Less Than Nothing (24 page)

“Can someone watch our gear?” Derek asks.

“Just bring it with you. I can’t be responsible for everyone’s shit,” Paul snaps, clearly overloaded. Derek shrugs, and we carry our guitar cases and bags onstage, which is larger than it seems from in back, and we’re lit by a spotlight. I squint and hold my hand up so I can see the judges. Derek sets his rucksack and gig bag by his feet, and after a few seconds, curses. I glance at him in alarm. He whispers to me, “I don’t have a strap.”

The judges ask us our names, and I find my voice. “I’m Sage, and this is Derek. We’re from San Francisco and Seattle.”

The woman makes a note. “Did you come all the way here for the audition?”

“Yes, ma’am. We hitchhiked.”

“You did?” she says incredulously.

“We couldn’t come otherwise.” I don’t have to explain possible reasons why not.

The woman nods. “And what are you going to perform for us today, Sage and Derek?”

“An Aretha Franklin number. ‘Chain of Fools.’”

The male judge, Martin Lorensby, who’s also the head producer of the show, grunts. “Oh, good,” he says sarcastically. “Well, then. Get on with it.”

“Can we get a couple of chairs? We had a guitar stolen yesterday and just got this one, and they didn’t throw in a strap,” I say.

Martin calls out for Paul, and seconds later a stagehand appears from behind a curtain with two stools. We sit, and he looks at his watch impatiently and gestures for us to begin. I give Derek the note with my guitar and begin playing the rhythm. He starts the refrain, and I echo it with a bluesy gospel inflection. I sing the first verse, and he’s doing the echoes, and he takes the lead vocal on the second, with me answering every other line. Once we’re playing, the nervousness drops away and I’m lost in the song, transported to a different world, where it’s just me and the music…and Derek. We’re sounding really good, and Derek’s completely on, as am I. Halfway through the last chorus, just where we kick out all the stops and really let loose, riffing over each other’s voices, I dare a look at the judges, and they’re bopping their heads.

When we finish, all three judges stand, and the woman wipes a tear away. Martin rubs a hand across his unshaved face and shakes his head in wonderment.

The woman speaks first. “That was…you’re incredible! Absolutely incredible!”

The third judge, the head of a prominent record label, smiles. “Girl, how does a white chick who weighs as much as my coat have pipes like that? You did Aretha proud.”

I laugh nervously. “Thanks.”

Martin is eyeing Derek. “So you had a guitar stolen, huh?”

“Yes, sir,” he says.

“That’s New York for you.”

Everyone laughs knowingly. He glances at our bags. “Where are you staying?”

Derek shrugs. “Here and there.”

Martin leans over to his fellow judges, and the discussion’s short. When he looks back at us, he’s smiling for the first time. He speaks, and it’s like the clouds part on a stormy day.

“Well, Sage and Derek, you won’t be leaving New York just yet, because…it’s unanimous. You’re going to the show!”

I start laughing in relief and can’t stop. The woman claps spontaneously, and Derek offers me his victory grin. He looks like a million dollars, just glowing.

The cameraman approaches, trailed by another man with a battery pack, and pans over the judges, and then focuses on us. Paul waits until he’s done and gestures to me, calling us to the winners’ side of the stage. Jeremy’s waiting, signing a document and chatting with one of the grips, and he looks up when we arrive.

“Oh. My. Gawd. You two are on fire!”

He gives me a high five and hugs me. I feel self-conscious because my clothes aren’t as clean as I’d like, but he doesn’t seem to notice. When he releases me, he turns to Derek to hug him, too, but Derek sticks out his hand instead, and Jeremy shakes it while giving me a pursed-lip pout.

And then it’s my turn to hug Derek. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to him, and I turn my face up, my eyes closed. I peek through one, and Derek’s lips are moving toward mine…and then Paul’s voice interrupts us, as abrasive as an alarm clock.

“Congratulations, you two. Now I’ve got some paperwork you need to fill out. Sage, can I have a word with you?”

I reluctantly pull away from Derek, the connection broken. He’s staring at me, and I at him, and it requires all my willpower to turn to Paul.

“Sure.”

I follow Paul over to a small podium with a light on it, and he eyes me over a pair of reading glasses. “I know you said you were eighteen, but I need to warn you that making it onto the show changes everything. If you’re not, that’s fine. I just need a form signed by your parent or guardian. I’m your friend in this, okay? I loved your act, and I think you’ve got a real shot – I’ve heard everyone so far. But you need to be completely honest. No bullshit, or it’ll come back to bite you later, and you’ll be disqualified.”

I don’t know what to do. My head’s spinning. I weigh the options and then sigh. “I’ll be eighteen in seven months.”

His face softens. “I thought so. Okay. Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you a form, and you need to send it to your mom or dad, have them sign it, and send it back. We’ll need an original eventually, but a scanned copy’s fine for right now.” He looks me up and down. “The first show takes place in three days. I’ll get you a schedule. You’ll both need to be here four hours before showtime for hair and makeup. We’ll be shooting it in this venue, live, every week for six weeks. Can you stay in New York that long?”

I shrug. “Sure. When does it start snowing?”

Paul’s expression says he’s surprised by the question. “Snowing? Why?”

“Our living situation…just tell me when it gets cold.”

“Don’t worry. Not until October or November. The show’s over way before then.” I can tell he wants to ask me something, but he seems to reconsider. Instead, he hands me an envelope. “Is Derek eighteen?”

I nod. “Yeah. Sure.”

“All right. This will be our little secret for now. Don’t let me down on this. Get them to sign it, okay?”

“I will.” I have no idea what I’m going to do. I haven’t talked to my mom in four months. For all I know she’s dead. And Ralph…I guess he’s technically my guardian. But he’d delight in refusing to sign. I won’t crawl on my belly for anyone.

I’ll figure something out. I made it this far.

I return to Derek with the papers, and we begin reading through them. The show wants a brief biography on each of us – some personal tidbits, it says, for publicity reasons. We have to agree to do brief interviews before and after each show, starting with today. There’s a list of questions: What was it like to perform on the Radio City Music Hall stage? What did I think of the judges? Was I nervous? How did it feel to hear that I got chosen to go on to the show? What will I do if I win? On and on.

It’s overwhelming. Derek’s studying the questions when Jeremy sidles up next to me. “Hey, sunshine. I’m glad you’re going to be on the show. You’ve got a real…quality. Something special,” he says, and I feel heat rise to my face.

“You’re all kinds of awesome too, Jeremy. I loved the Queen song.”

“I just found out that there are only five of us so far that have been picked. That means only two out of the three hundred and something before us made it.”

“Wow.” I’m drifting, worrying about the form I need to have signed.

“Earth to Sage. Helloooo,” Jeremy says.

“What?” I snap out of my daydream and realize he asked me something.

“I said, let’s go out after this and celebrate.”

“Huh? Oh. I don’t know. Derek?”

Derek looks over at me.

“Jeremy invited us out. You want to do something?”

Derek’s expression is unsure, but then he brightens. “Sure. Why not?”

We agree to meet up at a restaurant in the East Village at eight. Jeremy’s obviously walking on air, and so am I, but for different reasons. My mind is whirling at the implications of making it into the real contest, but also with trying to figure out what to do about the paperwork. And of course, there’s Derek. I’m pretty sure he was about to kiss me, and the feeling of anticipation was…unbelievable.

Now I completely understand why Melody’s so hot and heavy on guys. My mind flashes to Derek, rivulets of shower water streaming down his hardened abs, rubbing the coarse towel on his thighs to dry them…and I flush again, but this time not from embarrassment.

The rest of the afternoon is occupied with busywork and interviews. The woman, Lisa, who asks us the questions, is super nice and relaxed and easy to talk to. In my interview, I admit that I’m homeless right now, a ‘street performer,’ as she puts it. Instead of the repulsion I’m used to getting, she actually seems really interested and asks about our hitchhiking trip, where we’re staying in New York – I’m deliberately vague, saying a different place every night – and what it’s like to go on to the show.

By the time we’re done and ready to leave, I’m starving. It’s already seven o’clock – and the contestants are still coming in through the stage door. One more person has gotten picked so far, an office supply clerk who sings opera and is amazing. She’s sweet and has an entourage of her parents and siblings with her.

We walk down to the Village and hook up with Jeremy, who regales us with stories of living in New York, auditioning for Broadway shows, and life as a waiter at the restaurant where he works most afternoons and evenings. He describes Atlanta in unflattering terms and is obviously relieved to be living in the Village, where he’s sharing a small flat with a roommate – an actor.

Dinner is great Italian, and we share two bottles of wine. The waiter doesn’t ask us for ID. He knows Jeremy, and by the time the second bottle’s drained, my head is spinning. I’ve been holding Derek’s hand for the last half hour under the table, and as much as I’m enjoying Jeremy’s stories and attitude, I can think of other ways I’d rather be passing the time.

We say good-bye, and there are hugs all around. Jeremy gives me his cell number and says we have to hook up for a cappuccino at some point before the show begins. We agree, and then Derek and I are walking down the darkened streets, which are filled with pedestrians in summer clothes, everyone in a hurry.

At a light, I lean my head against Derek’s arm. “I don’t want to go back to the subway.”

“I know. You want to get some coffee or something?”

“Sure.”

One of the cool things about cities is there are cafés every fifty yards. We grab a table at one and order, Derek drip, me a cappuccino in honor of my new friend. When the drinks arrive, Derek feels in his pocket and pulls out a few bills. “That’s the end of mine. We need to get busy tomorrow and refill the kitty.”

“Just another day in paradise, huh?” If we were expecting anything to change, reality has been a total letdown so far.

“Hey, we’re one step closer to our half million.”

“I know. It feels like a dream. I still can’t believe it.”

He stares off into the distance. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

I want to ask him something I’ve been wondering about for a while. “When you had your old partner – how good were you two? Anything like us?”

He takes a sip of his coffee and makes a face. “This is kind of crap.”

“Mine’s not bad.”

I wait for him to answer my question. He gets a distant look on his face. “We were good, but different.”

“In what way?” I press.

“You’re way cuter than he was.”

“I hope so.”

“And your voice blends better with mine.”

“Why did you guys split up?”

Derek’s demeanor changes. He’s clenching his jaw – I can see the muscles working. I wonder why this is a loaded subject, but nothing I could have imagined prepares me for what follows.

“He died. Heroin.”

“Oh, God, Derek. That’s terrible. I’m sorry. Were you…were you close?”

“Yeah,” he says, looking down at his boots, studying them. “Yeah, we were. We knew each other a long time.”

“I frigging hate drugs.”

Derek nods. “He was a great kid, but he couldn’t handle the streets. He got caught up with the wrong people. You know how it goes. First it was smoking now and then, and then skin plinking, and pretty soon his veins are collapsing and he’s lost twenty pounds.” His voice cracks on the final words, and I take his hand in mine. “I should have done something. Done more.”

“It’s not your fault, Derek. There’s nothing you can do if someone goes down that road. You know that from being on the street. Sucks, but it’s the truth. Once the drug’s got them, it’s not about you anymore.”

“I know, but it’s still hard.”

His eyes are moist, and I regret asking about it. I try to say the right words, to soften the grief he’s feeling. “I’m sorry. It sounds like it was hard for you.”

He squeezes my hand and sobs softly, only once, but the sound breaks my heart. I inch toward him, but he raises a hand to his face and shakes his head. “It was. My partner…” His voice tightens and then cracks again. “My partner…was my little brother.”