Falling Stars (7 page)

everyone's speech patterns. It made me very selfconscious. As I expected. Howard Rockwell led us
with his questions, his eagerness to show just how
much he knew about each of our teachers. When
Brock Marlowe asked him about parts he had played.
Howard rattled off a very impressive range of roles. I
was terrified Mr. Bergman would follow by asking me
how many times I had performed in public, what
orchestra I had been a member of, or what my training
had been up until now. I would surely look like a
musical pauper.
I continually glanced at Madame Senetsky to
see her reaction to everything said and asked. She
maintained a stoic expression, her eves barely
confessing an emotion or a thought. I had the distinct
feeling that she wanted her staff to make its own judgments about us and would do nothing to influence
that evaluation.
As the evening wore on, most of us did relax.
Despite the formal, stiff beginning to the dinner, each
of our teachers spoke about himself and his
professional experiences, and before long we were all
witnessing a fascinating conversation about
international theatrical events with names of famous
people woven in so casually and so quickly, we didn't
have a chance to react. Every so often. I looked at
Cinnamon and Rose, who wore soft smiles of
appreciation on their faces. Steven looked bored and
from time to time fidgeted with his silverware. Ice
looked like someone visiting another country, her
eyes small but full of curiosity. Only Howard sat with
a demeanor of confidence, as though he was a regular
participant at such dinners.
Edmond Senetsky apparently knew something
about everyone anyone mentioned and had stories of
his own, name-dropping his clients at every
opportunity. Since Howard had made his accusation
earlier. I couldn't help but watch the way Edmond
glanced at Rose from time to time. It was probably my
imagination. but I did think he was trying to catch her
eye more than he was trying to catch anyone else's attention. Howard looked directly at me when Edmond described Rose's dance performance for Mr. Demetrius, using superlative after superlative. Then Howard looked at Cinnamon, who was glaring not daggers but spikes back at him. He quickly turned
away.
The dinner itself was as elegant and rich as any
I had ever seen or read about, much less experienced.
We did have the roast duck we saw Mrs. Churchwell
preparing earlier, but it was nothing like any duck
Mommy had made back on the farm; it had an orange
flavor. We were served wine, which started a
discussion about the quality of California wines
compared with French and Italian. From the
comments Mr. Littleton made, it appeared he had
tasted wine all over the world. I had no idea if what I
was drinking was good
_;
great, or otherwise. Wine was
still just wine to me. I was familiar only with
Mommy's elderberry.
In fact. I was eating things I had never seen
before. but I was afraid to ask what they were. The
vegetables looked and tasted different from any I had
eaten, and between courses, we were served sherbet! I
thought it was odd to have dessert before the meal
ended, but soon learned it was served as a device to clear the palate, so we could fully enjoy what was yet to come. There was so much to learn above and beyond my music. I really wondered if it was possible
to do so in so short a time.
Was Steven right? Would any of these things
matter if
I
could play exceedingly well? How were
people judged in the world after all?
Madame Senetsky's dining room help were
efficient to perfection, moving in and out, between us
and over us without so much as creating enough of a
breeze to move a single strand of anyone's hair. And
they were so quiet, too. It was as though they were
ghosts and not real people. I saw how Madame
Senetsky's eyes moved from one to the other when
they served, cleared away a dish, or replenished
something. It was almost as if she was waiting for
something to drip, something to bump so she could
pounce.
Finally, just before dessert was served, she
turned her attention to us.
"Well, gentlemen, what do you think of my
new stable of horses?" she asked.
All of our teachers looked at us as if they were
actually going to make life-changing decisions that
very moment and tell one or more of us to leave the table, go upstairs, pack, and be gone.
I
found I was
actually holding my breath.
"I think you have a charming group, Madame
Senetsky," Brock Marlowe began. "Frankly, I can't
wait to begin working with them."
There was a silence we all expected to be filled
by one of the other instructors, but all we saw were
some nods and then eyes turned to Madame Senetsky. "Charm is something to be nurtured," she
began. "but it is in no way a substitute for hard,
dedicated work. These gentlemen will quickly
determine if you are all making such an effort, and
they will report to me on a regular basis. I have placed
great faith in your natural abilities. Don't disappoint
me."
"Or me," Edmond piped up, looking toward
Rose in particular.
"It will be a while before you get your greedy
hands on these prodigies and gobble up your ten
percent. Edmond," Madame Senetsky said. Our teachers laughed. Howard joining them as
if he was an old, experienced thespian already. "I can see my son is already counting his
commissions." she continued.
"Mother," Edmond said. "you know I'm in this
for the love of it and not the profit."
"Spoken like a true agent," Alfred Littleton
declared. When he laughed, he laughed in silence, his
heavy body bouncing, his jowls trembling.
There was more laughter, and then the
discussion took a remarkable turn away from us and
centered on the current New York theater and music
scene. Except for Howard, who really did keep up
with it, the rest of us could only be fascinated
listeners.
"I'd like them to attend the new production of
Madame Butterfly
at City Opera." Mr. Littleton said. "Puccini is not real opera," Mr. Bergman
remarked. "Why don't you take them to Wagner at the
Met?'
"Why not do both?" Mr. Marlowe interjected. "Of course we will," Madame Senetsky said.
She turned to us again, "Ms. Fairchild will discuss
your first weekend with you tomorrow," she told us.
"We have arranged for you to visit MOMA." "Visit who?" I blurted. I think it was the wine
going to my head that gave me the courage or
unfastened my tongue from the roof of my mouth. "The Museum of Modem Art." Howard quickly
explained in a stage whisper.
"Oh." I felt the heat in my face. Did they all
think I was a country bumpkin? "Sorry."
"Yes, and that night you will all attend an offBroadway production of modern dance," Madame
Senetsky continued, not pausing for a beat. "Sunday
afternoon, there is a lecture on Renaissance theater at
the New York Public Library. All of your
transportation will be arranged.'"
"You're pretty lucky kids," Cameron Demetrius
said.
"Let's hope they appreciate it." Mr. Berman
added.
"Oh, they will," Madame Senetsky said. She
seemed to be looking more at me than the others. 'If
not tomorrow, then the day after."
She then announced that we were excused.
Howard rose first and thanked her and our teachers.
They stood to say good night. I couldn't help but
notice how Edmond Senetsky held Rose's hand a little
longer than he held Cinnamon's. Ice's, or mine, and
how his eyes fixed on her face as well. Howard smiled
slyly at me, and then we all left the room and headed
for the stairway.
"That was fantastic," Howard began before we
were too far. "It was like being on public television or something. Can you realize and appreciate who our
teachers have met, worked with, known?"
"Do you think Mr. Bergman might have known
Mozart?" Steven joked.
"Don't be an idiot. You better not fool around
with Bergman or you'll be out on your Mozart ear."
Howard warned him.
Steven shrugged,
"Daddy will find m
e
somewhere else before I'm
in the taxi cab," he replied.
I could see how his nonchalance infuriated
Howard Rockwell.
He pounded up the stairway ahead of us. At the
top he turned, a wry smile on his face.
"Anyone notice how much flirting Edmond
Senetsky did with Rose here?"
"Stuff it. Howard," Cinnamon snapped. He laughed.
"Good night, girls. I'm getting some rest for the
big first day." He walked off.
Steven looked after him and then shrugged. "I've got some calls to make. See you in the
morning," he said. "Remember, don't disappoint!" he
warned with a silly smile and followed Howard. Rose looked upset.
"Don't let Howard get to you," Cinnamon told
her. "Was he right?"
"No," I said quickly.
Once again, they followed me into my room. "Close the door." Cinnamon told Ice, and she
did so.
Cinnamon then sat on the floor in front of my
bed and leaned against it.
"I thought Mr. Marlowe was very goodlooking. but Mr. Bergman looked like he was
suffering from hemorrhoids,'" she added, and
everyone laughed. "Sorry for you and Steven. Honey,
He looks tough."
I sat beside her and sprawled. Rose followed,
and then Ice sat in front of us.
"Honey's not the only one who should worry.
Mr. Littleton is not going to like my singing voice. I
don't sing opera," she moaned. "My daddy brought me
up on jazz."
"That won't matter. Ice." Rose said. "It's like
training with a long-distance runner even though
you're going to specialize in the sprint."
"That's a very clever way to put it," Cinnamon
said. nodding. "Were you a good student?"
"I was on the honor roll a few times, but my
family moved often and I attended too many schools." "Why?" I asked.
She looked like she wasn't going to answer, and
then said. "My father was trying to avoid
responsibilities."
"You mean with his other child and the other
woman?" Cinnamon asked.
"yes, and he was just a man who got bored
easily. The longest we were anywhere I can remember
was nearly two years."
"That didn't give you much of a chance to make
really good friends or boyfriends, did it?" Cinnamon
asked.
"No, but as I told you. I have a boyfriend
attending NYU. When my mother and I moved after
my father's death, my boyfriend Barry visited me
every weekend,"
"How serious are you two?" Cinnamon asked.
Their eyes met.
"Serious," Rose said. "More than I've been with
anyone else."
"How much more?" Cinnamon pursued. "More," Rose said.
They eyed each other for a moment, and then
Cinnamon folded her lips into a knowing smile and
nodded, after which she turned to me.
"I know Honey's got someone." Cinnamon said.
"She put his picture out pretty quickly. What about
you. Ice?"
She shook her head.
"Looks like you and I will be on the prowl
then," she told her, and Ice smiled. "Not that we need
any commitments," she added. "I don't mind being
compared to a nun in terms of my dedication to my
efforts to develop my talents, but chastity is asking a
little too much."
Rose laughed.
"It's a bit late for it anyway." Cinnamon
revealed. I felt myself blush. Ice's eyes seemed to
illuminate. Cinnamon gazed at all of us.
"I'm not the only one here. am I. girls?" Rose didn't hold her gaze.
"That's what I thought. Rose." She looked at
me. I shook my head and Ice did the same.
"Well, we're evenly matched, virgins against
fallen women," Cinnamon said. "Although," she
continued, her eyes distant. .'when I made love with
my boyfriend, we were in one of those illusions
Madame Senetsky would permit. We were playing the
roles of the spirits in my house."
"Spirits?" Ice asked, her eves narrowing with a
look of fear.
"Yes. I told you, the spirits of the people who
first lived in it. They made me do it." she said, and
then laughed.
Ice, relieved, laughed, too, and we all relaxed
even more. Rose leaned her shoulder against me. and
Cinnamon suddenly dropped herself lower, her head
practically on Ice's lap.
We spent the rest of the time talking about our
various love experiences, and what we each searched
for in a boyfriend. Ice told us about a time her mother
had arranged a blind date for her.
"You own mother arranged a date for you?"
Rose asked her. "How come?"
"She thought I was being stuck-up because I
wasn't going out much."
"How was the date?" Cinnamon asked. "A disaster. Even though I was smart to end it
quickly, my mother was upset about it."
"Why did you have to end it quickly?" I asked. "He was a soldier on leave and he was moving
too fast for me. A friend of mine at school who played
piano was there and knew the band. He ended up
taking me home. When my mother found out, she was
upset."
"Why did that bother her? Wasn't she proud
you made the right choices?" Rose asked quickly. "No. I told you. She thought I was being stuckup. but I'm not going to be anyone's good-time
trophy," she declared with hot pride. "If that makes
me stuck-up. good."
"
I don't blame you for that." I said.
"Stop worrying about it," Cinnamon declared.
"Madame Senetsky wouldn't permit it, anyway." "I don't need Madame Senetsky to watch over
that!" Ice said with her eyes wide.
Cinnamon stared at her a moment and then
smiled.
"You know, there's no reason why you can't
make them your trophies. Men think that sex is
designed for their pleasure only.
"But that's far from true," she added. She
looked at Rose. "Am I right. Rose?"
"I don't think of either of us as a trophy," she
said softly. "As long as you both respect each other.' Cinnamon seemed disappointed in her
response. She looked like she was searching for an
ally in her war with the world.
"I'm tired," she said, rising. "This conversation
is to be continued."
Rose and Ice got up as well.
"What's first tomorrow?" Rose asked. "After breakfast, we all meet with our specialist
in the morning, and then in the afternoon, we're all
meeting with Mr. Masters to perfect our consonants
and vowels," I said.
"There is absolutely nothing wrong with my
vowels a good laxative wouldn't fix." Cinnamon said. For a split second, all of us looked at her as if