Sing for Their Supper - 14

"What do you think?" Sam asked as soon as they got back to the spot on the street where they usually set up.

"It's… I don't know. Scary but exciting," Mace replied. "I mean. Are we really good enough? What if we aren't? I don't think I am. Not to get up on a stage and act."

"I know what you mean," Sam said. "This singing out here is one thing. People aren't paying to hear us."

"They should be," Jolie said. "And they sort of are when they put change into the can or Sam's guitar case." She looked at the guys. "They do do that, so they must think we're pretty good."

"True, I suppose. But do we have what it takes to pull off the acting part?"

"Tuck said he'd coach us."

Sam nodded. "He's an actor, so he'd know what he's doing."

"It's a free place to stay," Jolie pointed out. "And safe."

"There is that—if we make the grade. If we don't, we're back here."

"You two won't have a problem," Mace said. "Me?" He stared disconsolately down at the sidewalk.

"You'll be great," Jolie told him, giving him a hug. "Honest."

"Can I think about it some more?" he replied.

"We all should," Sam said. "This is too important to go off half-cocked. We have to believe we can handle it."

"At least we'll have each other," Jolie said. "That'll help."

Sam smiled, then suggested it was time for them to start earning a bit of money because, as he put it, "If we do decide to join him, we might want to at least have a couple of shirts that didn't come from the drop-in spot."

Mace looked at him in mock horror. "You mean, go into a store and buy some? Like real people."

"We are real people," Sam replied. He glanced down at his tattered jeans. "It's just that sometimes we don't dress the part."

They all laughed, then when Sam took out his guitar, they set to work.

*****

Tuck stood at the side of the plaza, watching the woman at one of the two pianos. She fit Jolie's description of Lady Roma—around thirty, with dark hair hanging in a braid down her back, and eccentrically clothed in a long, if well-worn, colorful skirt.

"Damn, she can sing—and play," he said under his breath. He glanced around to see how the other people in the plaza were reacting. Positively. Very positively.

Then he saw a young man, maybe seventeen or eighteen and obviously homeless from how he was dressed. The kid was dancing at the edge of the plaza, his expression so intense that Tuck knew he was in a world of his own. It wasn't some modern dance that teens did but serious dancing. Almost choreographed in its steps and movements.

Tuck was torn between talking to Lady Roma and going over to the kid. The decision was made when the kid stopped, picked up a small pile of papers from the ground, then began to walk away. I know where to find Lady Roma, but him…

"Excuse me," Tuck said, catching up with the kid.