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She darted a glance at the director as she walked back to the piano. He was nodding, a faint smile on his face. The accompanist was also smiling, holding out her music to her.
“Good job.”
“Thanks.”
He traded a look with the director, then added, “You should probably stick around to the end of the auditions.”
“Okay.”
She walked off stage, her knees starting to wobble as she descended the steps. She managed to stagger back to the eighth row before she collapsed into a seat. Then the delayed reaction of her audition hit, and she began to shake, her heart pounding and every breath a struggle through her tight throat. She couldn’t have left the theater if she’d wanted to.
By the time the eighteenth auditionee had performed, her reaction had run its course. She settled back to watch the remaining candidates, idly critiquing their performances and judging which she would choose if she was casting the show.
A pair of young women who auditioned one after the other had sweet voices, but couldn’t project past the third row without microphones. A young man allowed his nerves to throw him out of tune, growing worse as he realized his mistake, until the dissonance between his voice and the piano made her cringe. A blonde woman sang Rizzo’s solo from Grease, her stylized movements and perfect delivery indicating she’d performed the role many times in the past.
Finally, the last candidate completed his audition, and the director stood to address the two-dozen people who’d been asked to remain.
“Steve has some handouts for you. I’d like to hear you read them, please. Number five. The witch’s speech.”
Gayle returned to the stage, picking up the paper from the pianist. It contained five short paragraphs, from different characters. She read over the witch’s speech to the baker, settled her body to mimic the witch’s stance, and read it for real.
“Thank you. Number nine. The baker’s wife.”
Gayle walked off stage as the next woman came up, returning to her seat in the audience.
The director and pianist conferred briefly after the last person had given their reading, then the director announced his choices.
“The baker, number fourteen. The baker’s wife, number thirty-two. The witch, number five.”
Gayle didn’t hear the rest of the casting announcements. All she could think of was that she’d scored her favorite part in the show. And that she couldn’t wait to tell Rikard.
As soon as she got home, she called him.
“Hello, Gayle. How’d it go?”
“I got the part! The witch. I got it!”
“That’s fabulous.”
“I’m so excited. I’m sure it’s because you helped me with the audition song. Would you like to go out and celebrate?”
Rikard paused. “Now?”
“Well, no, it doesn’t have to be now. It’s late, and tomorrow’s a workday. But later this week.”
“Okay. You can come here tomorrow night, and I’ll make you a celebratory dinner. Then we can have a…private celebration. Unless you have rehearsal tomorrow?”
“No, rehearsals don’t start until next week.”
“Fine, then. I’ll see you tomorrow for dinner.” His voice dropped to a low, seductive purr. “Congratulations, Gayle. I knew you could do it.”
* * * * *
Wednesday night, Gayle went straight from work to Rikard’s house. She didn’t wear anything special, since her tropical-print circ
le skirt and teal blue microfiber blouse were both comfortable and flattering, and she’d thought this would be more of a friendly celebration than a sex date. So she was surprised when Rikard answered the door wearing his leather mask and pants again, although this time coupled with a black tunic top that laced up the chest.
“Did I misunderstand? I thought it was going to be just Rikard tonight, not Master Rikard,” Gayle asked.
