Shooting Stars 01 Cinnamon (11 page)

If I had anything over her, it was my stronger desire to win the part, to win it for Mommy. Iris didn't have the same hunger, the same need and
determination. She couldn't raise herself to the level of intensity.

She was too comfortable being Iris Ainsley to really step out of herself and be the woman in the play. I only hoped others saw it as I did.

Auditions were held after school in the auditorium. I had been having a horrendous day. Rumors encircled me like a ring of fire now that everyone knew Clarence had been taken out of school. A little truth was mixed with a lot of exaggeration to create a recipe for disgrace. My role attracted the most exaggeration, especially from the lips of the boys. According to what some of the kids were saying. I had either raped poor innocent Clarence or taught him some nasty satanic rituals. Dirty remarks were cast my way in the halls and in the cafeteria. I found
disgusting notes on my desk and shoved into my locker. I ignored it all and kept my focus on what I had to do: remain within that spotlight so that I couldn't see the world around me.

Most of the students who were going out far the play looked genuinely surprised I was there. Miss Hamilton handed out scenes from the play. She began by explaining the story and setting up the characters.

"Don't think about one character or another. Just read what I give you to read and leave it up to me to decide who fits each character the best. I appreciate you all coming out it takes courage. And I would like to state right now that if you don't find yourself with a part, please consider being a member of our set crew, prop crew, lighting crew or publicity committee. My advice to all of you is to get involved any way you can." she added looking directly at me.

It filled me with dread. Was it a foregone conclusion that Iris would get the part
I
longed to have?

The readings began. Iris had done what I had done: she had memorized the lead's lines. I could see from their faces that everyone assumed she was going to get the role. I felt it was almost futile when I was called. The others didn't smile with disdain as much as they stared with curiosity. None of them had ever seen me do anything in front of an audience. I read in class, of course, and I made reports when I had to, just like they did, but this was different. This was truly being under the spotlight.

I stepped up on the stage, Dell Johnson was reading the role of Death. He had a very mature look and a deep, resonant voice. He sang lead in the chorus and had been in three major musical productions at the school. None of the boys frying out deluded themselves. They were here to get some other role. Dell owned this one by his mere existence.

He looked at me and smiled as if my daring to challenge Iris was a childish act of bravado. It stirred heat under my breasts. I straightened my shoulders and closed my eyes for a moment, conjuring up the very scene Miss Hamilton had chosen to be read.

And then I began, reciting, illustrating I had memorized the lines as well. I could hear a very audible gasp of surprise and a stirring in the group. Dell, who I knew had intended just to read his lines without much feeling, suddenly found himself actually acting. Later. Miss Hamilton would tell me when someone is good, very good, it makes everyone else reach for his highest capability.

I looked at Dell. I moved toward him instinctively when the lines called for me to do so. I raised and lowered my voice, gazed into his eyes, drew him into the scene. We did so well together, we went beyond the pages we were given, and for a few seconds, no one. Not even Miss Hamilton realized it. Then she clapped her hands and we stopped.

I glanced at Iris. She looked shocked, surprised, and angry at the same time, but that quickly turned to panic when she looked at Miss Hamilton and saw the depth of pleasure on her face. Then Iris turned back to me, long, glaring looks of envy delivered and redelivered as a series of visual slaps on my face. I walked off. feeling her eves like two laser beams burning the back of my head. I ignored her and sat down to listen to the others, choosing whom I would select to play the various roles just to see how close I could come to what Miss Hamilton would do.

Surprisingly. I was nearly right about every one of them when I looked at the cast list posted the following morning. My name was prominent. I had won the part and that took over as the main topic of conversation in school. Most of my teachers congratulated me. Some looked genuinely surprised and impressed. Even Mr. Kaplan, the principal, stopped to wish me luck and encouragement. I was on pins and needles, anxious to rush out to the clinic to give Mommy the good news. Our first rehearsal was on Monday. Miss Hamilton assigned the pages to be memorized.

"I'm glad she chose you," Dell Johnson told me just before school ended. "I was afraid she wouldn't give you the chance."

I told him. That raised his eyebrows.
"Really?" He paused and looked around us to
be sure what we said wouldn't be overheard. "You
know, you'd better be careful about her." he advised. "Why?"
"I've heard things, and I've got to warn you...
Iris is pretty upset. She's already suggesting..." He
rolled his eyes.
"Suggesting what?"
"Dirty stuff." he said. "Between you and Miss
Hamilton." he added.
"She better not do it in front of me." I said. "Don't worry, she won't. She doesn't work that
way." He leaned toward me to add. "Just ignore them
all. Cinnamon. Concentrate on the play. You'll be
great," he said.
He sounded sincere. but I wondered if I could
trust him. It was the beginning. I thought, the
beginning of all the little intrigues that would
surround and invade every dramatic project with
which I would become involved. As always, the
hardest part was acting in real life and the easiest thing was doing the actual performance. The line between the real and the imagined was blurred. Once again, I understood that life itself was an ongoing play. Shakespeare was right: the world was a stage
and all of us merely players.
Well, it was my time to play and. I was now
determined. I would.
Mommy was so ecstatic over the news. I
thought she might get up, ask for her clothes and walk
out of the clinic with me right then and there. "I knew you would be chosen. Cinnamon. She
would have had to be a dullard not to see your
talents," Mammy told me.
"Sometimes, talent isn't what determines who
does and does not get the good roles. Mommy," I said.
"You taught me that."
She stared at me a moment. her eyes darkening. "Of course you're right, honey," she said. "But I
never meant to cause you to be cynical at so young an
age. We need our childhood faiths sometimes. We
need to believe in magic and wonder and have pure,
innocent hope. Otherwise, the world out there is a
very dark, disappointing place and frankly, it's the
only world we have."
"I believe in the magic. Mommy, but it's magic we make for ourselves. Those who trust and have too
much faith suffer the most," I said.
What she didn't know was that I was talking
about Daddy and how much faith and trust she had in
him. How would she react when she found out about
him? Would she crumble and end up back in here? I
would hate him forever, I thought.
"You're right. Cinnamon. I just want you to find
a good balance."
"I will," I promised.
She wanted me to read from the play script and
talk about the part. She was determined to get better
quickly now and be there to help me give the best
possible performance.
"When are you coming home. Mommy? Has
the doctor told you?"
"He wants me to stay a few more days, to grow
stronger and to be sure I am all right," she said.
"Daddy thinks that's best. too."
"Really?"
"Yes. He seems so troubled these days, so
distant. I feel sorry for him, sorry for what all this has
done, to him." she said.
"Don't you feel that way. Mommy," I charged. I
was a bit too adamant.
"Why not?"
"You're the one who's suffered! You had all the
pain and all the disappointment. Mommy."
"Okay, honey. Let's try not to talk about me
anymore. Let's concentrate on you for a while. I can't
wait to see you on that stage. Read some more," she
urged.
I softened my hard heart and did what she
asked. In fact, the play soon became my whole life.
I
rushed through my homework at night and then went
upstairs to the magic attic room to read and recite
aloud. It just felt better to do it in that room, our room
for stories and dreams.
I
soon memorized the whole
play, everyone's part as well as my own. I could
deliver my lines and then Dell's, actually assuming
his position and lowering my voice to sound like him. It felt so good. I was safe, wrapped in the
cocoon of the imaginary world, the characters, the
time and the place. I was no longer here in a house
where sad tears streaked the walls, where dark
shadows brushed away our smiles, where old voices
full of disappointments and trouble echoed in the
silences that hung in every corner during the hours
when darkness draped over us and the moon fell
victim to night's long thick clouds.
The play was the thing, my everything, my new
world. It filled the void that had been dug and created
the day I spied on Daddy and saw him kiss that
strange woman on the lips. I had someplace to go to
avoid him, something else to think about and fill my
head, shoving out the anger and the disappointment
that followed the memory of that dreadful moment. It
helped me tolerate Grandmother Beverly, to flick off
her nasty comments and criticism or let it float on by,
unheard, unrecognized. When she began one of her
lectures. I stared at her and in my mind. I rolled off
lines from the play, listening to the voices in my head
instead of her. In a way I had become just like
Mammy, able to ignore her.
Perhaps most of all, the play loomed as the one
big thing that would restore Mommy, bring her
happiness and pleasure, help her to forget her tragedy
and depression and bring us together in our special
way once more.
And then, as if Grandmother Beverly
understood all this, she homed in on her opportunity
to ruin it, to shut another door and maybe drive
Mommy back into despair. This opportunity came
from the ugliest and nastiest of the rumors that girls
like Iris Ainsley kept swarming like angry bees around me. She was so beautiful and intelligent. She had more than most girls dreamed of having, but her jealousy was too strong. It replaced the soft blue in her eves with a putrid green and turned those perfect lips into writhing corkscrews, turning and twisting words and thoughts until they spilled out around me in the form of accusations about Miss Hamilton and
myself.
The clouds steamed in from the north, cold and
dark, eager to close off my sunshine.
I couldn't let it happen. I wouldn't let it happen. I drew strength from my spirits, my old pictures
in the attic and the voices in the walls.
And I went forth to do battle with all the
demons inside my home and out.

Everything we did. Grandmother Beverly challenged and argued over, but we didn't pay any attention. As Mommy had decided, we nodded, said yes and then did what we wanted. It was beginning to be film
again,

I took Mommy for walks. Color returned to her cheeks. Her appetite grew better and I was more hopeful and happier than I had been in weeks. I waited to tell her about Clarence and what
Grandmother Beverly had done. He phoned a few times, but each time, he sounded terrified of talking too long. We made value promises to see each other as soon as possible. but I sensed that we each knew our plans were fantasies. I could feel him letting go of my hand.

I felt heartsick, but helpless. My first disappointment in love. I thought, would certainly not be my last. By the time I decided Mommy was strong enough to hear about the whole incident. I decided there wasn't any point in upsetting her over something that no longer mattered. We were too involved in my play by now anyway. That absorbed most of our time together. Mommy enjoyed playing different roles and rehearsing with me. We would do it in the living room sometimes, which drove Grandmother Beverly away. Often, we would stop and throw lines back and forth, even at dinner. It was truly as if we had set up that fourth wall: impenetrable and protective.
Grandmother Beverly couldn't do anything but look in at us.