soon? I thought, biting my lip.
“He thinks so. For a sum equivalent to the national debt of Thailand.”
“When will it be ready?” My stomach churned.
“I don’t know. Magnus says he’s giving it top priority. But it would be too much trouble for him to give me an ETA, of course.”
Top priority. I might not have as much time as I’d hoped.
Matilda said, “But I want to make one thing very clear to you, Esther.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t care if you’ve got the plague. When that prop box is returned to us, you’d better be here, waiting for it, in costume and ready for a complete run-through of the show.”
“I will be.” I crossed my fingers.
“Because if you’re not—”
“I will be,” I repeated, hoping it was true.
“I swear on my husband’s grave—”
I frowned. “Uh, did Joe die since last night?”
“—I will not only fire you—”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“—I will not only ruin your name and make sure no respectable producer ever gives you another job—” she continued, gathering steam.
“Matilda…”
“—I will not just destroy your career to such an extent that you’ll feel lucky to play a condom in a porn film—”
“Do they use condoms in porn films?”
“I will sue you, Esther. For every penny you’ve got—”
“I don’t have many pennies, I work for you, ” I muttered.
“—and for every penny you mayever earn. I will sue you all the way through the end of this lifetime and into the next one. My lawyer will pursue you through eternity, be it through heaven or through hell!”
I’d had no idea she was so religious.
“Do you hear me?” she shrieked.
“If I don’t show up for work when the crystal cage is ready, you’ll sue me,” I said.
“ And fire you!” she shouted.
“Yes, I hear you. Everyone south of Forty-second Street can probably hear you,” I said. “I understand the terms. And now, Matilda, I am extremely ill and in no condition to continue this chat, so I’m hanging up. Goodbye.”
She shrieked at me while I disconnected the call. I lay back in my rumpled pillows and cradled the phone against my chest, seeking comfort from its solid, prosaic familiarity. I felt a sudden fondness for it because it was one of the few things in my world that hadn’t changed unrecognizably since, oh, yesterday.
Two days ago, I’d arrived at the theater eager to step into the lead role of an off-Broadway musical. Now, instead, I was alienating my producer, letting down the cast, and afraid Evil would get me if I went on with the show.
I groaned and hugged the phone. Could things possibly get any worse?
The phone rang, startling me. I answered it reflexively. The new caller was my mother.
“Of course,” I muttered. “Things can always get worse.”
“What?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Esther, your Uncle Ben and Aunt Rachel are visiting New York next month. I told them you’d get them tickets for your new show.”
“Oh, Mom,” I groaned. “No. Please, no…”
“They’ll take you to dinner,” she said coaxingly. “Some place you can’t afford.”
I sighed. “I can’t talk about this right now.”
“Why not now?” My mother’s voice is well-educated and vivacious. And sometimes it’s shadowed by her lifelong suspicion that the hospital switched babies on her when I was born. “I’m giving you plenty of notice.”
“This isn’t a good time to talk about the show.”
“Why?” she said. “What did you do?”
This is my mother’s gift: an uncanny ability to make me feel even worse than I already do.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “And I don’t have time for a long call this morning.”
“Morning? It’s after eleven.” After a pause, she said, “Esther, are you still in bed?”
How does she always know? I sat up quickly, as if she could see me all the way from our family home in Madison, Wisconsin. “I was up very late,” I said defensively.
“Oh, were you on a date? Someone nice,
“He thinks so. For a sum equivalent to the national debt of Thailand.”
“When will it be ready?” My stomach churned.
“I don’t know. Magnus says he’s giving it top priority. But it would be too much trouble for him to give me an ETA, of course.”
Top priority. I might not have as much time as I’d hoped.
Matilda said, “But I want to make one thing very clear to you, Esther.”
“Yes?”
“I don’t care if you’ve got the plague. When that prop box is returned to us, you’d better be here, waiting for it, in costume and ready for a complete run-through of the show.”
“I will be.” I crossed my fingers.
“Because if you’re not—”
“I will be,” I repeated, hoping it was true.
“I swear on my husband’s grave—”
I frowned. “Uh, did Joe die since last night?”
“—I will not only fire you—”
“I’ll be there,” I said.
“—I will not only ruin your name and make sure no respectable producer ever gives you another job—” she continued, gathering steam.
“Matilda…”
“—I will not just destroy your career to such an extent that you’ll feel lucky to play a condom in a porn film—”
“Do they use condoms in porn films?”
“I will sue you, Esther. For every penny you’ve got—”
“I don’t have many pennies, I work for you, ” I muttered.
“—and for every penny you mayever earn. I will sue you all the way through the end of this lifetime and into the next one. My lawyer will pursue you through eternity, be it through heaven or through hell!”
I’d had no idea she was so religious.
“Do you hear me?” she shrieked.
“If I don’t show up for work when the crystal cage is ready, you’ll sue me,” I said.
“ And fire you!” she shouted.
“Yes, I hear you. Everyone south of Forty-second Street can probably hear you,” I said. “I understand the terms. And now, Matilda, I am extremely ill and in no condition to continue this chat, so I’m hanging up. Goodbye.”
She shrieked at me while I disconnected the call. I lay back in my rumpled pillows and cradled the phone against my chest, seeking comfort from its solid, prosaic familiarity. I felt a sudden fondness for it because it was one of the few things in my world that hadn’t changed unrecognizably since, oh, yesterday.
Two days ago, I’d arrived at the theater eager to step into the lead role of an off-Broadway musical. Now, instead, I was alienating my producer, letting down the cast, and afraid Evil would get me if I went on with the show.
I groaned and hugged the phone. Could things possibly get any worse?
The phone rang, startling me. I answered it reflexively. The new caller was my mother.
“Of course,” I muttered. “Things can always get worse.”
“What?”
“Hi, Mom.”
“Esther, your Uncle Ben and Aunt Rachel are visiting New York next month. I told them you’d get them tickets for your new show.”
“Oh, Mom,” I groaned. “No. Please, no…”
“They’ll take you to dinner,” she said coaxingly. “Some place you can’t afford.”
I sighed. “I can’t talk about this right now.”
“Why not now?” My mother’s voice is well-educated and vivacious. And sometimes it’s shadowed by her lifelong suspicion that the hospital switched babies on her when I was born. “I’m giving you plenty of notice.”
“This isn’t a good time to talk about the show.”
“Why?” she said. “What did you do?”
This is my mother’s gift: an uncanny ability to make me feel even worse than I already do.
“It’s a long story,” I said. “And I don’t have time for a long call this morning.”
“Morning? It’s after eleven.” After a pause, she said, “Esther, are you still in bed?”
How does she always know? I sat up quickly, as if she could see me all the way from our family home in Madison, Wisconsin. “I was up very late,” I said defensively.
“Oh, were you on a date? Someone nice,
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