Page 12 of Uriah's Orbit
“I’m telling you, Uri. You havenotheard him sing. At all.”
I snorted. “Dude. I’m gay. UDLR is all over the clubs, and I hear that voice all the time. It’s a standard issue pop candy voice. It’s nice, but Michael Crawford he is not.”
“He missed getting into the limited runWest Side Storybecause he has to go on tour in six months, and they needed him for nine. They wanted him for Tony,” Cesar said. “He told meLes Miswanted the full run of six and that wouldn’t have given him time to rehearse with the band for the tour. The list of places he missed because of his other career is impressive.”
“Don’t we also demand the full six months?”
Cesar looked at his shoes and then back to me. “Usually. But we’re closing for sure at the end of five.”
That was not news. This show,Aidadid well in short limited runs. It wasn’t a staple likePhantomorChicago,but it was an accessible version of the Verdi opera, and they could always sell the seats. I put my hands on my hips and stared at the manager.
“Rubens is out,” he said simply.
My jaw hit the floor again. “What?”
He pursed his lips and looked pissed. “He got caught dealing.”
“Dealing?” I gasped. “I mean, I knew the guy was a pothead…”
“Not. Pot.”
“Holy shit, he dealt the nose candy.”
Cesar gave me a small, firm nod. “Did you know?”
“That he dealt? No. I knew he partook. There were a few opening night celebrations and was…uh, unrestrainedly joyful and generous with the blow. I never touch the shit, but he sure did.”
“Well, he was busted and hauled in. It’s a sordid tale, because it also involves an OD on bad blow, and I don’t know if that man is going to see freedom in the next ten years. We needed someone who could just finish out the run on Radames. Austin Lowell fit the bill.”
“Candy pop—”
“I heard you the first time,” Cesar said. “And that Candy Pop Bullshit artist will be here in half an hour for his fitting. You have him for an hour, and then he’s on stage for a dry run through the music. We have one week with the understudy before the end of his contract. We have a second understudy ready, but I want Lowell to come out swinging next Friday night.”
He nodded, pleased with himself and headed for the door. “One hour, and then I highly recommend you come and listen to him and Grace and Diana sing through their parts. I guarantee you will eat your words about his talent.”
“I’ll be there, but I doubt the second part.”
I was very familiar with Up Down Left Right. They’d been popular for eight long years, gate crashing my gay discovery period while enrolled at the Fashion Institute, working on my Bachelors. I was perfectly fine listening to Brittany and Bey, Fall Out Boys and remainders of My Chemical Romance.
I’d never admit my addiction to System of a Down, Rage Against the Machine or Pink Floyd, of course. That was simply not gay enough.
But UDLR’s first chart topper was an insipid ditty that pissed me off, made me angry and yet I—and everyone else on the planet—knew the words to it.
Professional curiosity had me buying the album.
And then the next five.
Cough.
Professionally, the last one had sounded like they were retreating instead of progressing in their music. I could hear that they were trying to break out of the mold of a boy band-turned-twenty-somethings and something was stopping them.
Maybe it was just time to give up.
That would be good. Then I wouldn’t have to buy any more of their albums to satisfy my professional curiosity.
Cough.
I queued up the soundtrack to the show, and started it playing through the speakers in my studio. Other people could laugh at me, but having the music playing to what I was costuming helped me get a bearing on what I was creating.
