Tears of a Duke - Edna's Audition

This is the first in a series of extracts from my forthcoming book Tears of a Duke. It's a harrowing tale of corruption, lust and jockey-politics set against the backdrop of a non-specific war. Edna is a young, black, disabled, gay, old woman struggling for acceptance and self-discovery. In this extract, Edna is auditioning for a part in a Broadway show.

***

The stage sagged under the weight of Edna's expectations. And thighs.

The clipboards and suits that lined the front row, greeted her with a gasp of astonishment and disgust (like a normal gasp, but with more chunks). The whispers spread like bush-fire, and Edna froze.

"How old are you?" asked a bespectacled man in his fifties.

"55, sir," replied Edna, quivering slightly.

"55? That's a little young for an old woman, isn't it?"

Edna had heard this before. Growing up in the projects, she'd always been young for her age. She had clearly been the youngest teenager in her school - this had been clear from the day of her thirteenth birthday - and this, together with her race, girth, and other physical abnormalities, had made her an easy target.

"No, sir. I am an old woman. An old human."

She knew this was a mistake. The indignant audition panel bristled like teeth on a novelty comb.

"Well? Are you going to audition or not?"

Edna centred herself. She nodded with conviction, and the music began to play. As the Australian strings swelled, and the vibrant jungle beats kicked in, she suddenly felt at home. Her gracefulness took everyone by surprise.

She jived, she jove. She shimmied, she shammied. She wove, weaved, waved, wuved. Edna Horsetits was poetry in motion. Poetry not of words, but of body and space. Poetry oozed out of every pore, rhythmically, hypnotically. Every organ was poetry.

Lungs? Poetry.

Liver? Poetry.

Pancreas? Poetry.

The oppression that she had battled her whole life was expelled like so much troublesome sediment. She let it all hang out.

The music stopped. Edna stopped. And for a moment: silence.

It seemed like an eternity, that silence. When in reality it wasn't an eternity, but just about twenty seconds (much less than an eternity).

Suddenly, unexpectedly, the bespectacled man wiped condensation from his lenses, and began to applaud. Gradually, the whole panel joined in. The theatre was overcome by a tidal wave of clapping and light hooting. The man climbed onto the stage and extended his hand.

Edna, moved beyond sense, reached out to touch his hand with hers. Their fingers were almost in contact.

But the handshake would never come. Instead came the nasal moan of an air raid siren.

And, as the klaxons blared like a Scouse child, all Edna could think about was the man she'd left behind.

"Billy! Oh God, Billy!"
***

Philip Hensher was an idiot. I'm an AMAZING writer.