When Will Time Flow Away Part Three

When Will Time Flow Away - Part Three

The weeks that followed seem to pass by in a blur, just as Fairlith had promised. During the days Michael spent most of his time in rehearsal with Morgan and Justin in the studio rented by the Winter Garden. Sometimes Fairlith would go down to watch on the days when she only had a night performance. She tried not to be a distraction as she watched Michael warm up in his improvs with Morgan, fly over the blue-padded mats in the dance sequences, sing out over the piano's clear notes to the songs he already knew by heart. Every once in awhile when she felt it was appropriate she would throw out a comment: an occasional "ditto" or "go Velv" in encouragement. Nothing Morgan appreciated, of course, but it made the rest of them smile. And her little Velvedere was every bit as good as she imagined him being. He picked up the dance routines with not only a trained professional's exactness, but a fan's devotion and interest. The songs were no problem. Once he learned the slight variations here and there that were unique to each and every production of CATS, there was no stopping him. He would go into a performance at the drop of a hat, showing not a sign of exhaustion or slowing.

"We should hire CATS fans more often," Justin joked to Morgan at the end of one particular rehearsal. "I mean, lookit these two! They learn th' routines in half th' normal time."

Morgan didn't say a word.

But really it was about four weeks into Michael's stay before Fairlith felt that they were really working together. The weather outside was slightly turning warmer, and in the gentle temperature of the vast white mirror-lined room Fairlith sat beside the rehearsal piano, watching Justin and Michael converse a few yards away. She could only marvel at the resemblance between the two. Had their ages been different, Justin and Michael may very well have been brothers. They both had that same pale complexion with darker features, that lanky appearance with the only difference being Michael's youth, which shone in his sparkling eyes and energetic movements. It was only ten o'clock when Morgan burst in, grumbling.

"What?" Justin looked up, his director's intuition catching the look of trouble immediately.

"Shively," Morgan growled, a reference to who both Fairlith and Michael had come to know was the assistant dance captain. "She tore some ligaments in a workout yesterday and can't dance again for months. I only dropped by here to tell you, because right now I'm supposed to be on my way to an airport for Chicago to help with those out-of-town auditions in Philadelphia."

Justin cursed lightly under his breath, rubbing a hand over his chin as though that would disguise the word. "Don't worry `bout it," he finally said after a moment of respectful silence, patting Morgan's shoulder as he turned back towards the door. "I know th' routines well enough. I'll, er, I'll take it from here."

"You sure, boss?"

"Yeah. Don't worry." He glanced quickly back over his shoulder at the two performers who remained in the room, having said nothing thus far as they watched the spectacle. "Fairlith, will ya run through that last part o' th' Ball with `em `til I get back? Thanks!" Then they were gone.

Fairlith was standing now, leaning beside the piano, and with a steadily growing smirk she rolled her gaze across the room to meet Michael's. The man stood with his arms crossed, leaning his weight on one leg and still in his black dance outfit. "Well?" he chuckled.

"Justin's the boss." Fairlith sidled across the padded blue mat towards him, and together they danced.

From that moment on it was as though they'd known each other forever. After rehearsals Michael would walk her back to the Winter Garden, where she would get ready for the evening performance. She'd insist he come backstage with her, introduce him to the rest of the cast, and then when the house would open up more often than not he'd hurry back out to the front to get his seat, whether it be the back of the balcony or front row orchestra, and watch the performance. Observatory research was what he called it when Morgan inquired as to why he was seeing so many of the shows. But nothing had to be said to Justin. He understood entirely. And, sure enough, every performance Fairlith would sit back in the more quiet parts of the show, gazing out into the audience in a search for his face. When she found it, there would be no stopping her running down through the aisles at the end of each show to paw at him, if she could.

Fairlith could never explain to it herself, let alone anyone else, but knowing Michael was sitting out there in the crowd, knowing he was watching, increased the amount of effort she put into every dance move, vocal note, and expression. Even she didn't notice it at first. It had been one Saturday night, after one performance already that day, when she had been dancing her fiery Bombalurina solo during the Jellicle Ball that she finally realized it. She went into her series of high kicks and sassy hip-thrusts, and when it came time for Tugger to carry her away, the player--a certain handsome Brad Johnson--muttered to her quietly: "What's the deal? You hate doing those kicks four times in a row but now you go out there and do six?!" Everything seemed that way. It was like she had a void in her life that she never could see, never sense, but now was filled up by her old friend's presence. She had never admitted it to anyone, but after her first week of performing in CATS she was downright scared, because she began to hate it. She began to hate the back-breaking routine night after night, the way her body ached when she woke up every morning and had to stretch it out. She was afraid because she began to hate CATS. Now she was beginning to love it. Like she was a kid again...

The weeks seemed to fly by. On their days off, usually Sunday, Fairlith and Michael would take a stroll together through Central Park, talking over one thing or another and somehow always coming back to CATS. One would think that being fans, performers, and collectors of the same show for the majority of their lives Fairlith and Michael would grow tired of CATS. But no, it never happened. From the looks of it, it didn't seem like it was going to, either. They would sit together on the enormous rocks shaded by trees and eat those snacks most dancers were forbidden while Michael would read her some of the stuff he'd written over the years. Fairlith in return showed off her artwork. About once a week when she could manage it, Fairlith arranged for her to be free from an evening's performance and they would go see another show. Nor was there a shortage of them. In recent years, it seemed the general population of America's interest in Broadway had exploded, and now that one long street in Manhattan was teeming with theatres alive with every show and musical imaginable. They saw all of them: The Scarlet Pimpernel, Phantom of the Opera, Jekyll & Hyde, Charlie Brown, Les Miserables, Miss Saigon, and for a lack of finances, even The Sound of Music. On one occasion they even saw their own CATS together.

Basically, life for Fairlith had just gotten a whole lot better.

And it wasn't over yet.

Michael's constant wish to be up on the stage of the Winter Garden would come true sooner than he thought. It was eight weeks into Michael's rehearsals, a Saturday night with nothing particularly special about it except the fact that Saturday night brought the biggest crowds to Broadway, and Fairlith was leaning forward in her dressing room mirror, touching off the final layer to her white Bombalurina face. Behind her the women's dressing room was bustling with final preparations before the show. Sitting beside her, Lauren had her neck titled at an uncomfortable angle to fasten the clasps at her shoulders.

"How's Mike coming along?" she piped after a moment. Fairlith giggled, brushing some red over her eyes to emphasize their feline marks.

"Great. If you asked me I think he could go on tonight as any of those roles and steal the show with no problem."

"You two were really big fans of this show when you were kids, weren't you?"

"Are you kidding? I've only said it a million times." Fairlith gently nudged her smaller counterpart, standing up to fasten the tail to her fiery red unitard. "There wasn't anything else we wanted to do."

"It must be great, having a dream come true like that."

"Nothing better, Dem."

Giving a final glance over her slim figure in the dressing room mirror, Fairlith flicked her tail and headed out, slipping down the hallway towards the stage entrances. As was routine, she would slip around the side hallways of the auditorium once the Overture music began playing with her lighted green eyes to make the audience entrance, which on Saturday was always exciting, because more often than not the audience members were a little tipsy. Morgan, as usual, was hurtling down the hallway intent on one problem or another. Something in particular caught the Bombalurina player's attention about this one.

"Something wrong?" she asked innocently enough.

"Very wrong," the dance captain snapped, brushing a hand back through his thin gray hair. He didn't stop in his furious pace, grumbling. Fairlith paused a moment to watch his back move down the hallway. Something in his voice, or perhaps just women's intuition, told her to follow him. Taking careful note of the time, Fairlith slipped down the hall quietly, passing by other fully-dressed cats without a second glance. Her following led her to eavesdrop of a hasty conversation between Morgan and the director.

"Johnson's out," Morgan reported quietly to Justin. "Stewart's standing-in for Alonzo, and Eralin's out of town."

Fairlith watched as Justin's face fell to the floor a moment, eyes glazing as he seemed to ponder something over heavily in his mind. Finally, he sighed. "No one's available?"

"No one. Unless...?" Morgan caught the look in Justin's eyes when the director looked up, and he didn't like it. "Boss, do you think that's a good idea?"

"Ya gotta better one?"

A pause. "No."

Justin nodded in finalization. "Arright then. I'll take care o' it."

The dance captain continued on his way down the hall, content to worry about countless other things instead. Fairlith ducked out of sight just in time to avoid being seen, but shared Justin's knowing grin as he moved off to his office to pick up the phone. He dialed a quick number. "Hello? Mike? This is Justin. Lissen, I need t' ask ya somethin'..."

"Oh, no! No! No, no, no, no! Not me! Not..."

"...Tugger!"

At that moment there wasn't a performer on Broadway who felt as miserable as Michael Herndon as he slouched before a dressing room mirror, gazing at his reflection. He couldn't believe it. He honestly couldn't believe it. He'd been called in about an hour ago by Justin to fill in this role. They had made the announcement to the audience that the show would be about half an hour late because of a technical difficulty, but even as he sat here now with the door slightly cracked he could hear the laughter of the audience as the ready performers stalled for time by doing some comedic improvisations out on stage. He still couldn't believe it. This is what he wanted, wasn't it? What he'd been waiting for his entire life: to step out in costume on the stage of the Winter Garden and perform. But...why Tugger? Why? Why? Why?! It didn't feel right. Something was horribly wrong.

Perhaps it was the dreaded feeling of uncertainty because Michael had only just barely grasped the entire Tugger routine, and was nervous beyond belief. He leaned forward, letting his eyes rove over the yellow and white makeup covering his face. Highlighted in black stripes and marks, in his chorus costume Michael didn't feel very impressed with himself. But this was what he wanted, wasn't it? He was finally going to perform in CATS.

But as Tugger?

Michael made a snarling face at himself in the mirror.

"It isn't that bad," Hunter said casually from where he leaned against the doorway in full Munkustrap outfit. "You joined this cast for some reason, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but," Michael sputtered, standing up from the chair to look over the black and spotted unitard covering him. "I...haven't rehearsed Tugger's part much. I'm not really sure if...if I can do it all."

"Don't tell the audience that," was all Hunter laughed as he turned and slipped back out. Michael sighed, running a hand through the downy softness of his brown and black yak wig. "Whelp, Mike, here goes nothing." Turning, his spotted tail flinging out behind him, the understudy padded out into the hallway...

...and was nearly bowled over as Fairlith threw her arms around him.

"Oh, Velvedere! You look so cute!"

"I look like Terrence Mann," the man retorted and pushed her away. "Bal, I can't do this! I barely know the routine!"

"Hey," Fairlith said, suddenly very grave as she took (carefully) his make-upped face and stared deep into his eyes. "You remember what you used to tell me when we were kids?"

"No..."

"You said once that some people were born to do certain things. Just follow your instincts, Velv. You were born to be in this show!"

Her intensity left him speechless, and reluctantly breaking off their eye contact he turned to face out towards the direction of the stage. "Alright...let's do this." And he stalked down the hallway, tail streaming behind and chin held high.

Hunter stepped to her side, unable to surpress his chuckle. "That was moving, Fairlith. Really moving."

"Good," the Bombalurina replied to the Munkustrap. "Because I didn't understand any of it."

Clasping hands, the two cats made for the stage after the debuting Tugger.

"Tonight, for this performance only, the role of Rum Tum Tugger will be played by Michael Herndon..."

The auditorium was dark. Fairlith waited, crouching in the hallway, as she peered out into the dark which flickered and flashed with the opening light displays of the overture. She couldn't contain her excitement. Soon she would dart out into the audience, flashing her green eyes like she normally did, then head for backstage. Then the overture would start, and she would finally see him: Michael, Velvedere, her best friend, perform for the first time in the show they both loved. She wondered if he was as excited as she, and what sort of job he would do. There was not a doubt in her mind that he would be spectacular...not a single skepticism. The five songs between now and Tugger's seemed like the longest in the world.

Fairlith bolted as the musical cue came, darting down into the aisle. Michael wouldn't be down here with her...he was backstage, waiting for the Prologue musical cue for his entrance from stage left. Hard enough as it was to concentrate on her performance at hand, Fairlith stopped to tease only two people from the audience, a pathetic excuse for her usual number of victims. But she didn't care. It was Saturday night. The night when performers were at their best. All of them.

Fairlith slowed to a halt from her dancer's run once she reached backstage right. Standing beside Trevor Landon, the short but incredible Mistoffelees dancer who could do just about anything it seemed, she gazed out intently at the other side of the hidden junkyard set entrances. She could see the dim flick of a tail. Brown and black. Tugger. Michael. He was there, waiting. Ready.

"Think he'll be alright?" Trevor posed quietly as Hunter from upstage slid out into view, stripes bold in the blue light. Everyone in the cast of course had been informed of the Tugger change, all were eager to see the results from the understudy whom Fairlith praised so highly. Trevor was of course referring to him.

"He will," the Bombalurina whispered back, unable to surpress her smile. Fairlith and Trevor had dated a few times when she first met him in the CATS cast, but after realizing they really didn't have much in common they decided to go their separate ways, but still remained decent friends. "Here he comes..."

A fraction of a second, barely a single moment, before the musical cue played-those few short, chopped notes-Michael whipped out into view, perching atop a sturdy metal ladder-like grating covering the left side of the stage. Entwining his limbs through the bars, Fairlith from her backstage angle could see perfectly his yellow, white, and brown-striped face staring out, intense, rigid, into the dark audience. His tail swayed from the movement, but nothing else moved. She couldn't even see him breathing.

Then came the words... Hunter's voice of velvet began it all as he stood up, proud and striped, just off of center. Then came Lauren as Demeter, then Skimble, Asparagus, and then...

"Can you say of your bite, that it's worse than your bark?"

Those words, so small and yet sung with a perfect precision and smoothness, swelled up a pride inside Fairlith that she couldn't describe in words. He was ready. He could do this. Michael's voice held no quiver, no trace of nervousness, and the flowing sound produced in that one phrase was a gorgeous baritone, not like Brad: a tenor. Fairlith had to squeeze her mouth to keep from giggling at the memory of when they were kids...she could remember him complaining about the Tuggers he'd heard in the live shows, about how their voices seemed way too high-pitched for a supposed ladies' man. From what Fairlith heard it seemed that Michael was taking it upon himself to correct that little error. He sounded wonderful.

Throughout The Prologue and Naming she didn't get the chance to pause for a moment and exchange glances with him, know if he was really alright. But she had faith...the two numbers, energetic and monotonous...passed by with their usual intensity and quickness. From then on Michael was offstage until his titled song. The Invitation seemed longer than ever, dragging on with agonizing slowness, and The Gumbie Cat of which she had a major part seemed to drag on. But as excited as she may have been Fairlith didn't ignore her routine entirely. No, she never missed a step in her tap dance, in her chorus singing. Her trademark smile never faded or even dimmed, or her energy. It was Saturday night, and the theatre was alive.

Finally, it came. Those first few rock'n'roll notes startled her and sped Fairlith's heart more than was usual for her. In genuine surprised reaction she whipped her wig and makeup-covered face up towards the back of the set, and there, at the exact moment, came the fully-dressed Rum Tum Tugger exploding into view.

Whatever Fairlith may have laughed at previously about Michael's playing such a role he didn't fit at all was eradicated then and there. Clad in his custom-made outfit, complete with mane, belt, and all the right moves, Michael had complete command of the stage. It was immediate for Fairlith to realize as he leaped down among the cats that the understudy was still a little shaky about the choreography and blocking, but to any audience member unfamiliar with the show there could be no guess at his inexperience. In fact, she thought after a moment of watching him, singing chorus to his prominent voice as she danced background with the others, always keeping her eyes on him, that it was a little refreshing to see a change in the usual Tugger routine, hear a different voice singing the correct notes but in a deeper pitch. She watched him parade about in front of and among their chorused dancing, strutting, shaking his mane and waist in typical Tugger movements that Fairlith could have otherwise laughed at had they not been so convincingly acted. Nothing swelled her pride more until she stood up and slunk towards him.

"The Rum Tum Tugger is a curious beast!" she teased, twirling her tail as she saw the esteemed Tugger--Michael's face beneath that color scheme--catch her eyes and fluff his mane.

"My disobliging ways are a matter of habit," he sang, sidling up, and then they were dancing together. Carrying out the usual sassy-sexy movements Tugger and Bombalurina exchanged show to show between two good friends may have seemed a little awkward to some, but as caught up as they were in their roles then neither performer seemed to notice the vulgarities. Fairlith spun away, her tail twirling, and looking up at him beneath her mane with that sultry gaze, kicked, and was back in his arms. Their faces almost touching, the two singer-dancers slowed, fell quiet for that small interlude in time. Tugger's spotted-gloved hand traced the line of her cheek, on the verge of kissing, when suddenly he jerked away, leaving a very stunned Bombalurina on the ground after a parting flick on her nose, which surprised her quite possibly more than the dump.

"No..."

But Bombalurina wasn't deterred. Jumping back to her feet, she continued dancing, striving for his attention, and just when it seemed she had gotten it he bopped her away again, this time with a nudge of their hips. Caught up as she was in her role, Fairlith didn't know she had slapped his shoulder in return until she felt the sting on her fingers.

Nor did their antics stop there. When it came time for Tugger's audience romp, Michael never left the stage. Instead he spun around to face upstage, and finding the fiery red Bombalurina among the other background dancers, he extended on spotted hand. Unsure of what else to do other than follow the impulse, Fairlith took the offer and stepped out of line, following Michael's lead for a quick, improvised but spicy-hot duet. The playfulness remained. He yanked her tail. She grabbed a handful of his mane and pushed him to his knees. Twirling his tail, Tugger jumped back to his feet, grabbing a secure hold around Bombalurina's waist and sending her for a precipitous dip before righting her again and resuming the song.

Fairlith never thought she'd have such fun. And they were just getting started.

Fairlith then thought it was a shame that her character had to stand and admire from behind as Tugger, surrounded by his kitten fans, dropped into that yeowling show of ego-boosting that was downright silly. Swaying with her usual: "Man, is he good," expression, she watched her little Tugger player sing into his tail, sway his hips, pass his hands over the squealing kittens at his feet as he hit every rock'n'roll note directly on the head, reaching pitches one wouldn't have thought he could from the previous baritone voice he'd used. And that last note, the highest of all that would end his song and signal the transition to Grizabella, shook the very air with its force and clarity. Fairlith shuddered.

The show progressed. She didn't see him again until Old Deuteronomy, during which Michael made a wondrous display in mocking Hunter behind his back as he sang Munkustrap's part. Then they sang together, the other cats rolling over the stage floor in harmonious choir. Fairlith stretched out luxuriously, closing her eyes to listen. She opened them, gazing up at the two handsome toms with nothing but admiration. It seemed, strange, though she barely took notice of it, that when it came time for Munkustrap to extend his paw for Tugger to take, some sign of brotherly understanding, Hunter did indeed extend his hand but not far enough for Michael to reach even when he did the same. It was still a gorgeous thing to look at. But The Tugger got Munkustrap back in the Pekes and Pollicles number. More than usual.

The Jellicle Ball... Fairlith whooped energetically as she paraded out into her spicy solo. Nothing held her back; no pain or ache dared stop her from showing off her moves to the audience and the other girl cast members. Not even her Tugger as he danced up behind her. Sashaying, Fairlith shot a look over her shoulder towards him. Their matching grins were unmistakable in their message. Grabbing her waist, Michael brought the supple female dancer up and over his shoulder, spinning around with her towards the back of the set to make room for Mistoffelees and Tumblebrutus. Keeping his arms wrapped about her as he finally set her down, Michael purred just loud enough for Fairlith to hear:

"We did it, Bal."

Fairlith laughed, no fear of being heard as their mikes were turned off during the dance piece and patted his shoulder in total agreement as they parted. The dance piece ended with the bravos and applause that rang off the ceiling, pounding in the cats ears with far more reward than any paycheck they would ever receive. Michael landed in a crouch, chest heaving and the world around him practically spinning. But it wasn't from exhaustion...it was ecstasy. There wasn't a time in his life when the understudy ever remembered dancing so hard. When he led the toms in their strut up behind the queens...with the same group as the climax of the music came and he took up the position front and center with Victoria...nothing in the entire world was as sweet as that moment he landed and the applause exploded. Light-headed with euphoria, he closed his eyes, waiting for the world to grow steady again, for his spirit to come back down from its dizzying height. He could have willingly stayed there forever, listening to that pounding ovation, and never moved from that stage. But sadly, despite that singular moment seeming to stretch on for ages, it faded. The clapping slowly fell away, replacing by Grizabella's mourning music. Opening his eyes to find a dimmer, somber, but no less electrifying stage, Michael slowly pushed himself up, his movements seeming slow and incredibly graceful after the mind-blowing paces reached during the previous dance. He gave his mocking regards to Grizabella, then exited.

Fairlith had just barely stepped out of the audience's view herself to leave Grizabella to close up the first act when Michael threw his arms around her, spinning her with a triumphant shout that couldn't be heard beyond the backstage acoustics. Taken by surprise Fairlith laughed with him, drawing curious but smiling looks from the other cast around them who slumped down to rest gratefully.

"Well," the understudy grinned when they were still again. "What's the verdict? How'd I do?!"

"Let me put it this way," Fairlith laughed. "You'll be feeling it in the morning!"