Page 12 of The Voice We Find
She can’t be serious.I wait a beat, then two, thinking maybe Chiphas put her up to this? Is this woman nothing more than an innocent bystander to a prank involving one of my most traumatic childhood memories?
“You have a cat strapped to your back,” I repeat.
“Oh! Right,” she exclaims with a laugh. “Yes, I’m sorry.” She slips one shoulder strap down and then twists the whole weird contraption around to her front. “This is Phantom.” She then plunges her entire hand through a hole in the side of the bag with seemingly no fear of losing her extremities and then ... strokes its head. “Phantom, this is August.” She lowers her voice as if to keep her confession between us. “He’s adjusted to the backpack pretty well, but the last time he was in it was for a super long day of travel I’m sure neither of us wants to repeat anytime soon.”
I’m frozen. My limbs are stuck in this awkward mid-movement state, hands poised to cover my vital organs, water bottle wielded like a sword. I stare at the feline for what feels like all nine of its lives before I look up to its owner and simply ask, “But why?”
She tilts her head, her concerned expression directed at me. “Why what?”
“Why is hehere? In my recording studio. Is he some sort of...” I search my mental files for the proper terminology. “Emotional support cat or something?”
Sophie laughs. “More like I’m his emotional support human—although lately I suppose it’s about fifty-fifty.” She must pick up on my confusion by this point, because her smile dims. “I’m sorry. I was under the impression from Chip that it wouldn’t be a problem for me to bring Phantom today. I emailed him this morning to ask and—wait.” Her eyes widen as if only now being struck by the horror of this situation. “You aren’t allergic or anything, are you?”
Does phobia count as an allergy?I shake my head and watch as her neck splotches pink.
“Just not a cat person then ...” She swallows at whatever non-verbal answer she discerns in my expression. “Right ... and I suppose you probably think I’m some sort of crazy lady who always takes her cat out in public—but I promise you, I’m not. Crazy, Imean. At least, not about cats. Phantom is a special case; he’s a rescue cat, and he’s super old and practically blind in one eye, and my brother has this giant construction project going on right next to where we’re staying, and this morning the walls were actuallyvibratingfrom whatever jackhammer thingy they were using, and I truly thought Phantom might not survive the day if I left him alone.” She sucks in a huge breath. “Normally, I would be fine leaving him in the car for a bit, but there was no shade on the street where I parked, and it’s too hot in the sun, and so yeah ... that’s why he’s here.”
The second Sophie’s finished speaking, a cloud of awkwardness descends, leaving us at an impasse. While her persuasive speech might have moved the proverbial needle a notch or two closer to Team Phantom, it doesn’t erase the fact that cats are shifty and unpredictable.
This whole thing is such a signature Chip move. Naturally, he would think nothing of inviting a womanand her catto what is essentially a job interview—why? Because he’s a genuinely nice person who is rarely, if ever, put out by anyone. His bachelor-led lifestyle is full of fast-paced, spur-of-the-moment decisions that offer little in the way of consequence and a lot in the way of freedom. And sometimes it’s difficult not to feel the least bit envious of the autonomy he holds over his own life.
I’ve only just begun to calculate the ways he will need to make this up to me when the devil himself bursts inside.
“Hey, August.” He holds up a palm in greeting and then spots my surprise guest on the sofa. “And you must be Sophie. It’s so good to meet you.” He takes her free hand as if she’s a celebrity, grasping it with both of his and shaking vigorously. “I sincerely apologize for my tardiness. I always refer to rush hour as sloth hour.” Chip says all this as if it’s completely normal to greet a woman who is petting a geriatric cat inside a giant plastic bubble with air holes.
“No problem at all,” Sophie says with notably less brightness in her voice than she had three minutes ago. “It’s nice to finally put a face to all the emails we exchanged last week.”
Chip squats down then, eye level with the cat he approved for aplaydate in my studio. “And this handsome fella must be Phantom.” Chip grins and rocks back on his heels to smile up at Sophie. “Genius name. He looks exactly like him.”
I scrunch my eyebrows together.Like who?How many black-and-white cats has Chip been introduced to?
“Ya know, that was my first experience with live theater,” he continues, hand to his heart. “It made a big impact on me as a teenager.”
“I never got to see it live,” Sophie chimes in. “I so wish they’d bring it back.”
I look between them both, waiting for someone to clue me in on the last twenty seconds of this conversation, but they’ve already moved on. Chip invites Sophie back to the recording booth—my recording booth—at the far end of my studio while he chats up a storm regarding how pleased he was with her submission and how he has high hopes for this demo.
Meanwhile, the cat has been left in his see-through prison on the sofa, pawing to get out.
Not going to happen,buddy.
“August?” Chip rotates to face me as if I’ve just returned from an extended vacation. “I’d like for Sophie to read the sample chapter I sent her last night. You mind helping her get situated in the
booth?”
There is no interpretation needed for the look I laser into Chip on my way back to get Sophiesituated. But I suppose the sooner she reads, the sooner she and her cat backpack will be on their way, and the sooner I will make it abundantly clear to Chip that this scenario will never happen again. I signed a contract to produce unfinished cuts from the narrators he sends me, not to escort them into my booth after what might be one of the most uncomfortable interactions I’ve ever had with another human.
“I’m happy to read this for you, Chip,” Sophie says hesitantly, “but I’m sorry in advance if Phantom throws a fit. He can get a bit temperamental when he feels trapped.”
That makes two of us.
“How ’bout I hold him while you’re in the booth?” Chip offers.“It shouldn’t take more than ten or fifteen minutes. I’m interested to hear how you interpret each character description I emailed you last night. There are six characters in the reading I’ve chosen. Feel free to take a moment.”
“Thank you.” Sophie appears to be studying the script on her phone carefully.
I hand her a pair of studio headphones. “I’m guessing you’re familiar with this process?”
She looks up at me then, and I feel a distinct, radiating pinch in the center of my chest. “Actually, no,” she says as if this is a confession booth instead of a recording booth. “This is all new to me. I used my iPhone to record the audition for Fog Harbor’s submission opening. I don’t have a home studio like a lot of the narrators I’ve researched online. My living situation is too temporary for something like
