Screaming Divas Part 11

"Well, are you sure it was Daddy? You ought to ask him directly. It might be some huge mix-up."

Johnette started crying. She covered her face with her hands and Ca.s.sie saw that her nail polish was chipped. Her hair was oily, too, as if she'd given up on bathing. She began rocking, her keening rising to the ceiling.

Ca.s.sie felt dizzy all of a sudden. Johnette's crying was getting all mixed up with her mother's voice. She could hear Mama yelling, "You b.i.t.c.h. You wh.o.r.e. You home wrecker." She could hear the ice clinking in her mama's gla.s.s. Sobs. Screams. The squeal of tires.

"I'm sorry," Ca.s.sie murmured, gripping her head. Drills were biting into her brain. The living room went blurry. She ran for the door, knocking over a basket of laundry on the way. The door was so heavy, but she managed to push it open. Johnette was calling after her. She didn't turn back. She rested on the front porch for a moment, sucking in fresh air, until the pain subsided. Slowly, everything came back into focus-the black mailbox at the end of the driveway, the birdbath centered on the lawn, the brick house across the street. Then she got into her car and drove away.

Where to go? She stopped by Trudy's house, but no one was home. Esther and Harumi were both at work. She kept driving till she found herself in front of Adam's house.

When he opened the door, she thought she had the wrong place. All surfaces-the tables and counters and chairs-were cleared. The floors, too, were spick and span and free of clutter.

"What happened here?" Ca.s.sie asked, throwing herself on the sofa. "Did you hire a maid?"

Adam laughed. "No, my parents came to visit."

How weird to imagine Adam with parents. It was even stranger to realize that he cared what they thought of his lifestyle and that he was willing to clean up for them. They must all be close.

Ca.s.sie had never tried to impress her daddy with housekeeping. They'd had someone come in twice a week to run the vacuum over the plush carpets and dust the tables for as long as she could remember. Even if she had cleaned her own room, it's not like Daddy would have noticed. He didn't really give a d.a.m.n about what Ca.s.sie did or didn't do.

Back when she was fifteen, he'd come across Ca.s.sie and a boy both naked in the den. Instead of going for the shotgun like a normal father, he'd turned red and excused himself. The boy had fled the house with his shirt untucked and his shoes untied. Ca.s.sie had waited and waited for a reprimand or at least a chat about safe s.e.x, but the issue never came up.

In this cleaned-up room, even Adam looked better. His skin had more color. He was wearing a white cotton shirt and faded jeans. His hair had been trimmed.

"Do you want a drink?" Adam asked. "Smoke some pot?"

At first Ca.s.sie had thought that she wanted to talk, but now it didn't seem worth the bother. Plus, if she mentioned Johnette, her stepmother would always be between them, shared knowledge hovering like a spirit. She just wanted to be oblivious for a while. "No, thanks." She crooked her finger at him.

Adam grinned. He pulled the blinds, and the room became darker, like twilight. Then he prowled toward her, a cat going after a bird.

Ca.s.sie stayed still, watching him with amus.e.m.e.nt. When he was within her reach, she yanked him toward her by his belt loops. He lost his balance and fell on top of her.

Ca.s.sie squirmed out from underneath and straddled his hips. She began unb.u.t.toning his shirt, leaning down to kiss his brown nipples. When she got to the last b.u.t.ton, she tried to slide it over his shoulders.

He sat up to help her out, wriggling out of his shirt and attacking her b.u.t.tons at the same time. When his arms were bared, Ca.s.sie sucked in her breath. The soft insides of his elbows were black with bruises. Track marks. He was a junkie.

Maybe she should have been repelled, but she wasn't in a way. It was cool. A turn-on. It made him seem tragic and dangerous, like Jim Morrison or Billie Holiday. She wondered what it would be like to stick a needle in her veins. Just once.

24.

Harumi watched the taillights of the taxi until they were out of sight, then heaved her suitcase and ba.s.s case onto the porch. She could hear Diana Ross belting out "I Hear a Symphony." Trudy was home.

She banged on the door, but no one came. Finally she tried the doork.n.o.b. It was open. She waited till the song died down and stuck her head inside. "Hey, Trudy?"

A few seconds later, she popped out of her room. "Harumi!" A smile lit up her face. "What's up?"

"Can I crash here for a few nights? My dad went psycho. He's about to lock me in the attic-without Zelda-and throw away the key. I had to get out of there."

"Yeah, I know how parents can be. I've sent mine invitations to all of our gigs so far, and they haven't shown up once." Trudy grabbed the suitcase by the handle and started dragging it into the middle of the room. "My new motto is 'Make Your Own Family.' So welcome, sister. The sofa is yours."

"Thanks." Harumi sank into the cushions. She was suddenly overcome with exhaustion. Well, tomorrow was Sat.u.r.day. Maybe she could sleep in. "I owe you one."

Trudy disappeared for a moment. Harumi thought she was off to get sheets and a pillow, but no. She returned with two bottles of beer and her guitar.

"I want to learn to play this thing for real. Could you give me some pointers while you're here?"

Really, all Harumi wanted was to curl up on that plaid acrylic and go to sleep, but she didn't want to be rude. Trudy was being really nice and she had to respect her desire to become a better musician. A lot of people thought that Trudy was just fooling around, but Harumi knew that she was totally serious about the band and their music.

"Yeah, okay." Harumi rubbed her eyes and straightened up. "Get ready for lesson one."

The look on Trudy's face was pure bliss. "Oh, thank you, thank you."

Harumi had to admit that it was nice to be appreciated.

The next morning, after four hours of sleep, Harumi woke to the crashing of pots and pans.

"I hate you!" It was Madeline, Trudy's apartment-mate.

"What are you doing? You're going to take my head off with that thing." Harumi guessed it was Madeline's boyfriend speaking.

"That's the point!"

And then came the sound of a cast-iron frying pan thudding on the floor.

Harumi's head hurt. She wanted to ask Gil to turn down the stereo. The jazz was making everything worse. It was weird in a way, a musician craving silence. But music wasn't the problem. It was a lack of sleep, an overabundance of stress. After spending the last few nights on Trudy's sofa, she knew that she had to find another place to live, and fast.

All she could afford with her tips from Goatfeathers was a little attic room somewhere. Or maybe she could find roommates who were a little less dramatic. There was no way she was going back home with her tail between her legs.

Harumi saw Chip come in through the door. He loosened his tie as he made his way to his favorite stool. Goatfeathers was like his living room or something. Harumi wondered what his real living room looked like. His cuffs and collars were always neatly pressed, his trousers expertly creased. He seemed the type of guy who'd fold his old newspapers and stack them in a corner for recycling. He'd have a great stereo system, and a leather modular sofa and thick cream-colored carpet to cushion every step.

All right, she was projecting. She was imagining the opposite of Trudy's apartment because that's what she craved at the moment. In reality, she knew next to nothing about Chip. She knew that he was a stockbroker, and that he liked Red Stripe and Sapporo beer, and, sometimes, chips with guacamole dip. He probably worked out, because she could see that he had muscular forearms when he rolled back his sleeves and he didn't have a gut hanging over his waistband like a lot of post-college grads. She figured he was close to thirty. His brown hair was just beginning to recede, but he was basically a handsome guy.

He smelled good, too. Harumi caught a whiff of his citrusy cologne when she got close to the table. "Hey, Chip. The usual?"

He looked up from his magazine and smiled. "Naw. I think I'll try something different today. Bring me a Tsing Tao."

"Coming up." Harumi felt a little bit better now that Chip was here. She knew he'd leave a good tip and he was unfailingly polite, unlike the frat boys who often crowded in. Plus, he was obviously a guy in control of his destiny, and after all of the disorder of the past week or so, that was somehow rea.s.suring.

She took a bottle of the Chinese beer out of the refrigerator, pulled a chilled mug from the freezer, and put them both on a tray. When she was arranging the c.o.c.ktail napkin at Chip's elbow, he said, "So do you work all the time? Or do you get a night off?"

Harumi kept her eyes on the beer bottle. "I get time off."

"Would you be interested in having dinner with me?"

Harumi froze for a moment, then hurried to finish her business. She set down the frosted mug with a little more force than she'd intended. "I don't know," she said. "I'm in a band. We have to practice a lot."

"I see."

Harumi looked at him then. He was trying to smile, but his eyes flickered away from hers. She'd embarra.s.sed him. Oh, no. "Do you want some peanuts or something? A piece of cheesecake?"

"No, thanks."

She lingered for a moment longer, but he just nodded and picked up the magazine he'd been thumbing through earlier. There goes my tip, she thought. She slunk behind the counter and started to mop up imaginary spills.

No one had ever asked her out before. She wouldn't even know what to do on a date. Chip probably thought that she was blowing him off, or that she had a boyfriend stashed away somewhere, but really, she was scared. She wanted to tell him this. She even thought of writing a message on the back of his check, but Gil asked her to do something in the stock room, and when she'd finished arranging bottles on the shelves, Chip's stool was empty and two dollars were on the table.

Harumi picked up the money and studied it for a moment. It was just ordinary money, of course, George Washington and a pyramid with an eye, but she folded it and stuffed it into her skirt pocket instead of stuffing it into the tip jar to be divided evenly among the members of the wait staff. It was silly, she knew, junior high school behavior, but suddenly Chip was a looming presence in her life.

A couple came into Goatfeathers, a guy with long blond hair in a crisp white shirt with his mini-skirted date. They crawled into a booth, both on the same side, so they could sit thigh to thigh. Harumi watched them, watched their fingers grapple and cling under the table. They were so easy with one another, so possessive of one another's bodies. Was this behavior natural? Harumi tried to imagine sitting like that with Chip. She imagined him brushing the hair from her ear and whispering against her skin.

She brought a menu to the couple, but they barely noticed her. They were locked in their own world. Harumi remembered a story her mother had told her about an invisible string connecting the little fingers of those who were fated to be lovers. She looked at the young woman's pinky. It was long and slender, and now it was in the blond guy's mouth.

"I'll be back in a minute," Harumi said. She didn't think they were paying attention.

When the last of the customers had disappeared and her shift had ended, Gil offered her a ride home on the back of his motorcycle.

"No, that's okay. But thanks." She knew it wasn't safe to wander the streets at one A.M., but a walk home would give her a few minutes of solitude. She needed a bit of peace before walking back into Trudy's realm.

The stars were dimmed by clouds. Harumi dragged her feet, kicking up pebbles. From the yard, she could hear the blare of a Supremes record. She sat on the edge of the porch, trying to build up enough energy to get through the door. Trudy would probably spew advice freely, if asked, but Harumi had already heard the stories-how she'd spent time in the juvenile home, how she'd set Adam's room on fire. Trudy's life was a mess, and Harumi didn't want to model her love life after hers. She'd have to play it by ear.

25.

Esther had been stuck at school with a teacher who wanted to discuss her paper, and now she was thirty minutes late for work. She thought of popping into a phone booth and letting Rebecca know she was on her way, but figured she'd be better off heading straight for the gallery.

A sneaky part of her knew that Rebecca wouldn't yell at her or dock her pay for tardiness, but Esther tried not to abuse her privileges; she wanted to keep everything professional at work.

When she walked in the door, she was surprised to find Rebecca in her path, tapping her toes with her arms crossed. "Where have you been?" She pointed to her watch, and then, for emphasis, to the clock on the wall, an arty timepiece with arrows for hands and shapes instead of numbers.

"Sorry," Esther said, ducking her head. Rebecca was obviously agitated and it was obviously her fault, but why?

"I've got something to tell you."

Esther looked up then and saw that Rebecca wasn't angry, just impatient.

"What is it you've always wanted?" Rebecca asked in a gentle, coaxing voice.

Esther had no idea where this was leading. She tossed up her hands. "A million dollars? World peace?"

"Be serious, dear." Rebecca rested her hands on Esther's shoulders and leaned in to deliver her message. "I've made you a drummer."

"What?"

"That's what you wanted, isn't it? To be a drummer for Screaming Divas."

Esther rubbed her forehead with her palm. This made no sense. She was still in the floundering-around-in-the-bas.e.m.e.nt stage. She wasn't ready to join the band yet, and she hadn't auditioned. "What did you do?"

"Well, Trudy-Ms. Sin, rather-came by earlier and asked me to handle bookings for the band ...."

Esther sighed. "And you said you'd do it if they let me be drummer."

Rebecca's arms dropped to her side and she took a few paces. "Not let. I didn't say 'let.'"

Esther could feel tears welling, but she fought them back. She wanted to be in control of her own life, but Rebecca had the reins. At the very least, she could control her emotions.

"Rebecca," she said flatly. "I appreciate everything you do for me, but I wanted to do just this one thing on my own."

"But she asked me," Rebecca went on. "She begged me to help them and then she told me that they need a new drummer and I thought of you. If you don't want to do it, I'll find somebody else."

Esther climbed onto the stool behind the cash register and leaned on her elbows. What was it that her mother was always saying? It's not what you know, it's who you know. And she knew Rebecca. She had to admit that her mentor was well connected and willing to make things happen. If it took Rebecca's intervention to get close to Harumi and Ca.s.sie, then she'd put up with it.

"All right. I'm sorry I overreacted." Esther took a deep breath and forced a smile. "It is what I want, but I'm nervous. I'm not sure I can live up to their-and your-expectations. I've only been practicing for a couple of weeks."

Rebecca approached her then. She wrapped her arms around Esther and murmured into her hair. "I know that you'll be fabulous. No one will be disappointed."

Then the door whooshed open and Esther wriggled out of her embrace.

26.

Christmas was coming. Ca.s.sie dreaded the thought. She couldn't imagine anything worse than sitting around a fake tree with Johnette's low-fat candy cane cookies. Or maybe Johnette wouldn't be there. Ca.s.sie was putting off the rest of her Christmas shopping till she found out what the deal with her father and stepmother was. She'd already bought gifts for the Divas: for Trudy, an LP of The Supremes Live at the Copacabana, earrings shaped like guitars for Harumi, and a book of poetry for Esther. She'd gotten her dad a sweater-cashmere, no less-but she didn't want to waste money on Johnette's present if she was about to move out.

Ca.s.sie stopped wondering when her dad called her into his office.

"Listen, Ca.s.s, I need to talk to you about Christmas." He was all business, no time for small talk. "I hate to do this to you, but I'm not going to be around."

"You're not?"