The Tenor

"Bravo, Bravo," they sing, they sing, they sing as the Tenor bows and leaves the stage, her stiff black dress darting across the floor behind her to the rhythm of her footsteps. She waves, crosses through the curtains into darkness. She avoids the ropes and chains and props for past and future productions. She turns left down a shallow hallway; the circular lights that hang smell of fried dust and burned moths. She goes down concrete steps. The ceiling is low. The chorus of Bravos retreat like dismissed echoes. The Tenor goes through a heavy door. The door knob, brass, is worn, like a pastel smudge. She enters a small room. Baskets of flowers with cards signed in fast writing are on a coffee table that is primarily brown. There is graffiti on the walls. The light in the room is fatigued, failing.

The Tenor shuts the door. She undoes her dress, lets it fall to the floor, steps out of it like she is performing a military drill. She sits in the make-up chair and grabs a water glass from a tray that also contains small white towels and packets of soap. She fills the water glass with melting ice from the ice bucket. She shakes away the water that sticks to her hand; small droplets pierce the carpet like rain on old snow. She picks up a bottle of McCallum's, pours a long draw into the water glass, several fingers high. She takes a heavy sip, cocks her head to the right as she swallows. The Tenor stands. She walks to the coffee table, picks up the paper, opens it to the classifieds. She takes another, smaller sip.

An announcement is made in the auditorium. It's muffled, indiscernible to the Tenor. The audience begins the process of leaving: the putting on of coats, the rediscovering of cell phones in pockets. They discuss the Tenor, marvel at her voice, the show. In the dressing room the Tenor scrolls the paper for an apartment. She sees one of interest. She finds a pen, circles the ad. She puts the paper down. She grabs the water glass of melted ice and McCallum's with her left hand and puts her legs up on the dressing table, crosses them. With her other hand she lights a cigarette.