I developed an eerie curiosity in how Nellie would reinvent herself each time we visited the Pedestal. Her soft tones embraced the songs of the Beatles in a medley. To her right sat a dark-haired blue-eyed young lady with pasty white skin. Her jade dress fitted like snakeskin, clutching her waif frame like a lover who’d never leave. She stroked her lustrous white harp with a depth of feeling beyond her years. Nellie watched over her like a potential suitor. Her pale salmon coat enhanced her crisp white shirt and sophisticated houndstooth trousers. The weaving pattern of rising smoke from a pipe would not have looked out of place nestled in her hand.
“Her interpretation of ‘Dear Prudence’ is creepily inspiring,” I said. “Like the Cure meets Aretha Franklin.”
“You’re in the artist zone, Allan,” said Guy. “When you’re busy creating, you respond more intensely to the art forms around you. You’re in touch with your soul.”
“I didn’t realize this was an evening for ethereal conversation. What a shame we’re sober.”
We sprawled out on opposite sides of an available booth, sipping soda water with a twist of lime. I was keeping away from alcohol as we had a long shoot the following day, but my brain was too active to go to bed. This was my way of winding down.
“Maybe I should have invited the rest of the cast,” I said.
“You should have at least invited Warwick. In fact, you should’ve invited Warwick instead of me.”
“I wanted to, but his actions this afternoon changed my mind.”
“You mean his dalliance with Gloria’s son?”
I shuddered. “It did catch me off guard.”
We had come from our last rehearsal where we spoke about what our characters would be doing in ten years’ time. Frederick said that as a decade had passed, Ipan and Farah’s relationship would have blossomed, and he would have developed an open mind. So Maudi, as Farah, conjured up the spell of open discussion. I picked up my camera and started recording as Warwick, Janice, and Gloria’s son improvised. Mild shoulder rubs and honest communication brought the scene to life, until Warwick took a bold step and kissed the back of Gloria’s son’s neck.
I gulped so hard, Guy, Maudi, and Frederick noticed. The others were too caught up in their role-play. I took a deep breath and focused back on the task at hand.
“Doesn’t he realize how it makes you feel?” Guy swirled his drink with a swizzle stick before meeting my eyes. “I mean, method acting or not, it’s still a sensitive issue.”
“He has to bring the part to life.”
“Yes, but what’s wrong with kissing Gloria’s son on the back of his head? Going for the neck is a bit forward.”
“What can I do? He’s not in my life, but at least he’s in my film. That’s a start.”
“Anyhow, it’s not like that scene is in the script.”
“But that’s just it. I think it should be. It ties everything up and provides the perfect end to my film.”
Guy fluttered his wings thrice.
“It’s your call, but just make sure you know what you’re doing.”
Nellie now stood to the front of the stage, tenderly humming a tune while the harp wistfully echoed her sentiment. In a statue-like pose, she embraced the microphone stand, rocking gently, lulling it to a place of inner peace. With eyes closed, she lowered one arm by her side and lightly waved the sound of the celestial strings through the crowd.
My angel friend shut his eyes and rocked gently. I did the same. Before long, Warwick’s wayward affections drifted from my mind. Instead, I was back in Sydney shortly after we’d met.
My failed love life had become the unnoticed backdrop to my life, so Warwick tried to instill a go-with-the-flow mantra. He bought me a ticket to a gay dance party, citing I needed to rediscover my inner vamp.
We left that person previously referred to as my boyfriend at the entrance. He had a special rendezvous planned at the front gate. I was relieved we left him behind. Our misplaced spark had fallen behind the couch while I was vacuuming, months ago. Some empty pasta packet and a tin can probably found it and were making whoopee in the back of a garbage truck. We didn’t officially end our relationship. We just drifted apart under the same roof.
Warwick took my hand and carefully led me through the turnstiles. I was greeted by the gracious elders of our ageless culture. Cute indie-music types, sporting fashionable glasses and leather vests, conversed with the elders who told them what to expect. One drag queen in a pink polystyrene dress battled with her high heels. A high school student wearing a T-shirt with black lettering wandered wide-eyed with his group of friends. His top read “What if it’s not just a phase?” I once knew how he felt.
Inside, we were in wonderland. We floated past the Mad Hatter under the gargantuan mirror ball, before frolicking with Little Boy Blue who enticed us to blow his horn. So many smiles, hugs, and kisses. So many greetings of “Happy Mardi Gras!” We were all on the same planet. Our arms raised to the laser gods above, as our feet stomped below. Soulful melodic voices transformed into heavy-handed beats. From here on in, the rhythms merged, as they unified us with the horde. The seduction was complete. We were a revolution of similar passions, all cheeky, tender, and safe.
I quickly peeked at Guy to see if he too was still in his own nirvana. He was. Nellie snapped her fingers as she launched into the first line of “Come Together.” Her harpist stopped strumming and clapped in time. Soon she was accompanied by the patrons, as a chorus of sensible shoes and errant heels rapped the beat. The singer growled the song like a waking woman, ready to spring to life at any moment. I closed my eyes to feel the power of her voice.
Abruptly, I was pressed against the wall with my head forced toward the floor. With the general ambience still serene, Guy had bolted to my side of the booth and distorted my body in ways that would make my old yoga master proud.
“What the hell are you…!”
“Shh! Samantha and Pedro are here.”
“And Warwick?”
“No.”
He carefully allowed me to sit up. I examined the room but couldn’t see them.
“Where are they?”
“In that booth at the front.”
There were the partners in crime, facing Nellie with their backs to us. Pedro got up to go to the bar, so we crouched again. Oddly, I noticed how worn my sneakers were.
“I guess our bedtime call has come early,” said Guy. “Am I wrong in trying to hide us?”
“No,” I replied. “The last thing I need is another debate over dramatic interpretation.” I tried hard to meet eyes with my angel friend. “Are you sure they didn’t see us?”
“Definitely! I watched them walk in, but their attention was on Nellie, the harpist, and a detour to the empty booth at the front.”
After several minutes, the cramp in my neck made me sit up. Pedro was no longer at the bar. I studied the layout in an effort to work out why they didn’t see us. It didn’t make sense. They had to walk straight past us from the front door. Even though there were booths on opposite walls, they were on the same side of the Pedestal as we were, only several booths in front.
“Guy, you have to be wrong. They would have seen us.”
“Allan, the cloak room.” He pointed to an area near the opposite side of the stage.
“I get it. They zigzagged straight to the cloak room from the front door. Then they walked past the stage to the front booth. I guess if they saw us, they would have come over and shared their toxic temperament.”
“That’s why I pinned you down as soon as they handed over their coats.” Guy looked back in their direction. “Shall we go?”
“No. I have a better idea.”
I guided Guy out of our booth, crouching like deformed monkeys as we crept toward the talent-deluded pair.
“Allan! What are we doing?”
“Trust me.”
I gently led him under the table of the booth behind Samantha and Pedro. Nellie’s melodic musings drowned the bumpy transition to our hiding place. It would be an understatement to say it was cramped. Guy’s wings were pressed up against the bottom of the table, forcing feathers into my face. I huddled into a ball, giving my angel pal as much room as I could.
“It’s just not working,” said Pedro. He was in the middle of a conversation we had missed the gist of.
“Maybe you should admit that you were never in love with him,” added Samantha.
“Then he’d go flying back to Allan, and they’d never leave.”
I darted a look of horror to Guy. He stared back.
“I’d give it more time,” said Samantha. “He’ll get tired of bashing his head against the wall and leave the Limelight Quarter. Perhaps move to the Carnival of Lost Souls. He’ll be among the freaks.”
“He’ll be right at home.”
I was perturbed by this comment. These two obviously didn’t get the Lost Souls district. It’s where the true artists lived. Guy flapped his wrist to ease my attention back to the conversation.
“Where is he tonight?” asked the blonde one.
“He went out to visit Allan.”
“So much for keeping them apart.”
“Either way, I think we should go. We don’t want to be caught in public together.”
They didn’t rush. My neck was killing me, and Guy’s knee was now pressed against my cheek. I also feared that his wingspan was protruding from under the table. They casually finished their drinks and stood during Nellie’s rendition of “Do You Want to Know a Secret.” They ambled to the cloak room as I sweated, praying that they hadn’t left anything behind. If they had, they’d discover us cowering under a table in their field of vision. We were lucky. They strode out of the place like royalty.
“Pedro’s not in love with my Warwick.” I lifted myself from under the table. “He never was.”
“And they both want you to leave the Limelight Quarter.”
“But why?” I reached out to Guy and helped him get up. “I need to tell Warwick.”
“Good idea, but not yet. He may not believe you. Remember, love is blind.”
“And he went to see me tonight. I should have invited him here, like you suggested. He would have heard it for himself.” My nerves were shot, so I gestured to the barman for a bottle of wine. “And what’s wrong with the Carnival of Lost Souls?”
“From a Limelight perspective, it’s a bit too underground. No glam factor.”
“Guy, this jigsaw puzzle is not making sense. If they didn’t want Warwick and me to hang around Limelight, why cast us in Pedro’s play? We would have wandered around discovering the other sectors of this place, instead of settling into this neighborhood.”
“Allan, it wasn’t Samantha who cast you in the play. It was Maudi.”
“But I didn’t know Maudi before I met her as the director.”
“Maudi knew about you and Warwick before you got here. As soon as she knew you were coming, she included you in the play.”
“Guy, how long did you all know that we’d end up at the Limelight Quarter?”
“Allan, don’t think in earthbound time.”
I slouched. Nellie’s sultry voice sung the last lines of “Nowhere Man” as the harpist waved her magic hands over the strings. The barman arrived with two glasses and a bottle of sauvignon blanc.
“It also explains why Pedro wasn’t jealous when I kissed Warwick.”
“If their plan was to get you to leave the Limelight Quarter, discovering you were having an affair with Warwick behind their backs must have thrown a spanner in the works.”
We stared at each other, mirroring our pose of crossed arms. Nellie began crooning “You’ve Got to Hide Your Love Away” as the barman topped up our glasses and left.
“Guy, Pedro’s little displays of jealousy are just a red herring.”
“Hmm. You should tell Warwick.”
“Tell the person who broke up with me that his relationship is a sham? Like you said, I have to be careful how I phrase this. He might never believe it coming from me.”
“Do you want me to say something on your behalf?”
“He might think I put you up to it and change his mind about being in my film.”
We both gulped down our wine.
“Guy, they hate me, and I don’t know why.”
“Professional jealousy.”
“But I never asked for any of this. Suddenly, Warwick and I were in this crazy place and thrust onto the stage. Why take that out on us? Or more to the point, why take it out on me?”
“Allan, remember, not all creative beings conceive for a love of art!”