Death and Tea at Three

31 The Audition

It was colder in the waiting room than either Harold or Isobel had anticipated. The air conditioner was on a full blast, which only made the waiting far more irritating.

Harold leaned forward at the edge of his seat. Both hands pressed against his knees, and his head relaxed as he looked intently at the floor below him. He counted the tiles over and over, hoping that perhaps it would distract him from how much time had passed.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Isobel sitting upright. She too sat at the edge of her seat. Though, unlike Harold, her legs were pressed together, jittering as she shook them. Her hands were folded tightly in her lap.

Harold could only imagine the fear and anxiety she must be feeling. He had not even considered her feelings until he saw her in that moment. She was still just a girl, but her ambitions and desires far outreached those of any child he had ever known.

"Don't worry so much," Harold whispered under his breath.

Isobel glanced toward him, though her jitters did not stop. In fact, his words only increased the speed at which her legs shook.

"I mean, it can't be that bad. You like to sing at home. Just sing like you sing at home. If you break down even the most frightening and intimidating things, at their core, all things are very simple. Just sing like you always do. Everything else that happens is just excess."

This seemed to ease Isobel, albeit slightly. She turned her head toward Harold and gave a tight-lipped smile that looked as if it had taken all her strength to produce.

The door to the waiting room swung open, as yet another contestant walked in from the stage. She was a woman in her mid-twenties. To Harold, she looked like one of those hipsters he had heard so much about.

Harold did not like hipsters. He couldn't understand why they dressed like him, although in far tighter clothing, when they were at least a quarter of his age. Harold, however, felt no ill-will toward this hipster. The young woman kept her head down as she walked with purpose out of the room. She wiped her eyes profusely. Harold could hear her sobs, even though she desperately tried to hide them by burying her face in her vintage t-shirt featuring an image of The Ramones, which Harold was sure she only liked because it was 'different'.

Harold was once again so lost in thought that he had not noticed Isobel also watching the woman sob her way out of the room. Isobel looked at Harold with pleading eyes, as if to say, 'please tell me that won't be me.'

And so that was exactly what Harold told her. "That won't be you," he said.

"Okay, that wasn't very convincing. Plus, you don't know that won't be me. Unless you have super powers, I don't know about, you can't possibly tell the future."

"She probably wasn't good. I've heard you sing, and you're good."

"When have you heard me sing?" Isobel questioned, her head tilted in confusion.

"You're always humming or mumbling some song whenever you're at my place," Harold replied.

"Oh." Isobel looked down. Her mouth hung open, as if every muscle in her body was frozen.

"Listen, it's not a big deal. If anything, all your humming and singing was just hours of practice under your belt," Harold said, as he nudged Isobel, breaking her from her solid state.

"Really?" Isobel seemed to perk up, as she glanced up toward Harold with a goofy grin.

"Of course. You've been ready for this audition for some time. Trust me. I don't say these things to just anyone. Plus, you're young and reasonably cute. I'm sure they'll like that."