Screaming Divas (11 page)

“Come on, darling. Open it.” Rebecca was leaning forward and Esther could tell that she was eager to tug at the ribbons herself.

In spite of Rebecca's impatience, she did her best to prolong the moment. She removed the ribbons and coiled them beside her, then slit the tape with her fingernail.

Rebecca's manicured nails drummed on the arm of her chair.

Finally, Esther lifted the lid, parted the tissue paper, and stared into the box. She'd never seen anything like it, so at first she wasn't sure what it was. It was long and white and plastic and there was a little switch. A curling iron? Esther took the thing out of the box and flicked the switch. It began to hum and vibrate in her hand. She tentatively touched it to the back of her neck, where the nerves were tight. Maybe this thing was supposed to reduce stress or something.

Rebecca was watching her with a mischievous smile.

“Umm, what is it?” Esther finally asked.

“It's an orgasm machine,” Rebecca whispered. “I couldn't think of anything I'd rather give you more.”

Esther blushed. She couldn't imagine a more embarrassing gift. This was worse than the training bra her grandmother had once given her for Christmas and that she'd unwittingly unwrapped in front of the entire family. And what was she going to do with it? If her mother found it, she'd freak. “Well, thanks,” Esther said.

Rebecca smiled. “It's my pleasure, entirely. Now I don't know about you, luv, but I'm famished. Is Chinese okay?”

So here they were, with their rice and jasmine tea, listening to plucked strings in the Jade Pagoda Restaurant.

“I was thinking about that band. The one we booked for the art show.”

Rebecca nodded, encouraging her.

“I was thinking that it would be cool to be in a band. To be the drummer, maybe.” That was kind of a lie. Esther knew that her interest in Screaming Divas had more to do with Cassie. If she were in the band, she could see Cassie almost every day. She could stare at her golden hair from behind her drum kit and breathe in her perfume.

And Harumi. Maybe they'd be able to patch up their friendship. They'd finally have something in common. Esther missed Harumi, and seeing her at Goatfeathers and in Trudy's living room made the feeling sharper. Sure, she had Rebecca, but these days there was no one in her life her own age, no one who knew her background.

Trudy kept watch from her crow's nest. She set the needle in the groove, cued up the next record, and leaned over the railing to scan the crowd. If she craned her neck, she could see the top of the narrow, graffiti-lined staircase, and Jan checking IDs at the door. Inside the club, people leaned against the brick walls or balanced on wooden stools, the tips of their cigarettes flaring like fireflies.

Noel hadn't been to The Cave in three weeks. Trudy imagined his home life: Wendy screaming, “A hex on you if you walk out that door!” When he finally showed up, alone, no less, she thought she was seeing things.

“Shit.” Trudy glanced at the spinning vinyl and shrugged. “Let them listen to all of side one.” She hurdled over the railing and climbed down the ladder.

Trudy homed in on Noel immediately. “Hey, stranger. Where've you been?”

“Trudy.” He wobbled a bit as he slung an arm over her shoulder. He'd obviously had a few. Was this a sign of trouble in paradise?

She tossed her hair back. “I've got a band now.”

“So I've heard.”

He was keeping track of her—another good sign.

“Truth is,” Trudy said, leaning in close enough to taste the beer on his breath, “we've got a gig coming up, but we don't have a drummer.”

“And?” Noel's mouth was inches from hers.

“And I was wondering if we might borrow Alan.”

“I'll talk to him,” Noel said.

Trudy could feel his hand gliding over her hips. He'd never touched her like this in public before. Either he was out-of-control drunk, or things were so bad with Wendy that he didn't care what kind of rumors got back to her.

“Do you want to come over later?” Trudy asked.

“I'm almost a married man.”

“You say it like you mean it,” she said, teasing. She could tell just by looking at him that he was hot for her. Anyway, who got married at nineteen? She ran her thumbnail over his fly, then whirled away. “I've got to change the record. These people aren't dancing.”

Five minutes later, Noel was gone.

Trudy asked Johnny Fad to take over in the DJ booth and went in search of him. He wasn't standing in line for the bathroom or leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. He wasn't in the Pink Room either, but Cassie and Harumi were, sipping Diet Cokes and watching the pool game through gauzy smoke.

“Have you seen Noel?” she asked.

Harumi shook her head.

“No,” Cassie said. “I didn't even know he was here.”

Trudy was about to bolt off, to check the sidewalk and the area surrounding the building, but Cassie grabbed her arm.

“Just chill with us for a moment, okay?” she said.

Trudy was still tense, ready to pounce on Noel the minute she saw him. “I think he's getting ready to leave Wendy,” she said. “He was kneading my ass in front of everyone.”

Harumi listened politely, her face blank, but Cassie rolled her eyes.

“You deserve much better. Why settle for Noel when you could have someone who really cares about you? You ought to hold out for someone who's crazy about you, who'd be willing to cut his wrists if you asked him to.”

“Have you ever been in love before, Cassie?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

Trudy figured that was a lie. If she'd experienced real love, she'd know that it was like a freight train bearing down on you and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Even if the guy was an ax murderer, it's not as if you could control how you felt about him.

“
Women Who Love Too Much
—ever hear of that book?” Cassie asked, digging her in the ribs. “I think Johnette's got a copy. I could borrow it for you.”

“Ha ha.” Trudy knew where she was coming from. She'd heard about Cassie's mother, how the woman had been a doormat for her husband. It was easy to understand that Cassie wouldn't want to be like that, crying herself to sleep every night, escaping in booze. But love, that was the thing that made living worthwhile.

“So, Cassie, if you could have anyone here, who would you choose?”

Cassie looked slowly around the room. One of the guys playing pool was pretty hot. He was tall and slender with a pulpy mouth and deep-set eyes. And then there was Jeff, the David Bowie lookalike, dressed in black as usual, a tuft of bright blond hair peeking out from under his caballero hat, enigmatic as ever.

Finally, Cassie turned back to Trudy and smirked. “I guess I'd choose you,” she said. “You, or Harumi.”

At the sound of her name, Harumi looked up, startled, then back down into her Coke.

“How about you, Harumi?” Trudy needled.

She was silent for a moment, then said, “I think Johnny Fad is divine. I'd take that boy over Noel any day.”

They all laughed, realizing the sheer impossibility of the match-up.

“Yeah, well, we have each other. That's all that matters, right?” Trudy was suddenly intoxicated by sisterhood. She'd never had friends before, not really.

They could hear the start of a song, and the bouncy beat lured them to the dance floor.

“Hey, we can do it better than those girls,” Trudy said, nodding toward the speakers. “I'm going to beg Jan to give us a gig.”

“Junk art” was right, Cassie thought when she walked into the gallery. The place looked like a garage sale after a tornado had been through it. Pedestals around the room were laden with twisted and welded bits of metal. Coat hangers, hubcaps, mangled rubber baby dolls, dirty tennis shoes, broken plates. At first glance, nothing made sense. She stooped to read some of the labels: “All God's Children Can Dance.” “End of the Millennium.” “The Crying of Lot 49.” Nothing made sense at second glance either.

Oh, well. At least they didn't have to worry about people slamming and breaking stuff. And it would be pretty damn intimidating to play in a room full of Picassos or even at a Blue Sky exhibit. Besides, what did she know about modern art? Maybe this guy was a genius.

The bits and pieces of crashed cars all around her made her think of the accident. Inevitably, she thought of her mother.

Mama had loved her more than the moon and stars, more than her daddy, more than the whiskey that swirled over the ice in her cut-crystal goblet each night, more than God, even. And Mama had loved to dress her up in miniature evening gowns and Little Bo Peep outfits and two-piece bathing suits with frilly panties. Loved to brush her long buttery locks till Cassie's scalp started to get sore, loved to decorate her face with the perfumed creams and powders she bought at Tapp's cosmetics counter. Cassie had been her honey baby, her sweetie princess.

She would have been proud on a night like this one, to see Cassie taking the stage again. Maybe she was sitting on a cloud up in heaven with her glass of whiskey, ice cubes tinkling as she looked down on the scene.

Cassie wrapped her arms around her torso. She had to get her mind on other things. Already a headache was hatching at the base of her skull. She wouldn't be able to sing if her head was banging with pain.

“Hey, Cassie.”

She turned and saw Esther Shealy. “Wow. You look different.”

Esther's hair had been harnessed and styled into a modest beehive. She'd poured herself into a strapless gown.

“You look ravishing,” Esther said. “But you always look great.”

Cassie had a vague sense of déjà vu, but it floated away before she could grab on and analyze it. “Thanks. Where's Rebecca?”

Cassie wasn't sure, but she thought there was something going on between Esther and Rebecca. Maybe they were lovers.

Cassie wondered what that might be like—doing it with a woman. Sometimes, when she was too tired to drive back home after band practice, she spent the night in Trudy's bed. They'd talk for a while and cuddle like sisters, and then drift into sleep with their legs entwined. When Trudy was asleep, she'd sometimes throw her arm over Cassie's body. Once, her palm had landed on Cassie's breast. She hadn't pushed it away. She'd reached over and cupped Trudy's breast, and rubbed her nipple with her thumb until Trudy moaned and stirred. In the morning, neither of them said anything about touching each other.

Rebecca appeared then, a goddess in an orange vinyl sheath.

A tall, gangly young man with black hair and a length of chain through his belt loops tiptoed up behind her. He growled and sank his teeth into Rebecca's pale neck.

“Adam, darling, I was wondering where you'd gotten off to.” Rebecca reached up and patted him on the head. Then she turned and kissed him on the lips.

Cassie checked Esther's face, saw that she was ill at ease. She tried to think of something to say, but Rebecca sent her on an errand and she found herself standing alone with Adam.

“So you're Trudy's friend, huh?”

“Yeah, so?”

Of course she knew about Adam and Trudy. Before Noel had entered the picture, Trudy had talked about Adam constantly—how he'd been her first love, how her dad had caught them in bed, how she'd been his muse. She'd heard about the fire from someone else.

“Did she give you that scar?” he asked her.

Cassie's hand flew automatically to her face. Most people made an effort to keep their eyes on the pretty half. They were far too polite to ever bring up the ridge of tissue. She'd been thinking that she'd go in for cosmetic surgery soon, but Trudy had convinced her to leave it alone. She'd even forgone her usual makeup job, not expecting that her scar would immediately become a topic of conversation.

Adam was watching her, waiting for her to answer.

“I was in an accident.” Cassie gestured at the sculptures, the detritus of other collisions. “It happened when I was little.” She tried to blow it off, to make it seem like something almost forgotten, but the night played over and over in her mind.

She was curled under bedcovers, trying to block out the fight downstairs and then her mother came into the room and a shaft of light fell across the bed.

“Come on, sweetie. We're going for a drive ….”

Adam was staring at her.

“What?”

“I don't know. Your face. It's so interesting. I'd like to paint it.”

Cassie laughed.

“No, really. Would you sit for me? A couple of hours?”

He reached over and touched her jaw lightly. Attraction sizzled through her.

Cassie didn't believe that he knew how to paint. This room was filled with the junk heaps of a grease monkey. Maybe he was feeding her a line, but she liked it.

She thought she might like Adam, too. He was different from the boys she'd gone out with till now. He wouldn't think that dropping in on The Cave would make a freak out of her. He'd been with Trudy, after all.

Trudy. Cassie wondered how she'd react if she went out with Adam. Lately, Trudy's obsession with him seemed to have died down, but maybe she was just pretending to be over him. Behind that tough exterior, Trudy was raw, vulnerable. She needed love and attention, and lots of it. Wasn't that part of what being in this band was all about? Well, Cassie could keep a secret. She wanted Adam. She was pretty sure he wanted her. Trudy wouldn't ever have to know.

As if she had been summoned, Trudy herself burst through the door. Cassie watched the swivel of her neck as she checked out every nook and cranny, obviously searching for Noel. All she had talked about for three days was Noel and whether or not he would show up for their debut. She said that she was sure he'd be there, lured by her insistent charm, but Cassie knew beneath her bravado, she had her doubts.