The northbound A train was packed. Sarah's body was squeezed between a woman carrying a very nervous-looking dog in a dog-sized clown costume and an older man with piercings that went from his nose across his face to his ear.
Sometimes New York really does rival the Underground for colorful characters.
A journey to meet up with Lori that should have taken ten minutes had already taken forty, with the train traveling at a snail's pace and then stopping for long periods between stations. Sarah was somewhere between expecting these kinds of delays and feeling a deep sense of betrayal every time they happened.
Today, given the crush of bodies around her and the fact that many of them smelled unwashed, she was leaning toward the latter.
She tried to distract herself with thoughts of Jareth's script. It was a bit of a disjointed mess, if she admitted it to herself, but the translated words had a lyrical quality that was kind of mesmerizing. There was no hint of irony or winking—it was completely sincere, something that she'd also gone for with Moon Gems. Which meant that on the stage it might come across as pompous and bombastic, but maybe not, with Lori's guidance.
It helped that in reading the script she imagined the words being spoken in his voice.
She sighed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other, unable to move more than a centimeter. The train stopped and lingered longer than it should have at 155th Street station.
What would it mean, Sarah wondered, if Lori liked it? If she wanted to direct it, or if she wanted Sarah to direct it? Was Jareth actually capable of collaborating? Really collaborating? Would he even be able to spend that much time away from his side of the mirror?
Had she just thrown a grenade into the center of their relationship? And had she done it on purpose?
The train finally dragged itself out of 155th Street, only to stop on the tracks less than a minute later. The lights flickered and then went out completely.
There was a collective groan. "Are you kidding me, motherfuckers?" someone shouted. "Are you kidding me?"
Sarah closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The dog in the woman's arms gave a pitiful whimper.
When the air conditioning stopped running and the temperature quickly began to rise Sarah felt her heart rate increase. There were murmurs, and someone pounded on the windows.
"Open the doors!"
Sarah stood on her tiptoes and could faintly make out movement up ahead. As more murmurs passed through the crowd she figured it out—there was only one exit, at the end of the train, and they'd all have to file out.
She gritted her teeth. Third. Goddamn. Time. In a month.
The mass of people in front of her didn't seem to be moving at all, and she felt a trickle of sweat pooling down her back. The air felt thick. She tried to take a deep breath but couldn't.
"We're gonna die in here, we're gonna die in here…"
"Shut up."
"Don't tell me to shut up, don't nobody tell me to shut up—"
The mass of bodies jolted suddenly, and several people gasped. Sarah had an image of a stampede, of things going completely to hell before she had a chance to move.
"I wish—"
She gasped. The people she was pressed up against ignored her, probably thinking that she was panicking along with the rest of them.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Sarah closed her eyes and took deep breaths in and out. Miraculously, the crowd seemed to have calmed down, the surge of potential panic replaced by muttering and resigned sighs.
Wishes always have consequences, you know that.
Of course she knew that. But sometimes she sensed it would be so easy…so easy to just say yes to whatever Jareth offered her, her uptight sense of "cheating" be damned…
She eventually made it off the train and up the stairs into a light drizzle, resolving to take a cab next time, a promise she'd made before and never kept, because the subway was like a jerk boyfriend—gifted with endless second chances.
Think of all the things you could have, if you only wished for them. What's the worst that could happen?
She pushed away those thoughts as she opened her umbrella and began the long walk to the cafe, scanning the road for a vacant taxi light that she knew she probably wouldn't find.
You can at least trust him enough to not take advantage of one careless wish. Can't you?
The fact that she couldn't answer that question probably should have worried her more.
Lori was understanding about the train delay (everyone was these days, Sarah reflected, because they were becoming harder and harder to avoid). She had already ordered a bowl of oatmeal and a cup of mint tea and was glancing over the copied pages of Jareth's script that Sarah had sent her. Sarah ordered a spinach and egg white omelet and forced herself to eat at least a portion of it, even though feedback sessions with Lori always made her lose her appetite.
And this time it's not even MY work that's about to get eviscerated.
It shocked her to realize that she was just as, if not more nervous to see Lori's reaction to something Jareth had written. It felt like a referendum—on his abilities, maybe even her basic sense of judgment.
She also couldn't help picturing the look on Jareth's face if Lori hated his play, the way she knew he'd shrug and act like her opinion was beneath him. She hated the idea of having to mince words and let him down easy.
For her part, Lori was contentedly wolfing down her bowl of oatmeal and fruit, occasionally gazing out the window as she sipped her tea (the limited conversation they'd had up to now had included a frustrated comment about not being able to drink coffee). Her dreadlocked hair was cut to just above her shoulders, and she wore a simple T-shirt stretched over her very large stomach and a pair of black jeans, her ankle-length leather coat lightly spattered with rain and resting on the booth next to her.
Years after they'd first collaborated Sarah considered Lori something between a friend and a mentor, even though the other woman was only a few years older. They spent time together outside of work, but Lori rarely talked about her personal life, and she'd never told Sarah about a boyfriend or a husband, only admitting that she was pregnant when it became impossible to hide. After that Sarah had managed to glean a few very minor details about Lori's partner—Tal, younger, not a theater person, from France. She wondered if she'd ever know more than that.
She'd learned to wait for Lori to start talking on days like this. Lori hated small talk, and after a brief greeting and ordering their food her friend was always happy to sit in silence for fifteen or twenty minutes before they started talking shop. It had taken Sarah a while to get used to, given the fact that she was usually surrounded by people who couldn't stop talking.
It's nice that Jareth knows when to talk and when to be quiet.
She shook her head. Focus.
The waitress cleared the dishes away and Lori put her elbows up on the table, resting her chin in her hands. "So," she finally said.
Sarah swallowed. "So?"
Lori ran her fingers over the copies of Jareth's script pages, the flowing, ink-spattered lines contrasting sharply with the dull color of the printer paper. "I take it this guy doesn't have a computer?"
Sarah cleared her throat. "It was broken."
Lori shrugged. "Fine, was just hoping that he wasn't some hipster sitting in the park with a quill and ink." Lori regarded Sarah curiously. "You agree with me that this script is kind of nuts, right?"
Sarah gave a high-pitched laugh. "Nuts?"
"Yeah. Like, it reads like someone from another planet wrote it, someone who had a basic idea of what a script should LOOK like, but then they infused it with their own nutso sensibilities. Is he a drug addict?"
"No."
Lori raised an eyebrow. "Huh."
Sarah smiled awkwardly and smoothed some nonexistent wrinkles in her shirt. "It was really kind of you to read it. I'm sorry if it was a waste of time, I just thought—"
"Hang on, what makes you think I didn't like it?"
Sarah blinked. "Uh…you said it was—"
"Nuts, yeah. Nuts can be good."
"It can?"
Lori burst out laughing and reached for Sarah's hand. "Sarah, how long have we known each other?"
Sarah thought quickly. "Seven years?"
"And are you telling me that in that time you haven't seen me produce or write or direct anything that was more than a little nutty?"
Sarah felt herself beginning to relax. "Well, Tacos mon Amour wasn't exactly mainstream—"
"And I had my actors dress up as fucking SHEEP for King Lear." She tapped the script in front of her. "Seriously, I'm offended that you'd think I was above something like this."
"I didn't—" Sarah laughed. "Look, I guess I just worried I was biased, given that I'm, uh, sort of close with the author."
"Yeah, well, that can certainly cloud your judgment." She glanced over the pages. "I'm not saying this thing doesn't need work. It needs a lot of work—some of the magic stuff has got to go, for one thing, because the scenarios described in here are going to call for Cursed Child-level visual effects, and we will not have a Cursed Child-level budget…"
Sarah listened as Lori went through the script and a new version of it gradually took shape in front of them. In the back of her mind, though, she was already picturing Jareth's reaction. Would he resist any changes? Would he just be happy that his work was going to be seen, even if he did everything he could to hide it?
An hour and more cups of tea (combined with more good-natured complaining about caffeine avoidance) later, Sarah had detailed notes in hand and an idea of how to present them to Jareth. She was just about to gather her things to leave when Lori spoke up.
"So have you and Miguel figured out how to humiliate me in front of friends & colleagues yet?"
Sarah smiled. "Not yet. He's still pretty intimidated by you, though, so I wouldn't worry too much."
"Good." She glanced down at her stomach. "Jesus, you wanna talk nuts…"
Sarah set her bag down and waited. Eventually Lori spoke again.
"We didn't plan it, you know. It would have made sense not to keep it."
Sarah nodded, afraid that Lori would stop talking if she spoke.
Lori shrugged. She seemed to be talking more to herself than Sarah. "He was supposed to be a fling, but he kind of grew on me."
"Yeah, uh…" Sarah blushed. "I kinda know what that's like."
Lori looked up as if just now remembering that Sarah was there. Her smile was full of genuine warmth.
"Well, tell your particular grew-on-me that he's written something rather interesting, and I'd like to see what the revised version looks like, if he's up for it." She gathered her things and Sarah helped her get up from the booth, which took a bit more effort than usual. "At some point we'll have to meet in person, though."
"Yeah." Sarah smiled, her heart pounding with a mixture of glee and dread. "We'll figure it out."
Chapter 4