Tune in Tomorrow, page 35
Samantha ordered tea.
“Charming,” said Fiona once Melanie had deposited a mug of hot water and a Lipton bag on the table. “Always a pleasure to see how the next generation plans to leave its mark on the world.”
Samantha steeped her bag, thinking of brownies. “What do you want, Fiona?”
The actor leaned back in her booth, glancing out at the setting sun. Her face was softer, more handsome in the gloaming. She was no longer young, but her cheekbones scaffolded her face in such a way that she would never appear truly old, either.
“Are you aware of how I spent my days prior to Tune in Tomorrow?” she asked. “I was a Gibson Girl. That phrase likely has no meaning to you, but I understand you can look it up on your phone device. Suffice it to say that they liked to draw my picture. I had an audience. But that fleeting moment left me hooked on the attention the way some are hooked on opium. I turned to burlesque, sometimes with light escorting on the side. Nothing prurient; the smart ones of us carried sleeping draughts for the friskier customers. But it is—and was—always about attention. You feel this, too; I saw it on you at the convention. You drank up that love from the audience like it was water and you’d just crawled from the desert.”
“The water of life,” Samantha murmured. “Only, it’s not just about the applause, Fiona. That’s the icing on the cake. The real meal is performing. Becoming someone else and telling a story that moves people. Or mythics. Those centaurs in the park were so excited to see Sam because I’d made them believe in the story. You had mythic creatures worshipping you because you were so incredible at being Valéncia. That’s what it was really about. The applause is a bonus.”
“But it can feel like the alpha and the omega.” Fiona nodded. “That is the tightrope one must learn to negotiate.”
Samantha felt a strange jolt. Had she and Fiona actually agreed about something?
“It took me far too long to truly understand that aspect,” said Fiona. “Hanging on to that root of what performance is about is critical, because I discovered, as I aged out of being wanted for my appearance, that audiences are always changing. They want different things. Jazz came along and they desired young ladies who looked like young boys. I missed my opportunities for marriage and children, so when Jason found me—much as I found Nicodemus years later, in a bar—I married the show. Metaphorically. The world is hard for women who dare to age.”
The last thing Samantha wanted was to think of Fiona as a human being. She’d been monstrous for so long, it didn’t seem fair.
“This will happen to you as well, whether you continue acting or not.”
“At the moment, that’s a ‘not.’”
“Well.” She sniffed her coffee, then pushed it away. “Perhaps that will change after the awards. The Powers That Be do love a winner, Starr.”
“Samantha, Ethel.”
“Good gracious, I don’t give a fig what you call yourself. But you do have the bug for audience approval, even if that is not your sole motivation for acting. From that first moment you stepped into my dressing room I knew two things: Jason had chosen well. Also, I could not bear to have you around. To watch another young woman fall in love with my show, and ultimately try to take it from me. It is not easy to say such a thing, mind. Temporal Arrest is the sharpest of double-edged swords: I owe everything to the show, and have nowhere to be without it. The world has moved on and I am unmoored. I erred in making the show my life, my home. Had I been wiser, when you arrived I might not have been so deluded and grasping. So fearful of… irrelevance.”
You made a speech, Samantha wanted to say, but held back. The Grande Damn seemed sincere, but… “C’mon. You were the Queen of the May over there. One snap of your fingers and everyone did what you said. Not a bad life at all. Anyway, I’m surprised you haven’t been hired by another of the reality shows. Or even one of those movie towns.”
Fiona shook her head. More glitter tumbled out. “I have retired. After the awards, I am done.”
Samantha laughed.
“I imagine it does sound ridiculous but imagine me, starting on the lowest rung possible in a new story, even if my character is given a significant role. You see, after the trial, the Seelie Court took everything away from me. Even the awards I didn’t pay for.”
“Good.”
“So you say. But it leaves Nicodemus without any protection at all, and he hasn’t been seen since he helped haul me out of that pit of shiny, stinking foulness. I’d almost wondered if he would be here with you. I worry each moment about him. Nico puts on a good show, but he is not a strong man.”
That’s what I liked about him, Samantha realized. Nico had always understood his weaknesses, but he was trying to get past them—at least with her. “Maybe because you were his crutch for so many years.”
Fiona dabbed at her eyes. “I deserve that. But unlike Nico, you are strong, Samantha. I have known it since that first day.”
Samantha’s heart and stomach hurt; she ached afresh for the loss of the show, and now for Nico, too.
“The nominations for the Endless Awards arrived a few weeks ago,” Fiona said briskly, sliding an invitation across the table. “You have received two nominations; I shall be receiving a Lifetime Achievement award. This is yours.”
Even after all that, they still have a prize for her! Starr’s cheeks flushed, but she reached for the invitation. The moment she touched the card, it popped into three dimensions, words sparkling and swirling above the paper for a moment before settling down to form ornate, gold-leaf letters. The awards were being held in the same Boston hotel as the convention had been, on Saturday night.
Tomorrow.
She ran a finger over the pulsing, alien name on the invitation. Starr Weatherby. The stranger she had been, for a time.
Fiona drummed her fingers on the table. “You should attend.”
“But the show is done.”
“Done, but perhaps not over.” Fiona raised an eyebrow. “And if by some miracle the show does come back, changes will be made. You should be there to assist. I say this not for you, or for me. We are not important. But Tune in Tomorrow should endure. I wed myself to it decades ago and I believe you have, too. Neither of us wishes for it to be dead forever. It needs someone like you to make it breathe again.”
We could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble if you’d just talked to me like that when I came for the audition, Samantha thought. She glanced out into the diner and caught Melanie’s eye. The waitress came over. “Anything else, ladies?”
“We’re done here,” said Samantha.
“You’re all paid up,” said Mel. “That cute guy took care of the tab.” She hesitated, cocking one hip back. “Samantha?”
She waited.
“I think it’s cool you’re making things happen. Out there. Not all of us are that brave.”
“It’s not bravery,” Samantha insisted. “It’s a feeling like you don’t have a choice. You have to go and do the thing.” She hadn’t really put this into words before. “You can say no—but you also know if you do that’s the day your soul starts to… wither.”
“Right.” Mel toed her shoe on the ground. “I sucked in high school. I’m trying to do better. I picture you up in the city sometimes—Bradley always talks about how great you were in the school plays, which I never went to—and I wonder how everything might be if I’d picked different. I was an asshole about Bradley. But hey, look at it this way: you could be me if I hadn’t come along.” She looked confused. “Or something like that.”
Shit. She’s right. The worst moment of Samantha’s teenage life, catching Bradley and Melanie in the back room of the Pizza Pad in the summer before her senior year—took on new meaning. “Thanks, Mel,” she smiled. “I appreciate that. Good luck being a mom.”
“Bradley’s the dad. I’m gonna need it.” She gave a little wave before clearing the table and walking away.
Samantha rested against the back of the booth, recalling what it had been like to be Starr Weatherby. It was like examining a familiar coat, one that came with armor and confidence and desire. All things Samantha had never believed were part of herself.
I miss you, Starr Weatherby. And you, Sam Draper.
“There’s an invitation on the table,” Fiona reminded her.
Samantha popped the card into her bag. “One of these days, I’m sure I’ll thank you,” she said. “Today isn’t that day. Tomorrow probably isn’t either. Goodbye, Fiona.”
She approached the diner doors and stared through the glass, past the parking lot to the highway beyond. It was a thread, one that could carry her all the way back to New York if she wanted. Closing her eyes, she changed. And as she pushed her way through those doors, the cool evening air hitting her cheeks, she felt like Starr Weatherby again, head held high and sass firmly in place. A wild excitement swept through her, and she imagined her feet lifting inches above the ground, as if Jason were carrying her. She was going back. Everyone would be there. There would be glittering prizes and sparkling gowns—who knew what kind of an award show mythics threw?
All she had to do was get to Boston.
But how?
Chapter 38
Highway Starr
Boston might as well have been the moon.
Stumbling into her cold bedroom late that night, having quaffed more than her usual beer at Yolanda’s pub, Samantha left the room dark and flung herself onto her bed face-first. There was no money. Asking Mama or even her brother would be like shouting into a canyon. Samantha’s paychecks had gone towards household expenses, student loans and the occasional beer and right now she had just twenty dollars socked away under her mattress. That wouldn’t even get her to Baltimore.
All thoughts of being Starr again fled. She grabbed the duvet in her fists, sensing a crying jag coming. Her heart hurt: not just because she would miss the ceremony, but because this was the end. The show was already starting to fade from memory; soon, it would feel like something that had happened to someone else.
Which would be true.
Her desk light flipped on, and Samantha froze. Her room was a wreck, even more so than she’d left it that morning. Her CD collection lay scattered around the floor. Fear battled with confusion as she lifted her head and spotted a familiar faun sitting cross-legged on her throw rug, leaning against her desk chair. He had her old headphones over his ears, and she made out the tinny sound of pop music.
“’Bout time you got here!” Jason sat up, pulling the headphones over his neck. They were attached to her ancient Walkman. “Did you know you live in a castle? You have a fondue set in your kitchen! And great weasel vests, the tile in there is Harvest Gold vinyl! I want to bottle this house and take it back with me!”
Samantha sat up, wiping her eyes. “How did you get in here?”
Jason thumbed at her window, which stood wide. That explained the chill.
“Didn’t you have a date?”
“Been there, done that.” He pointed at the clock next to her bed and gasped. “The number! It changed! I can’t stop watching!”
Samantha sighed. “It’s just my old flip clock. Mama had it when she was in high school. It turns the numbers like a Rolodex.”
“A rolling deck?”
“Jason, it’s great to see you again, but I’m not sure I feel like being a docent for a tour of my crappy home.”
“Crap my pointed horns!”
Starr shushed him. “You’ll wake Mama!” But that probably wasn’t true. Once she’d downed her ‘medicine,’ Mama was out for the night. Bill would be stoned in the basement.
Jason held up an empty CD case: Air Supply’s Greatest Hits. He thrust it into the air. “Starr Weatherby, you are a tastemaker!”
“I was a fan when I was twelve. Take it.”
Jason gave her a giant kiss on the lips that ended with a resonant ‘smack.’ Samantha flushed so hard she was certain she’d catch on fire. “You darling! I would hire you for my show, if I had a show.”
“What are you doing here?” Then it occurred to her. “Are you going to take me to Boston?”
“Hmph.” For the first time, he looked only ninety-nine point five percent excited. “Unlike your centaur pals, I do not give rides. But! I have a solution.” He gestured to the window, and Samantha peered out. A car she didn’t recognize sat in the driveway.
Jason waved out the open window, and a man emerged from the driver’s side. Mav wore a Navy pea coat and a wry smile on his face. A night breeze ruffled his hair and a thick section tumbled over his forehead. She imagined his eyes sparkling, and was certain they were the color of toasted pecans.
“Where d’you want to go, little lady?” he asked. “Your chariot awaits.”
Samantha laughed. “It’s a Prius!”
“Same thing!” Jason said.
“Yeah,” called Mav. “Use your imagination for once.”
She bounced on her toes.
“I hear tell you need some help getting up north,” he continued. “Unless you’d like to continue using your immense skills to keep lacy underthings tidy?”
“Wait for me!” It was a matter of moments to throw her clothes into a duffle bag, but she got stuck over what dress to wear to the awards. As in, she had nothing: Mama had put anything that was worth anything on consignment years ago. Then she spied her prom dress hanging lonely, still in its dry cleaning plastic. She snatched it from the hanger and zipped the bag, then scribbled a note for Mama.
“Let’s go!” Samantha headed to the door.
Jason caught her arm and guided her back into the room, walking to the window. “I’m not coming for the ride,” he said. “I can gallop back faster. But you two”—he flicked a gaze outside—“should get some time together. Mav’s missed you.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Well, he’s a—what do they say, a dark kelpie.”
“A dark horse?”
“Just so. He’s not going to fall over himself and make grand gestures, but I think he’d do most anything you’d ask.”
He kissed me once. On the forehead. I got tabled. But she didn’t say that. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
“Then go see it.” He folded her into a one-armed embrace. That was when she noticed he’d unplugged the flip clock and stuck it under an arm. “Mind?”
“My time is yours, Jason.”
“Splendiferous.” He sat on the windowsill. “See you soon, Starr Weatherby!”
“Samantha Wornicker,” she corrected.
“Oh, I know what I said,” he laughed, and fell out the window.
Samantha ran over—but he was nowhere to be seen. The clock, her cassette and the faun had vanished. “All right, Jason Valentine,” she said. “You win. Starr it is.”
Some hours later, Starr awoke. She was in Mav’s car, but it had stopped. Outside was dark with a faint hint of sunrise coming on. She rubbed a bit of dried sleep from the corner of one eye, wondering where her escort had gone.
Wrapping a blanket around her shoulders, she stepped out onto the dew-dampened grass. The car was in some kind of field, the road a short distance away. Not an interstate, just a small back road. The kind she’d traveled on most of her life.
Soft shushing in the grass made her turn as Mav headed back to the vehicle, tucking his shirt in. “You were out cold,” he said. “Had to find a necessary. Empty cornfield’s as good as any.”
“Where are we?”
He pulled out his coat and another blanket from the car. “New Jersey, I reckon. Still shocked I remember how to drive. When I first signed on the show, they didn’t even have interstates. Driving down here was an education. Rest stops! D’you know there’s something called a Cinnabon and it’s the size of a dinner plate?” He snorted softly. “Listen to me, yammering like a teenager.”
Starr’s throat felt tight. She’d never seen Mav nervous before. She leaned against the car’s hood, which was still warm from the engine. “I missed you,” she whispered. It was a little easier to say in the fading dark.
Mav was silent for a long stretch. “I should’ve come after you when I saw Fee with that knife. All those years, none of us knew she had a deadly weapon in that cane. That’s on me. I could give you excuses—like Nora having this vise grip on my arm and saying, ‘If ’Melia can’t be here you gosh darned better be,’ though she didn’t say ‘gosh’ or ‘darned.’ But I saw Nico pull out a MARBLE and pop after you and I knew you’d be OK. He’d do anything to prove he’s a good guy.”
“His ways are mysterious to me.”
The sky glowed with faint oranges and pinks. Samantha wondered when she’d last seen a sunrise. “Why did Nora want you there so badly?”
Mav paused. “Well, it’s been a lot of years since I became a dad.”
Samantha’s legs buckled. I should have seen that coming. Wait, there’s no way I could have seen that coming. “But Nora and Amelia are—”
“I’m a family friend, ’specially since I helped ’Melia get out under Fee’s nose. They wanted a kid. I said I’d help. Amazing what they can do in a lab these days. And they wanted to have the kid before ’Melia got too old to be a stay-at-home mom.”
“Shame there is no show anymore,” said Samantha. “They could re-hire Amelia again.”
“That is a most interesting consideration, Starr.”
She almost corrected him. Paused. But no: with Mav, she felt like Starr. Somewhere before the Maryland border, she’d left Samantha behind. “I guess I’m back to being myself again.”
“Darned glad for it.” He leaned on his elbow and turned her way. “This Samantha Wornicker is a perfectly nice person from a perfectly nice town, but she don’t work on my show. We don’t do ‘perfectly nice’ there too well.”
“I think you’re perfectly nice, Mav.”
“Why must you insult me?”
The sun was coming up and she could read his features. She remembered the days when Jason had them hold one another’s gazes for an extended pause. She knew every line in his face, every crease at his eyes and the freckle at his jaw. “Toasted pecans,” she murmured.
