Diva (11 page)

Date: September 21

Time: 7:00 p.m.

Listening to: Mad scene from
Anna Bolena

Feeling: Miserable

Weight: 117 lbs. (and eating more cookies as I type this)

Don't ask, OK? OK, I tanked. They could go 2 battle w/how bad I tanked. The problem is, everything I

sing sounds like opera. And when you sing rock w/an opera girl voice it's…comical .

The upside: I'll have a lot of free time since I'm not in the show. I can work on… um, my relationship

w/Mom. Oh, and she'll be happy. She was already talking about rehearsals being too late before I even

started @ the school.

The other upside: Misty wasn't very good either.

Gigi rocked, of course. I tried 2 look happy for her, but I kept thinking about what she said about wanting

both of us to make it. She'll probably find other friends now that I'm not in the show.

Mom's out on a date w/her married boyfriend, Arnold. She started bringing him home sometimes, but he

always leaves by 10. Bet he tells his wife he's working late and she feels bad he has to work so hard.

Boo-hoo. Wonder if he has kids.

"Do you have kids?"

The question must surprise Arnold because his eyes don't immediately head for my chest, the way they

usually do. But I'm wearing a sweatshirt.

"Oh… Cathy… I was just leaving. I thought you were in the house."

"I was getting something from the car." Actually, I've been waiting for him for the past half hour. But he didn't hear me go outside because he was busy at the time ("Yeah.
Getting
busy," Gigi would say.) "So, do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Have kids?"

"Oh." Arnold still doesn't look at me. "No. I mean, I did, but they…"

"Died?"

He laughs. "No. They grew up. My daughter Alicia's at U.F. She's studying to be a music teacher. And my

other daughter

Melanie is in med school."

He looks at his car parked at the end of our driveway, probably trying to figure the odds if he made a run

for it. He doesn't say any of the usual things adults say when they talk about their kids—like how his

daughter would like me because we're both into music. He probably doesn't expect us to ever meet. The

way I figure it is, best-case scenario, I end up with two steps who hate me because
my
evil mom stole

their dad. Worst-case scenario: Mom gets dumped. Or maybe it'll the other way around.

Arnold looks at his watch, then at the car again. "I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Cathy."

And he walks away—very quickly.

"Not just married," I tell Gigi the next day. "He has kids. Can you believe it?"

"Who?" We're standing in the hallway before school starts because Miss Davis said she'd put up the cast list this morning. Gigi's here to see what she's doing in the show. Me, I'm here for moral support. We've

gotten a good spot near the front so people are pushing against us.

"Who?" I say. "Dr. Toe-Jam, that's who. Mom's boyfriend. He's married and has daughters in college—

little Toe-Jams. Moms a home-wrecker."

"Watch it!" Gigi elbows a guy who's pushing her. "Probably not. Usually men with a honey on the side never actually leave their wives."

"That's what Dear Abby says."

"Yeah, that's where I got it. Plus, my mom's guy dropped her like the proverbial potato when his wife

found out. Your mom's guy probably will too."

"That's comforting."

"Well, maybe…

But I don't get to hear the rest of Gigi's thought because that's when Miss Davis stumbles in, holding

something that looks suspiciously like a cast list. You'd think a bunch of theater students would show

more control than football players waiting for the starting lineup to be posted. You'd think that, but you'd

be wrong. They rush at her shouting, "Miss Davis, did my number get chosen?" (She ignores this). Since I know I didn't make it, I give up my spot by Gigi because I can give her moral support from a quiet corner

near my locker. What was I thinking, singing that song? What possessed me? Did I not want to make it?

But I know what possessed me. Misty did. She wanted me to fail, but I was pretty clueless to go along

with her.

And Misty, did she do something "jazzy" after telling me to? She did not. She sang "Popular" from
Wicked
, which would have been perfect from her, if only she could have sung it. She did a duet with Sean too, and I tried to ignore the creeping tentacles of jealousy, reaching up my back.

The cluster around the cast list becomes a living thing, screaming and moaning. I start to slink off toward

class.

Caitlin!" Gigi's calling me from the screaming, jumping group.

"Catch you later!" I wave. I didn't realize I was upset until now. I'd rather wallow in private. I walk away. A hand grabs my wrist—a hand with black fingernails. Gigi. She drags me toward the mob around

the cast list.

"Let go of me!" I protest. "I'm happy for you, but I've got—"

"Good news and bad news, girl."

She drags me through the subsiding crowd and places one black fingernail on the yellow page. I look at

the spot where she's pointing. It says:

AN OPERATIC DUET TBA…CAITLIN

MCCOURT AND SEAN GRIFFIN

"Good news and bad news, girl," Gigi repeats.

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: Good News/Bad News—Again

Date: September 22

Time: 9:33 p.m

Listening to: Cecilia Bartoli, Mozart arias

Feeling: Surprised

Weight: 117 lbs.

The good news is: I get to sing in the show even though I tanked, tanked, tanked at audition. The bad news

is: I have to sing w/Sean.

Explanation: I thought Sean was reeeeeeally nice (and cute!) when we 1st met. But ever since the day

w/LA TRAVIATA, he hasn't even talked to me. He just hangs w/his friends…esp. the evil Barnacle

Girl…so I guess he doesn't think I'm as good as wonderful him. Oh, well.

When I saw Rowena, I asked her why—O, why—she put us together.

She let me know the faculty wasn't exactly thrilled w/my audition (thx, Misty) but that she told them I'd

done really well
w/La Traviata
(!) "You 2 sound good together…it'll be great."

Great. She gave me Sean's phone # and suggested I call to talk abt. our duet. I left a message on his ans.

machine hours ago, and he hasn't called back.

Also on the upside (the 2nd good news, I guess): Misty didn't get a solo @ all! She has some solo lines in

group #'s and that is IT!

I think I understand the term "poetic justice" now.

The next day, Sean passes me a note in Davis's class.

Any ideas? Opera's not my "aria" of expertise (Haha)

The joke surprises me. So does his asking my advice. I write back:

Rigoletto?

The note comes back almost immediately: Do I get to play a hunchback???

I write back:

Hunchback = Rigoletto = baritone. Duke of Mantua = tenor = you

Bummer! he writes back.

The Duke in
Rigoletto
is also a big jerk, so that sounds perfect for Sean.

After class, I stand outside waiting for Act Two with Sean. He shows up with, as usual, Misty hanging on

him. I say, "Hey."

Misty keeps talking. "So unfair," she's saying. "They obviously knew who they were going to pick before the auditions. It's all favoritism."

I go through this little dream sequence in my head: I push her out of the way, she topples, propelled

downward by her enormous chest, and can't get up but, instead, lies there, kicking like a cockroach on its

back. And I say, "Excuse me? May I interrupt?"

In real life, I just say, "Excuse me? May I interrupt?"

Misty's face is all,
Please die
! but Sean says, "Catch you in class, Mist."

She stomps off. I stand there a minute, and when Sean doesn't say anything, I say, "Can we get together

after school maybe? I have lots of CDs."

"Um, today's difficult."

"Tomorrow, then."

"No, not tomorrow either."

"Well, they're going to start rehearsals soon. Do you plan on being there?"

"When I have to."

"When you have to?"

He looks at me. "You know some people do have other responsibilities in life. We can't all be

princesses."

"
Excuse
me?"

"Nothing. Forget I said anything."

But I heard him. My throat's all hardening up like it does when I'm about to cry.
Tres
embarrassing. I try to say something else, I don't know what, something about how I am anything but a princess, or I just want to

do what I'm supposed to, and what's up his butt that he acts like that's a bad thing, but I just walk away.

He follows me.
Don't follow me
. "Hey, look, I can't do it today. Why don't you bring your CDs tomorrow, and I'll try and listen to them if I get a chance?"

I don't look at him, because I don't want him to see how red my face is. I say, "If you get a chance?"

"Yeah. If I get a chance."

Unreal. I reach my History class. I stand there, and think for a minute, gulping a few times. That's when the

bell starts to ring. I say, "If
I
get a chance, I'll bring them."

I don't know if he heard me, and I don't care.

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: Un-Stinkin'-Real

Date: September 23

Time: 6:45 p.m.

Listening to:
Duets to Die For
…searching for a duet w/a great soprano part for me and a sucky tenor part for Sean

Feeling: Angry

Weight: Didn't weigh myself

Where does he get off calling *me* a princess? I'm sooo not a princess. Peyton & Ashley, maybe, but not

me. Just b/c he's PO'd that he doesn't get to sing w/his fat girlfriend doesn't mean he has to take it out on

me. What a SNOT!

After going through every CD I have, I call Rowena.

"What a coincidence. I just got off the phone with Sean about the same thing."

"With Sean?" Seems like I'm all about repeating other people today.

"Yeah, I'm so excited about you two performing together. He's such a nice boy too."

"Yeah."
If "nice boy" is adult-speak for a person who sucks up to teachers while terrorizing all
others
… . "What did he say?"

"He was picking my brain for duet suggestions. I gave him a few."

Rowena is just about done telling me her duet ideas when Mom starts banging on the door. I keep talking.

If Mom and I had struggled out of armed truce-land after school started, we went right back the day she

admitted she knew Arnold was married. But finally, I get off the phone with Rowena and open the door.

"Thought maybe you wanted to go out to dinner," she says. "We went out the other day."

Mom looks at the stereo, which is playing a track from
La Traviata
. "Actually, I didn't mean together. I thought maybe you'd like to take the car and see your friends, I'd give you money. You never see your

friends anymore.
I have no friends
.

The song on the CD ends, and I look at her. She's wearing a blue striped suit. Her hair is on top of her

head, and her makeup's in natural skin tones.

"Oh." The next song starts. "He's coming over."

"Who? No, he isn't."

"I'm not stupid, you know. You want me out of the way, so you can be alone together." I sniff the air.

Something's cooking—no Healthy Choice today—something with wine. I start to close the door. Around

me, Violetta sings high As. "Forget it."

She blocks the door. "At least turn off that racket when he gets here. And don't walk around in that outfit.

It's obscene."

I look down. I'm wearing the same green leotard I had on the first day Dr. Toe-Jam got all pervy on me.

"You don't have to worry about that. I'm not coming out."

But as soon as I hear Arnold at the door, I start feeling hungry. No, I am not just thinking about food to

annoy Mom. I was really good at lunch today. I spent the entire time complaining about Sean instead of

eating. Result: I'm starving. I turn down
La Traviata
so I can hear what Mom and Arnold are saying. I

walk into the hall.

"So, your daughter's home," he asks.

"She's going out. "We'll be alone."

"I knew I heard music. You said she's an opera singer, right?"

Mom told someone about my singing.
How weird
. She always acts like it's stupid. But she must think

having an opera singer daughter makes her seem more classy. Or at least a little classy.

How sad.

Mom's talking now. "She must have left the CD player on."

I snap the music off in mid-song. Let her explain that one.

"I made my special coq au vin." Mom's voice is like a little song—the "Chicken Song." Since when is coq au vin her specialty? Microwaved Healthy Choice has always been her specialty when I'm around. My

stomach gives a mighty growl that can probably be heard from the dining room. I decide I'm going in. I'm

just going to nuke my Healthy Choice, come back in here, and eat it.

At the last minute, I decide to throw a T-shirt over my leotard, just so he can't look at my boobs.

"See, she's home!" Arnold declares, not too happily.

"What do you know?" Mom fake-smiles at me. "Caitlin, I thought you went out with your friends.

Otherwise, I'd have set a place for you."

Unlikely. But I say, "That's okay. I was just getting a Healthy

Choice. I'm on a diet."

Arnold's been standing since I came in, like he's ready to leave. "A diet? Pretty girl like you doesn't have an ounce to lose. Come sit with us. There's plenty."

"Oh, no thanks."

"The recipe really only makes enough for two, sweetheart," Mom says to Arnold. To me, she adds. "If I'd known you were dining at home, I'd have made more. Of course, we'd love to have you join us."