort for Alice to get into the spirit of the thing. When she saw Peter shambling past without the slightest trace of excitement, Alice just kept walking at Darlene’s side.

  Save the passion for the show.

  The semi-finalists congregated on the stage in nervous anticipation. A pack of dogs yapped incessantly as Mortimer commented on the proceedings. Alice saw Marissa Michaels roll her eyes as she fingered a pouch about her ample waist.

  A sharp whistle called the group to attention, and everyone was still. Alice saw Leticia Shore and the Brit called Wesley Byrne who had made a career of this sort of thing. Just behind him was Arnold Kraft, another comedian who’d had three failed sitcoms if Miss Evelyn’s viewing patterns were to be believed.

  “Okay, okay, okay. Listen up.” Wesley completely silenced the group, and everyone waited for further instructions. “Here’s what’s happening, guys,” Wesley continued. “Let’s run through the acts. Save your strength, if you can. We’re live in twelve hours.”

  The hopefuls scurried into the wings to prepare. Alice found herself closer to Peter than she had been since the roof.

  “Crazy, right?” she asked him.

  Peter gave no response.

  In the sea of would-bes, Louis and Mortimer stood out. The dummy talked of dates that went nowhere because there was always a third wheel up his ass cramping his style. Arnold laughed loudest as Wesley and Leticia prepared their notes for show night. Louis raised Mortimer’s hand to Alice’s as he retreated to the wings.

  “Good job, Louis,” she told him.

  The puppeteer smiled.

  “Now let’s get you back to the hotel!” said Mortimer.

  Louis slapped Mortimer again and hurried off. It occurred to Alice that he might be the most honest act in the bunch. Everyone was playing a role. But Louis stayed himself and let dummy strike the pose.

  “Marissa Michaels?”

  Marissa sauntered to center stage like she owned the place. Already waiting was a small steel table covered by a mass of misshapen putty on a wooden board. She opened her pouch, and a crash echoed through the theater as the marbles spilled into a ceramic bowl.

  She waited for her music cue and slowly set to work. At first she fingered each multi-colored ball as if she didn’t have a care in the world. The unsuspecting observer would think that she was just killing time until it was truly her moment in the spotlight. Alice was puzzled as Marissa continued moving in what was almost slow motion before racing into a frenzy. Then she guided the marbles to a new life without the benefit of a blueprint. Her music reached a crescendo at the precise moment when she held the board aloft for everyone to see.

  The Mona Lisa incarnate. That serene smile. Marissa Michaels waved her hands across the instant classic. Everyone, contestants included, applauded Marissa. The latter still wished her great bodily harm, but Marissa’s skill was not to be ignored.

  Alice suddenly wished that she had met Marissa on the train.

  “Nice,” Arnold said.

  “You might be the one to beat,” Wesley offered.

  Alice’s insides went cold.

  “Peter Brandt.”

  She watched him take the mike and smile at the non-existent crowd.

  You’re still not beating me. But beat her.

  Peter didn’t look back as he started his set, but Alice wanted him to feel her eyes on him.

  Something held him back for a second.

  “Peter?”

  Leticia Shore’s voice was firm but encouragi
ng. Alice watched Peter curl his fingers around the microphone. He finally looked over his shoulder and found her eyes. Peter was still the enemy, but she didn’t want him to go down without a fight. She nodded for him to continue, and Peter looked back into the lights.

  “So I’m in the wedding party. And we’re out in front of the chapel. Did I mention it’s November?

  Alice could almost feel the chill of the late autumn air.

  Peter’s slice of life was a rambling story about having to pose for pictures with a bridesmaid who was already married to the best man. Alice gravitated to the source of the story. Just last summer, she’d had to dance the first dance at her cousin’s nuptials in the arms of a groomsman who sweated through his tux. The woman that would be his partner for every other dance, her cousin’s best friend, was doing her maid of honor duties while she twirled about in the arms of her new husband’s brother. When the music stopped, she pried Alice’s nervous dance partner back to their table, Table Three. Alice was seated with her family at Table Five. Peter hypothesized that those who arranged the dancers were either so in love that they were just trying to give Cupid a helping hand. Or maybe they just wanted to insure that they stayed the happiest couple in the room until everyone was falling down drunk.

  Alice smiled some as Peter described the expected awkwardness come Sunday morning’s brunch, an occasion where no one knew where to look or whom to sit beside.

  They were obviously the kind of jokes that the judges had heard before but still they applauded. Peter bowed graciously and started towards the wings.

  Mortimer, by way of Louis, slapped his palm. Peter sat satisfied before one of the many mirrors and let out a deep breath.

  He held it when he saw Alice in the glass.

  If she had come in just a day before to settle herself, this might be their first meeting. Alice could tell him that he was amusing. So what if his act wasn’t revolutionary. It wasn’t as if she was about to create moves that someone hadn’t already seen.

  Everything was in the delivery.

  Alice neared the back of his chair and found the courage to touch his neck. Peter let her hold her fingers there. For a moment. Then he wound towards her and folded his arms. “You’re up.”

  Alice heard her name on the second call.

  She moved to the spotlight. What followed was as much for him as it was for the judges. Every flex, every extension to the beat of the music was meant to single her out until she was more than a dancer. Alice was rhythm on air transporting every viewer to a corner of paradise. When she was awash in applause, she knew she had proved her point.

  Mortimer frantically clapped as she hit the wings. Alice drank in smiles from Darlene and Porter Cole. Marissa Michaels still sneered.

  And Peter…

  He was impressed. Wasn’t he?

  Peter gave her the slightest of smiles before retreating deeper into the wings.

  The Shark

  Showtime.

  A large audience that just kept growing filed into the theater. They were on the frontlines of what was bound to be a runaway hit. Their anticipation started at a murmur and rose to excited squeals followed by cheers and claps demanding the presence of the hopefuls at center stage. Alice heard it all over the intercom as she applied her eyelashes and doused her face in glitter. She had never applied so much makeup in preparation for a performance. The stage manager and one of the network reps suggested a darker eye and a bolder lip. It would read better for the hundreds sitting before the stage and the millions at home. Hundreds. Millions.

  She was suddenly terrified.

  Darlene was doing crunches beside her stool as Alice clasped her hands around the table and took slow, short breaths. When Darlene was warmed up, she hopped to her feet and stared at herself in the glass. Her gaze shifted from her own face, bathed in sweat as she pushed her short blonde hair behind her ears.

  “Alice? You okay?”

  Alice thought that she was nodding, but Darlene’s hand at the back of her neck told her that she wasn’t moving. Dancing was easy when it was a church basement or a community theater stage. This was the big time. This was more than the dry run where she knew she had knocked it out of the park.

  This was real.

  “Alice?”

  She looked at Darlene, who seemed supremely confident at the prospect of strangers who would ultimately decide their fate. Darlene was used to a big stage. She had downed enough hot dogs in a single sitting to tune out the roar of the crowd.

  “Alice, it’s no big deal. You’re good. You’ll be great. Just relax.”

  Alice closed her eyes and slowly opened them again, seeing in the mirror a face that too closely resembled a mahogany clown’s. Alice grabbed a handful of Kleenex from the nearby box and started to wipe some of the makeup away.

  “Hey. Whoa! What are you doing?”

  Alice felt that she didn’t stand a chance if she was something other than herself. She removed the intense blush and the glitter, but she kept her eyes smoky. They would aid her cause. Alice was then on her feet and Darlene led her from the dressing room.

  It was time to meet the crowd.

  The Master of Ceremonies was one Shane “The Shark” Hunter. The Shark knew his improv. Alice remembered him from a TV show that promised hijinks galore when real-life scenarios were suggested then acted out in surprising ways by a comic troupe. Even Alice had laughed a little when The Shark played a doctor who twisted a diagnosis of high blood pressure into the black plague. The patient lost all sense of self and slashed his throat with a scalpel prop rather than face the music of slow treatment followed by sure death. The actual nurse practitioner was horrified.

  The show was cancelled after just five episodes.

  Now the Shark was back on his feet, soaking in his second chance. “Ladies and Gentleman, meet your stars!”

  They were called out one by one. The order had been pre-determined. Alice was glad to hear Darlene’s name announced right before hers. It meant that they’d be side by side when it was Alice’s turn.

  Peter was behind her. That was not desired.

  She forced herself to stare at her bedazzled feet as he cleared his throat.

  “Good luck, my lady,” he said.

  Alice was scared to the point that she couldn’t tell if his tone was sincere or meant to throw her even further off her game. Before she could decide one way or the other, The Shark called her name.

  “Alice Rogers!”

  She put on her game face and stepped to the stage. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Peter applaud as she made her move.

  Soon every act stood single file. Louis held Mortimer to the crowd while Porter Cole pumped his fists into the air. Alice was on the verge of swooning when Peter’s hand hit her back and held her at attention “Smile,” he said. “It’s what they want.”

  Alice obeyed and flicked her arm against the air in a gesture that rivaled Mortimer’s. Peter rubbed his fingers down her flesh. She quickly glanced at him again, but Peter was already playing to the crowd with his other hand raised in a champion’s answered prayer.

  “Let’s get this party started!” The Shark cried.

  Ella Miles, the singer from Toronto, went first. She’d seemed so sure of herself during the rehearsals. Ella had surpassed all expectations when it came to her cover of Katy Perry’s “Roar.” Her tones had been like velvet as she anticipated each note and met them head on, but now that they were live, she was way ahead of the music.

  The audience politely applauded her efforts. Wesley’s tongue went acidic as he told Ella that she would always remember this moment in the spotlight with some fondness because it was likely the only shot at stardom that she would ever have. He smirked for the cameras as he spoke.

  Ella crashed into the wing in a state of hysterical disbelief. Alice moved to hold her, but Peter’s arms were faster.

  He patted Ella’s shoulder with a smile. “So you bombed. It happens. But sympathy gets votes, too. Chin up.”

&n
bsp; Ella raced back towards the dressing room with another series of sobs. Alice saw Peter throw up his arms. In his mind, he had tried. Peter sighed at her departure and turned back to Alice.

  She gritted her teeth through what was left of her makeup. “Care to give me a pep talk?” she challenged.

  Peter smoothed the stubble on his cheeks and shot her a smile. “Like you need it.”

  Alice moved her eyes back to center stage.

  Jordan Benteen was supposed to be the second coming of Marvin Gaye. Even the soul singer’s corpse could have put on a better show. Nancy Appel was a piano teacher who just needed a concert hall at her disposal. But the reality of that caused her fingers to trip over the keys. She couldn’t finish but still had to walk from behind the baby grand for the judges’ comments.

  “Keep those students coming, Nancy. You’ll need them.” Wesley was brutal but on point.

  A troupe of tiny dancers attempted to samba in unison. They missed most of their lifts and collapsed into a heap of glittery tears as The Shark tried to spin things towards the positive. More tears hit the wings.

  Alice was starting to wonder if this was all some carefully orchestrated practical joke meant to humiliate those without talent in an effort to draw in viewers. She saw Louis and Mortimer led to the slaughter and tried to break free from an arm suddenly curled about her waist.

  “Don’t ruin his set.”

  Alice struggled some but soon relaxed against Peter’s touch.

  On stage, Louis smiled through frozen teeth as Mortimer spoke.

  “It was supposed to be a double date.”

  “It was, buddy,” Louis protested.

  “It was a hot chick with an umbrella, Lou. And she didn’t even spread for me.”

  Applause and light laugher rang out. The judges commented on his ability to throw his voice, and to Arnold at least it was something.

  “I love that you commit to the puppet,” Arnold said.

  Hashtags had to go wild.

  “If you make it through, just let Mortimer do the talking. Because he’s where it’s at, baby!”