Star (21 page)

“Good luck,” he whispered, more to himself, as she got up on the stage in a pale blue satin evening gown Pearl had lent her.

She got up on the stage cautiously, with a look of sudden terror in Pearl’s direction, wondering if it was a mistake to even try it, and her mentor gave her the victory sign, as the others stood in the corners of the room and waited. And then suddenly, as the spotlight hit her and the music came up, Crystal forgot that any of them were there, and began singing her heart out. She sang Billie Holiday’s song “God Bless the Child,” and as everyone listened, her friends stared. She was everything Pearl had said she was, and Harry had hoped for. She was extraordinary. Her voice overwhelmed everyone in the room with its unexpected power and poignancy. She brought tears to their eyes and they applauded for what seemed like hours. And as they did, Crystal knew she was where she belonged now. She had dreamed of a moment like this, and now it had come. She didn’t even need Hollywood now, all she needed were these people, this place, this moment.

Afterward Harry bought her a bottle of champagne, and invited her and Pearl to sit with him, as he beamed at Crystal.

“You ever think you’d be a singer when you grew up, kid?”

“No, sir.” She’d dreamed of being a movie star, but never a singer.

He patted her hand, poured her another glass of the sparkling wine, and winked at Pearl before smiling at Crystal again. “Just call me Harry.”

And as she sat there, she felt her whole body tingle. She had loved it. It was a dream come true, and suddenly all the agonies of the past months were forgotten. And when she went home that night, she felt like Cinderella. She wasn’t just a waitress anymore. She was someone. She was a singer. She was still grinning to herself as she walked up the stairs, and a lower door creaked loudly open. A familiar face peered up at her as Mrs. Castagna scowled. She loved pretending to terrorize everyone, but she had developed a secret soft spot for Crystal.

“What you looking so happy about? You got a boyfriend?” Her voice resounded on the stairs, and Crystal bent over the banister to smile at her.

“Better than that …” She wasn’t quite sure how to explain it, “I started doing something different tonight.” She grinned with joy at the memory of singing at Harry’s, and the endless applause that had come after.

But the scowl on Mrs. Castagna’s face had deepened. “You ain’t doing something bad, are you?” In the short time Crystal had lived with her, she had become her self-appointed mother, but Crystal only shook her head and smiled at the old woman.

“Of course not.”

“Then what you do?”

“They let me sing tonight.” She beamed as she said it,
and the old woman in black looked suddenly surprised. She’d never thought of Crystal as having talent. She was just pretty and young, and she waited on tables somewhere. She paid her rent on time, and once in a while she brought Mrs. Castagna flowers when she got her paycheck.

“What kind of singing?” The old woman continued to look suspicious.

“You know, like in a nightclub.”

“I don’t know. I don’t go to places like that.” It was clear that this new development was cause for disapproval. “You come down here and tell me about this.” Crystal was tired, but she didn’t have the heart to refuse her. She walked slowly down the stairs, her pale hair cascading over her shoulders. She had changed back into her own clothes again, and Pearl’s blue gown was carefully hung in her locker at Harry’s.

Mrs. Castagna was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs, and Crystal looked down at her like a girl coming home from her first prom. Her eyes still looked dreamy and happy.

“You look like you been up to no good, Miss Crystal Wyatt. What they make you do in that place?”

“They don’t make me do anything. They let me sing, on a stage, in a beautiful blue satin dress they let me wear.”

“You sing good?” Mrs. Castagna narrowed her eyes, as though expecting to see something different, but all she saw was that Crystal looked happy.

“Okay, I guess. The audience seemed to like it.”

Mrs. Castagna nodded, as though deciding if it was true, and then she looked back up at Crystal. “You come in and show me.” She turned on her heel and walked back to the door of her own small apartment, as Crystal followed her, grinning in amusement. She sat down in her
favorite chair then, and looked expectantly up at Crystal. “You sing for me. I’ll tell you if I like it.” Crystal started to laugh then, and sat down on a straight-backed chair.

“I can’t just sing like that. It’s not the same here.”

“Why not?” The old woman looked nonplussed. “I got ears too. Sing.”

Crystal smiled again, suddenly reminded of her own grandmother when she was a child. Minerva had liked to hear her sing too, but she had liked to hear her sing hymns. “Amazing Grace” had always been her favorite. “What would you like to hear? My grandmother used to like ‘Amazing Grace.’ I could sing that.” It was an amazing negotiation, in the small room, with her landlady staring expectantly at her. But her taste was more eclectic than Minerva’s.

“Is that what you sang tonight?”

“No … I sang other things …”

“Good. Then you sing the same for me. I’m waiting.”

Crystal closed her eyes for a minute, wondering if she could do it. And then she forced herself to remember how she had felt on stage that night … the excitement … the rush … the headiness of the music … and then slowly, she began to sing one of her favorite ballads. It had been her closing song, and it had held everyone’s attention. She sang it now, without the spotlight, or the piano, or the blue gown, but somehow it didn’t seem to matter. All that mattered was the song again, and the words she had loved since her childhood. Mrs. Castagna seemed to fade away, and she could feel her father sitting there with her as she sang the song from beginning to end, and when it was over, the magic of her voice seemed to drift away carrying both of them with it. And when she looked at Mrs. Castagna again, she saw tears on her cheeks, and it touched her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and then the old woman nodded.

“You sing good … very good … you never told me you could do that.”

“You never asked me.” Crystal smiled gently at her, tired again now, more tired than she had been before. The excitement of the night was turning to bittersweet nostalgia. She was thinking of her father, and the ranch, and the times she had sung for him. And as Mrs. Castagna looked at her it was almost as though she knew that. She got up then, without a word, and walked stiffly to an ancient credenza. She stood bent over it for a moment, and when she returned, she was carrying a bottle and two glasses.

“We’re gonna drink some wine. To celebrate. One day you gonna be very famous.”

Crystal laughed, and watched her open the bottle. It was half empty, and she saved it for special occasions. Crystal noticed that it was sherry.

“You got a beautiful voice. That’s a gift from God. You got to treat it good, what you got is very precious.”

“Thank you.” For a moment, she wanted to cry as she accepted the glass of the sweet liquid, and Mrs. Castagna held her glass up to her briefly with a look of enormous importance.

“You’re a very lucky girl that you can sing like that. Brava, Crystal … Brava!”

“Thank you.” They clinked their glasses together briefly and Mrs. Castagna took the first sip with a look of contented pleasure, and then when they had both had some of the sherry, she set her glass down.

“How much they pay you for that?”

“Nothing. I mean nothing different than I was making before. It’s just fun to do, that’s all … I loved it.” She was embarrassed thinking about it now. She didn’t want to get paid for doing what she loved, but it sounded stupid to say it.

“You gonna make them rich. People ark gonna come from everywhere to hear you.”

“They come to Harry’s anyway.” Crystal was embarrassed by her enthusiasm, but the old woman looked shrewd as she picked up her glass again and took another sip of the sherry.

“You tell them you want more money. You got a voice like an angel.” That sounded like an exaggeration to Crystal, but the audience had certainly liked her. “You hear me? You tell them you want a lot more money now. Big money, not just garbage. You gonna be famous one day. And when you are, you remember that I said it.” She watched Crystal finish her sherry with a smile, and she talked to her as she would have to one of her own granddaughters, not that any of them had a talent like Crystal’s. And then she looked at the young girl very gently. “You sing for me again sometime?”

“Anytime you want me to, Mrs. Castagna.”

“Good.” She stood up with a satisfied look. “Then you go to bed now. I’m tired.”

“Thank you for the wine.” She spoke softly and had a sudden urge to kiss her. It had been so long since she had kissed anyone, or anyone had taken her in their arms to hug her … not since her father died … or since she had left the Websters in the valley. But the old woman looked at her solemnly and didn’t seem to invite it. “Good night … and thank you again.”

“Go to bed … !” She brandished her cane at her. “Take care of your voice … you gotta rest now!” Crystal laughed again as she bid her good night and closed the door softly behind her.

She walked slowly up the stairs, and was thinking of her as she undressed. She was a kind old soul behind the pretense of toughness, and Crystal liked her. She thought of Pearl then too, and how kind she had been to her, but
as she turned off the light and lay in her bed, her thoughts drifted back to the valley. She felt far, far from home, and after the excitement of the night, she felt suddenly homesick. And as she closed her eyes, she thought of a day long since … of sitting on the swing … and talking to Spencer. It had been two years since she’d seen him. She wondered where he was now and if he remembered her. It seemed unlikely that he would, and yet as she drifted off to sleep, she knew she would never forget him.

The partners’ dinner at Anderson, Vincent, and Sawbrook was a stupid affair they organized every year at the club, but it was a command performance for the junior members of the firm, and after some consideration, Spencer decided to invite Elizabeth Barclay. He had seen her only half a dozen times since Palm Beach. She was busy at school, and she only came to New York about once a month, allegedly to visit her brother. But she always called Spencer when she was in town, and more often than not, he took her out to dinner. It wasn’t that Spencer didn’t enjoy her company. He did, more than he wanted to in fact, but somehow they always wound up in bed, and she always managed to make him feel pressured. He knew she wanted more than he had to give, and he didn’t want to get seriously involved, and he didn’t want to disappoint her. He still had his own ideas about the kind of girl he was looking for, and Elizabeth wasn’t it, although he wasn’t always sure of that when he was with her, especially after he’d made love to her. There was a
fierce sensuality beneath her cool exterior that drove him wild, but he wanted more than that. He wanted just what he had told her from the first, a woman who needed him, who loved him as he was, who was gentle and kind and compassionate, a woman he was head over heels in love with. He didn’t want someone who was going to reshape him into the image she had in mind, and in Elizabeth’s case, he suspected that that image was a portrait of her father.

But he took her to the partners’ dinner nonetheless, and dancing afterward, and as usual they made love after that as he tried to convince himself that just sleeping with her wasn’t going to involve him in a deeper commitment. She had said as much herself after Palm Beach, but he was never entirely sure she meant it.

It was late June, and she had finished her second year at Vassar. She was going back to San Francisco the following week, and from there to Lake Tahoe for the summer.

“Why don’t you come?” she asked him innocently.

“I can’t get away.”

“Of course you can, Spencer, don’t be silly.” She was a woman who never took no for an answer. She was twenty-one now, and more sophisticated than ever. And she teased him frequently about why he had never introduced her to his parents. But he knew that if he did, he’d never get them off his back again, particularly his father. She was exactly the kind of girl they hoped he would settle down with someday, but at thirty he still knew he wasn’t ready.

“Not everyone can take the summer off, my dear,” he teased as they lay in bed. He knew they’d have to get up in a while, so he could take her back to her brother’s apartment, although Spencer was sure he knew about
their affair, and he wasn’t even so sure that Elizabeth hadn’t told him. “I’m a working stiff.”

“So’s my father, and he’s taking two months off.” She lay in bed and looked happily up at Spencer. She enjoyed sex, and she was careful about using birth control. She had no intention of getting pregnant. And even that annoyed him sometimes. She always thought of herself, she never took risks unless she wanted to, and it might have meant more to him if she had been afraid that she might get pregnant. But there was nothing vulnerable about Elizabeth Barclay.

“I’m not exactly in your father’s shoes,” he grinned, “or hadn’t you noticed?” She was still pressing him about politics, but he only laughed at her. He was busy enough at the firm, and she had been impressed that night by how obviously respected he was by the senior partners.