A Lie for a Lie (11 page)

I wasn’t sure if we’d ever earn back his expenses.

Tonight for the opening round we were only about two-thirds full, and the ticket prices were cheaper. But even so, backstage there was an air of excitement once I was vetted and allowed in. As far as I knew, I had completed every assigned task that afternoon, and if all went well, I would need to fetch and carry only if the need arose. We had half an hour to curtain time, and I was hoping to find my Price Girl daughter for a quick hug before she and her friends faced the judges.

Instead I found the two female judges in a small dressing room, an overly bright, antiseptic place that needed Grady’s bathroom bulb to warm it. Melanie Drew was a local woman who’d danced and sung in the choruses of two Broadway shows before she chucked Manhattan and came home to raise a family. Sandy Pierce had taught voice lessons in Minnesota and didn’t yet have a job or students in town. Their credentials might seem thin, but nobody was coming to hear what they had to say anyway. This event was all about Grady.

Melanie and Sandy were quintessential Midwesterners, polite to a fault, anxious not to cause me any difficulty. When I asked if they needed anything, they assured me they were fine and wondered if they could do anything for
me
. Unfortunately there was nothing two accommodating middle-aged women or anybody else could do that would relieve me of the burden of one Grady Barber.

Of course Grady had taken one look at the male equivalent of the women judges’ dressing room and insisted that we remake the most comfortable green room at the farthest end of the hall just for him, so that he would not be hounded by fans. With much grinding of teeth, I had. I headed in that direction now to make sure his wicker basket of organic fruit, mineral water, and trans fat-free whole wheat crackers had been delivered.

All hope of a quick check and a good night vanished while I was still fifteen yards away. I could hear an argument behind the closed door. Grady’s voice was the loudest, and for a man who could sing so sweetly, he could also bellow like a hog caller.

“I’m fed up with your incompetence, Fred. I make allowances. I’m not that hard to please—”

“Are you kidding me? You’re impossible. Nothing anybody does for you is good enough. And you’re worse this week than I’ve ever seen you. What is it about being in Ohio that’s got your head up your—”

“Who do you think you are? A miserable, overpaid, underworked loser—”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t see you firing me. And I know why! Nobody else would work for you, and you can’t make it without an assistant. I don’t know why I stay. There are half a dozen people back in L.A. who want to hire me and—”

“Really? Then why don’t you quit? Just walk out of here. You threaten to enough! I’ll tell you why. Because you know the moment you do, I’ll put the word out about what a loser you really are.” He followed this with a tirade of profanity that was both creative and withering.

Fred’s voice sounded closer now, as if he was moving toward the door. “Yeah? Well, let me tell you, you’re walking the razor’s edge, Grady. And if you slip, I won’t be responsible for the consequences. You know what? If worse came to worst, there wouldn’t be anybody out there that cared enough about you to bother picking up the pieces, anyway. You’re a sadist, and you get your kicks out of making everybody around you miserable. You’d better watch out, or it’s going to come right back at you! And I’ll be standing here laughing my head off!”

I was rooted to the spot, of course. My so-called job description didn’t include getting into any line of fire, but I was delighted to hear Fred fighting back. Until this moment I wasn’t sure he had it in him.

The green room door flew open, and Fred came roaring out. Color flushed his cheeks, and he nearly ran me over before he even realized I was there.

“You heard that?” he demanded, as he stalked past me.

“Just the tail end.” I spun around and raced to keep up with him. “Fred, hang on there. What’s going on?”

“He’s behaving like an ass—” He cleared his throat and glanced at me. “You get it.”

“Where are you going? Please, don’t tell me you’re leaving me to deal with him by myself.”

Fred slowed down a little. “It might be better.”

“For who?!”

He stopped. His sigh was nearly as loud as their argument. “Nothing can please him. I could do every job a dozen different ways, and he’d want it done the one way I didn’t bother with. He’s lost his freaking mind. Is there something in the air here?”

“Maybe we need to pipe in a little smog.”

“I was in pretty good shape when I took this job. Now my heart races, my gums bleed, my toenails are turning yellow—”

I was desperate to avoid the listing of hemorrhoids, impotence, or worse. “Take a deep breath, okay? Our air’s good for you, and free.”

“I thought dealing with his ex-wives was bad enough. But at least he left me alone to handle them. Since we got here, he’s on top of me about everything. I’m two words away from quitting.”

“Please, please don’t say them until you’re on your way out of town. I’ll do everything I can to help you get through the coming week. Please, Fred.” I grabbed his arm and pulled it, as if I were ringing a bell. “Please!”

“Yeah. Well.” He took a deep breath, the way I’d suggested. “I gave up smoking about ten years ago. I’m going to find a cigarette.”

He turned and stomped off. I knew better than to continue pleading. Fred hardly knew me, and his loyalty was already strained. I didn’t want to push him over the edge.

I debated what to do next. I decided whether the basket had made it to the green room was a small problem. Staying away from Grady was a more worthy one, and I needed to focus all my attention on it.

Half an hour later Veronica, who had probably been here since dawn, found me trying to bribe one of the college student stagehands to fetch Grady from his green room. Grady was supposed to be in the wings waiting to be introduced before he took his seat at the judges’ table, stage right, and Fred was nowhere in sight. So far the stagehand had refused my offers of a home-cooked meal, movie tickets with a popcorn coupon, or a road trip in my minivan.

“Where’s Grady?” Veronica demanded.

“In the green room.” I’m sure my eyes lit up. “Will you go and get him?”

“Why haven’t you?”

She was dressed in a silver top and flowing pants, and she looked terrific. I, of course, looked like the gofer I was. In a burst of brilliance I made an issue of it.

“I think Grady responds better to power and prestige. Tonight I can only offer exhaustion and the desire to crawl into my bed and pull the covers over my head.”

Her eyes softened. “You’re doing a great job, Aggie. Everybody’s talking about the miracles you’ve worked so far. Don’t give up on me. We’re almost there. Think about the children.”

“Will you get him and make sure he’s in place? Please?”

She lifted my hand and patted it. “You go on out and take a seat. The second row’s reserved for our volunteers. I’ll take it from here.”

I told myself the rush of love I felt was just Stockholm syndrome. My tormentor, my friend. But I smiled anyway and bolted for the steps down into the auditorium.

I make a point of avoiding reality shows. I figure, life’s real enough, why do I need an ersatz version to entertain me? The Bachelor has been forced to choose his potential wife without my help. The Biggest Loser could pass me in the street and I wouldn’t know to offer him a celery stick and a jog around the Oval. Survivors could swing from vines in my backyard, light bonfires, and vote one another out of Emerald Springs, and I would be none the wiser. But I will confess that once, just once, I watched
American Idol
on television. I was sick, and the remote was at the other end of the couch.

So while not an expert, I did have some idea how our night would go. The finalists would perform, receive helpful comments from the judges guaranteed to send them into therapy for a year. The judges would argue among themselves, and finally a young man or woman who could belt out a love song with loads of energy and even more volume would win. I would sink lower into my chair with every act, until eventually, I was so low I could drop to the floor and crawl out of the auditorium without anybody noticing.

I looked for Ed and Teddy, but I couldn’t spot them. Since the lights were blinking for the last time, I settled for a seat on the volunteer row next to Camille Beauregard.

“Are you still okay with your daughter trying out?” she whispered.

“I try not to think about it.”

“Have you warned her about Grady?”

“She was an inch from quitting. I didn’t want to close the gap. The other girls would never speak to her again.”

“I have Yorkies. They’re easier.”

“They might be more entertaining onstage, too.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but the girls won’t make it past this round. So if you can get through tonight, you’ll be okay.”

I felt oddly comforted. Deena wasn’t expecting to win. Maybe she and her friends would be so proud they made it to the finals, their self-esteem would get a boost powerful enough to take them all the way through high school. If not, at least everything would all be over with by the time we left for home.

The house lights dimmed once and for all; the spotlight came on, and the curtain opened. Veronica walked over to bask in it, and the applause began. I applauded, too. Nobody had worked harder than she had.

I was so tired I was able to zone out as she launched into a spiel about the Idyll, about the fun it had been—ha!—and the way it had turned a terribly hot summer into a memorable one. She moved right into the need for a new pediatric unit with a special ICU, the huge contribution Grady Barber had made by clearing his schedule and appearing as our celebrity judge. It was so much nicely done yada yada, and I had to fight to keep my eyes open.

Melanie and Sandy were introduced to polite applause, and they took their seats at the table. Lisa Lee, looking simultaneously arty and disheveled, just as she had at the party, came out and took her seat at the piano with a flourish. There was a drummer and a string bass with her for tonight’s performances. Later there would be a larger ensemble.

Finally Grady was introduced, and the audience went wild. He favored the assembly with “Sailing toward a Rainbow,” and got the same acclaim he’d received at the welcome party. Then he took his seat. A drumroll sounded, and the Idyll was officially on its way.

The first act was a brother and sister who sang “Seasons of Love” from
Rent
. The song was entertaining and upbeat, although neither of them had great voices. Still, they had every movement choreographed to perfection.

Camille leaned over to speak into my ear. “They’ve been in pageants since they were babes in their mother’s arms. She was Little Miss Midwestern Shopping Mall, and he was First Gallant Knight of Fire Prevention. Can you imagine what goes on in that house while other kids are doing homework?”

The song ended with remarkable energy. I was ready to pass them on to the next level, and so were Melanie and Sandy, who were warm and comforting and congratulatory. Not so Grady.

“I’ve been to Broadway. I’ve been
on
Broadway. I can tell you, kids, that what you just did? That’s not Broadway.”

The audience tittered. He stood and joined the two onstage. Both were thin and dark haired. She was younger, he was maybe eighteen at the oldest. They carried themselves with confidence, almost too much, as if that was their major asset, and they needed to make the most of it. Neither backed down as Grady approached, which gave them a boost on my virtual scorecard.

Grady got between them, signaled to Lisa Lee, and told her where to start playing. Then, as simply as that, he began the same lyrics, punching different words, pausing just enough and in the right places to give the words a whole new meaning. Then he asked the young man to try it. Courageously, he did. The girl followed suit when she was asked, and I could see the improvement. I imagined these two had been working with coaches all their lives and knew the drill.

Sadly, Grady didn’t agree. He worked with them a little longer, shook his head a time or two, looked progressively more discouraged, and at last his attitude began to rub off. Their confidence visibly dwindled. They exchanged glances that said they weren’t used to this kind of criticism.

Finally Grady patted them both on the shoulders before he took his seat, then he and the judges conferred. I squirmed as the siblings stood there looking more and more like whipped puppies and Grady dissected everything they had done into the microphone, from the way they moved to the clothes they wore. Melanie and Sandy were nodding faster and faster . . .

“Oh, neither of the women are going to stand up to him,” Camille whispered. “Are you surprised?”

I’d just heard somebody stand up to Grady, and it hadn’t been pretty. I wondered if Fred was still in the building somewhere. I really couldn’t blame Sandy and Melanie for cowardice. They looked just the tiniest bit starstruck to me.

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to pass on you,” Sandy said after they had conferred again in lower voices. “Be proud you made it to the stage tonight, and good luck with everything you do in the future.”

The audience applauded, there was a buzz through the assembled crowd, and I suspected some people, at least, were more excited now that the part where contestants got kicked in the butt had begun.

“I hate this,” I said, as the boy looked bewildered, and the girl looked like she was going to cry.

“Toughen up,” Camille said. “I’m no pro, but I bet that was Grady at his kindest.”

“St. Grady of the Brothers of Malevolence.”

The next act was good bordering on excellent. A young man in his early twenties came out with remarkable poise and something even I could recognize as stage presence. He sang “What Goes Around . . . / . . . Comes Around,” which I recognized as a Justin Timberlake hit. I do have a young teenager in my house.