Viola in the Spotlight Read Online Free PDF Page A

kitchenette, perfect for someone who needs a short-term stay in the city.
    “Lovely,” Mr. Longfellow says in his British accent.
    “There’s a garden.” Dad shows Mr. Longfellow the way to the slate portico off the back bedroom. Dad hosed down the slate floor and moved small trees in terra-cotta urns to create a wall of privacy between the porch and our backyard. From this vantage point, all you see is green through the French doors from the bedroom. Nice. Mom moved the best of our garden furniture, a wrought-iron table and two deck chairs with white canvas cushions, to the portico. It almost looks like the terrace of a fancy hotel.
    “Ah, a garden.” Mr. Longfellow’s shoulders relax.
    “Our last tenant even read the paper out here in the winter.”
    “It’s peaceful,” Mr. Longfellow says. “I’m going to need a respite during rehearsals.”
    Mr. Longfellow is like any of Grand’s theater friends. He uses language as it sounds in books, not as it sounds in conversation. He is dramatic in a gentlemanly way, his eyebrows shoot up and down, and he has very deliberate facial expressions. He has a booming voice and fills a room when he enters it. It’s sort of a star-quality thing. When I used to ride the subway with Grand, we played a game called Star Quality. We would choose people on the train who we felt had cinematic potential. Here’s the list of things you must have to be a star, the SQ specifics:
     
Large-size head
Wet eyes (limpid for camera work; nearsighted people often have the best eyes for film work)
Wide-set eyes. Eyes too close together are hard to film.
Great beauty for a woman (full lips, small nose) or
Obvious masculinity (square jaw, high forehead, hair!) with rough edges for a man
Deliberate character features (unique nose, expressive mouth)
When this person enters a room, subway car, or any enclosed place, if everyone looks up at the person simultaneously, that’s a sign of star quality. SQ is a mesmerizing presence that draws attention to itself just by existing. SQ is as obvious as it is rare. SQ cannot be manufactured; it has to exist in and wholly of itself.
    Les Longfellow looks like one of the guys in the painting of the Last Supper. He has a red beard and short hair. He’s taller than my dad but about the same age. “Do you have a roll-away bed for the bedroom?” he wants to know.
    “We do.”
    “I’ll need one.”
    “You can have as much company as you like,” my dad says. “Let me show you the basement where we do the laundry.”
    Mr. Longfellow follows Dad down to the basement. Mom peeks out the back door. “How’s it going?” she asks me.
    “He likes it. We have to get the roll-away out of the attic.”
    “No problem.”
    Dad and Mr. Longfellow come up from the basement. They discuss good restaurants in Brooklyn. Mr. Longfellow likes Indian food. I’ll have to ask Caitlin for up-to-date recommendations. He also likes the occasional Italian farm-table fare (whatever that is).
    Dad extends his hand. “It’s all yours, Les. Welcome to Brooklyn.”
    “Thank you.” He turns to me. “How old are you, Viola?”
    “I’m fifteen.”
    “That’s exactly how old my son is. He’s going to spend the summer with me.”
    “Viola can show him all the sights.” Dad smiles and looks at me.
    “Sure,” I say. The last thing I want is to get stuck with some snobby British boy for the summer, but I’ll agree to anything so my parents get a good renter in here. Besides, he might be cute, and I can practice talking to a boy from a foreign country who will not be able to either glom on or dis me at school, depending on his reaction. Either way, I’m going to be nice to the Longfellows. This is my way of contributing to the family coffers without having to get an actual job. “I’ll even introduce him to my friends. We’ll find stuff to do.”
    “Wonderful,” Mr. Longfellow says.
    Dad gives Mr. Longfellow the keys to the apartment. “I’ll move in tomorrow,” he