The War of Art

Felix had said he was only helping with costumes. This was true until someone asked whether he could hold a coat while they pinned a hem, and then less true when he stayed to sort the shoes by size.

The audition room was at the end of the corridor. Every time its door opened, someone came out smiling too brightly or looking at the floor. A handwritten sign on the costume rail said AUDITIONS THIS WAY, with an arrow that pointed toward the fire exit.

“You know you can read,” said Mina, who was taping a hatbox shut.

Felix pushed a row of jackets along the rail. “I know.”

“There are still numbers.”

“I know that too.”

Mina gave him a card with 19 on it. Felix held it between two fingers while he carried a stack of folded shirts to the next room. He put it on the windowsill, then picked it up again when someone asked whether the window could be closed.

By the time the director called 14, Felix had learned that the last train left in twenty-two minutes. He checked this twice, once on the station app and once on the timetable someone had taped beside the kettle.

“You could get a taxi,” Mina said.

“I could also become a person who gets taxis.”

Mina laughed, then was called away to find a missing belt.

Number 15 read a page, then 16. Felix stood near the doorway with the card in his pocket. A young man beside him asked whether they had reached 17.

“Not yet,” Felix said.

The train time changed from twenty-two minutes to seventeen without his doing anything about it. When the director called 17, Felix checked the card in his pocket. The young man beside him asked whether they had reached 18.

“Not yet,” Felix said.

Someone inside began laughing at a line, then stopped abruptly. Felix waited where he was.