Stagefright (11 page)

That was what sparked her love of musical theatre. The singers had no microphones, but when all those voices sang together and filled the little hall it had taken her breath away. After that Velvet and her aunt had seen every musical that came to Melbourne.

Roula and Hailie were giggling in the back seat. “Is that what you listen to on your phone?”

“Yes, it is actually.”

Taleb was listening closely to the song. The track finished. Velvet felt as if someone had just read her diary.

“Not my sort of music,” Jesus said.

“I don’t mean exactly like that, but something with that … feel.”

Mr MacDonald tried to eject the cassette, but instead the tape came spooling out in curls.

Taleb nodded. “Could be a good way to start act two.”

Mr MacDonald finally got the cassette out and handed it to Velvet with the tape hanging from it like spaghetti.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Velvet was pleased to have something to do. “I can fix it.”

She wound the tape back into the cassette with the pencil.

After school, Velvet walked to the train station with Hailie and Roula.

“How did I go?”

“You were good,” Hailie said. “Nobody would have guessed.”

“Really?”

“Well, you sounded like a moron,” Roula said, “but you always do.”

Velvet knew she was lucky to have survived the afternoon with her self-respect intact. She was grateful to Hailie and Roula. They had helped her get through it, and they’d promised not to tell anyone. She hoped they’d keep their word.

The cultural studies band assembled for the first time the following Thursday. Except for Eddy, who despite his green hair and pierced lip was a crucial member of the Yarrabank athletics team. He was involved in an inter-school competition.

Taleb played the tune he’d written for the overture on his guitar.

“Nice,” Peter said.

They all agreed.

Hailie had got her saxophone back from her mother’s now ex-boyfriend. Velvet rummaged through the pathetic remnants of the axed music program and found a battered plastic clarinet. It was a long way from the lovely ebony Armstrong that her father had sold, but she didn’t complain. Taleb doled out tambourines and rhythm sticks to everyone else.

“Velvet will play the intro on the piano, then me and Hailie will come in with the main refrain.” Taleb gave handwritten music to Hailie and Velvet. “Velvet will join in on the clarinet on the fourth bar. The rest of you just keep a basic rhythm, right?”

Hailie frowned at the music. “I’m not much good at this crotchets and quavers stuff.”

“It’s easy, Hailie.”

Velvet looked around the room. “Where’s the piano?”

The upright that used to be in the corner was gone.

“Slinky sold it,” Mr MacDonald said.

“I’ve got a piano.” Taleb undid a black case and pulled out a battered looking electric keyboard. “I borrowed it from Eddy.”

“I thought he was a drummer.”

“He is, but he used to play keyboards. Tried to anyway.”

Taleb set up the keyboard on a desk and plugged it into his amp. Velvet looked at it like it was something slimy and drooling.

“I can only play a proper piano.”

“It is a proper piano, just electric. Try it.”

Velvet prodded a couple of keys and then tried a few chords.

“It sounds like the Chipmunks.”

Taleb sighed and pressed some buttons, making the keyboard sound like a church organ, a harpsichord and then a piano.

“Okay. Everyone know what they’re doing?” Taleb asked. “After the intro and the wind section, I’ll do a bit of a guitar solo and then we’ll have the piano playing around the guitar melody after that.”

“Where’s my music for that bit?” asked Velvet.

“Just improvise. It’s in A minor.”

“I don’t know how to improvise. I need sheet music.”

“You don’t need sheet music, Velvet. That’s the whole point of improvisation.” Taleb was getting annoyed. “You can play the scale of A minor, can’t you?”

“Of course I can.” Velvet demonstrated.

“Okay. Just play those notes, in time, in whatever order you think sounds good.”

Velvet felt like she was sitting an exam.

“Let’s try it. This is the beat.” Taleb tapped out a rhythm on the desk top. “The rest of you keep the beat with the percussion instruments.”

Velvet took a deep breath and played the introduction. Then Taleb came in. Hailie missed her entrance and played two notes behind him. Velvet fumbled with the clarinet. She was out of practice and produced squeaks instead of high notes. Drago bashed his tambourine without any sense of rhythm at all. Roula stood with her rhythm sticks poised waiting for the right place to join in. Peter got a beat going, but it was the wrong one. Mei was playing a weird Chinese rhythm. Jesus was the only one who managed to keep in time. Roula was still waiting for the right place to start when it came to Velvet’s piano improvisation. Velvet struggled to play a dozen notes in the right key, spread sparsely throughout Taleb’s ten bars of intricate guitar playing. The overture ended. Roula’s rhythm sticks were still poised. Taleb buried his face in his hands and groaned. The rest, all miserably aware of their musical inferiority, even Velvet, waited meekly for his inevitable crushing criticism of their pathetic effort.

Mr MacDonald, who had enjoyed watching someone else trying to drag results out of Yarrabank’s misfits, came to their rescue.

“Needs a bit of work, but it’s coming along.”

“That was great, Velvet,” Hailie said, after the others had all gone home.

“My playing?”

“No. The way you gave Taleb such a hard time.”

“Yeah, that’ll show him,” Roula said.

Velvet smiled feebly. Upsetting Taleb seemed to be something that she was particularly good at.

Drago and Velvet were working on the second act. It was hard to find anywhere in the schoolyard that hadn’t been turned into cricket practice nets or handball courts, hard to get out of earshot of the crowds of students eating their lunches in the small spaces that were left. And Velvet didn’t want to be seen sitting with Drago all the time. She had chosen one of the broken seats at the front of the school. It was supposed to be out of bounds, but so far no one had objected to them being there.

They had decided that, though Shakespeare’s play had five acts, theirs was going to have just two. Even so, the second half was still causing problems. It was a difficult part of the play.

“The first act’s got a bit of everything: comedy, drama, romance, the psychedelic dream scene, Margaret’s heavy metal curses.” Drago was picking the tomato out of the sandwiches Velvet hadn’t eaten.

“And at the end there’s the battle where Richard is killed and Richmond claims the throne. It’ll be a good ending.” Velvet sighed. “It’s just the middle bit.”

“There’s no action. It’s all talk. How are we going to stop people from walking out?” Drago asked through a mouthful of cheese sandwich.

“There’s Buckingham …”

“Who’s he again?” Drago was still having trouble keeping track of the characters.

“That’s Peter. He’s Richard’s right-hand man. He helps him spread the rumour that the little princes are really illegitimate, because Edward was betrothed to someone else when he married Elizabeth.”

“So what?”

“In those days it meant that you couldn’t marry anyone else. The church wouldn’t recognise the marriage.”

“So if the princes were bastards, Richard would be next in line for the throne.”

“That’s right, then nasty old Richard lures the little princes to the Tower of London, saying they’ll be more comfortable there.”

“What a knob.”

“And he promises that when he becomes king, he’ll make Buckingham an earl to reward his loyalty.”

Drago feigned a yawn.

“Then Buckingham tells the lords and bishops that Richard should be king. Richard pretends to be praying in church and reluctantly agrees to accept the crown.”

“It’s a set up,” Drago said.

“Right.”

“It’s boring. Weren’t you going to do research to see if you could find some interesting stuff in history books?”

“I started, but I got too busy. I’ll have another look.”

Drago’s solution to brighten up a dull scene was to have Richard pinching Queen Elizabeth’s bottom or looking down her dress.

“You can’t do that!” Velvet said. “She’s your brother’s widow. Edward’s only been dead for five pages.”

“Okay, I know. We have to have a passionate kiss.”

“Who does?”

“You and me?”

“In your dreams, Drago.”

“Just for dramatic purposes. After I win you over.”

“No way! And that’s in the first half anyway.”

Drago’s next idea was to have some history students arrive by time machine from the future and tell him where he was going wrong.

Velvet didn’t want to encourage him, but she couldn’t help laughing. That was when Taleb walked in through the front gate. He looked surprised to see Velvet and Drago alone and chuckling together.

“Did you sleep in?” she said.

“Orthodontist.” Taleb never wasted energy on a full sentence where a single word would do.

“I had an idea for a pashing scene with me and Corduroy,” Drago said. “What do you reckon? Should spice things up a bit, eh?”

Velvet thought she saw a flicker of jealousy in Taleb’s eyes. Then decided she’d imagined it.

“Since the band’s so pathetic,” Taleb announced. “I’ve decided we need band practice at least once a week at lunchtime.”

“But –”

“No arguments. It’s going to be bad enough as it is, even with practice. Tell the others.”

He walked towards the office to get a late pass.

“What’s up with him?” Velvet asked. “Did the orthodontist tighten up his bands too much?”

“He’s getting nervous about his musical mates seeing him in the play. They’re already giving him a hard time.”

“Are they?”

“They think he should be concentrating on Toxic Shock, not on a dumb school musical.”

The bell went. Velvet gave Drago a head start and then headed for class.

“Velvet, can I speak to you for a moment?” It was Miss Ryan who was picking up litter around the rubbish skip.

Velvet was sure she was about to get into trouble for being at the front of the school during lunchtime. But Miss Ryan wasn’t wearing her stern “I’m about to recite the school rules to you” face. It looked more like a “I’m going to ask you to collate 500 humanities handouts” face.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about your drama production.”

“Yes?” Velvet said, thinking that there must be another school rule that they were breaking.

Miss Ryan was fiddling with her hankie. “Actually I’d like to be involved.”

“Really?” Velvet tried to edge away from her.

“I think it sounds like an interesting project.” Miss Ryan flushed a little. “I could help with costumes. I can sew quite well, you know. I make all my own clothes.”

Velvet looked at Miss Ryan’s aqua and mauve checked skirt and frilly lemon blouse.

“That would be wonderful. Thanks so much for the offer. We’ll let you know when we’re ready to make costumes.”

Miss Ryan went back to picking up litter. Peter was going in the side door. He’d overheard the conversation.