Tune in Tomorrow, page 28
Starr swallowed. This was bad. She’d hoped to get up here before anyone had seen the article, armed with Dakota as backup. But Dakota had sacked out in bed after reading the article, exhausted and tear-stained, so Starr had left her back in the hotel room. Probably for the best.
Starr partly blamed herself. She could have made everyone else’s life easier by just kissing up to Fiona. She was an actress. She could have acted it out. Yet, that felt wrong. If the price of admission to the show was sucking up to Fiona and ignoring her petty insults and the occasional knocked-over furniture, Starr knew she’d come to hate the place. She’d tried mollifying her mother as a kid—one of her earliest roles had been to play Perfect Daughter. She’d spend a few days getting on Mama’s good side by making dinner, shoving the junk in her room under the bed, or mowing the lawn.
“Whatcha really want?” Mama would spit after a day or two of the farce. “Ya making me nervous.”
That had convinced Starr she needed to learn how to act properly.
Now, she paused on the roof deck for a moment before Nora turned her way. She was radiant, big and powerful, her belly almost too big for her coat. “Well, well, well,” she said, rising awkwardly. “Look what the weasel dragged in.”
Here we go. Starr offered a hesitant wave.
At first, she didn’t know what she heard coming from all the day players, the guests, and even some of her regular castmates. It started as a low, sibilant hiss, then rose in volume and became true ‘oooing’. Or, rather, ‘booing.’ A balled-up piece of the magazine arced in her direction, falling far short of where she stood. That began a flurry of torn-page missiles, and finally the actors tossed their magazines into the firepit. The flames turned bright green and blue briefly, and a sharp scent of frying ink replaced the cozy earthiness of the fire.
Starr staggered. This was the opposite of the applause she’d felt hours earlier. It sapped her strength, and she shrank under Nora’s gaze. It was as if all hope was leaching from the world; maybe she would throw herself from the balcony, it wouldn’t hurt but for a few seconds—
But wait. That was Nora’s key magic. Knowing her roommate was using her award to make her feel worse helped a tiny bit. “Quit it,” she ordered, words a croak. “There’s an explanation.”
No one cared to hear. Still making low, grumbling noises, the actors shambled in her direction like pissed-off zombies and she flinched. They streamed around her with ugly looks; one muttered, “Thanks for nothing, idiot,” while another hissed, “So much for this gig.” As they passed into the hotel and tromped down the staircase, the booing was replaced by grumbling and threats until the noises faded altogether.
Only Mav and Nora remained. She waddled Starr’s way. “All I can say is I’m thrilled I didn’t open a vein with you until after your gossip session with that rat reporter,” she growled. “Congrats, lady, for killing a beautiful night under the stars. And maybe the whole danged show.”
Mav had stopped playing and was taking a long sip from a flask.
“That article—it isn’t the whole story,” she tried again. “There are things you need to know.”
“Not certain there’s much you could say,” said Mav at last. “Not sure a’tall. And truth? Not sure I care to hear it anyway.” He laid the guitar in its case and snapped the latches closed. “We’re all a little tired. And I’m a little lit. There’s a whole passel of new pages to go over for tomorrow and”—he looked at Starr for the first time—“I’m not so sure I’ve got patience for fun and games.”
“Do I look like I’m enjoying this?” Starr threw one of the balled-up pages at her feet into the fire, which popped and sizzled. “I don’t give a crap what anyone else on this show thinks about me except you, Mav.”
“Hmph,” Nora muttered.
“That’s why I came up here. I said I’d come. I knew you’d be here. I’m here to tell you that I didn’t do this.”
Mav rose and stumbled a step, then righted himself. Starr hurried over to help, but he warded her off. “Look,” he said. “I got caught up. Read me some signals wrong. Best to let this one set.”
“Which is exactly what Fiona wants.”
He dropped the guitar case down angrily. “You are not gonna lay this one on her.” He did seem tired, but also deeply furious and hurt.
“Fiona, Fiona, Fiona,” Nora sniped. “You’re a broken record, Starr. She’s a witch-and-a-half, no question, but you’re obsessed. What, she spiked your drink? She made you say those things?”
Starr remained focused on Mav, who looked as if he wanted to run but couldn’t make himself move. “Do you have that low an opinion of me?” she asked him. “Does everyone?”
Behind them, the door blew open. Nico staggered out, flushed and wide-eyed and without a jacket. He carried with him a bottle of rum, holding it by the neck. He still looked like someone who’d fallen out of bed, but the dishevelment Starr remembered from spying on Fiona’s room was now marinating in alcohol.
Wait, she thought. He isn’t affected by alcohol.
Unless something had changed.
Nico raised his arms and lurched to the roof deck. “The gang’s all here!” he shouted, glancing around. Raising his arms again, he clarified, “The gang’s mostly gone!”
“Jesus, Nico.” Nora pushed past Starr and caught him before he toppled over. “What have you gone and done, you silly fool?”
“Did a little experiment,” he said, brandishing the bottle, which was about a third gone. “Took a few nips. For… for science.” His face briefly pulled into an unhappy grimace, which then disappeared. “See, Fee and I had this fight and I wanted to see if she really could take back that little prize she loaned me. Guess what?”
Guilt, then anger and sadness washed over Starr. “She took it back?”
“That’s three decades down the drain,” said Mav.
“It’s not!” Nico set the bottle down. “I only wanted to see if she would really do it. Tastes like watery shit. But ’pparently, she is that vindicious.”
“Vindictive,” said Nora.
“Vicious,” said Mav.
“What I said,” said Nico, glancing at the bottle, then dragging his gaze away from it.
“C’mon, Reddy,” said Mav. “Let’s get you some hot coffee and a cold shower.”
“Oh, no.” Nico shrugged off Nora and held Mav back. “I’ve got a little show-and-tell. After I realized I could get drunky all over again, I went and found some friends.” He stepped aside and beckoned at the door, which was being held open by a few small hands. Brownies began filing onto the roof—Alligash, Oleander, Pardner, Quintuple, Silverjacket and Respectable Windlight, every bro Starr knew by name except Bookender. Her heart raced.
“Why are we on the roof, Mr. Reddy?” Silverjacket asked.
“We’re not,” said Mav, grabbing the guitar case again. “We’re on our way out.”
Nico pressed a hand into his chest. “Hold those horses, cowboy. You want to hear this.”
“No, I don’t.” Mav was openly angry.
His bro Pardner stepped forward and began to speak in a monotone. “‘Steph was a real linear thinker. So I did bring her here once. Showed her around. Introduced her to everybody. And of course, like I knew they would, they wiped her memory of it the minute she stepped through the Gate. I came back the next day, same as usual and had this flash: everybody was in costume, and we were just a bunch of children playing dress up. But I did stay. I picked the place, not the woman. She left me a year later.’”
“Pardner?” Mav dropped the guitar case again, crouching down. “What the hell?”
“I can do more!” Pardner said cheerily. “Pick a day, any day since you and me was paired up. Seventy-two years, four months and three days ago. First thing you said was”—he dropped into that tone again—“‘Well, pardner, you’re a slip of a thing.’” She returned to her own proud, excited voice. “Then you gave me a hat and started calling me ‘Pardner.’ Wanna hear something else?”
Mav shook his head, looking away.
Nico pointed at Nora. “You are gonna love this.”
Quintuple cleared his throat by coughing into his fist and said, “‘They’ll put her—I mean, me—into a coma or make me hide behind plants and furniture for the next six months or maybe even write me out.’” He made a small bow, then rejoined the group.
Nora gasped at hearing her words from the bathroom conversation with Starr. “What is this voodoo?”
“Meet the Brownie Network,” said Starr, hands laid over her heart. “They’re in our walls and our shadows… and they report to Fiona daily.”
“We were spies!” said Pardner cheerfully.
“Estasy,” corrected Oleander, giving her a dirty look.
Pardner stopped smiling. “But not anymore.”
“Now we’re organized,” Oleander announced. “Starting tomorrow.”
“Even if that made sense, how did it get from me to the pages of WaterWorlds if Starr didn’t tell it to Dakota—” Mav cut himself off. “Wait. You guys tell Fiona everything?”
“They did,” said Starr. “And in this case, it’s a straight line from Helena to Fiona, who got the last pass on this story, Dakota tells me. Probably took no effort at all to make up a few extra quotes or take a few from Bookender’s transcripts. He types everything up and it goes into her personal vault.”
Mav whirled on Nico. “And you knew about this?”
Nico beamed, then tried to become serious. He was drunk and didn’t want to be, Starr suspected. “Hell, no,” he said. “Well, once I did. The lady said she was dunzo with it, forever and for all time. Swore it to me. Then guess what?” He paused dramatically. “She lied!”
A long silence. Then: “My goodness, the bonfire soiree proceeds apace! And me without my marshmallows!”
Every head turned to Fiona as she sashayed onto the roof deck, swaddled in the white furry depths of her yeti coat. Bookender trailed behind like a familiar. She swung her lion’s head cane in front of her to clear a path, and the brownies shrank away. Once seated in the best chair before the fire, she warmed her hands.
“Funny,” said Mav. “I was about to pay you a call, Fiona.”
“Then I’m pleased to have saved you the effort.” Fiona gestured at Bookender. “Thank you again for alerting me to these rooftop events,” she told the brownie. “Please escort your friends downstairs. I am considering a purge. Perhaps it is time to do a mass replacement of our helpers.”
“Can she do that?” Starr asked.
“Of course I can,” said Fiona. “It is a privilege of being me. Now, Bookender, remove them from the rooftop. I have had quite enough rebellion for one day.”
A small pair of arms wrapped around Starr from behind, and she turned. Oleander was bouncing on her toes. “It’ll be fine,” she told the brownie. “I’ll fix this. I swear.”
Oleander released her. “Hugs are good, Starr Weatherby. Words are good. But bros—we will fix this ourselves.”
That sounded ominous. “How?”
“Tune in tomorrow.” The brownie winked, then scampered down the stairs behind the others, pulling the door closed.
Fiona became the focus of everyone left on the deck. “Explain yourself,” Nora ordered.
“Perhaps you can be more specific.” Fiona stood up, tall and sturdy as a statue.
Mav closed in. “Starr’s informed us that you’ve had our brownie assistants report back to you. Private things, said behind closed doors. That so?”
“Goodness, Charles, you sound as if you’re testifying.” Fiona half-shrugged. “Of course it’s so. It has been so on and off for decades. I’m astounded this is news to anyone other than”—she waved her hand at Starr—“this one.”
“But why?” Mav pressed.
“I owe none of you an explanation. But I will say that during my tenure on this show it has become clear that being aware of all secret things is critical for me to function. I have been injured when I trusted blindly. I have lost things important to me.” She sniffed once, then regained her composure. “In this case, I have decided that Ms. Weatherby is no longer a good fit in our family. It was my error to believe she could be molded to our style.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” said Mav. “What do you think Cris and Jason are gonna say when they find out about your… Bro Network?”
Gotcha, Starr thought.
But the Grande Damn laughed. “Charles, you are a treasure. What makes you believe they would care?”
“Only one way to find out,” said Starr.
“I believe I hear a gnat buzzing.” Fiona stared at her gloves. “Am I the only one who understands that our petty grievances are mere distractions to mythics? We are like dolls in a playhouse to them. I mean, one of us could utterly vanish from the set, never to return—and they would only be concerned about how to rewrite the story.”
Nora covered her mouth.
“Amelia,” Starr whispered.
Fiona’s smile was full of jagged edges. “Do go explain things to our overlords. In fact, allow Starr to handle this… revelation. Perhaps I shall receive a slap on the wrist. Meanwhile, I plan to read my lines, do my job and preserve the show. That is the only thing they actually want us to do.”
“It won’t be just Starr,” said Mav. “Darby will back her up. So will I. We all heard the brownies tonight.”
“Count me in, too.” Nico lay down on a bench, pointing at the sky.
Fiona brushed her fur and straightened her hat. “What none of you seem to comprehend is your outrage is meaningless. This show is a hobby to the mythics. They keep us on their string by doling out tiny pieces of junk magic to poor, undeserving, stupid humans. And we trade our lives for these trinkets. We trade the lives of people we love.”
Fiona’s ability to jerk the rug out from under them was perhaps the greatest trick of all. But her vitriol struck a nerve in Starr. “Shame on you. You work in an actual fantasy land. We get to tell stories to mythical creatures.” She paced the deck, breathing hard. “Yeah, Mav once said we were all like children for sticking around here. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. We’re in a shared dream world. It could be the best place ever. But just because you’d prefer to live in a paranoid nightmare doesn’t mean the rest of us have to follow along.”
The corner of Mav’s mouth quirked up.
“If you hate it here so much, why don’t you leave?” Starr asked, truly wanting to know.
The Grande Damn set a clawed hand on Starr’s shoulder. “My dear, your naiveté is priceless. There is no place for me to go. The world has moved on, and I am here, trapped in amber. Long ago, I chose this bed and now I lie in it. But I’ve never fooled myself into believing we’re doing anything important.” She squeezed Starr’s shoulder so hard it felt like the bone would break.
“As for the rest of you”—Fiona glanced around the deck—“as you have witnessed today, the audience loves me. If I want to turn this show into a sequel to Lord of the Flies, I can and I will. I have carte blanche.” She chuckled. “As long as the viewers tune in, I am the one who provides us all with a tomorrow.”
Chapter 31
Written in the Starrs
A long silence fell across the roof in the wake of Fiona’s departure, and Starr imagined the grindylows many fathoms below them, stirring in the harbor. They echoed the wild, angry beat of her heart. She kicked at the fire, which was dying.
“Well, I’m chillier than a brass toilet seat in the Arctic,” Nora announced. “I’m goin’ back inside to scream into my pillow.”
“’Tis the witching hour.” Nico sat up and clutched at his head. “Yet the witch has departed.”
Mav helped him to his feet, and they all slouched down the steps to the twelfth floor, pausing in front of Nora and Starr’s room. Starr decided not to ask if she was still evicted, and furthermore decided she would not leave even if she was. “You know,” Mav began, “maybe we oughta… give those new lines a quick read. This live thing we’re doing tomorrow… I’d be lying if I said I was A-OK with it all.”
Starr perked up. “I can get coffee going. We’ll share scripts.”
“Woo!” Nico cried, and everyone shushed him. “Hoo,” he whispered.
Dakota yelped as they entered; she’d burrowed under Starr’s sheets and was sitting up, flipping channels. “Sorry!” she said. “I don’t have any place else to crash. Crissy threw me out.”
Nico snickered. “Crissy? Crissy.”
“We’re going to rehearse,” said Starr. “New pages.” She gestured at the manila folder she’d carried up to the roof.
“So much for the spontaneity of being ‘live,’” Dakota muttered.
“And that’s why you’re not an actor,” said Mav.
Everyone sat on the beds, staring at one another as the coffee percolated, a burbling happy sound that clashed with the mood in the room. No one made a move for Nora and Starr’s envelopes.
After a few minutes, Starr couldn’t take it anymore. “I don’t know about all of you, but I can’t let this go. I can’t work with a despotic queen who has no consequences.” She felt like she’d swallowed a cannonball. “I’m going to have to quit.” She looked at Mav. “For real this time.”
“Oh, don’t,” Nico pleaded. “The whole losing-most-of-your-earnings part aside, you take off and she’ll be worse. There’s got to be a way through this.”
“Fact is, she’s done it before and she’ll do it again if we don’t call a halt.” Mav filled mugs for everyone and sat next to Starr on the bed. “We can’t go pulling an Amelia every time to keep her happy.”
Nora made a strangled yelping sound.
“Mav, ix-nay,” Nico muttered.
“C’mon, Darby.” Mav held up his mug. “You think Starr hasn’t figured most of this out already?”
Nora stared at Starr. Starr stared at Mav. “Um, I don’t think I have,” she said.
“Sure y’have.” Mav took a sip. “I heard you up there, muttering ‘Amelia’ when Fee made that crack about folks disappearing. I’m the one who told you about Joseph—”
