Screaming Divas (10 page)

At the same time, she was thinking about how little she knew about love and sex in general. She knew how to tune a violin, but she didn't know how to flirt. She was intimate with the music of Chopin, but she'd never kissed a boy—or girl, for that matter.

Everyone thought that she was so worldly because she'd been to New York and performed onstage with adults, but all those years with Sadie had robbed her of experience of another kind. She didn't know how to move in the world without an instrument.

Cassie came through the door in combat boots and an oversized black dress scribbled with Technicolor graffiti just as Harumi's shift was ending. She finished wiping the tables, punched her time card, and grabbed her bass and amp from the back room.

“My car's right outside,” Cassie said. “We could walk, but it's dark.”

Harumi followed her to the curb and they got in the car.

“Ready for the big audition?”

Harumi felt a flash of panic. Auditions had always made her feel like throwing up. But this would be different. Cassie had already told her all about Trudy, how she didn't know how to play any instruments herself, and how eager she'd been when Cassie had offered to introduce Harumi to her. She understood that there was no competition for the position, and that Trudy was borderline desperate for a drummer. All Harumi had to do was show up.

When they got to the house where Trudy lived, they saw her sitting on the porch, in a pool of light. She sprang up to meet them as soon as they got out of the car.

“Perfect timing,” she said. “My roommate's still at work, so we can be as noisy as we want.”

The neighboring houses were dark. Did that mean that everyone was sleeping? Harumi didn't want to wake anybody up.

“Hey,” Trudy said to Harumi, suddenly a little shy. “I like your earrings.”

Harumi reached up and touched the rhinestone Eiffel Towers dangling from her lobes. “Thanks.”

Cassie had told her that appearances were important to Trudy, that she had a certain look in mind for Screaming Divas. It was a good sign that she liked her jewelry.

They moved inside to a dimly lit living room. The faint smell of cigarettes and burnt toast lingered in the air. The worn, stained carpet had vacuum tracks, as if Trudy had just finished sweeping.

“Can I get you a drink or something?” she asked, all puppy-like.

“No, thanks. I'm good.” After carrying trays of beer and coffee beverages around all night, Harumi didn't want to look at a glass. She looked around for an outlet, somewhere to set up.

“So Cassie told me that you went to Juilliard,” Trudy said. Her eyes were shiny.

“I, uh, tried out. I didn't go.” Cassie must not have mentioned her breakdown, which was just as well.

“Oh.”

“So do you want me to play something?”

“Sure.” Trudy flopped down on the sofa. The coils whined beneath her. “If you want.”

“I told her about your other band,” Cassie put in.

Harumi cringed. She didn't want to think about those guys. She hoped that this new band would take themselves seriously. At the very least, she hoped they planned on practicing.

Cassie sat down on the sofa beside Trudy, as if she were settling in for a performance.

Harumi plugged in the amp, slowly unzipped the case, and brought out Zelda. When she was finally ready, she looked up at Trudy, who was leaning forward, waiting for some sign of genius. The fingers of Harumi's left hand began crawling over the frets like spiders, while she strummed out the first bars of “Für Elise” with her pick. At the sight of Trudy's puzzled expression, she bit back a smile, and then segued into “Bela Lugosi's Dead.”

Trudy started humming along. Cassie's combat boot was tapping. Harumi stopped worrying about the neighbors and gave herself over to the bassline. By the time she got to the end of the song, no one was sitting down.

“So do you want to join up?” Trudy asked.

That was it? The audition was over? “Uh, sure.”

Trudy reached out her hand as if they were a couple of businessmen. They shook.

“Well, alright then. I hereby declare you a Screaming Diva.”

Esther was alone in the gallery, flicking a feather duster over the sculptures and furniture. She was in a meditative state, bathed in New Age harp music. Then the bell on the door tinkled and Rebecca appeared.

“Guess what? We're having a party!”

Esther put the feather duster under the counter. “A party?

“An art show. A gallery opening. You remember that bloke Adam? The one who made the coat of arms out of a garbage can lid? We're going to represent his work.”

“Cool.” Esther pictured herself flitting from guest to guest with a plate of canapés.

“And I have the most brilliant idea,” Rebecca went on. “Why don't we ask your friend—the little Japanese girl—and her band to play? It would be purr-fect. Trash art, trash music.”

Esther felt as if her skin had suddenly become a size too small. She hadn't spoken to Harumi since that night in the car, since the night she'd met Rebecca. She knew that Harumi worked at that bohemian coffee shop on the next block, but there was no point in going there. Their friendship had crashed and burned.

“Well, uh, actually that band broke up,” Esther said, not meeting Rebecca's eyes. “She's in a new band now. A girl band.”

“How fabulous. Even better.”

Esther shifted her weight, trying to think of some sort of response. She wondered what Rebecca would make of Cassie. Maybe she'd go after her with the same kind of intensity she'd used in seducing Esther—the prowl and then the pounce. For a few seconds, Esther imagined the two of them clawing at each other, but it was Rebecca she was jealous of, not Cassie. She closed her eyes and choked back her fear.

“What's the band's name?”

“Uh, Screaming Divas. I think.”

“Fabulous! I love it!”

“They haven't actually performed in public yet. I don't know if they're any good.”

“Darling, they don't have to be good. We want something rough to go with the feel of Adam's work. Think of it as performance art, not music.”

She crossed the gallery and reached out to stroke Esther's cheek. “Please, darling, will you ask your friend? As a favor to me?”

Later, after a woman had bought a string of hand-painted clay beads, after a pair of Yankee tourists had waltzed off with a signed Blue Sky print, Esther said goodbye for the day and rounded the corner to Goatfeathers.

She'd been there a few times before on coffee breaks with Rebecca, but never during Harumi's shift.

The interior was dark. Most of the tables were empty, though Esther spotted a thirtysomething guy in a blue Oxford shirt at the center table. He was leafing through a dog-eared copy of
Architectural Digest
. A group of students in USC regalia and crew cuts were crammed into one booth. Empty beer bottles cluttered their table.

As Esther walked by, she heard one guy say, “Hey, get Connie Chung over here. We need more brewski.” The others laughed.

Esther felt that old anger rise within her. Her first impulse was to grab one of those empty beer bottles and bring it down on the guy's prickly head. He was big, though—meaty and stupid—and she knew she'd lose the fight. She might end up with a broken head herself. But she couldn't just ignore the remark.

She turned to the booth and said, “For your information, your waitress is named Harumi. And her roots are Japanese, not Chinese.”

They stared at her for a moment. Then the ringleader smiled and said, “Who the hell are you?”

Esther could feel someone coming up behind her. She moved out of the way and Harumi brushed by.

“Hey, guys. More beer?”

Esther watched for a moment as Harumi loaded a tray with clinking bottles, and then climbed on a stool across from Blue Oxford Shirt. He looked up and smiled at her.

Harumi was beautiful and confident, Esther thought. She didn't need anyone to defend her from the bigots and assholes of the world. Look at the way she held herself—back straight, chin high, eyes cool. She held everything important deep inside and there was no getting at it.

Esther watched her one-time best friend come toward her, pad in hand.

“Hey, Esther. What'll it be?”

Esther's heart was ticking like a bomb. All of the words she wanted to say jammed in her throat.

Harumi waited, her face blank. “Here's a menu. I'll give you a few minutes.” She went back to Blue Oxford. “Another Red Stripe, Chip?”

It was hard to believe they'd once chased the ice cream truck together and traded Nancy Drew books. To Harumi, Esther was just another customer, another tip that she had to hustle for.

When she returned, Esther still hadn't opened the menu, but she knew what she wanted. “I'll have a café au lait,” she said. “But I came here to ask you a favor.”

“A gig!” Trudy whooped and jumped around the room. “We've got a gig!” What's more, it would be at Adam's opening. She would show him that she wasn't just some little girl. She was a
contender
.

“You mean you'll do it?” the little Earth Mama said.

Trudy didn't know anything about Esther, but she liked her already. This neo-hippie in layered gauze and wooden beads was the angel of rock-and-roll bookings. She would have a special place in punk rock heaven. Trudy would remember what she had done for them when the biographers and interviewers appeared with their pads of paper, eager to know every detail of Screaming Divas' history. Or herstory.

Harumi scowled from across the room. She stroked her bass as if it were some kind of talisman. Trudy noticed that she always did this when she was tense about something. “We need to practice,” she said. “A lot. And Cassie needs to learn how to play that guitar.”

“Well, don't practice too much,” the tall blonde woman named Rebecca said. “We'd like the music to be, y'know, rough.”

Trudy nodded. Rebecca didn't look rough at all. She, in her tight black suit and herringbone stockings, made all of the furniture in Trudy's living room look especially shoddy. But this woman was in tune like no other. She understood, as Harumi didn't, that they would be playing for the people, not a bunch of society bores in tuxes and mink. She knew that their appeal rose above their inability to sustain a beat.

“We don't have a drummer,” Cassie said.

“We'll find one,” Trudy said quickly. “Esther? Do you want to be our drummer?”

Esther's pale face turned red. “Me? I, uh, I have no musical experience.”

“Just kidding,” Trudy said. “Seriously. I have someone in mind.”

“At ease, girls. I'm sure you'll be fabulous.”

“Well, let's break out the booze and celebrate!” Without waiting for a response, Trudy marched into the kitchen, reached into the fridge, and filled her arms with Corona. She wished that they had champagne, but anything that fizzed a little would do. Back in the living room, she passed out the drinks.

“One for you,” she said, handing a bottle to Rebecca. “And one for you,” to Harumi. When she held out a beer to Cassie, she shook her head, as usual.

“No, thanks.”

Trudy was disappointed for a split second. She thought that just this once, on this most auspicious occasion of landing their first gig ever, Cassie might imbibe. But no. And Trudy understood. She knew about her mother's drinking problem and about the accident that had wrecked Cassie's face.

They popped open the beers and toasted their impending success. Trudy sat cross-legged on the middle of the floor at Rebecca's feet.

This woman was way cool. And she could help Screaming Divas conquer Columbia. “Can you drum, Rebecca?” Trudy asked.

“Probably.” Rebecca took a long draught and winked at Esther, who was sitting silently in the corner.

Esther, Trudy noted, suddenly looked very uncomfortable. She sat, back straight, knees together, as if she were at a job interview or something. What was her deal? Harumi had mentioned that Esther was an old friend and Cassie knew her from school. Trudy sensed that there were secrets to be uncovered. Well, there was time enough for that.

“Who's going to sing?” Harumi asked now. She'd put down her bass, but her mind was still on technicalities.

During practice, Trudy and Cassie took turns as lead diva. Cassie sang the songs she'd written and thrashed around the room; Trudy did her Screaming Divas versions of Supremes songs. But alone, when the others had packed up and gone home, Trudy practiced Cassie's songs. She copied Cassie's movements in front of the mirror and worked menace into her voice. She knew that she could do the songs as well as Cassie.

Here in the living room, Trudy and Cassie exchanged glances. Trudy stared hard, willing Cassie to give in.

“It's your band,” she said, dropping her gaze. “You can sing. I think I'd be more comfortable in the background anyhow.”

“We'll all be singing,” Trudy said. “We'll all be screaming and dancing and having a ball.”

Well, why couldn't she be a drummer? Esther tapped her chopsticks against her bowl. What was so funny about the idea of her drumming? If she practiced, she was sure that she could do it.

“A dollar for your thoughts, luv,” Rebecca said from the other side of the table.

This was Esther's birthday dinner. She wouldn't turn eighteen till the following day, but she'd be going out to some family restaurant with her parents and they'd be eating cake and ice cream together. She couldn't invite Rebecca to join them. It would be too weird.

On her last birthday, Harumi had slept over and they'd watched old movies. Harumi had given her a bracelet. This year, she'd be lucky if she got a card from her.

Of course Rebecca had given her a gift. Earlier, in Rebecca's apartment, Esther had been handed a shoebox, wrapped in silver paper and decorated with tendrils of blue ribbon. She'd felt a gush of excitement as she shook the box and felt something rattling around inside.