The Temporary Detective

Chapter Eleven

Isobel was the first person to arrive outside the rehearsal studio on Eighth Avenue and Fifty-fifth Street shortly before seven on Saturday morning. Delphi was the second.

"Glad to see you're still alive," Delphi said, sitting on the stoop next to Isobel.

"So far, so good. How are you?"

"Still asleep." Delphi yawned and looked around. "Where is everyone?"

Isobel shrugged and pulled her notebook from her shoulder bag. She opened to the ad she had pasted in from Backstage.

"Two by Two," she read. "Auditions start at ten."

"Maybe we can at least go inside."

They moved into the vestibule and hit the buzzer for the studio. There was no answer.

Isobel frowned. "I don't get it. Remember how packed the other one was?"

"Who knows?" Delphi shrugged. "I'll go get us some coffee. Oh, and here." She pulled a piece of paper from her own bag and handed it to Isobel. "Start a sign-up. They don't have to honor it, but they probably will. Reduces the chances of bloodshed."

Isobel put the date and their names at the top of the page. She wondered whether the rest of the non-Equity population knew something about this showcase production they didn't. Or maybe they just liked to sleep in on weekends. By the time Delphi returned, a few more groggy actors had wandered up and added their names to the list. At nine o'clock, the super unlocked the door, and the line, still small compared to the throng the other day, filed silently upstairs. Shortly after, a gangly, effeminate man in a mustard-colored sweater appeared and took the sign-up sheet.

"We'll start at ten o'clock sharp with..." he glanced at the sheet, "Isobel, Delphi, and then Jessica. They're asking for sixteen bars of an up-tempo and sixteen bars of a ballad."

Isobel gasped. "Sixteen bars? That's it?"

"That's it."

"What can you tell in sixteen bars?"

"A lot," the man said meaningfully and started off down the hall.

Isobel called after him. "But you can't build the dramatic arc of a piece! You can't create a mood, a scene!" Delphi nudged her. "What? I'm right!"

"Rule number one," murmured Delphi, "don't piss off the monitor."

They retired to the ladies' room, where they applied makeup and changed into heels. Isobel wandered into the corner of the small anteroom and began to hum lightly. She wished she had been able to warm up more thoroughly, but she didn't dare cause another disturbance at the residence, especially at such an early hour. She tried a few scales, buzzing her lips together to trill the first few notes of Leonard Bernstein's "It's Love."

Delphi didn't seem at all concerned with warming up. She had removed the silver rings from her nose and ears and was taming her frizz into a cascade of sausage curls. Makeup in delicate pinks completed the look, and when she turned around, Isobel was shocked to see her transformed into a period heroine.

"Wow! You look totally different!"

"Thanks. I think."

"What are you going to sing?" Isobel asked.

"Not sure. The part I'm right for physically is that high soprano thing, the pagan girlfriend, but I'm an alto. And the alto character is supposed to be unattractive."

"Which you definitely are not," Isobel said.

"Well, not in this get-up." Delphi turned toward the mirror. "I guess I'll just sing my standard tune."