Falling Stars (5 page)

She considered each of us, lingering on our faces as if she wanted to be absolutely sure that no imposter had come into this school under false pretenses.
"Perhaps in the theater more than anywhere else. Mr. Rockwell, patience is a virtue."
Howard started to respond, but she pulled her head back as if she held invisible reins on his lips, and he kept them firmly sewn shut.
"I am here not only to welcome you today," she began. She didn't have an English accent as such, but her pronunciation was so careful, so precise, I couldn't help but be impressed and self-conscious about my own. But to welcome you to hard work, dedication, and sacrifice. There is no pretending that isn't required. Here at the Senetsky school, the only illusions we permit are the illusions we create on the stage."
She paused, took a step closer, and once again perused each and even
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one of our faces as if she was looking for some sign of weakness and defeat already. Ice looked more annoyed and angry than frightened. Cinnamon stared up at her with two unmoving and unflinching eyes, revealing little emotion. Rose looked calm, a soft smile on her lips. Steven shifted his eves but looked quite unimpressed, even a bit bored and Howard nodded as if he was hearing exactly what he had expected to hear.
Was I the only one whose heart was pounding? I gazed back at her, holding my breath.
"You have all indicated a desire to succeed in the most difficult of vocations. Doctors, lawyers, teachers, almost any tradesman or tradeswoman can hide, bury, or find some excuse for failure, but when you people fail, you all fail right in front of the public. There is no question that you've failed, no
equivocating, and very few other people with whom to share your blame. A series of bad notes," she said, directing herself toward me and then toward Steven and Ice. "is as obvious as beautiful notes. A terrible stage performance, a lack of concentration, sticks out under the lights," she added, looking at Howard and Cinnamon and Rose.
"In short, you will all be judged severely. You will all be competing with people as talented or more talented, even those less talented who have
compensated with more effort and dedication, and your reputation will be only as good as your last performance. In the arts, it is most difficult to coast on your past successes and be tolerated long.
"I have often been asked what is the secret of success in the arts. Let me tell you all now and forever. It is easily a proportion of sixty percent talent to at least forty percent perseverance and attitude.
"You are all here because you have proven you possess the raw talent. I will have your talents developed and nurtured by the finest teachers in New York City, indeed in all the entertainment world, but I. myself, will be in charge of developing the proper attitudes in you all.
"To do this. I will literally, from this day forward, take charge of your life. You will dress, eat, walk, talk as I instruct, You will learn how to hold yourself properly, how to converse properly, how to present yourself properly, for appearance is an essential ingredient in our lives, far more than it is in the lives of ordinary people. Therefore. I will be in judgment of you constantly, even when you are merely crossing from one room to another, spooning soup or sipping tea, talking to each other, or sitting and reading a book.
"We are, in short, always performing, always on one stage or another.
"You will be unhappy a great deal of the time, as anyone under a microscope of criticism would be, but if you have the grit and determination, if you are sufficiently ambitious, you will survive and grow into the successful performer a Senetsky graduate becomes."
She pulled her shoulders back even more and gazed down at us all, searching for some sign of defiance. I thought. No one so much as breathed hard.
"Why all this effort? Why this opportunity? I will give you my philosophy, simple and sweet. Along with all the fame, the accolades, the money, and prestige comes an enormous amount of responsibility. We are the truly chosen few, given talents for a purpose.
"We fill the lives of ordinary people, brighten their dreary world with meaningful distraction. We show them beauty where they would see none without us. We help them appreciate their own powers of perception, their own senses and emotions. We are truly the prophets and the clergy showing them what God means for them to worship, to love, and to cherish the most in this world.
"If you are unable to meet the tests I give you, you were not meant to be one of us and to bear this great responsibility. I will surely send you on your way.
"Any questions or comments so far?" she asked.
Only Howard dared lean forward to speak.
"That's really my philosophy, too." he said.. "I believe in it."
"Believing in it is one thing. Performing it is quite a different thing." she replied firmly.
She looked at the rest of us to see if anyone else would dare utter a word. No one did.
"When I say you must meet my tests. I do not mean only my instructions and requirements for your education in this school of drama. I especially mean not indulging in the degenerative practices so common to people your age these days.
"Consequently," she began, stiffening her posture again and seeming to rise above us even higher, "anyone caught smoking, drinking hard liquor, or using drugs will be immediately discharged-- and that means indulging in these bad habits off the premises as well as on. From this day forward, you represent this school. You are a Senetsky student." she declared, her voice plush with pride. "and that means you bear my name and you live under the shield of my reputation. I will not tolerate the smallest stain on that reputation.
"In short, you are to live like the old-time studio contract players once lived in Hollywood. Everything you do, you do with my permission first. Even your love affairs and your marriages should be planned to help further your careers."
Steven started to laugh.
"You must have more dedication and
commitment than nuns and monks," she insisted, her eyes on him, instantly freezing that laugh into a weak smile.
I glanced at Cinnamon, who looked at Howard. He was beaming with a light of self-satisfaction that would outdo the gleam of most arrogant people in comparison. All over his face were the words. I told you so. However. I had the sense that he had read her words somewhere and was simply mouthing them to us.
"Ms. Fairchild has your behavior contracts," Madame Senetsky continued.
"Behavior contracts?" Steven whispered loudly.
"After I leave," she continued, ignoring him. "you are all to read them and then sign them. If you do not want to sign them, please pack your bags and arrange for your departure. I have a number of students on standby.
"Tonight, you are all invited to dinner with your teachers. I will expect the gentlemen to wear jackets and ties and the ladies to dress appropriately. I would prefer to see a minimum of makeup," she added, focusing entirely on Cinnamon.
"Makeup is an art form. I will be bringing in professionals to evaluate each and every one of you and instruct each of you on how to dress your face to an advantage. Why, you wonder, is that so important now?" she continued, as if she could read our very thoughts.
"I repeat. a Senetsky student is always performing, always on one stage or another, always being judged, evaluated. considered. Do not step out of this house without taking that attitude along.
"I never do," she concluded, softly tapped her cane on the floor, and turned to nod at Ms. Fairchild, who shot forward instantly to hand a behavior contract to each of us.
We watched Madame Senetsky leave and then began to read the contract.
There was a curfew for weekday nights and another for weekends.
Any guests had to first be approved before they could visit us. We were never to have any guests in our rooms.
We were solely responsible for the upkeep of our rooms and we were to care for the house as if it was our very own.
Repeated in bold print were the prohibitions against smoking, drinking, and drugs, with the codicil that all the rules applied to our behavior off the property as well as on. In essence, we were simply never off the property. The world had become the Senetsky School of Performing Arts.
"How come we weren't shown all this before we auditioned?"
Steven Jesse mumbled. "This is worse than living at home."
"You do have a choice," Ms. Fairchild told him. She appeared to enjoy telling him. "Don't sign and leave."
"Thanks." he replied dryly.
"I don't see any problems," Howard said, signing the contract with a flourish. "I know what I want, and it's not wasting my talent."
Ms. Fairchild didn't nod or smile at him. She took his contract and waited for the rest of us to finish reading the fine print.
Each of us signed the contract and handed it to her.
"Dinner will be served at seven o'clock. Madame Senetsky insists on everyone being on time for any class assignment, any event, any meeting whatsoever. In the theater, promptness and
responsibility are essential. She views lateness the same as missing a cue.
"You're all dismissed for now." she concluded, pivoted almost in military style, and walked out.
For a moment it was as if all the air around us had stagnated and become too heavy to breathe.
"I wonder what she does for fun," Steven queried, nodding after Ms. Fairchild.
"Probably pulls wings off of flies," Cinnamon said. rising.
'Tin sure it won't be as bad as it sounds," Rose said hopefully. She looked at me. and I smiled.
Ice was still staring at the floor. "Are you all right?" I asked her. She shook her head.
"I came here to develop my singing ability. I don't know what she's talking about: being the prophets and clergy and showing people what to worship? I thought
I
was here just to learn how to sing. Now she makes it sound like we're becoming someone's idea of a saint."
"Right," Steven cried.
"Wrong," Howard corrected. "You don't just sing. Ice," he continued, standing up. "If that was all you were here to do, you could do it in the shower. You're a performer. You heard what Madame Senetsky said. We're all performers, very special people with special gifts."
"I never felt like someone special," Ice said as she stood to face him.
"Well, you should:" Howard insisted but backed away. We all started out and headed for the stairway.
"I hope I can invite my boyfriend to visit," Rose said. "He's attending NYU, so he's here in New York."
"If not, you'll just go visit him." Cinnamon said.
"Unless Madame Senetsky disapproves." Howard inserted. "Why would she do that?" I asked.
"Maybe her boyfriend is a detriment to her career," he replied. "A poor influence."
"She has no right to say that:" Rose cried, pausing on the stairway.
Howard shrugged.
"You just signed an agreement giving her that right."
"I did not!"
"I'm afraid you did," he insisted.
She looked to me and Cinnamon.
"How did someone so young get so much wisdom so quickly?" Cinnamon asked. Ice smiled, but kept her eyes down.
"I've just done my research on all this. I know how important her opinion is, in the theater world especially. We're talking worldwide reputation here. You saw the awards. You don't have to be a genius to figure that out."
"What about Mr. Senetsky
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?" I asked. "I didn't see any reference to her husband in the articles I skimmed. Did anyone else?"
"He was never part of her career," Howard said. 'Besides, he's dead now."
"Oh."
"How did he die?" Rose asked.
"All I know is what is rumored," Howard replied.
"Really?" Cinnamon asked, her eyes narrow with skepticism and a small twist in her lips. "And what exactly is rumored. Howard Rockwell? Tell us. What else do you just happen to know?"
Howard shrugged, strutted across to my dresser, looked at Chandler's picture, and then turned to the rest of us.
"Supposedly, he committed suicide in this very house years ago. That might be another reason why Madame Senetsky has shut up a portion of the mansion, the parts that remind her of him, his office. whatever."
"Why would he commit suicide?" Rose asked, She looked close to tears, worried about the answer,
"I don't know. Business failures. maybe. As I said, it's just a rumor "
"How can suicide be just a rumor?" Rose practically demanded. "The story was it was a gun accident."
Rose looked like she was about to faint, her face drained so quickly. We all stared at her. She suddenly looked like she couldn't move, couldn't speak. Tears made her eyes glisten like glass after a rain.
"Rose?" I said. "Are you all right?"
"What? Oh, I just... wondered."
"Well, you're right to be concerned," Howard said, moving toward her. "We should all be concerned."
"Why?" Ice asked. She had been so quiet, her eyes down, listening.
"Well, I hesitate to tell you this."
"Howard, you are so full of--" Cinnamon began.
"No." he interrupted, "It might be bad for some of you."
"What?" I demanded, impatient.
"There's a story that his ghost wanders the house, back there in the locked-up places."
"Howard!' Rose cried. Howard started to smile.
"I wouldn't laugh at it," Cinnamon suddenly said. The skepticism and anger left her face as she sat on the edge of my bed. Her reaction took Howard by surprise.
"Oh?" he said.
"We have a very old house and often I have felt the presence of spirits."
"Ooh."' Steven said jumping up. "maybe we should call Ghostbusters."
"Maybe we should call Idiotbusters instead," Ice piped up and stepped beside Cinnamon. Rose and I did the same.
The two boys looked at all of us.
"I've still got some unpacking to do," Howard said. "See you all at dinner."
Steven widened his smile and then pumped the air with his fingers and hummed the theme from
The Twilight Zone.
He laughed and followed Howard out.
"Do you think any of that was true?" Rose asked us.
"I don't know. What difference does it make how or why Mr. Senetsky died?" Cinnamon replied. I'm here to learn my craft and you're here to become a professional dancer. Ice will make hit records. and Honey here will be playing in Carnegie Hall very soon. Howard's right. We're lucky."
She started away.
"My father committed suicide." Rose blurted. "The same way. It looked like a gun accident. but I was never fooled by any of that."
Cinnamon stopped and turned back to her. "Why?" she asked.
"He was having an affair with someone and..."
"What?" Cinnamon asked. "There was another child. Evan."
"That's why you called him your half-brother?" Cinnamon asked, Rose nodded. "What happened?"