burned into my brain are these stolen images
by. Poisoned Scarlett
act two
He cancels with his friends, tells them that he has other things to do and he will accompany them on their run through the town some other day. He sits in the same seat he usually does and flips through the pamphlet they had given him at the box office. He attends her showings whenever he can and he knows it's a problem when he puts off time with his friends for her, a talented ballerina who knows nothing of his existence. But he admits his knowledge of musicals has expanded greatly since that night; he would boldly say that attending these shows have helped him understand theater more than the classes he took in college. So not all is lost. He reads through this shows synopsis idly, not entirely taking in the words since he knows the storyline already. His eyes stray toward the stage, the swath of burgundy curtains that retain old fears.
They remain immobile.
They're late.
"I knew this would happen! Oh, I told them this would happen! We're late!"
"By five minutes," another voice drones, unconcerned.
"It's because Tezca isn't in this show tonight! Everyone has a problem with the man I hired to take over..."
Soul shifts his eyes to the middle-aged woman who is patting her cheek with powder, being careful not to powder the eye patch that covers up her left eye. Beside her, her husband dully asks why he is missing now.
"He hurt his hand yesterday," she explains, sympathetic. She pauses just for a second before continuing her touch up. "He told me he was reaching for a box he had stored up in the attic. I guess it was heavier than he thought it would be and it fell on his arm, that poor thing! He's in the hospital right now. I visited him as soon as I heard the news and... he seemed fine."
"Will he be able to play in the next show?"
His wife sends him an aghast look. "Of course not! He fractured his arm, Stein, he'll be out of work for a few weeks at best!" She closes her compact and puts it away in her purse, settling into the seat with an anxious toss of her hair. Soul has seen this woman in the theater numerous times and he has reason to believe she works alongside the crew, given that the times he sat close to her she was always muttering how she would increase their practice schedule, how they needed to fix their postures, or how their choreography was off. He sees nothing wrong with the performances but perhaps she's just attuned to the practice more than he is.
"He was planning on retiring, anyway," she adds, troubled. "But where am I going to find another pianist as good as him? I've interviewed a few but they would never be able to learn all of the songs as well as he has! I'm deciding between two but... I don't like either. One of them has a horrible attitude, too!" She adds, grumpy, and Soul has one of two options at this point.
He can ignore her as he always has or he can offer his services to her and face the burgundy curtains that retain old fears.
"You need a pianist?" Soul asks before he can convince himself otherwise. She looks at him, surprised, but nods her head and retells him the story he already knows, adding in some extra details such as the pay and hours. "I can fill in for him," he offers and the woman hesitates, no doubt skeptical a twenty-something year old can surpass the musical prowess of a fifty year old. Just in case, he adds, "I was admitted into Julliard university for my piano skills and graduated with honors. I'm a prodigy pianist," and the admission leaves a tacky taste in his mouth but the way the woman's eyes light up, as if she has just found a diamond among the rubble, tells him that using the same words his parents have repeated for years has its benefits.
"Julliard, hmm?" Her husband repeats, managing to sound intrigued. "I hear it's difficult to be admitted with skill alone."
Soul shrugs. "I've been playing since I could talk."
"Prodigy! Oh! I really hope you can become apart of our team!" She beams, fishing out a napkin from inside her purse. She jots down a number and an address and hands it to him, her blue eyes wide with delight. "If you're really interested in filling the spot, drop by here tomorrow at your earliest convenience! The dance studio is usually open from eight to ten, so anytime in-between is fine!"
He takes the napkin. It weighs in his hand.
"Yeah, cool. Thanks."
She beams again and excited clapping drowns out her next words. Soul looks towards the stage, the abominable curtains that are being steadily drawn back, and glances at the woman one last time before settling in for another show.