Black Angels???Red Blood by Steven McCarthy

with the old man. The old man finally got up to leave, saying he had to contact some places where he’d been booked to perform. Charlie offered him the use of his phone but the old man declined, preferring to walk and get some exercise. Tim walked the old man out to the street. The old man wandered down the street purposefully, ignoring the policecar driving past. Tim made up his mind to go and see a movie, by himself if necessary. Charlie was still waiting to see whether it was safe to sell pot again.
    The old man was deep in thought on the way up to the Cross. He was wondering how Tim would handle his final job. The old man was a bit sad because it would be the last time he would see Tim in his capacity as his teacher.

CHAPTER SEVEN
THE CALM
    Sylvia was in the dressing room putting her make-up on and rehearsing her lines as she went. “We will triumph together,” she said out loud. “Shit, who wrote this?”
    â€œDon’t be like that, there’s a reason for it,” Maggie said, pretending to scold her. Sylvia fell momentarily silent and Maggie, who had been busily putting on her make-up, stopped and put an arm around Sylvia.
    â€œWhy is Louise the way she is?” Sylvia asked sadly.
    â€œI don’t know Syl, but if you pack it in, she’s definitely a goner,” Maggie said.
    Sylvia snapped out of it and resumed her task. “Thanks, Maggie.” They could hear the men in the next dressing room firing each other up. The stage manager ran through the dressing rooms calling “twenty minutes”. Sylvia got a small tingle of butterflies. She did a round of deep breathing to control it.
    Tim and Charlie had been at the theatre for an hour or so drinking at the bar and observing the people now cramming in. Seventy-five per cent of the patrons were white. They’d bumped into a few people Tim hadn’t seen for a while and it was obvious that there was a party in the offing. The old man appeared at the door and Tim immediatelywent over to him. He helped him get his ticket and they went and sat with Charlie. As Tim returned with a cup of tea for the old man, a bell sounded warning patrons to take their seats. Tim told the old man not to rush as they had at least ten minutes.
    Resounding applause and an encore signalled the end of the show and the patrons emptied out of the theatre. It’s been a long time, Tim thought, since he’d been to a theatre show with money in his pocket. He used to stand around humbly, hoping people would shout him a beer. Not tonight. Tim, Charlie and the old man hung around to meet the cast. Tim thought it was a good show—crooked cops growing marijuana and lusting after young Aboriginal women. Tim wanted to smash the copper several times, he was so convincing. The part they got most right was the dying of the young man. He remarked to the old man that he thought Sylvia was great and meant it. The old man smiled and gave a happy, nasal “Yea” which caused a couple of white patrons to look up.
    There were about sixty people left and the majority were well-wishers and friends. Actors were hanging around waiting to meet directors and writers, intent on securing future employment. The cast appeared after twenty minutes. Sylvia arrived at their table after getting compliments from her friends and peers. Tim was reluctant to say anything and stood there smiling. The old man gave her an affectionate hug and said, “Here,” nodding to Tim, “this fella reckons you were great.” Sylvia smiled at Tim and said, “Thanks”.
    A party atmosphere was working its way over the crowd and the grog had loosened some lips. Tim wanted to talk to Sylvia about the play and offered to buy her a drink. He asked her about certain aspects of the play and they werelocked in conversation for five minutes before she was dragged away by the director to meet some people who were impressed by her performance. Tim went to compliment