“Thursday,” she said, puzzled. He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble of beard on his face made him look older and thinner than he was.
“Yeah. I have an audition tonight.”
“What time?”
He reached out for her wrist and studied her watch. He seemed to be in a daze, as if he was ready to pass out any minute.
“It’s in fifteen minutes,” he announced. “At nine-fifteen they’ll be expecting me.”
She felt lost. “Aren’t you going?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “Why bother?”
“I don’t understand,” she said, searching his face. “You were so excited about it.”
“I was excited about lots of things.”
“Mike—”
He straightened up. “Look,” he said, “I’m not going because I simply don’t give a damn about it, as a matter of fact. The reason I came here is I’m a son-of-a-bitch. I wanted to crawl in looking like a wreck to tell you I was missing the audition on account of you. I guess I wanted to even things up or something. Doesn’t make much sense. I’ll go now.”
As he turned she said, “Mike? Are you going to the audition?”
“No.”
“But you have to! What’s the matter?”
“Hell, I couldn’t get there in time now if I wanted to.”
“Where is it?”
“Sixth Avenue in the Forties.”
“If you took a cab—”
“Forget it,” he said. “I don’t feel like singing anyway. My voice is in lousy shape.”
She glanced quickly at her watch. It was past nine already; Laura would be waiting for her and she had to hurry.
But—
“Mike?”
“Yeah?”
“Would you go if I went along with you?”
A pause. Then, “Why?”
“I’ve never been to an audition.”
“What’s your angle on this, Jan?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean the other day you couldn’t wait to get rid of me. I don’t get it.”
“I just want you to go to the audition,” she said honestly. “If you’ll go I’ll go with you. That’s all.”
“You would?”
She walked up to him quickly and took him by the arm. “Come on,” she said. “There’s not much time left.”
They were out of the building and hurrying down Barrow Street before she remembered that she hadn’t locked the door. She had her purse, though, and there wasn’t anything very valuable in the apartment. To hell with it, she thought.
She didn’t say a word until they were sitting together in the back seat of the cab and the cab was moving north on Sixth Avenue.
“We’re in a hurry,” she told the driver.
“Everybody is,” he said. “Everybody’s always in a rush. You think a fare ever tells me to take it nice and slow?”
“I mean it,” she said. “We have an appointment and—”
“Lady,” he said. “Lady, sit back and relax.”
She started to tell him again but decided against it and sat back trying to catch her breath. Why was she doing this? She didn’t really care about Mike and when it was over she would only have to get rid of him all over again. It didn’t make sense.
She pushed the questions out of her mind, forcing herself to think about something else. Turning to Mike she said, “Do you have everything you’ll need?”
“I’ve got the guitar.”
“Is that all? Do you use picks or anything?”
“Just the guitar.”
“Don’t you have to tune it or something? You better check.”
He nodded and began tuning the guitar, plucking each string in turn and twisting the little knobs to tighten or loosen the strings until he was satisfied that the pitch was right.
“It’s okay,” he said.
She studied him carefully. “You’re a mess, you know.”
He grinned. “I’ve been wearing these clothes for awhile now.”
“And you look tired.”
“I am tired.”
“You need a shave, too. Will that make any difference?”
He shook his head. “If they say anything I can always tell them I’m growing a beard, but they won’t care. All they care about is whether I sing well or not.”
“Will you?”
He looked at her a moment before replying. “I suppose so,” he said.
“You said something about your voice—”
“Just an excuse. It’s as good now as it ever was.”
“That’s good,” she said.
The cab seemed to be crawling. The traffic was thick on Sixth Avenue and they stopped for a light every few blocks. She glanced at her watch; it was almost time.
“Jan?”
“What?”
“What’s the bit?”
She hesitated.
“You don’t—”
“Love you? No, I told you I didn’t.”
“Then why are you doing this?”
“I honestly don’t know,” she said levelly. “I’m not entirely sure myself. It’s just important to me that you go to the audition and do whatever you’re supposed to do.”
“Okay,” he said. “We’ll see what happens.”
Her eyes darted again to her watch and she wanted to shout at the driver, wanted to scream at him to hurry. He simply had to get them there on time.
She forced herself to relax. A few minutes didn’t matter that much. They would wait for him. They would do that much.
“Jan?”
“Yes?”
“Take it easy. We’ll get there.”
She nodded.
“Another minute won’t make any difference. We’ll be there soon enough.”
“Good.”
“And Jan?”
“What?”
“You’ll come in and listen, won’t you?”
“If they’ll let me.”
“They will.”
“Okay,” she said. “I’d like to come.”
“I’d like to have you there.”
Finally the cab pulled to a stop in front of the address Mike had given the driver. She took a bill from her purse and handed it to the driver and followed Mike into a dark brick building.
“Relax,” he told her. “We’ve got it made.”
In the audition room, or whatever it was called, short men with dark hair smiled quickly at her and then calmly ignored her. She walked to the back of the room and took a seat in a hard-backed folding chair, watching Mike mount the steps to a raised platform at the front of the room.
He took his guitar from his shoulder and picked the strings, going through the motions of tuning it. Then he smiled once at her and glanced momentarily at the little men who had come to listen to him.
Then he began to sing Danville Girl.
14
He was unbelievably good.
That was all she could think of after the little men with dark hair had said good-by and after she and Mike had hurried out the door and onto the street. His singing had been perfect, better than perfect. The reactions of the little men proved that she wasn’t crazy, that they also recognized how good he was. Of course they hadn’t said anything and wouldn’t until they had a chance to go over the audition tapes, but she knew their decision was already made. He would have a chance to make a record.
He sang about two dozen songs in all. Some she had heard at the party, others were new to her. They all had the drive and flavor that was always present in his singing.
Danville Girl. Then a blues she hadn’t heard before, slow and agonizingly sad. Then Shady Grove and House of the Rising Sun and two songs of the Irish Republican Army. And more songs — more than she could remember.
“I was good,” he said. He wasn’t bragging. It was a simple statement of fact, and he could hardly help realizing how well he put himself over.