When Will Time Flow Away Part Two

When Will Time Flow Away - Part Two

While Fairlith made for the locker rooms to clean herself up and change clothes, Michael found himself walking the hallways and stairwell up towards the director and production managers' office, listening to the creak of his footsteps on the old floor and the voices from behind the closed doors around him. He slipped by the men's dressing room, smiling to himself at the memory of when he'd last seen the layout inside as a teenager. He couldn't wait to see it again...and he didn't care as who.

As he approached the proper door at the end of a short hallway, Michael found himself pausing outside, grinning as he listened carefully to the voices inside. One of them was definitely Morgan. That same authoritive, almost badgering tone, those quick, snappy words Michael could never forget. The other was deeper, remaining at a steady calm through the muffled conversation despite whatever pitch Morgan rose to. With a sudden click and swish, the thin door opened, Morgan storming out as he looked back.

"You don't have to," he was growling, seeming to try desperately to keep control of his voice. "Get Sir What's-His-Name on the phone and I'll yell at him for you!" Turning with a swiftness that wasn't to be stopped, he nearly collided with Michael in the hallway, the door swinging shut with a click. "Hey!" the dance captain growled, stumbling back to eye the new arrival over. Michael's hopes of making a good first impression died then. Regathering his messed stack of files and papers, Morgan withdrew a select few. "You Michael Herndon?"

"Yeah..."

"About time you got here. Fill these out," he handed the younger man the sheets. "Just a few last-minute things."

"Sure," Michael stuttered uselessly, shoving the forms away into his dance bag. "Does the director...uh...?"

"Yeah, go on in," Morgan nodded his head back to the room he'd just come from. Burying his face back into his clipboard, mumbling sourly over one thing or another, Morgan moved off down the hall, leaving Michael to his own. The young understudy looked nervously after the dance captain until the elder was gone around a corner, then back at the thin door through which a light shone through, but other than that was silent. Taking a breath to steady himself, Michael ran his hands back through his hair, checking himself over to make sure he looked presentable, then carefully knocked.

"Who is it?"

"Michael Herndon, sir," he answered. "Someone said you wanted to see me..."

A pause in which there was nothing but silence, then the same steady voice called back: "C'mon in."

Michael opened the flimsy door, setting his bag down outside as he went in. He wasn't quite sure what to expect...Fairlith had said something about the director. Who could it be? Stepping inside, he saw a room that was relatively small, with only one desk set near the opposite wall and a few pictures hanging. Michael closed the door behind him, his eyes immediately sighting the man behind the desk who could only be the director.

He was the average age for one...maybe in his late-forties, tall and lean, with a stern pale face framed by dark hair that showed definite signs of graying. Michael saw his profile as he entered the small office. His chin was in his hand, his other tapping a pencil against his knee as he studied intensely a document in his lap. He glanced up as the door clicked shut. If Fairlith expected Michael to recognize whoever-it-was, she was wrong.

"You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yeah, I did," he gave a curt answer, shifting positions as he gestured the young understudy to have a seat. He set the document he held on the organized desk before him and picked up another, sifting through it and marking things here and there with a business-like attitude as he spoke. "Michael Herndon, right?"

Michael took a careful seat across the desk, leaning forward with an attentive, respectful demeanor. "Yessir," he answered. The director looked up, their gazes meeting for a moment. Unsure of what to do, Michael only managed a small smile when the director's eyes seemed to sparkle with some inner knowledge that he found incredibly humorous as he, too, grinned.

"Ya don't recognize me, do ya?"

Michael slowly shook his head, warily, as though the very act would cost him his job. "N-No, sir..."

Rising from his chair with effortless grace that could only come from one who was--or had been--a dancer, the CATS director sighed lightly and opened the top drawer to his desk and reached in, withdrawing a small, neatly-framed old photograph. "Here," he said gently, handing it to the understudy. Michael took the frame nervously, bringing it close to his face to have a look. What he saw was a photograph taken in the obvious backstage of the Winter Garden Theatre, the bright lights of a dressing room fuzzy in the background along with several other unfocused figures that any CATS fan could tell were the show's performers in-costume. In the foreground, highlighted by the camera's flash, were three figures. On one side, a young girl: blonde hair and browned-eyed, her smile wide and bright. One the other side, a dark-haired and blue-eyed boy who looked about the same age. Both were clad in CATS t-shirts, and between them, each of their arms wrapped around his waist, was an adult man in a fiery-red unitard, scruffy with patches of fur and full, wild wig of untamed yak hair and long black claws on his gloves. Michael remembered instantly. That girl: Fairlith. That boy: himself. And the Macavity between them...

"Justin Fisher?!" he exclaimed, in his astonishment almost dropping the frame. His eyes snapping back up to the director, he could see it now so clearly. It was Justin Fisher, the Macavity performer in this very theatre years ago when Michael and Fairlith had visited as fans. He'd arranged the backstage tour for them, introduced them to the rest of the cast, and now he stood here... The knowing grin Justin returned the youth was small, seeming amused only by the other's excitement.

"Nice t' know ya still got yer interest in CATS," he chuckled lightly.

"Jeez," Michael exasperated, leaning back in his chair to rub his forehead. "Today's just my day for meeting old acquaintances."

"Fairlith?"

"Yeah...heh. We're going for lunch."

"Whelp," Justin laughed, gathering up his document to place it back in the desk. "I don't wanna keep ya. Jus' thought I'd introduce myself...again." Another knowing chuckle, and the two men shook hands. "Morgan'll be teachin' ya the routines ya need t' know, startin'...t'morrow? Bright'n'early?"

"Yessir!" Michael grinned.

"Eight roles, too," Justin whistled. "I'm impressed."

"Thankyou, sir!"

"Hey," the director brushed back his hair with mock sternness. "No one aroun' here, not even Morgan, calls me `sir', Mike. We're all friends."

Michael back-stepped to leave, eager to get back to Fairlith but hesitant in leaving the presence of one of the performers he most admired as a kid. "Sure, whatever you say." Still backing up, he nearly backed into the door, nodded, and with another show of gratitude flung himself out. Justin watched as the younger man stumbled out, unable to comprehend his excitement, and chuckled after the door slid shut before settling back to his work.

"Do you trust me?" Fairlith whispered as she leaned over the small, wobbly diner table, staring intensely at her friend. Michael folded his hands over the red and white checkered cloth, grinning as he stared back.

"Very much so."

Nodding satisfactorily, Fairlith tossed back her blonde ponytail and glanced up at the waiter who stood beside them. "Fried potato skins, a double-stacked BLT with mayo and mustard, and Italian salad on the side for both of us," she told him, smiling. Nodding, the waiter scrawled down the order and hurried off, leaving the two CATS performers to themselves in the window of the small diner on the Manhattan corner. Fairlith crossed her hands, barely able to contain her giggle as she leaned back to Michael. "Now, you have to tell me everything! Where did you end up going to college at? And how did you get here?"

Michael leaned forward with equal interest, glancing between Fairlith and the large open window of the diner as he narrated. "Well...with things the way they were I couldn't afford Julliard, but I did get a scholarship for musical theatre at Oklahoma University. So I went there, graduated, and afterwards went straight to work."

"Let me guess," Fairlith said, taking a buttered roll from the basket between them as turning it lightly in her hand. "You were in...Les Miserables, Phantom of the Opera, and Scarlet Pimpernel before you got here, all leads."

Michael laughed, shaking his head. "I wish." Taking his own roll, he sipped a bit at his Coca-Cola before taking a bite of it. "Jekyll & Hyde. On tour. Started out as chorus, then got booted up to Utterson." He gestured to her with the roll. "What about you?"

"Oh, you know...did the college thing, dabbled around in a few areas, then after deciding none of it was very good, made it straight for Broadway."

"A few areas? Like what?"

"Weeeeelll," she smiled coyly, taking a bite of the roll and using the crescent shape left as a pointer. "You remember me talking about wanting to a model?"

Michael's face brightened. "You made it?!"

Grinning, Fairlith leaned down to unzip the dance bag she'd brought along with her, pulling from it an old, tattered magazine that she handed to him. "I kept the first copy that came out."

Michael held the magazine gingerly before him, glancing over the worn but legible cover. It was a CatLovers edition, several years old, with a light purple background and one figure centered boldly against it. Fairlith, an obviously younger Fairlith, was shown profile with her face turned outward, wearing a tight leopard-spotted shirt that covered her chest and arms but cut off at her midriff and some equally-toned jean shorts. Her hair was long and straight, the light bounding off its natural color and perfectly highlighting her radiant face. In her arms was a cat, a full-grown feline with tuxedo colorings who seemed perfectly content in Fairlith's hold. Michael couldn't help but laugh gently when he saw it. She looked so adorable in a childish sort of way, and the cat seemed a gentle way of foreshadowing.

Fairlith blushed slightly at his chuckle, brushing back a strand of her hair. "Well, it was...uh...just a one-time thing..."

"It's great," he smiled and handed the magazine back. "Just can't get away from cats, can you?"

"Look who's talking," she teased, tossing a breadcrumb at his black CATS t-shirt. "Besides, the director said I reminded him of a cat."

"He had good taste, then."

"Answer me this, Mike," Fairlith said after they paused and leaned back, allowing their server to set the plates of food before them. "How does someone go from being John Utterson to understudying eight different roles from CATS? I mean, c'mon, how much talent do you have?"

Michael shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich before answering. "Well, after college I wanted to get to work as soon as I could, and snatched up the first thing that caught my eye, which was Jekyll & Hyde. It's not exactly a dance musical, y'know, but they said I could sing well enough, and that all the dancing I've done would come in handy in case they decided to...you know...change some stuff." He shrugged. "They never did, but after chorus I auditioned again for Utterson and got it. It was for the money, mostly. Jekyll and I...heh, we didn't get along very well." Drawn back into some distant memory, he lowered his eyes and chuckled, taking another bite. Fairlith watched him a moment, her hands folded in front of her and her food untouched. She still couldn't believe he was here: Velvedere, right before her, talking like they'd been together all their lives. It was beyond belief...

"So...what was it? What kind of production?"

"National tour. Took me around the country a lot. It wasn't ending anytime soon, and I wasn't exactly getting where I wanted, so..." He shrugged. "Voila."

"That's great," she laughed, leaning forward intensely once again. "So who do you understudy?"

Michael leaned back proudly, counting them off on his fingers. "Mostly the big boys...Alonzo, Mistoffelees, Mungojerrie, Munkustrap, Macavity, Pouncival, and Skimbleshanks."

"Wow..." Fairlith gasped again, finding it hard to believe one person could stand-in for so many different role types. But it had been done before... "Wait a sec...that's only seven, Mike. Who's the other one?"

There was a shift in Michael's features, and with an obvious nervousness he lowered his face to hide behind his hand. He mumbled something, but Fairlith couldn't make it out. She leaned forward a little more. "What was that?"

"I said Tugger."

Fairlith couldn't help it. She rocked back with a cackling laugh, drawing the heads of at least half the patrons in the room. "Oh, jeez!" she laughed. "You?! As Tugger?! Oh...jeez! Hahahaha! I can NOT wait to see that! Haha!"

Ducking his head to hide his embarrassment, Michael leaned a hand against his forehead, mumbling to the hysterical woman sitting opposite of him. "Fairlith? Uh...Bal? Bal, calm down. You're making a scene."

"Sorry, Mike," Fairlith gasped out between heaves of laughter, wiping her eyes. "Sorry...it's just...you...Tugger!"

Michael glanced up, a hint of retaliation in his eyes. "What's so unbelievable? I can do it."

"I don't doubt it," the woman teased, finally getting over her fit of laughter and sitting upright in her chair again. "You sure made it through auditions."

"Yeah..." Michael smiled, eyeing both their plates. His was half-empty. Hers wasn't touched. "So, uh, what are the rehearsals here like? Morgan give everyone a hard time?"

Fairlith finally caught his gaze and began working on her meal, which seemed to make him sit more at ease when her attention wasn't focused so much on him. Just as she'd predicted, the meal she usually ordered here was as delicious as ever, the combination of fatty and grease-ridden foods not much of a worry as she only ate here once in a great while and usually danced it off during CATS eight times a week, anyway. From the looks of it Michael was enjoying the meal, as well. "Only on his bad days," she replied jokingly. "Which is the majority of the work week."

"How long did you have to rehearse?"

"Six weeks," she answered with a grave nod, noting his slightly surprised expression. She could understand entirely. "It took me that long to learn all of Bombalurina's part, but Hunter said it took him nine weeks. I guess because I'd watched the video so many times." She giggled.

"Nine weeks? Jeez, if it takes that long for one role, how long is it going to take for me to learn eight?"

Another giggle. "Depends. How often are you willing to bust your butt learning those routines? To tell the truth I was ready to quit before I even made my debut."

"That bad?"

"It's hard, Mike."

"Sorry, Bal, but I can't wait," the young man suddenly groaned, setting down his glass of soda. "I wanna get on that stage as soon as I can. I don't care how hard it is. You remember the way we used to talk when we were kids? I mean, what's it like finally getting up there?"

Now it was Fairlith's turn to lean back from the sincere intensity of Michael's expression. For a moment her smile faded, unsure really what to say. "Well, it's...hard. Really hard, Mike, like I said. But worth it. I mean, I remember about a month ago when I first got out on that stage as Bombalurina. God, I don't know how to describe it. It's like...like stepping into the best dream you ever had. It's like...like..."

"...Heaviside?"

"Exactly." Fairlith set down her soda, and watching as Michael's face fell with a disappointed mumble of `nine weeks' her own smile faded. She reached across the table and gently took his shoulder, bringing his face back up. "Hey, don't worry. You'll be up there before you know it."

"I hope so, Bal."

"You'll be up there soon...as Tugger."

Amid the second fit of uncontrollable giggles that followed, Michael swiveled in his chair and resolutely raised his hand. "Check, please!"