Screaming Divas Part 17

"Harumi." He recognized her voice even though they'd never spoken on the phone before. "How are you?"

She took a deep breath, not knowing what she really wanted to say. "I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you."

"I know. Do you want to give us another try?"

"Okay."

"How about Sat.u.r.day night?"

When she hung up the phone, Ca.s.sie and Esther and Trudy made her repeat every word. Pee Wee brought her a piece of pecan pie and told her it was on the house.

When Chip showed up at six-thirty on Sat.u.r.day night, he was wearing a tux with a white scarf tossed around his neck. Fancy. He hadn't told her where they were going, but obviously she was underdressed. He waited for Harumi to change out of her leotard and wrap skirt and into a black dress. Then he ushered her out to his car.

"Tonight, we're going to listen to my kind of music," he said, starting the engine.

Harumi's stomach flip-flopped. She hoped he was taking her to some quiet bar with a singer-songwriter on a stool, or even a disco where thirtysomething couples s.h.a.gged to beach music. She didn't want to be reminded of her previous life.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the Township auditorium and Harumi saw the marquee: Carolina Symphony with Anne-Marie Muller. Cla.s.sical music. Violin soloist.

Harumi didn't say a word as Chip parked the car and opened her door. She let her small hand rest lightly on his elbow as they walked to the entrance. Women with stiffly styled hair and long gowns swished through the lobby.

Harumi had heard of Anne-Marie. She was one of the most famous young violinists in the world: a child prodigy, a daring original who sometimes stomped onstage in black leather. Once she'd shocked an audience by appearing in blue jeans, but she'd been quickly forgiven when she put bow to strings.

Chip had secured good seats, only twenty rows from the stage. They'd be close enough to watch Anne-Marie's face-the expressions of effort and genius.

Harumi sat rigidly, her back not even touching the velvet-upholstered seat. She could feel Chip's eyes upon her. Maybe he thought she wasn't used to such a luxe environment.

She felt his hand hovering above her own, and she took it and held it on her lap. Why was she so nervous? She wasn't even the one performing. She took a deep breath and eased back into her seat.

"Are you okay?" Chip asked. "You look a little pale."

Harumi gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand lightly.

Finally, the stage cleared and the house lights dimmed. The audience applauded as the orchestra took their places. The applause increased when the conductor appeared. And then Anne-Marie, resplendent in an iridescent pink strapless gown, stepped from behind the curtain. Her hair spouted from a high ponytail and spilled into her face. She looked gorgeous. A front row fan whistled.

When the music began, Harumi closed her eyes. She could see, even then, the bows slicing air, the dance of the conductor's baton. She could feel her own calloused fingers pressing against strings. She could smell the piney resin.

They were playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons concerti, and when Anne-Marie took up the sweet, joyous notes of the Spring concerto her face was filled with something akin to love. Harumi knew that she had lost that look in her last year of playing the violin. Her pa.s.sion had turned into resentment. She had been right to quit. Still, listening now, she wondered what it would be like to lift an instrument-Sadie III?-to her shoulder.

Her eyes stayed open from then on, fixed on the performers. Nothing distracted her, not even the snoring of the man next to her. She almost forgot about Chip as well. At intermission, she turned to him at last.

"Your cheeks are blooming," he said. "You look like an angel."

"She's brilliant, isn't she?" Harumi nodded to the place where Anne-Marie had stood, tossing her ponytail.

"She made a deal with the devil, that one," Chip said with a wink. "Care for a cup of coffee?"

They went into the lobby, into the hum and buzz of ordinary conversation, and had espresso.

"I've missed you," Chip said.

"Me, too." Looking up at him now, she couldn't believe she'd been so silly and nervous. She felt completely at ease.

He leaned close to brush a stray hair from her cheek and she inhaled his musk. She felt a flash of desire and wondered, for a moment, if she would make love to him that night. But no. It was too soon. She would have to tell him that.

The lobby lights clicked off and on and they returned to their seats.

"Chip," she whispered, just before the orchestra reappeared. "I have something to tell you."

"What?"

Harumi took a deep breath. "I've never had a boyfriend before, and I play the violin."

36.

It was a week before Valentine's Day, and it was snowing. Esther hugged her body as she ran from Trudy's door to her car, her teeth chattering. No matter how cold it was, though, she was glad to be out of Trudy's living room. The lead Diva had been in one of her moods. She'd actually flung a beer bottle against the wall, putting a dent in the plaster, when Ca.s.sie messed up on a chord progression. Not a good scene.

And Ca.s.sie, well, she'd been acting strange lately. s.p.a.cey. Sometimes she started laughing or crying for no reason. And she'd been losing weight and color. Esther was sure she was on some kind of drug.

Harumi was the only one who seemed normal. If anything, Harumi seemed happier than usual. She no longer sat in the corner, caressing her ba.s.s. Now she actually laughed at Trudy's off-color jokes. She was quicker to make suggestions on improving songs. And this evening, once or twice she'd exchanged looks with Esther, rolling her eyes when Trudy threw the bottle.

Esther waited till the car was warmed up, then stabbed a tape into her ca.s.sette deck. She warbled along as she made her way home.

She'd promised to call Rebecca later, but she had a biology test to study for and a paper to write. Plus, she wasn't in the mood. Rebecca would want to discuss Valentine's Day plans-s.e.x on a public beach, or something equally outrageous-and Esther wasn't up for it. She was dreading the fourteenth of February. She wished they could just exchange boxes of chocolate and be done with it.

Rebecca. Lately, just the thought of her mentor/friend/boss gave Esther a headache. She knew that there was something very wrong with the relationship. It was time to put an end to it, but Esther didn't know how. If she had the money and the guts, she'd leave town without a forwarding address. That would be the easiest way.

Or she could write a letter. Breaking up by mail was cowardly, but she was a coward. She'd be the first to admit it. Besides, in a live, one-to-one confrontation, she'd either lose her courage or wind up being persuaded by Rebecca to change her mind. And then she'd continue being miserable. A letter would be best.

Esther reached the house just as the tape was ending. Her mother had left the porch light on, and Esther could see the snow whirling around. She sat in her car for a moment, letting her decision harden into something concrete. Then she took a deep breath and yanked the door handle.

Almost as soon as she was in the foyer, her mother rushed out to greet her.

"Oh, honey. We were worried about you. Were the roads icy?"

Esther kissed her cheek. "No, not at all."

"Your boss called a little while ago. She wants you to call her back."

Esther gritted her teeth and nodded. She wouldn't call. Instead, she ducked into the living room to say h.e.l.lo to her father, enthroned as usual in his La-Z-Boy with a cold beer, and hurried upstairs to her room.

As she lay sprawled across her bed, she tried to concentrate on "A Rose for Emily," but thoughts of Rebecca kept barging into her mind. She finally gave up, closed her book, and took out a notebook.

"Dear Rebecca," she wrote, "I am unhappy in our relationship and I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore."

With Rebecca, she knew, it was best to be direct.

She was going to have to give up her job, but that was okay. She'd socked away quite a bit of money over the past few months, and she was sure she could find something else. She'd sling burgers at McDonald's, if need be.

At one in the morning, after four drafts had already been crumpled and tossed, Esther finished her letter. She signed it, stuffed it into an envelope, and went downstairs to get a stamp out of the kitchen drawer. Then she slipped back out into the cold, hopped in her car, and drove to the nearest mailbox.

She wouldn't go to work tomorrow. She'd leave a note at the gallery and that would be it.

When she got back home, she went straight to bed. William Faulkner would have to wait.

She thought that relief would wash over her immediately, that sleep would come easily, but she tossed and turned all night. The letter in the mailbox was like a bomb waiting to go off. At dawn, after a few twisted dreams, she dragged herself out of bed and splashed her face with cold water. Her eyes in the mirror were red-rivered and shadowed.

All day long, she found herself looking over her shoulder, as if Rebecca might be there, ax in hand. It was silly. The letter hadn't even been delivered yet, but in her sleep-starved state, paranoia ruled.

By the time she got home that night, after cla.s.ses and band practice, she was too tired to care. She glanced at the note her mother had left on the table-"Call Rebecca"-and shredded it. Then she dove into bed.

It was not until two days later, at four in the afternoon, that Rebecca showed up on the Shealy family's front porch.

Esther heard a car tear into the driveway, heard a door slam, and quick steps on the sidewalk. This was followed by the doorbell-three impatient rings. She crept to the window knowing what she'd find, and there it was-Rebecca's red Mustang.

She heard her mother chirping downstairs, and then Rebecca's deeper voice.

"Esther, honey? Could you come down here, please?" Her mother's voice was obscenely cheerful. She had no idea what was about to go down.

Wild thoughts caromed in her head. She could jump out the window and flee across the lawn, or hide herself under the bed. If she just ignored them ... but now her mother was banging on the door. "Esther? You have a visitor." d.a.m.n that singsong voice. She'd be setting out coffee and home-baked cookies any minute now.

"Coming."

Rebecca stood in the foyer in a sharp tweed suit. She looked great, totally unaffected, and Esther wondered if she had gotten the letter.

"Hey," she said, not knowing what else to say.

"h.e.l.lo."

They stared at each other for a moment, then Rebecca reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. "We need to talk."

Esther's mother bustled in the background, her ears, no doubt, alert. "Let's go someplace. We can sit on the porch." It was cold, but she didn't want Rebecca in her house.

To her relief, Rebecca followed her outside and took a seat beside her on the cement steps.

The first words she said were, "You have devastated me."

Esther hung her head. "I'm sorry."

"What happened? We were so happy. We loved each other." Her voice was getting louder, verging on the hysterical. Esther hoped her mother was minding her own business.

"Is there someone else? Some boy?"

Esther shook her head. It was true. She was cured of Ca.s.sie, after all this time.

"Don't you love me anymore?"

Esther could see that her hands were trembling. She was truly falling apart. Part of her wanted to soften the blow, but she knew what she had to do. "No," she said. "I never loved you. Not from the beginning."

And then Rebecca was wailing, clawing at Esther's face, and the door opened. Esther's mother stepped out onto the porch and bent down. "Is everything okay?"

"It will be," Esther said. She squeezed Rebecca's shoulder once, one final time, and disappeared into the house.

37.

Ca.s.sie was late. Trudy would probably be furious, but she'd get over it. After all, she wasn't the one who'd booked the studio. And the money was coming from Ca.s.sie's daddy.

By some weird coincidence, he'd reserved studio time on the anniversary of her mama's death. They'd never done anything formal to recognize the day, so she a.s.sumed he wasn't aware of it. He'd probably forgotten. Or maybe it was his feeble attempt to distract her from grief. But this day always made her feel edgy and sad. She had a hard time concentrating.

When she screeched up to the curb, she saw them standing there on the sidewalk, Trudy, in jeans and a cracked leather jacket, shifting from foot to foot; Harumi, hugging her ba.s.s; and Esther, hovering nearby. Ca.s.sie knew that since Rebecca was no longer helping out, Esther wasn't sure of her place in the band. But she'd come along as a drummer. She was good at it, and she was dependable. All of them ought to praise her more.

"Hey, y'all," she shouted. "Sorry I'm late!"

Esther's face lit up with what looked like relief. "We thought you were ...." Her eyes darted from Trudy to Harumi, and back to Ca.s.sie again.

"What?"

"We thought you were shooting up with Adam," Trudy said, looking her straight in the eye.

They knew? How could they know? She'd been so discreet, keeping her arms covered, her mouth shut.

"Look," Trudy said. "This band means a lot to me. I don't want you to screw it up."

"It means a lot to me, too," she said, annoyed. It's not like she was some junkie, selling herself on street corners, desperate for her next fix. She had it under control.

"We're worried about you," Harumi put in, quickly. "What you're doing is dangerous."