‘You really hate it here, don’t you?’
‘I’m all for talent. Susan has a ten-year-old niece who plays Vivaldi’s Four Seasons on the violin with her eyes closed. Incredible. But she plays at school feis’s and family gatherings. No reason to put her on stage and put her through this kind of shit,’ she says, lowering her voice as a twelve-year-old contortionist walks by with her parents, face full of TV make-up and her costume bag over her shoulder.
‘I suppose they’re proud. They want to show the world. Share it.’
‘That’s the thing, people keep asking her parents, why won’t they let her do more with her talent? Put her on a TV show or something. Why? Because she’s good at something?’ She shakes her head, bewildered. ‘Why can’t people just be really good at something? Why do they have to be the best at something? I mean, my feeling on it is …’ She searches for the words, really passionate about it now. ‘There’s sharing a gift, and there’s … diluting a gift. You know? They already have her looking like Helen of fucking Troy. Who knows what they’ll do with her next. But that’s just my unpopular opinion. I don’t watch this shit.’ She sighs.
Solomon grumbles some sort of response and quickly pushes her words out of his head because he doesn’t want to know what she thinks about Laura being part of the show. He doesn’t want to think that she might be right, and that he is responsible for Laura taking part. So instead he dreams about all the ways he can hurt Jack Starr. Punching his lights out was what got him fired from working on the show two years ago. It was over some derogatory comment about Bo, one that Jack had said deliberately, to anger Solomon, and he’d risen to the bait. He’d been glad he’d done it, he still thinks of the moment his fist drove into Jack’s cheek, though he’d been aiming for his nose. Still, the feel of bone and flesh and Jack’s painful girly cry was enough to send him to sleep with good dreams of an evening. He wouldn’t rule out doing it again but he’ll bide his time. He’ll have to make it count, he couldn’t miss out on being present for Laura’s journey.
‘So guys, how amazing was that? Jesus!’ Jack says, sitting on the dressing room table, perfectly framed by the bulb mirror. ‘Laura, I wasn’t blowing smoke up your ass for the cameras, I meant it.’
Curtis nods alongside him, also leaning against the counter, two hands holding on to the edge, staring down at his two feet out before him. He’s a tall angular man, pointed nose, white-blond hair. He doesn’t say much, or anything, lots of head-nodding, arm-folding and looking into space as he listens. He’s just there, a dark force.
‘You are incredible. And don’t worry about the nerves, I get it, first night on the stage, it’s daunting, everybody feels the same, we’ll work with you on that for the next show, okay? We can’t have thirty seconds of nothing next time round,’ he laughs, showing his nerves from earlier.
Laura nods.
‘My head is bursting with ideas right now for the semi-finals. Curt, remind me to tell you about them later at the meeting,’ he says, buzzing, chewing gum excitedly.
‘Sure, Jack.’ Curtis nods, never lifting his gaze from his shoes, which are navy blue suede with orange soles.
Jack talks for a moment about the staging, technical jargon about lights and screens and staging, so fast, so many words per minute, and Curtis nods along as though catching all of it. No problem, Jack, no problem.
Then Jack addresses Laura again. ‘Let’s make this the best damn show together, yeah?’
He stops talking abruptly and looks around at everyone as if trying to find the source of the sound. His eyes land on Laura.
She’s mimicking the sound of his gum-chewing. Curtis looks up and frowns, thinking she’s being disrespectful to the star of the show.
‘No, Curtis, she, um … don’t worry … she is … it happens. Spontaneously. It’s not, she’s not being … we can talk about it later,’ Bo says awkwardly. ‘We filmed with an anthropologist yesterday who explained what Laura does really well. If I could remember how he phrased it … Actually, Solomon explains it much better.’
Laura coughs ‘liar’, mimicking Solomon, then his hearty laugh.
Jack and Curtis stare at her.
‘If this is spontaneous, then can you plan an act for the show?’ Jack asks finally.
‘Good question.’ Curtis rubs his chin, staring at her intensely as though his stare will force a confession from her, as though she’s an imposter who will now be revealed.
Laura makes the sound of Solomon scratching his chin, while she watches him. He pauses and eventually drops his hands briefly, not knowing what to do with them, before placing them on the counter again.
‘Did you plan what you did tonight?’ Jack asks.