Falling Stars (4 page)

Cinnamon knocked, and we waited. When Ice did not come to her door. Cinnamon looked at us. and Howard suggested she might have gone ahead.

"I doubt that," Cinnamon said.
"What are you. psychic?" Steven asked. He was still smarting from the way she had made fun of him a moment ago. She turned those beady eyes on him.
"Yes, so watch yourself. I'll know exactly what you're thinking," she said. She glared into his face and he stepped back.
Just then the door opened and the most striking African- American that I had ever seen stood there glaring out at us. She was about my height, with a rich light-chocolate complexion and jeweled ebony eyes. Her hair was styled and cut just below her earlobes. She wore a belted white dress and a pair' of sandals.
"Your name is Ice?" Howard asked in a skeptical tone.
I saw the heat quickly build in her face, her eves becoming brighter, like the flash of two candles flaming in his direction.
"That's right." she said. "That a problem for you?"
"No. no. It's great. I'm Howard Rockwell. This is Cinnamon, Rose. Honey. and Mozart," he added, nodding at Steven.
"My name is Steven Jesse," Steven corrected. "He's an idiot." Ice nodded as if she had known for years.
"Hi," I said, extending my hand. She looked at it, at me, and then shook it quickly.
"We're just stopping by to get you." Cinnamon said. "We've got to get downstairs quickly. Are you all right?"
Ice nodded, her eyes washing over all of us, skeptical of our motives and full of distrust. She stepped out and closed her door behind her.
"The rooms are very nice, aren't they?" Rose asked her. "Yes," she said.
"Where are you from?" Cinnamon asked,
"Philadelphia," she said.
"What do you do?" Howard practically demanded as we all headed for the stairs.
"He's worried about the competition for top billing," Steven explained.
"Hardly," Howard said.
"I
sing." Ice said.
Despite his confident facade. Howard looked relieved.
As we descended the stairs, we all grew quiet. Getting here, unpacking and settling in our rooms, meeting each other briefly had occupied us and kept us from worrying, temporarily corralling our nerves. It was apparent to me that none of us really knew what to expect next, even the overly confident Howard Rockwell, Jr. Instinctively, we all remained pretty close to each other as we turned and started down the corridor.
Ms. Fairchild stepped out of the parlor. She had a clipboard in
her hand and was reading it as we approached.
"All right, ladies and gentlemen," she began, looking up, "please follow me. As you can see." she said, nodding at the parlor door. "this is the parlor. We greet our guests here, and it is everyone's
responsibility to keep it as neat and as clean as you see it is now. We do not, and I repeat. do not permit smoking in this house or on these grounds, by yourselves or your guests.
"Unlike traditional schools, there is no system of demerits. If you violate one of Madame Senetsky's rules, you will be summarily dismissed-- any rule, no matter how small
it
might seem to you. I hope that is very clear from the start."
"Quite," Howard muttered.
She looked up from the clipboard and then nodded at the hallway.
"Follow me and pay attention." she said.
She took us first to the room designated as the dance studio. There were practice bars, what looked like a brand-new shiny wooden floor, and mirrors on all the walls. After that, came a small theater with seats for about fifty people.
"When Madame Senetsky decides you are ready, you will conduct performance nights here," Ms. Fairchild explained. "The guests include managers, producers, booking agents, and from time to time well-known performers, any of whom might take an interest in you and might help you with your professional careers. Most of them will be former students," she added. "Madame Senetsky has instilled a sense of responsibility in her graduates. They all want to give something back, help fledglings such as yourself."
"Fledge what?" Steven asked Howard, who poked him.
All of us contemplated the empty stage for a moment. This was where we would be judged, where we would either soar or sink. I imagined Rose saw herself dancing up there and Ice saw herself singing.
"Not too shabby." Howard remarked. "How are the acoustics?" Ms. Fairchild looked annoyed by the question.
"I don't think you should have any concerns about that." she replied. "The best theater architect in the world designed this little theater as a special favor for Madame Senetsky."
"I know that." Howard said defensively. "I just wondered."
"Sure," Steven said.
"I did. What do you think, it's some top-secret information? If you bothered reading about the school..."
"Let's continue," Ms. Fairchild snapped.
She took us to a room about half the size of the dance studio. There was a grand piano in it. She said this was where the instrumental lessons would be held and where the vocal lessons would be conducted. Steven went to the piano and tapped out some notes.
"Please," Ms. Fairchild said. "Not now."
"I can't help myself. I'm obsessed." Steven cried.
"Distressed is more like it," Howard muttered.
Ms. Fairchild showed us the large dining room, and then led us toward the kitchen.
Along the way we saw a wall full of framed photographs. She explained that they were all various shots of Madame Senetsky in her prime, each capturing another famous moment on a European stage. Costuming indicated productions from the Greeks through Shakespeare and into more modern plays, but there were also news clippings and reviews explaining the productions as well. When she was younger, she was quite striking. I thought. I was sure I might have seen her in an old movie.
After the display of photographs were a number of trophies, plaques, and citations Madame Senetsky had won. They were encased m glass. Some had been awarded by royalty. We clumped around them, reading as much as we could.
"You can look at all that some other time," Ms. Fairchild said, rushing us along.
We stopped at the kitchen, where a short, elderly woman with her hair under a net was preparing what looked like roast duck. She glanced at us, but kept her attention solidly on her work.
"Mrs. Churchwell is responsible for all the cooking and food preparation here at the Senetsky school," Ms Fairchild explained. Even while she talked about her. Mrs. Churchwell kept her
concentration on her work. She runs the kitchen and has it organized as she needs it to be. No one is to move a cup out of place. All of you, on a rotation basis, will help with kitchen chores, cleanup, and the like. Tonight, your first night here, is the one exception.
"For tonight," she continued. "Madame Senetsky has hired help to conduct the dinner. That is because you will meet all of your teachers at dinner tonight, and Madame Senetsky wants you to give all your attention to them. I will show you where I will be posting messages, the roster, scheduling, and anything else you all need to know. It will be your responsibility to check the board daily." she emphasized.
"Chores?" Howard moaned. "What is this, summer camp or something?'"
"Clothing:" she announced instead of responding, and continued down the hallway to the laundry room. "You all are responsible for your own bedding, clothing, towels, et cetera. Anyone who needs instruction about working the washer and dryer will speak to Mrs. Ivers," she said.
On cue, a tall, thin, dark brunette entered behind us. She wore a short-sleeved white uniform and white, thick-heeled shoes. Her arms, although very slim, looked muscular, veins and arteries well embossed against her skin. Her lower lip looked smaller than her upper and seemed to lie unhinged, showing her bottom teeth.
"The soap powders and softeners are kept in this closet," she instructed, opening a closet door to demonstrate. She stepped back to pull a handle and lower the ironing board, "The iron is right here. Anyone who wants clothing sent to the dry cleaners should leave it in of these bags before nine A.M.," she said, showing us a drawer full of plastic bags. "The bill will be given to you and needs to be promptly paid," she said and looked to Ms. Fairchild.
"Thank you. Mrs. Ivers. Any questions about this, ladies and gentleman?"
"What if I want to send out my laundry?" Howard inquired. "Entirely."
Mrs. Ivers looked to Ms. Fairchild.
"Madame Senetsky frowns upon any
ostentatious show of wealth." she replied. "You will hear many times how important self-reliance is for people pursuing careers in the theater."
"I just don't want to waste my time,' Howard moaned.
"Your time and how it is used and not used will be organized efficiently, believe me," she told him sharply. "Learning how to be independent is not a waste of time."
"But..."
"Let's continue," she said.
Howard turned crimson with frustration and anger.
Ms. Fairchild marched us down the hallway until we reached a pair of dark brown, thick double doors embossed with flowers and birds. Then she stopped, turned, and addressed us.
"This is where the school boundaries are drawn. Beyond these doors lies Madame Senetsky's private residence. Under no circumstances, ever, for any reason whatsoever, are any of you permitted through these doors. If there is a reason for you to speak with Madame Senetsky, you will contact me and I will so inform her. I will now show you my quarters, so you will know where to go if you have any special requests.
"You enter the building only through the front door. You are permitted to walk on the grounds, of course, but do not. I repeat, do not enter the building through any side or rear doors, especially at the rear of the building. Any questions about this?"
We all stared at her and then looked at each other.
"I repeat, if anyone violates this important rule, he or she will be summarily dismissed."
"How else can you be dismissed but
summarily?' Howard muttered.
"You could be court-martialed first," Steven quipped.
Ms. Fairchild did not smile. She glared at Steven, who quickly shifted his eyes toward a painting.
"Please follow me," she continued and took us to a door she said was the door to her quarters. "I repeat, come directly here if you have a problem that needs my attention. Do not discuss it with anyone else, not even your teachers and certainly not with anyone outside our school."
She checked her clipboard, looked at her watch, and told us to follow her back to the parlor.
"Wait here," she ordered. "Madame Senetsky will be addressing you all in a few minutes.'
She turned and left us.
"A work roster?" Howard immediately cried. "How come no one told me about that at the audition? Anyone else here ever told we'd be washing clothes, clearing dishes, taking out garbage?"
"You would if you went to an ordinary college, wouldn't you?" Rose asked him.
"No. I wouldn't go to just any college."
"Why don't you just think of it as another role or something," Cinnamon told him. "The butler in a big mansion or the owner's deranged, illegitimate son."
I saw how Ice's eyes filled with amusement.
"I never washed my own clothes before," Howard moaned.
Ice raised her eyes toward the ceiling, smiled, and shook her head.
"It's not rocket science," Rose said.
"You know how much we're all paying for tuition," Howard complained. He looked at Ice. "Anyone here want to take my turn at kitchen duties and take care of my clothes for me? I'll pay," he said.
She turned to me and Cinnamon, the small muscles in her jaw tightening. Her name might be Ice. I thought, but she looks like she could explode in a ball of fire.
"Why are you looking at me?" she asked Howard, "You think I've been working as someone's maid?"
"No. I'm looking at everyone. What about you. Honey?"
"You're not showing a good attitude. Howard," Cinnamon said. "You won't build character if you buy off your responsibilities:"
"I've got character!'" he exclaimed,
"Yes, but which character? Doctor Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?" Steven quipped.
Everyone laughed. Howard shook his head and plopped on the sofa.
"The instrumental studio looks pretty good, doesn't it?" Steven asked me.
"Yes," I said.
"Piano is in tune. Actually. I've got the same one at home." We all found seats and kept our attention on the doorway.
"What was all that about not entering Madame Senetsky's private area?" I asked.
"The reason is pretty obvious." Howard said in a condescending tone.
"Really? Enlighten us, oh great Zuni of the theater,' Cinnamon said.
"Madame Senetslor simply needs to separate her private life from her public one. We'll all have that problem some day. At least. I expect to," he concluded.
"He's probably right," Rose said.
"Of course I'm right. I'm sure all of you have things you'd rather the rest of us didn't know,"
Fie smiled at Ice, who gazed back at him with such a cold, hard expression, she wiped the smug smile off his face and he sat back.
"I wonder how long we'll be kept waiting," he muttered.
"Waiting is something with which you had better make acquaintance," we heard, and all turned to the doorway to see Madame Senetsky enter.
If any of us have ever wondered what it would be like to be in the presence of royalty, we surely were finding out at this moment. I thought. With a regal air that seemed to precede her and wash over us to make commoners of us all. Madame Senetsky appeared. Ms. Fairchild remained a few feet behind, as if it was forbidden to stand too close to her imperial self.
In her left hand Madame Senetsky held a jeweled cane with a meerschaum handle. She wore a dark suit with an ankle-length hem, the jacket open to reveal her pearl silk blouse and prominent bosom. There were strings of pearls around her neck and her blue-gray hair was pinned tightly in a chignon and fastened with jeweled combs. She wore a large faced antique watch on a gold band on her left wrist and on her right were coils of gold bracelets. Almost all of her fingers had rings, ranging from simple gold bands to large rubies and diamonds.
The news clippings I had barely scanned in the hallway had told me she had to be at least in her midsixties, yet she had the complexion of a woman far younger. Her skin had almost a silvery tint, with only tiny wrinkles around her eyes but a remarkably smooth forehead. Her cheeks were a bit sunken, which served to emphasize her high cheekbones and the sharpness in her perfectly straight nose.
Elegance and sophistication were defined by such a woman. I thought. She truly had perfect bone structure, with a very strong, firm mouth, the lips of which were just barely tinted a light crimson. When she drew closer. I saw that her surprisingly youthful appearance owed a great deal to the smart use of makeup. Even so, her blue eyes were girlishly bright and intelligent. Gathering information about us in seconds. In the face of her perfect posture and slow, confident air, we could barely shift our eyes an inch away from her. This was a woman who not only demanded attention, but easily commanded it as well.