My bed and Kitty Calico were waiting for me.
When I awoke, I was surprised to see Mauve sleeping on the fold-out bed and the cat now cuddled up to her (traitor!). I shut off the alarm, so groggy I was tempted to forget about the audition and sleep all day. But I couldn’t let Sharayah down. In less than twelve hours I’d return to my own body, and she’d have to survive on her own — which would be much easier if she made the Voice Choice finals.
After a quick shower, I sorted through Sharayah’s clothes to find something that would attract attention and wow the judges. I found a bright red stretchy top and matched it with a cropped, bead-trimmed denim jacket, black jeans and black half-boots. My hair was a mess, so I twisted it into a messy bun that gave me kind of a rebel-rocker look. Keeping with this theme, I applied heavy amounts of kohl eye makeup, autumn-brown eye shadow and ruby-death-ray lipstick.
I thought leaving at six would be early enough, but by the time Eli got off the congested freeways and found a parking space, the line-up for the competition was like a mile long. No exaggeration!
“What do they think this is?” I complained to Eli as I took my sorry position at the end of the line. “American Idol?”
“Looks like it,” he agreed. “But we’ve made it this far. We can wait.”
I gave him a surprised look. “You don’t have to stay with me. It could be hours.”
“I don’t mind.” He grinned and slipped his arm casually around my shoulders. “I’m just being a supportive brother.”
“Oh, brother,” I sighed, but I was grinning, too.
I’d always enjoyed people-watching, and waiting in that line gave me plenty to watch. Most auditioners had come prepared with chairs, blankets, pillows and coolers. One girl was actually sleeping on a folding cot, her friends shifting it a few inches whenever the line moved — which wasn’t often.
One hour, then two, then three went by before I was close enough to see the front of the line. But it was still about a block — and a few hundred people — away. By hour four, though, I was feeling better because Eli had gone out for hamburgers, drinks and fries, returning with a blanket, too.
As we were finishing our food, a guy in a black cap (that had a microphone logo and VC on the front) came by with legal forms to complete. He started to hand one to Eli, but “my brother” shook his head and gestured to me. Since I didn’t know Sharayah’s address or other personal details, I handed the form and pen to Eli. The line started to move again, so he hastily filled out the form, then handed it to the VC official a few minutes later.
Then we stood for another hour with no line movement at all. It was so frustrating, being this close yet still not inside. Eli and I passed the time by planning what song I would sing. I wanted to go with something bluesy to show off Sharayah’s vocal range, but Eli thought I should do something off the latest Top Ten. We argued for about three feet’s worth of line movement before settling on something that was bluesy but also popular.
As we waited, doubts began to strike me. All around, singing hopefuls belted out their songs, some dancing, too. But what had I done to prepare? Nothing. I still wasn’t sure about my song choice, which was the most important thing. How could I possibly have any chance at winning?
As I was thinking I should just give up now and leave, the line started moving again. Much faster. For the first time since arriving I could actually see the entry door. Double doors, actually, with official security guards grilling each person before allowing them to go inside. Someone in a bear outfit had just stepped in, followed by triplet guys all dressed in black and then a girl who could double for Britney Spears. When I counted the people in front of me, there were only twenty-five.
“Excuse me,” someone said behind me.
I turned and saw a gray-haired woman, her face wrinkled and her frail body stooped over. She wore a pleated navy-blue skirt, a long-sleeved blue blouse and a yellow scarf. I’d never seen her before, so wondered why she’d come over to me.
“Yes?” I asked curiously, since there was an age restriction in the contest rules disqualifying anyone over thirty, and this withered old woman had to be at least thirty times three.
“I wondered if you could spare some water,” she asked weakly, pointing to the water bottles Eli had bought earlier. “So many hours waiting … and I’m feeling dizzy. I can pay you.”
Eli reached out and handed her a bottle. “You can have it, no charge,” he said.
“Thank you so much. I knew just by looking at you two youngsters that you were kind.”
“Are you here for the competition?” I asked.
“Only to support my talented grandson. But after a visit to the ladies room, I’ve lost him. He must have gone inside but the guards won’t let me in.”
“They won’t?” Eli said with a fierce frown. “Well, I’ll see about that. Come with me and I’ll talk to them for you.”
“That’s sweet of you, but I don’t mind waiting.” She waved her hand a bit helplessly. “Although it’s getting so warm and I’m—” Her voice broke off and her feet buckled.
We both moved to help but Eli reached her first, cradling her in his arms so she didn’t fall. He grabbed a water bottle, twisted it open and held it up to her mouth. “Take a sip,” he encouraged gently.
“That’s better … but, ooh … everything is spinning.” She stood up and took a step forward then swayed.
“You need medical attention,” Eli said firmly. “I’ll talk to the guards and see if there’s a medic nearby.”
“Gracious, no. I don’t want anyone fussing over me. I’ll be fine if I just take a moment in the ladies’ room.”
“I’ll take you there,” Eli offered.
She shooed him away. “Young men have no place going near a ladies’ room. I’ll be fine.”
But it was obvious by the way she wobbled that she couldn’t make it two feet on her own.
“I’ll take you,” I offered.
“You can’t leave now,” Eli protested.
“This won’t take long, and you can hold my place for me. The restroom isn’t far and I can get back before the line moves.” Not giving Eli a chance to argue, I stood and took the frail woman by the arm.
She moved surprisingly quickly once we neared the restroom. When I reached for the door, I frowned at an out of service sign hanging on the knob. “Oh, no. We’ll have to find another place.”
“Don’t mind that,” she said, pushing the door open. “I was here earlier and it works just fine.” Then she wobbled, and I lunged forward to keep her from falling.
The bathroom seemed to be in working order: no leaking faucets or overflowing toilets. I led the woman to a stall. She leaned against the door and reached into her shoulder bag.
“I’m going to go now,” I said as I turned around.
“No, you aren’t. You’re staying here with me.” She whipped something gray out of her bag and aimed it at me.
A stun gun.
As I stared in astonishment, she reached up and yanked off her gray wig. Shining red curls tumbled down over her not-so-old shoulders.
Too shocked to think, I said the first thing that popped into my head. “What is it with you and bathrooms?”
“It was the only place to get you alone.”
“I can’t believe you followed me over four hundred miles! Are you obsessed or something? What’s this all about?” I was trying to stall her while I gauged the distance between the door and her gun hand, considering my chances for rushing her. I was taller than she was by at least six inches, but she was wider and probably stronger. I could run faster … but not faster than her trigger finger.