Everybody Loves Somebody by Joanna Scott

Author:Joanna Scott
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780316076838
Publisher: Little, Brown and Company
Published: 2009-06-26T21:00:00+00:00

YIP

Yip.

Yip.

Yip.

This is a tape of Harold Linder. Brilliant young Harold. I want Harold to be the star of my show. Listen:

Yip.

Yip.

His brilliance lies in his uninhibited love of his own voice. It doesn’t matter to him what he says. To speak aloud is everything. No, not quite everything. To speak aloud in front of an audience is everything. This is my discovery.

Yip. Yadderyipip. Yadderyipiphipippityhiphop.

Yip.

Yip.

Charlie looks forward to a tempting meal. Oh, Charlie. Yip. Oh, Charlie. Yip. Hap. Haphop. Do you like soup, Charlie? Yip. Soup, Charlie? Yip.

Yip.

Yip.

I found him in Bellevue, where I’d gone to see Mr. Jack Dawes, the leading man in my last production. Jack had been hospitalized after he was found wandering along Madison Avenue in puris naturalibus. Uncased, as it were, and obviously enjoying the attention. I’d received an anonymous phone call alerting me to the fact that another member of my company required immediate medical attention. As I expected, the reporters were waiting outside the hospital armed with cameras, pens, and their ubiquitous notepads when I arrived. They are always ready to publicize a celebrity’s embarrassment. They have built their careers upon such exposure, and those of us in the limelight must accept it as a sort of tax upon our fame. Which is not to say that one must lose all dignity at such moments. As I stepped from the taxicab I raised my hand as though preparing to make a speech, then I strode solidly, full of purpose, toward the entrance and into the lobby.

After signing the necessary papers to commit Jack Dawes for forty-eight hours, I took a stroll along the corridors of the locked ward. That’s where I met young Harold, who was leaning against a wall and yipping.

Yip.

Yip.

Yadderyipyip.

The clarity of the sound, even amidst the hubbub of insanity, impressed me, and I stopped to listen. At the time I believed he was unaware of me watching him, but now I understand how important it is for Harold to have an audience. No one can be a spectator to his performance without Harold’s tacit permission.

Yadderyip. Yadderyip. Oh, Charlie. Poor Charlie. Do you want something to eat, Charlie?

Yip.

Yip.

Yip.

This boy is not mad, I told the doctors. They disagreed and named his disorder, one of those tangled Latin names that always seems to celebrate exaggeration. I asked to take Harold along home with me, but the doctors said I would need his mother’s permission. So I called her, Mrs. Linder, and asked if I might borrow her son. She refused, of course. Then I told her who I was, but as it turned out she was one of the few people in the city who had never heard of me.

“Mrs. Linder, I want Harold in my play,” I explained. That interested her.

“What would he do?” she asked.

“I want him in my show,” I said.

“But what would he do?”

“I don’t know. Whatever he wants to do. Whatever comes naturally to him.”

She said she’d think about it and call me back. A few minutes later the pay phone rang, and it was Mrs.

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