Screaming Divas (20 page)

Once again, Esther was surprised by how little she cared, how relieved she, in fact, felt. She wasn't ready for all that. She knew that now.

“What do you want to drink, Esther?” Harumi asked. “There's more beer. There're some wine coolers ….”

“I'll just have a Diet Coke,” Esther said, remembering what her mother had said. “I don't feel that great.” She was already thinking that she'd take off at midnight. She'd wait until the ball dropped at Times Square.

She followed Cassie into the kitchen, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands.

“Umm, about Christmas Eve ….”

“Hey,” Cassie said, handing her a cold can. “We'll always be friends, okay?”

Esther smiled. “Yes. Friends.”

Back in the living room, Trudy flicked on the television. Dick Clark's face came into view. He was just announcing the first band, a bunch of blondes in miniskirts.

“Someday, we're going to be on the show,” Trudy said.

The other Divas just stared at the TV screen, but Adam raised a cup into the air. “I'll drink to that.”

“Wait,” Cassie said. “I have something that we can truly celebrate.” She disappeared in the back of the house.

Something about her and Adam? That painting of Cassie he'd been working on? Esther, Harumi, and Trudy exchanged glances. None of them seemed to know about the big surprise.

Cassie returned, hands behind her back. “Are you ready?”

“Enough with the suspense,” Trudy growled, though even Esther could tell that she was enjoying this.

“Ta-da!” Cassie held out a piece of paper. A check. They all moved in for a closer look.

“My dad booked a studio so that we can record a demo, and this is going to cover the cost. It's his Christmas present to me. To all of us!”

It wasn't midnight yet, but they all started tearing paper napkins into paper confetti and kissing each other.

“So how are things going with Mr. Right?” Cassie asked Harumi.

It was post-gig—a private party at some sorority house, but a paid gig all the same—and the Divas were all gathered at the Capitol Café. Playing onstage made them ravenous.

“Do you mean Chip?” Harumi asked, perplexed.

“Who else, silly?” Cassie ruffled her hair.

“Not so well.” She stirred the grits on her plate with a fork.

“Didn't I see him at The Cave last time we played there?” Trudy asked.

“Yeah, he was there,” Harumi said. “I should have introduced you.”

Actually, she hadn't even spoken to him that night herself. Of course she'd seen him. He'd dressed down in jeans and a polo shirt, but he still looked out of place. She could imagine his discomfort, and it had moved her that he would go out of his way to prove his interest. He risked blasted eardrums and stomped-on Topsiders, all for her. Their eyes had met briefly before a taller man stepped in front of him. Then the house lights had dimmed and the overhead lights brightened, and Harumi couldn't see faces anymore.

Playing back that night in her mind, she thought she should have had a song dedicated to him, or thrown her pick, or committed some other showy rock star gesture. She should have talked to him, at least, but she was still too embarrassed and too tired. Maybe it was better to retreat from the real world for a while. She could deal with Mrs. Harris and her paperback novels and scratchy old records. That was just one woman's nostalgia. And she could lose herself in the music, in the intricate movements of her fingers, whenever she was with the Divas. Even at Goatfeathers she could disappear into a role, as long as Chip didn't show up. (And he didn't; he was giving her space.) She liked to daydream about him, but she wasn't ready to deal with a flesh and blood man.

“So what's the problem?” Trudy asked. “Was The Cave too spooky for him?”

Harumi shrugged. “He sent me flowers every day for a week after that.” The notes were always short—the first one, an apology, and then a note to “The Rickenbacker Goddess,” praising her performances. She'd arranged the flowers by her bed so she could wake to the sight of roses and hothouse orchids. The notes, she'd saved in the pages of her favorite books.

“Wow. What a romantic! I can't imagine Adam sending me flowers,” Cassie said.

Trudy snorted.

“No one has ever sent me flowers, either,” Esther added.

Harumi knew she'd never had a boyfriend. Maybe girls didn't send flowers to each other.

Sooner or later Chip would give up on her, if he hadn't already. The last note had included his phone number and the words “call me.” If she ignored it, he'd fade from her life and find someone else.

“Do you like him?” Cassie asked.

“Yeah. I do. I just don't know how to behave. Last time we were together, he was kissing me, when I thought of something funny and I started laughing.” She raked through her grits again with the fork. “It wasn't even that funny. I was just nervous.”

“Harumi.” Cassie waited until she looked up from her plate. “He doesn't care. He came to our show just to see you, and he sent you flowers. You should call him.”

“Call him right now,” Trudy said. She jerked her head toward the pay phone in the corner. It was after midnight.

“No way.”

“Call him! Call him!” Trudy started chanting. And then Esther and Cassie joined in, until they were loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Even Pee Wee, the waitress. She sashayed over with a pot of freshly brewed coffee and filled their cups. “Girl, you need to get on that phone.”

She pushed her plate away and swung her body out of the booth.

“Here's a quarter,” Cassie said, holding out a coin.

Harumi took it. Slipped it in the slot. Punched in the number. She'd memorized it by now. She thought about hanging up after the second or third ring, and again after Chip's first “Hello.”

“Who's this? Is anyone there?”

When she sensed he was about to slam the receiver down in agitation, she spoke. “Wait, Chip. It's me.”

She heard him sigh and imagined the tension leaving his shoulders, his body relaxing to the tune of her voice. Maybe he was smiling.

“Harumi.” He recognized her voice even though they'd never spoken on the phone before. “How are you?”

She took a deep breath, not knowing what she really wanted to say. “I'm sorry. I wasn't laughing at you.”

“I know. Do you want to give us another try?”

“Okay.”

“How about Saturday night?”

When she hung up the phone, Cassie and Esther and Trudy made her repeat every word. Pee Wee brought her a piece of pecan pie and told her it was on the house.

When Chip showed up at six-thirty on Saturday night, he was wearing a tux with a white scarf tossed around his neck. Fancy. He hadn't told her where they were going, but obviously she was underdressed. He waited for Harumi to change out of her leotard and wrap skirt and into a black dress. Then he ushered her out to his car.

“Tonight, we're going to listen to my kind of music,” he said, starting the engine.

Harumi's stomach flip-flopped. She hoped he was taking her to some quiet bar with a singer-songwriter on a stool, or even a disco where thirtysomething couples shagged to beach music. She didn't want to be reminded of her previous life.

A few minutes later, they pulled up in front of the Township auditorium and Harumi saw the marquee: Carolina Symphony with Anne-Marie Muller. Classical music. Violin soloist.

Harumi didn't say a word as Chip parked the car and opened her door. She let her small hand rest lightly on his elbow as they walked to the entrance. Women with stiffly styled hair and long gowns swished through the lobby.

Harumi had heard of Anne-Marie. She was one of the most famous young violinists in the world: a child prodigy, a daring original who sometimes stomped onstage in black leather. Once she'd shocked an audience by appearing in blue jeans, but she'd been quickly forgiven when she put bow to strings.

Chip had secured good seats, only twenty rows from the stage. They'd be close enough to watch Anne-Marie's face—the expressions of effort and genius.

Harumi sat rigidly, her back not even touching the velvet-upholstered seat. She could feel Chip's eyes upon her. Maybe he thought she wasn't used to such a luxe environment.

She felt his hand hovering above her own, and she took it and held it on her lap. Why was she so nervous? She wasn't even the one performing. She took a deep breath and eased back into her seat.

“Are you okay?” Chip asked. “You look a little pale.”

Harumi gave him a small smile and squeezed his hand lightly.

Finally, the stage cleared and the house lights dimmed. The audience applauded as the orchestra took their places. The applause increased when the conductor appeared. And then Anne-Marie, resplendent in an iridescent pink strapless gown, stepped from behind the curtain. Her hair spouted from a high ponytail and spilled into her face. She looked gorgeous. A front row fan whistled.

When the music began, Harumi closed her eyes. She could see, even then, the bows slicing air, the dance of the conductor's baton. She could feel her own calloused fingers pressing against strings. She could smell the piney resin.

They were playing Vivaldi's
Four Seasons
concerti, and when Anne-Marie took up the sweet, joyous notes of the Spring concerto her face was filled with something akin to love. Harumi knew that she had lost that look in her last year of playing the violin. Her passion had turned into resentment. She had been right to quit. Still, listening now, she wondered what it would be like to lift an instrument—Sadie III?—to her shoulder.

Her eyes stayed open from then on, fixed on the performers. Nothing distracted her, not even the snoring of the man next to her. She almost forgot about Chip as well. At intermission, she turned to him at last.

“Your cheeks are blooming,” he said. “You look like an angel.”

“She's brilliant, isn't she?” Harumi nodded to the place where Anne-Marie had stood, tossing her ponytail.

“She made a deal with the devil, that one,” Chip said with a wink. “Care for a cup of coffee?”

They went into the lobby, into the hum and buzz of ordinary conversation, and had espresso.

“I've missed you,” Chip said.

“Me, too.” Looking up at him now, she couldn't believe she'd been so silly and nervous. She felt completely at ease.

He leaned close to brush a stray hair from her cheek and she inhaled his musk. She felt a flash of desire and wondered, for a moment, if she would make love to him that night. But no. It was too soon. She would have to tell him that.

The lobby lights clicked off and on and they returned to their seats.

“Chip,” she whispered, just before the orchestra reappeared. “I have something to tell you.”

“What?”

Harumi took a deep breath. “I've never had a boyfriend before, and I play the violin.”

It was a week before Valentine's Day, and it was snowing. Esther hugged her body as she ran from Trudy's door to her car, her teeth chattering. No matter how cold it was, though, she was glad to be out of Trudy's living room. The lead Diva had been in one of her moods. She'd actually flung a beer bottle against the wall, putting a dent in the plaster, when Cassie messed up on a chord progression. Not a good scene.

And Cassie, well, she'd been acting strange lately. Spacey. Sometimes she started laughing or crying for no reason. And she'd been losing weight and color. Esther was sure she was on some kind of drug.

Harumi was the only one who seemed normal. If anything, Harumi seemed happier than usual. She no longer sat in the corner, caressing her bass. Now she actually laughed at Trudy's off-color jokes. She was quicker to make suggestions on improving songs. And this evening, once or twice she'd exchanged looks with Esther, rolling her eyes when Trudy threw the bottle.

Esther waited till the car was warmed up, then stabbed a tape into her cassette deck. She warbled along as she made her way home.

She'd promised to call Rebecca later, but she had a biology test to study for and a paper to write. Plus, she wasn't in the mood. Rebecca would want to discuss Valentine's Day plans—sex on a public beach, or something equally outrageous—and Esther wasn't up for it. She was dreading the fourteenth of February. She wished they could just exchange boxes of chocolate and be done with it.

Rebecca. Lately, just the thought of her mentor/friend/boss gave Esther a headache. She knew that there was something very wrong with the relationship. It was time to put an end to it, but Esther didn't know how. If she had the money and the guts, she'd leave town without a forwarding address. That would be the easiest way.

Or she could write a letter. Breaking up by mail was cowardly, but she was a coward. She'd be the first to admit it. Besides, in a live, one-to-one confrontation, she'd either lose her courage or wind up being persuaded by Rebecca to change her mind. And then she'd continue being miserable. A letter would be best.

Esther reached the house just as the tape was ending. Her mother had left the porch light on, and Esther could see the snow whirling around. She sat in her car for a moment, letting her decision harden into something concrete. Then she took a deep breath and yanked the door handle.

Almost as soon as she was in the foyer, her mother rushed out to greet her.

“Oh, honey. We were worried about you. Were the roads icy?”

Esther kissed her cheek. “No, not at all.”

“Your boss called a little while ago. She wants you to call her back.”

Esther gritted her teeth and nodded. She wouldn't call. Instead, she ducked into the living room to say hello to her father, enthroned as usual in his La-Z-Boy with a cold beer, and hurried upstairs to her room.

As she lay sprawled across her bed, she tried to concentrate on “A Rose for Emily,” but thoughts of Rebecca kept barging into her mind. She finally gave up, closed her book, and took out a notebook.