Shooting Star: Chapter 6

Halley steps into her small dressing room behind the stage. It was a good opening night, almost completely sold out. After four months of tireless rehearsal, the play went on with barely a hitch. Her costar did mess up one line, which made him forget the rest, but he did a thinking pause worthy of a soap opera. The director, who had the unfortunate habit of chewing his nails, drew blood and yelped. Thank goodness for the soundproof set.

There is a knocking at Halley’s door. “Yes,” she calls out.

A man’s voice answers, “Miss Malore, there’s a man wanting to see you. He’s says he’s a friend.”

“Donny, anyone can say that,” Halley says, as if rehearsed.

“He says he’s—”

Halley runs to the door, opening it a crack. “Tell him I’m flattered, but very busy right now.”

“Yes, ma’am. He gave you this.”

Halley takes a piece of thick paper. In reality, Halley would love to meet an adoring fan. But she had been given specific directions about dealing with this kind of thing. Just in case it could be an adoring stalker, one is supposed to refuse to see someone into his or her own dressing room. The stagehands are trained to do this for the performers, and the fact that Donny was even asking means that he was likely bribed, an indication that the fan may have less than honorable intentions. Halley looks at the paper anyway. It’s a strange type of calligraphy. She quickly realizes it’s her stage name, but she doesn’t understand the design.

Halley tosses it by the corner onto her makeup table. It lands askew. Something catches Halley’s eyes. She walks over to it. In the left, top corner are some initials, written up‑side‑down. Finding this an unusual place for a signature, she flips the sign over so that the initials are right-side-up… and so is her monogram, even after turning it over.


She runs to the door, “Donny! Let him in! Let him in!”

Donny runs to her, “But you said—”

“Donny!”

“But they—”

“Go get them!” she pronounces, not an ounce of doubt in her voice.

Donny, flustered, sprints runs away. A few moments later, Halley hears a familiar voice, “I knew it was gonna take her a few minutes to figure it out.”

But the source of the voice is not who runs in. A woman with cherry red hair runs in.

“Amber?” Halley asks as she caught in a crushing hug by the woman.

“Halley, you were wonderful!”

Halley untangles herself from Amber’s grip. “Amber, what are you doing here?”

Almost choking on her tongue, Amber replies, “I came to the show… and what is with the new name?”

“That’s half my invention and half… his,” she comments tilting her head to see behind her.

“Hey,” Christopher says lightly, his dark hair slicked back. The other man with unruly black hair follows him.

“Christopher!” he hugs him, and then turns to other man in glee, “C.J.!” She hugs him, too.

C.J. says to her, “Yeah, Chris here says he could get tickets to this show in New York and we jumped at the chance. He forgot to mention you were in it.”

“Halley, you’re famous!” Amber cries.

Modestly giggling, Halley replies calmly, “I’m not famous. I have a leading role in off-Broadway play which had a good opening night. The plays only secure for like a month. I’ll have to do a lot better for a lot longer until I’m famous.”

Amber insists, “No, you’re famous, accept it.” She’s practically shaking.

“Okay, then. I’m getting the impression I can’t do otherwise.” Halley turns to her table and grabs the sign, “By the way, Christopher, thanks for getting the guy who does these things to make me one.”

C.J. comments, “‘the guy who does them?’ Halley, Chris does these.”

Halley looks insulted, “Christopher!”

Christopher defends, “Modesty is not a sin.”

“Neither is pride!”

There is a brief pause.

“By the way, Christopher, where’s Laura?”

“She couldn’t come. Sorry. You shouldn’t have planned opening night on a teacher in‑service day.”

“Yeah, ‘cause, you know, I pick the dates and times and everything myself.” Halley, still a bit overwhelmed, continues, “I don’t think I need to ask, but was I good?”

“Absolutely, incredibly, wonderfully…” Amber stops, running out of adverbs.

“Your opinion has been duly noted,” Halley tells her friends, “Guys?”

“Yeah, Amber’s right, Halley, you were awesome,” C.J. says in a calm tone.

“Yeah, it was very much getting back to your roots,” comments Christopher, with a knowing smile.

“Speaking of which, what’s going on in your corners of the world?” Halley asks.

Amber talks first, “Well, I’m a budget analyst for a company called Merchann & Chiam. It’s a lot of work, but you get to rub shoulders with all the big-wigs.”

C.J. goes next, “I’m a computer engineer, most mercenary work.”

Christopher smiles, “If you must know, I’m a programmer for OmniTech.”

“And your boss?” Halley prompts.

“Lateral transfer at the end of the month. I’m up for the promotion.”

“Good luck.”

“And you, Miss Malore?” Christopher asks.

Halley thickens her New Yorker accent, “Well, I am currently playing the role of Cecily Cardew in the Jean Cocteau Repertory production of The Importance of Being Earnest.”

In a reporter’s tone, C.J. questions, “And how are you enjoying that.”

“Oh, it’s absolutely extraordinary fun, but to tell you the truth, I miss waitressing a tiny bit. You meet so many great people.”

And all the four friends break into laughter.

* * *

The Jean Cocteau Repertory is located at Bouwerie Lane Theater, at the northwest corner of the intersection of Bowery and 2^nd Streets, less than a quarter mile from Broadway. It is a small, white, two-story building, surrounded by a cast-iron veranda, supported by tall, nondescript white columns, much like the surrounding buildings. On either side of the tall wooden doors, hand two blue-background announcement boards. Hanging from the veranda, is a miniature theater marquee, an eyesore which rather ruins the austere décor of the block. It announces:

The Importance of Being Earnest

Starring
Dennis F. Perry
Arthur Holmes
Hilary Daphne
C C. Malore

The sign is falling into disrepair, resulting in incomplete letters on every line due to frequent burned out lights, including the first period of “C. C. Malore.” Quiet suddenly, the light representing the second period pops, sending a glowing piece of filament flying into the air. The light fades away, and it is invisible before it can be seen to descend.