Asturias by Brian Caswell

you, waiting for someone to notice.
    But Max Parnell just nodded, absorbing the fact of my name without comment.
    â€œDo you sing?”
    â€œA little,” I stammered, while part of me whispered, Don’t be an idiot, you’ll only make a fool of yourself.
    Then I heard Penny speaking. “She’s got a great voice. She’s been singing since she was five.”
    Suddenly I understood.
    Penny wasn’t nearly as naive as I was. She’d known the score from the moment she’d walked back into the booth — maybe even before that. It didn’t stop me feeling guilty later, when I was offered the job she’d wanted so badly, but it did mean that I didn’t have to lose a friend over it.
    She was out of the race and she knew it, so there wasn’t any harm in trying to help me win it.
    The rest is pretty much the way Max told it in the publicity stories. The others had auditioned to backing tapes, which they’d been given in advance to practise with, but I didn’t know any of the songs, so Alex, Tim and Chrissie took me into the studio and worked out a quick arrangement of a couple of songs I did know.
    And we did it.
    Looking back, I think that maybe the surprise factor worked to my advantage. I had no time to get nervous, everyone was willing to give me a little leeway because I was unprepared, and I had the guys in the studio with me, so there was a bit of feedback that the others hadn’t had.
    Whatever the reason, they brought out the best in me. I’d never sung in a studio before, and I just took to it.
    â€œLike a pig to mud,” Alex said afterwards. He said it in Spanish first, “Como un chancho a barro”, then translated it. I found out later it was one of his grandfather’s favourite expressions.
    I guess it was the way they joked with me that told me I stood a chance, well before I stepped back into the booth. Max’s expression more or less confirmed it, even though they didn’t officially tell me until a couple of days later.
    Penny didn’t speak until we were in the cab on the way home. I thought she was upset, the way she stared out the window. Maybe she was, just a little. I knew how hard she’d worked for her shot at the “big-time”, and I think we both realised that it had just come — and gone.
    Penny was never much good at school, but she was one of the most talented people I’d ever met. She had a way with design that left most of the stuff I sold every day for dead. But her first love was singing, and I knew how much it must have been killing her, putting on a brave front for my benefit.
    But then she turned to me, and the only expression I could read was a smile.
    She touched my hand. Just a light touch. “Remember me when you’re rich and famous.”
    I didn’t want to get my hopes up. And I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I wasn’t sure how to reply.
    â€œWho knows what they’ll decide —” I began, but Penny cut me off.
    â€œHelloo?” She put on her best Beverley Hills Brat accent. “Earth to Natassia! Was I the only one paying attention back there?” I noticed the cab-driver looking at us in the rear-vision mirror. So did Penny. She stared at him until he looked away, then she continued, “They loved you, Tash. Shit, even I loved you, and you were the opposition.”
    â€œI didn’t mean to —”
    â€œOh, shut up, you idiot!” It was obvious I wasn’t going to get to finish a sentence. “There was no way they were going to pick me. Not even if you sang like Peewee Herman. I’m not stupid, my dear. Thing is, though … How come I never knew you could sing like that? I mean, I’ve known you most of our lives and you never …” She shrugged.
    I shrugged back. “Beats me! I never did it before.”
    It was true. Even as a kid at the stage-school they always stuck me in the back row. Away from