Screaming Divas Part 13

"Last night you whispered into my hair 'Kiss me right now, if you dare.'

I closed my eyes and welcomed your lips And until morning I took little sips.

"I pray for the night Because that's when we meet I hate the daylight Reality is not as sweet As the dreams where I hear you say '"We share the same blood We're sisters under the skin Rise out of the mud Our love is no sin.'"

When Trudy had finished she glanced over at Harumi, whose neck still drooped, then Ca.s.sie, who was watching Esther. Finally she aimed her eyes at Esther and sneered, "This is Hallmark c.r.a.p. We can't sing this." She thrust the paper back at Esther. "We're b.i.t.c.hes. Don't you get it?" She snorted and tossed her head.

"It could be a ballad," Ca.s.sie said. "I think it's kind of pretty, especially the part about dancing in the moonlight."

Trudy glared at her. "We don't do ballads. We're punk."

Ca.s.sie shrugged. It was obvious that Trudy was in one of her moods and there weren't going to be any drastic changes in her point of view in the next few minutes.

Esther crumpled the paper and stuffed it into her pocket. Later she'd burn the whole notebook. She kept her face turned away from the others while she packed up her equipment. She'd suffered enough humiliation for one day; she didn't want anyone to see her tears. She felt a gentle hand on her back.

"Hey." It was Ca.s.sie.

Esther looked up and sniffled.

"Hey, don't let her get to you. Trudy's mad at the world, not you. She's got all these unresolved issues with her parents. You know, her dad kicked her out of the house and her mama doesn't want to have anything to do with her. Sometimes the anger just jumps out of her."

Esther nodded, but it was hard not to take rejection personally.

"By the way, I think it's a beautiful song."

Esther tried to twist her lips into a smile. Ca.s.sie had never been so nice to her before. She knew she'd play this moment over and over while she stared at the ceiling that night.

"If you wait a sec, I'll walk out with you," Ca.s.sie whispered.

Esther rubbed the tears out of her eyes and nodded. She wanted to burst out of the house and never go back, but Ca.s.sie's sweetness made everything else worthwhile. She lingered by the door while Ca.s.sie gathered up her guitar and exchanged a few final wisecracks with Trudy. Then Ca.s.sie winked at her, and they left the house together.

Ca.s.sie's Beetle was parked right in front, but she walked with Esther to her car across the street.

Esther didn't know why Ca.s.sie was walking to her car and she didn't know what to say. They were silent until she slipped the key into the lock.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Ca.s.sie's voice was calm and clear.

Esther turned to look at her, a sudden panic tightening her chest. "What?"

"You're the one who wrote me all those letters."

For a second, Esther thought about throwing herself into her car and peeling out of there. Would there be no end to her shame on this awful night? But then she looked into Ca.s.sie's eyes and saw nothing but wonder and curiosity. "Yes," she confessed, in a strange, high voice.

Ca.s.sie stepped back. "I thought so." She smiled then, as if solving the mystery had given her great joy. "I still have them, you know. They're in a s...o...b..x under my bed." Then Ca.s.sie put a finger to her lips and Esther knew that she wouldn't tell anyone. It would be their secret.

Esther watched her retreat. She watched until Ca.s.sie had gotten into her car and started the engine. She saw Ca.s.sie's hand lift from the steering wheel.

Esther waved back, then sank against the vinyl seats, trying to still her trembling limbs.

29.

Ca.s.sie knew about Adam's habit, but she'd never seen him shoot up before. She wasn't even sure she'd ever seen him when the junk was coursing through his veins, though there had been afternoons when his eyes were unnaturally bright, his movements a little too slow.

One afternoon when Ca.s.sie was sitting cross-legged on his floor, he reached under the tattered sofa for the wooden box that held his kit.

"Can I watch?" she asked, before he had a chance to ask her to leave.

Adam looked at her face for a long moment. Then he dropped his eyes and lifted the lid. "I don't care."

She was silent and still, like a hiker in the presence of wildlife. She watched his ritual-the careful measuring of white powder, the spoon over the flame, the belt tightened over his bicep-with fascination. And then she observed the needle sliding into his vein, the backwash of blood in the syringe, the relaxation of his face. He moaned, then fell back against the sofa, forgetting she was there.

It scared her as much as it attracted her. She knew how easily things could go wrong, yet she craved that instant relief. She'd thought all this time that she wanted only to be loved, but what she really wanted was to get out of her body.

The next time she went to him, she asked if she could try, too.

He grinned crookedly, his unwashed hair falling in his eyes. "What? You want me to corrupt you?"

"It's too late for that," she said.

He stared at her for a long time and she was afraid that he'd see the desperation there. She should try to be more casual about it. Make it seem like it didn't matter to her at all.

Finally his gaze dropped. "All right."

Ca.s.sie smiled.

"You have to be careful," he told her, as he tapped out the powder. "You shouldn't do this alone. And never when drunk. People pa.s.s out and choke on their own vomit. Got it?"

She nodded, flipped her hair back. She hated being babied. She probably knew more about the world than Adam, with his ordinary middle cla.s.s parents and interior trips. Heroin didn't make you wise. Or at least she didn't expect it to.

She held out her arm, the way she did for nurses, and waited while he tied a silk scarf around her. The veins popped out, blue and fat. He pressed down on one with his finger, then kissed it. Ca.s.sie thought it was the most erotic thing he'd ever done.

She closed her eyes, heard him tapping the ampoule with a fingernail, then felt the needle's p.r.i.c.k.

She waited for something to happen.

At first, there was nothing, and then gradually, she felt a calm enter her body. It was like being in the warm bath water with Mama, having her head stroked as she drifted off to sleep, or being rocked, maybe. It was lovely, like a Monet watercolor, blurry and soft.

But that first afternoon, she wound up cramped and retching over the toilet. Adam, seemingly unaffected, held her torso and smoothed back her hair.

"The first time can be rough," he said. He kissed her clammy cheek. "Believe me, it gets better."

She vowed she would try again.

30.

Friday evening, Harumi stood in front of the mirror in Ca.s.sie's leopard print sheath. It looked odd on her, like a costume, but there was nothing in her own closet that seemed right. She'd changed three times already-from a red silk dress (too Chinese) to a Laura Ashley floral ensemble (too prim) to a tunic and black tights (too Goatfeathers; he'd already seen it twenty times). Ca.s.sie was the daughter of a beauty queen. She knew more about dressing up than anyone. Harumi decided to trust her judgment.

She closed her eyes and thought of Tiffany Hart, heroine of Mrs. H.'s latest romance novel. Tiffany's voluptuous b.r.e.a.s.t.s threatened to spill out of her red silk gown.

"Harumi?" Mrs. Harris was calling her. She probably wanted ice cream or a bedtime story, and there was no time for that.

She latched a thrift shop rhinestone bracelet onto her wrist and hurried to the bedroom. "What is it, Mrs. Harris?" she asked from the doorway.

Regal as ever, the woman leaned against her pillows. She reached for Harumi. "Come here, my dear."

Harumi's gaze slipped to the clock. Chip was due any minute. She hoped he'd be late.

The woman's grip was surprisingly strong. Her skin felt like washed paper, all soft and wrinkled. "Enjoy yourself, my dear," she said in her quavery voice. "But be home by midnight."

"What?" Harumi couldn't help herself. Mrs. Harris was probably lost in the long ago, confusing her with a daughter, and Harumi was usually cheerful about playing along. But if she wasn't, if she was indeed imposing a curfew on her home helper, Harumi would have to set her straight.

"Mrs. Harris, I am an adult. I am old enough to vote or join the army, and I'm not your child."

The woman's eyes widened at this sudden outburst, but then disappeared in the crinkles of a smile. "There, there. No need to get all worked up." She patted Harumi's hand with her liver-spotted one. "I'm doing you a favor. This is your first date with the young man, is it not?"

Harumi nodded, slightly wary.

"And you have never had a boyfriend."

Harumi opened her mouth to protest. Was it so plain to see? Were words tattooed on her forehead? Virgin. Never been kissed. Then she remembered that interview with the old woman's daughter.

"If things get too steamy and you're feeling uncomfortable, just tell him that you have to be home by twelve. And that if you're late, I'll fire you." She winked. "And another thing. Be sure to hold back. These modern girls on TV tell their life stories on the first date, but I'm telling you, men like a little mystery. You know those G.o.diva chocolates I like so much?"

Harumi nodded, not sure where this was going. Mrs. Harris limited herself to one a day.

"Well, you should think of your charms like a box of bonbons. Dole them out slowly. Let him savor each one and make him want more." The woman bore an expression of ecstasy, presumably thinking about chocolate.

"So, uh, which bonbon do you think I should dole out first?"

Her eyes snapped open. "Well, you could talk about hobbies."

"Hobbies?" Surely not her music. That was her pa.s.sion, her life. She'd done the newspaper crossword that morning. Did that count?

Mrs. Harris released her hands at last to the chime of the doorbell.

"Oh, no," Harumi muttered under her breath. She went to the front room.

Tiffany threw open the door. "Hiya, big boy. I've been thinking about you all day."

"Um, hi."

He was standing there with an armful of blood-red roses.

"They're gorgeous," she said.

Chip looked her up and down. "So are you."

She could feel his eyes on her back as she turned away from him in search of a vase. She couldn't remember how to walk. Every step felt strange.

In the kitchen, she found a gla.s.s pitcher big enough to hold the blossoms. She filled it with tap water and unwrapped the cellophane from the stems.

How was she going to make it through the evening? She'd never been so nervous in her life-not even when she'd soloed for the first time.

"Let me change and I'll be right with you."

"No," Chip said. "You look great. I love that dress."

She raised her eyebrows. "This?" A smile splashed across her face. "It's a rag."

Chip was wearing khakis and a cabled cotton tennis sweater, with topsiders without socks. He looked as if he was about to set out for a polo match or the country club.

"At Goatfeathers, when you're all dressed up, you look so chilly and unapproachable. But like this-" He shrugged. "I don't know. You seem friendly."

"Chilly?" She c.o.c.ked her hip. The spirit of Tiffany had invaded her body. Or it could have been Ca.s.sie. The dress. I'm flirting, she realized with a shock. "Moi?"

He pushed a hand through his hair, shifted from foot to foot. "It took me weeks-weeks-to work up the nerve to ask you out. And then you turned me down."

Harumi smiled. "I told you. I had band practice."

"Yeah, right."

She had to turn away so he wouldn't see her dumb grin. "I'll say goodnight to Mrs. Harris and we can be on our way."

Chip's car radio was tuned to NPR. Harumi settled back against the seat to the swell of an orchestra.

"Paganini," she said absently.

Chip looked from the road to Harumi. "I'm impressed. I thought you were into a different kind of music."

Uh oh. Was that a bonbon? "I listen to cla.s.sical sometimes. I like different kinds of music. Even enka."

"Enka?"