Screaming Divas Part 14

"Yeah, it's kind of like country and western. Songs about drinking and getting your heart broken. It's popular in j.a.pan."

Chip nodded.

She could tell she was racking up points, but he was getting it all wrong.

Then he looked at her and said, "Is your heart broken, Harumi?"

It was a weird question, way too personal. And what was the answer, anyway? No man had had a chance to stomp on her heart yet, but she was aching all the same. This rift with her family was making her lose sleep. She hoped that Chip would pick up on her vibe and change the subject, but he didn't.

"So, Harumi, is that it? You're pining for some other guy?"

She hated the image. And she never wanted to be like Trudy, starved for the attention of someone who didn't want her. "I've never been dumped by a guy," she said. "Why would I be pining?"

Chip turned away. Now he was probably thinking that she was some sort of femme fatale with a string of scalps nailed above her bed. It was wrong to mislead him like this, but there was so much that she didn't want him to know.

"So what do you feel like eating? Thai? Chinese?"

"Italian," she said.

Chip nodded. "How about Garibaldi's?"

At the restaurant, Chip held open doors and ushered her inside with his palm at the small of her back.

She liked feeling his touch. She wondered what it would be like to fall back into his arms. To kiss him.

They were polite with each other through platters of antipasto and spaghetti carbonara. They were giggling by the second bottle of Chianti, stumbling against each other after cappuccino and tiramisu as they made their way to the car.

"So," Chip said, ramming a key into the ignition. "Do you want to drop by my place for a nightcap? Listen to some jazz?"

Harumi felt a flash of panic. She was too drunk to walk in a straight line. There was no way she'd be able to fend off Chip's advances if he got ideas.

The dashboard clock read 10:16. Still early. Would he believe a 10:30 curfew?

"All right," she said. Her voice was barely audible over the engine. "But I have to be home by midnight, or I'll get fired." She rolled her eyes for effect. "She's quirky that way, Mrs. H., but I have to humor her or I'll lose my job."

"Okay, Cinderella."

She watched his hands on the steering wheel, watched the streetlights slide over his sharp jaw. He was so handsome.

They rolled along in silence until Chip clicked the radio on again. The announcer's mellow tones filled the car with words that she knew: Bach, symphony, violin.

She had told him about the band over dinner. He'd seemed to enjoy her quick sketches of Trudy ("Supremes fanatic"), Ca.s.sie ("the southern Sylvia Plath"), and Esther ("child boxing champ"). Silently, she'd wondered how she would explain him to her friends. Southern gentleman? Stick-in-the-mud? Trudy might think he was boring, but she liked his old-fashioned interests, his clean and ironed clothes.

"When's your next show?" he'd asked.

"Next Friday. At The Cave."

She couldn't imagine him among the punk wannabes in their leather and safety pins. He'd be as out of place as her father had been. He might get hurt. Even so, when he hinted that he'd be in the audience, front row, with bells on, Harumi had smiled and said, "I'd like that."

The car was drawing up in front of an apartment building with window boxes and shutters. It wasn't sleek and modern as she'd expected. At least, not from the outside.

Chip bolted out of the car and around to the pa.s.senger side before she had a chance to get out. She'd never met a man with manners like his. Her own father still walked in doors ahead of her mother, stubbornly clinging to Eastern ways. He never held out chairs or guided his wife with a hand on her back. And of course, he was so different from the guys at The Cave. Adam and Noel were almost another species.

Harumi stood to the side on the narrow porch while Chip unlocked the door. He reached inside and flicked on a light, adjusted the dimmer switch, and waited for her to enter.

Harumi took in the beige carpet and the brown tweed sofa and armchair. She was impressed by the healthy green leaves of the dieffenbachia and ferns. Her father cultivated bonsai, little trees always kept firmly in check, not allowed to grow. Her mother arranged cut flowers in cold gla.s.s vases. Here, however, in Chip's living room, there was life, vigor-evidence of a generous spirit.

"Have a seat," he said. "Is cognac all right?"

"Mmm." Harumi sank into the sofa. Crossed her arms and legs. Uncrossed her arms. Tucked her legs beneath her. Let her head loll against the back of the sofa.

Chip returned with two globes of amber liquor.

Harumi's fingers brushed his-zap!-when he pa.s.sed the gla.s.s to her. She closed her eyes and took a sip. She could feel the other end of the sofa sink as he sat down beside her.

"Harumi, how old are you? I mean, if you don't mind my asking."

Her eyes snapped open. "Eighteen."

She saw Chip shrink away from her and set his drink down. "G.o.d, I thought you were older. You seem so self-a.s.sured."

Was she too young, now?

"I spent a lot of time around adults as a child," she said. "With my parents' friends." It was a little lie, a tiny lie, but she needed to tell it. Too much honesty would be like riding a raft over rapids. Besides, she'd already given him enough bonbons for the night.

"Do you think your parents would like me?"

Harumi shot him a look and was disarmed by his boyish, earnest expression. "No," she said with a laugh, honest this time. "You not nice j.a.panese boy."

Chip laughed, and guilt stabbed her in the stomach. It was wrong to make fun of her parents with their funny accents and foreign ways, but she was still angry at them.

Harumi lifted her gla.s.s and took a big swallow. The cognac burned her lips and tongue. It blazed down her throat. She started coughing.

"Are you okay?" Chip took the drink from her and patted her on the back.

"It went down the wrong way," she said when her breathing was under control again. She wondered if he could tell how nervous she was. His hand was still on her back, and she was sure he could feel, even through her spine, the frantic beating of her heart.

He didn't say anything. His body was still except for his steady, even breathing. And then, as if he'd been gathering up his forces, he tugged Harumi onto his lap, into the cage of his arms, and he kissed her.

She let her lips go slack under his, let his tongue work its way into her mouth. A fever spread through her limbs and loosened her joints. But then his fingers began traveling over her body, grazing nipple and thigh, and her back went rigid. She forgot to breathe. When his mouth left hers for a moment, she sucked in a great gust of air.

"I'm yours," Tiffany panted, her ample chest heaving with desire. "Take me now before I faint."

Harumi couldn't help it. She started laughing.

Chip backed away. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. I'm really sorry. I just started thinking about-oh, never mind. I think you'd better take me home."

For a moment, he was silent and she thought that he might refuse. They'd both been drinking a lot. Maybe he couldn't drive. She might have to call a taxi.

Harumi couldn't bear to look at him. She remembered the way his expression had frozen when she'd turned him down for a date. This was worse. She'd followed him to his apartment and accepted a drink. She'd even let him kiss her, and then she'd humiliated him by erupting into a giggle fit while kissing him. The man had pride. He probably would never call her again.

They didn't speak in the car. Harumi let herself out as soon as they reached the curb. She mumbled "Thank you" and then dashed up the sidewalk, into the foyer. She could hear the car's engine idling behind her. When she got up to the apartment, she looked out the window. The Saab was gone.

31.

On Friday night, The Cave was packed. You couldn't move without stepping on someone's steel-toed boots. This was what Trudy loved.

The band went onstage at ten and played till midnight, nonstop. They knew each other well now, and their set was seamless. With just a nod from Harumi, or a tilt of the head from Ca.s.sie, they decided their next song. When they finally quit, Trudy's throat was raw and sore. She'd been a total banshee.

The crowd started chanting, "Dee-vahs! Dee-vahs!"

Trudy shook her head. "My voice is shot. Ca.s.sie, you sing something. I gotta get a drink." And then she stepped off the stage.

The crowd parted and Trudy flushed with pleasure. She floated toward the bar, a big smile plastered across her face. Midway, she felt a tug on her arm. She looked to see a girl with eyes made up like Cleopatra, black hair shaved within an inch.

"Hey, I'm the president of the Screaming Divas fan club," the girl said. "Can I interview you for our newsletter sometime?"

A fan club. Wow. "Sure," Trudy said, trying to act as if this happened all the time. Inside, she wanted to whoop for joy. "Give me a call later."

The girl grinned. "Thanks."

Behind her, on the stage, the band broke into a slow song, one they'd rehea.r.s.ed only a few times. Ca.s.sie's voice flooded the club.

At the bar, Trudy heaved herself onto a stool. She was so tired that she didn't even realize Noel was beside her until his lips brushed her ear.

"Why don't you let her sing more often?" he said. "She has a good voice. And she's pretty."

Trudy shrugged. "She doesn't want to."

Noel shook his head. "I'll bet you're holding her back."

Trudy knew he was baiting her. She took a long swig of Diet c.o.ke and pretended to ignore him. Finally she couldn't resist. "So where's the ball and chain?"

Noel shrugged. "h.e.l.l if I know. Gone."

"You mean you broke up?" Trudy felt a war whoop rising within, but she contained herself. Instead of rocketing to the ceiling, she put her hand on his shoulder, pretending to console him.

"Yup. She's insane." Noel shook her hand off and turned to her, all businesslike. "So she's gone, which means that we need a new ba.s.s player. What do you say?"

Trudy bit back a grin. This was the moment she'd been dreaming of. I'm a hot commodity, she told herself. Everybody wants me and it feels great! So what if her parents couldn't be bothered to see her shows. It was better than booze, better than s.e.x, better than any kind of drug. Then she took a hard look at her band. Ca.s.sie was center stage. She was still, but an energy radiated from her and all eyes were on her. Harumi's fingers were acrobatic, her concentration almost supernatural. And Esther pounded out the beat as if her life depended on it. Her red hair was flying all over the place.

The crowd was chanting again. Trudy was ga.s.sed up on Diet c.o.ke and Noel and ready for the spotlight once again. "Just a sec," she said. She pecked Noel on the cheek, then sprang from her stool. The crowd parted once again, cheering as she strutted to the stage.

Ca.s.sie stepped to the side of the mic, waiting for instructions. Trudy could tell she was tired. Dark circles underneath her eyes were starting to show through her make-up. She looked forlorn, waifish. Trudy hugged her there, onstage. "You were great," she said. "Just one more song, okay?"

As Ca.s.sie went to pick up her guitar, Trudy grabbed the mic. "Do you know what I just heard?" she croaked.

"What?" The audience replied as one.

"Noel wants me to join Ligeia. He asked me to be the new ba.s.s player."

There was some scattered applause. Harumi and Ca.s.sie watched her, their faces stricken with disbelief.

"But what about the Divas?" a young woman shouted from the front row.

"That's just it. I would never leave this band. These girls are my blood. h.e.l.l, we've even got a fan club." Now the applause was deafening. The whistles and shouts made Trudy's head pound. It was time for a song, but they'd already gone through their repertoire. They'd have to do a repeat. "Let's do 'Crashbaby' again," she said over her shoulder. "Ca.s.sie, you sing this time."

And then they were jamming again, using their last reserves of strength. The crowd, too, was on its second wind. It was the best party Trudy had ever been to, and there was no way she was going to break up Screaming Divas.

32.

"Listen, love," Rebecca said, squeezing Esther's shoulder. "I've got a great idea."

Esther's muscles tightened. "What?"

"I think you should move in here with me after you graduate." Rebecca leaned down and brushed her cheek against Esther's. "What do you say?"

Rebecca's hand was sliding along her collarbone toward her breast. Esther was sure she could feel the wild reaction of her heart. She pressed her own hand over Rebecca's, halting its movement. "Um, I'll have to think about it."

In all honesty, she'd been having fantasies about getting an apartment with Harumi. Or Ca.s.sie. Or maybe even the whole band. Of course, her parents expected her to stay in a dorm next year. But Rebecca didn't show up in any of her daydreams.

Rebecca pulled away. She stalked across the room to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a drink. "Think about what?"

Esther's mouth was suddenly dry. She wet her lips. "Money, for one thing. It's not like you're paying me a living wage." She forced a laugh to show that she was teasing.

Rebecca took a swig of whiskey. "Did I say that I would make you pay rent?"

So she would be what? A kept woman? Rebecca already had control over most of her life. She chose Esther's clothes and told her how to wear makeup. She'd given her a job in her gallery. She'd gotten her into the Screaming Divas. Without Rebecca, Esther would be just another frumpy, slightly overweight wallflower, spending her weekends on the sofa with a box of Twinkies. Then again, sometimes that's exactly what she wanted to be.

This whole life she'd been living was beginning to feel more and more like a fraud. Sure, she had an authentic interest in paintings, and she'd learn to tell the difference between modernism and post-modernism and on a good day she could hold her own on the drums, but somewhere along the way she'd left her real self behind. n.o.body knew her. Her parents had no idea that she was gay, and Harumi acted as if their mutual history were entirely forgotten. Rebecca thought that she knew Esther, but she was so absorbed in her Svengali role that she only saw what she wanted Esther to be, not who she really was. Esther wouldn't be able to withstand the pressure of having to be chic twenty-four hours a day.