The lecture that night at the library was very interesting. We were surprised by the special guest, who turned out to be one of Broadway's most famous producers. He had wonderful stories about
productions, stars, critics, and people like ourselves on the verge of attempting to break into the world of entertainment. On the way home in the van. Howard picked up where the producer's talk had ended as if he had already known it all and had the experiences to confirm the lessons we were given.
"I'm surprised you even bother to come to this school. Howard." Cinnamon said with feigned softness, dressing her face in a small, gentle smile. "Why?"
"Why? Because you know everything there is to know about the theater. It must be terribly boring for you being around people like us."
There was a heavy silence for a moment.
"Well," Howard said, incredibly or deliberately missing her sarcasm, "you must be willing to be generous on the stage, especially when you're performing with others and your rhythm is so dependent on someone else being on cue, in sync, so to speak.
"The truth is. Cinnamon, the better you are, the better I'm going to look, especially next weekend:. he replied, so satisfied in his response, he looked absolutely invulnerable, like some prince sitting on a throne miles above his peasant followers.
"Oh. I'm so happy I will be able to help you win the Academy Award. Howard,"
"Go on, laugh, but in your heart of hearts, you want that Oscar in your hands almost as much as I do. You can pretend to be unaffected and uncaring about the glory, but in your heart, you're just as ruthless."
"Don't tell me what's in my heart. who I am and what I want. Howard Rockwell the Third. Fourth. and Fifth. You don't know anything about me. Anything, Understand? Well?"
"Very well," he finally replied.
Cinnamon had looked ready to leap over her seat and claw out his eyes if he didn't respond. How were these two able to get on stage and perform their dialogues from Romeo and Juliet? I wondered. They must be great actors if they can convince an audience they are in love.
Later. I asked Cinnamon about it. She said she used the advice her high school drama coach, Miss Hamilton, gave her.
"Pretend the other person is someone you really like, if you have to like his character on the stage, or someone you really hate, if that's the character. You fill your mind with those people and not the actual actor."
"That seems like good advice."
"It works. I can tell you I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Miss Hamilton," she added. "Getting me on stage practically saved my life.
"And," she added, "nearly ruined hers."
"Why?"
She told me how she and Miss Hamilton spent some time alone together rehearsing, and how a jealous student spread ugly rumors about them that almost cost Miss Hamilton her job.
"Someone took a picture of us through a window while we were rehearsing and she was pretending to be the male lead."
"How mean!"
"Don't believe all the glorious things we're told about the stage and performing. Howard makes it sound like a new version of heaven, but just like the real world, it has its sharks swimming at your feet." she advised.
Listening to Cinnamon, and to Ice. especially. I often wondered if my isolated life on the corn farm in Ohio was really a blessing after all. It was all right to be like I am if I would never leave the farm. I thought, but if I was going to be in The World. as Steven liked to refer to what was going on just outside our gates here. I needed to be more cautious, more distrusting, more aware of the demons.
"Innocence." Cinnamon once quipped, "was only an asset in the Garden of Eden. and there's no chance we're getting back into that."
The play we saw Saturday afternoon was wonderful and later that evening Madame Butterfly tore my heart-strings. I never thought I would cry at an opera, of all things. The aria "Un Bel Di," "One Fine Day," was planted forever and ever in my mind. I heard it in my sleep and couldn't wait to play it on my violin.
We girls were in a good mood Sunday at breakfast. Howard and Steven realized we were going off to meet some boys. They threatened to follow until Cinnamon made it a point of pride for Howard.
"You can't find yourselves girls? You've got to depend on us?"
"I was just joking," Howard quickly replied. "I happen to have a friend who's already fixed me up with someone for dinner and a movie."
"I thought we were going to dinner and a movie," Steven complained.
"That was before I received this phone call," Howard said. He was a good actor. but not so good a liar. At least, that was what I thought,
When it was time to go. Cinnamon-- living the closest to New York-- became our titular travel guide. She hailed our cab at the corner and rattled off some of the places we passed.
"I haven't even walked on Fifth Avenue yet." Ice complained.
"We'll do it after we go to the zoo," Cinnamon promised her. "Window shopping is fun."
The taxi driver, at Rose's request, stopped in front of the world-famous Plaza Hotel. It was there we were supposed to meet Barry and his three college buddies. Less than a minute went by before another cab pulled up to the curb and they got out. Rose ran to Barn; and they hugged. The three of us watched, all of us smiling softly as they kissed.
"Let's all get introduced." Barry declared, realizing everyone was standing around watching him and Rose. He was a tall, dark-haired boy, easily six foot one and very good-looking, with a real mature air about him. I could see why Rose was so fond of him. He was someone upon whom she could lean, someone she really needed. But equally obvious to me was his devotion to her. He seemed unable to turn his eyes from her, to stop holding her hand, to move another inch away. Chandler and I were like that. I thought.
With Barry were Larry Martin, Reuben Kotein. and Tony Gibson. Larry was taller than Barry and very lean. We quickly learned he was a star on the basketball team and had been nicknamed Hoop when he was only twelve. He lumbered along when he walked, and seemed incapable of passing a garbage basket without rolling up something and tossing it in. He came from Jersey City, where he had been a basketball star in his high school. He seemed awkward and shy around girls, and maybe for that reason gravitated toward Ice, who still had a very quiet way about her. It was easy to see how he was trying to impress her from time to time with a leap or a turn to throw something into a basket.
Reuben Kotein wasn't much taller than Cinnamon. He was a dark complected boy with very deep hazel eyes, a wide forehead, short brown hair, and a firm, athletic build. Of the three, he was the most introspective, and because of the way his forehead went into small folds, looked like he was thinking something profound all the time. His slightly sarcastic tone immediately attracted Cinnamon, and before long they were sharing comments and reviews about people they saw on the street. Reuben created a game for them: guessing about people, their pasts, their personalities, from the way they walked and were dressed. Then they turned it into deciding what animal each person would be if they were changed into one.
Tony Gibson was by far the handsomest of the group. He was as good-looking as Howard, but without Howard's arrogant eyes and demeanor, which to me made his attractiveness a waste. The girl Howard eventually chose had to be willing not only to love him, but worship him.
Tony's personality was light, carefree, and so unassuming, it was as though he had no idea how good-looking he was or cared. It was easy to be relaxed with him, even for someone like me who kept thinking about her boyfriend and how this simple little walk in the park was somehow a betrayal.
He came from Rhode Island, where he said he did a lot of sailing, which explained his deep tan, a shade that emphasized his cerulean eyes and sparkling white teeth. He told me the sea was in his blood, even to the point where he wanted a career in maritime law.
"Girls I've kissed," he said. "tell me I have the saltiest lips."
He smiled coyly. and I heard a small alarm go off inside me. First, it was warning me how attracted I was to him, bu
t then it was also suggesting his carefree, almost aloof approach was possibly a good act or technique. There were surprises, not only in what he said and how his soft eyes often turned deeper and more intense when he looked into mine, but by the way he suddenly managed to find my hand or touch my shoulder to take me away from the others, ostensibly to see something he had just discovered.
"I understand you play the violin," he said. "Really well, too." "I hope I'm good. I'm working hard at it."
"I bet you are goad. I hope to hear you play someday."
"I hope so. too," I said. but I meant in a place like Carnegie Hall.
He smiled as if I had agreed to go to bed with him. "Have you ever been on a sail boat?" he asked. "No."
"I can take you sailing sometime. A friend of my father's has a boat docked at the seaport. What about next weekend?" he followed so quickly, he nearly took away my breath.
"I can't," I said. "That's our big weekend at the school. We have family and friends coming to the Performance Night."
"Oh. Well, we'll try for another date," he said. "I'll call you, if that's okay."
"Let's catch up with the others," I told him instead of committing and walked quickly toward them.
We had a lot of fun with the monkeys, fed the ducks, and then found a restaurant near Lincoln Center and had pizza. The truth was I had never been out with a group like this, everyone so carefree and exuberant. The magnificent fall day with a nearly cloudless blue sky kept our faces bright with smiles. Here I was, sitting just across the street from the world-famous theater in what everyone agreed was the most exciting city in the world. All of our dreams and ambitions did seem within our grasp, Depression and defeat were things of the past.
The energy that came from our laughter and conversation made me feel drunk on life itself. We would all become stars. Maybe someday we'd all share an apartment in New York and have elegant clothes and go to sophisticated restaurants. Our pictures would be taken frequently. People would hover about us, clamoring for our autographs. The day was going so well. I no longer felt nervous and constantly on guard.
Then Barry and Rose revealed they were heading back to his fraternity house. Ice, who wanted to walk Fifth Avenue, was going there with Larry. and Cinnamon and Reuben had decided to go to the YMCA to hear a poet they both were familiar with who was doing a reading.
"What do you want to do, Honey?" Rose asked me.
"I think head back to the school," I said.
"That sounds so boring. You can come along with us if you like," she suggested, obviously hoping I would refuse.
"No, I'm fine," I said.
"We can walk." Tony suaaested. "It's a great day for it, and it's not really all that far."
"Oh. I thought I would just take a cab."
"That wouldn't be nice of me, letting you do that. At least let me be a nice ally," he prodded.
The others looked at me. They knew what made me hesitant, but they also looked like they thought I was being foolish.
"You're not getting married," Cinnamon reminded me in a whisper.
I took a deep breath and nodded.
"Okay. It is too nice to take another cab."
"You'd only go right to practicing. anyway," Rose said. "We know you. Honey."
"We know ourselves," Ice said. "That's what we would all be doing."
There was confession and then laughter. The boys paid our bill and everyone went his and her separate way, no one apparently as nervous about it as was I.
"Is this the fastest way?" I asked Tony almost immediately.
"Sure, but do you really want to get back so quickly? It's such a nice day and New York is a great city for walking. From what I understand, you girls work pretty hard all week and even have obligations on the weekends. You don't get much free time. right?"
"No, but we're not here for that."
"Everyone's here for some of that." Tony insisted, grinning at me with teasing devilry. Then he grew serious and added. "It's hard enough being at a big college with lots of girls in the same situation as you are, but to go to such a small school and have so few friends, especially in New York City, must be difficult. huh?"
"No," I said. "I'm too busy to worry about any of that," I insisted, half to convince myself as well as him.
"You sound so dedicated."
"I am. You have to be if you want to do what we're setting out to do."
"That really applies to everything, Honey.I'm going to have to work hard, too," he said.
"I didn't mean to make what you're doing sound inferior. I meant..."
"I know." he said. laughing. "I thought if I made you feel guilty, you'd be nicer to me."
"I'm being nice to you."
"Sure. Rushing to get away from me is being nice to me," he said. "Am I that distasteful to be with?"
"I didn't say you were. I..."
Should I tell him about Chandler now? I wondered. Would he think I was making it up? Why did I agree to this afternoon date if I was going so hot and heavy with someone else, he would surely wonder.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just very nervous."
"Me, too." he said. laughing.
I looked at him skeptically.
"I am!" he insisted. "I don't know why girls assume every boy in the world is a Don Juan full of experience. The truth is. I've been serious with a girl only once in my life, and if you have to know, she dumped me! She cheated on me and then she rubbed it in my face.
"She dumped the guy she had dumped me for shortly afterward," he said with disgust. "I've been extra careful about the girls I date ever since. Sorry for the speech," he ended and walked along, his head down.
I felt terrible and caught up to him.
"I'm not really in any hurry to get back," I said. "You're right. We should all learn how to relax. too."
He looked at me and then he smiled.
"Good. I've got an apartment that overlooks the East River," he said. "Actually, it's not my apartment. It's my uncle's. but he's in Europe until February. so I've got it to myself for a while. Hey." he said, suddenly stopping, his face full of excitement. "you're into music. right? You've got to hear this stereo system. It's built into the walls with Surround Sound and everything. -When you're sitting there listening, you can close your eyes and feel like you're at a live performance in Carnegie Hall or the Met or
someplace like that.
"Who's your favorite composer?" he demanded before I could comment one way or another on his invitation. "Come on. Who?"
"Well, I enjoy playing Mozart."
"Great, perfect," he said, slapping his hands together. "He has all the Mozart albums. Come on. Now I do want to walk faster."
"But..."
He pulled my hand and we crossed a street against traffic. The horns blared.
"Don't worry," he said. "it's New York. Everyone jaywalks!"
I ran along with him, caught up in some whirlwind, my conscience trailing far behind like some loyal but exhausted puppy, losing me.
Maybe forever.
8 A Shocking Discovery
"Are we close to my school?" I asked when we rounded a corner and headed toward an apartment building. Despite our pace, we had been walking for quite a while,
"Oh, sure. It's only about a dozen blocks south of here. No problem," Tony assured me.
We stopped before a tall building just at the ,corner. It had a gray brick front and a faded burgandy awning over the entrance. "This is it," Tony said. "Wait until you see the view. It's on the fifteenth floor." he said, and we entered the small lobby.
There was nothing much to it, some mail boxes on the right and a bench just under them with packages that were delivered for the tenants. I thought the elevator was very small, too, and it looked old and worn, so much so that I became anxious when the doors closed and he pushed the button for fifteen. I didn't want to say, but I had never been higher than the third floor in any building. I heard the metal cables grinding and groaning above us as if we were close to the maximum load
or something.
"From one of the windows you can see the cable car that takes people to Roosevelt Island," he said.
I smiled and nodded as if I knew what he was talking about, but by now I was so nervous, I wished I had simply gone straight back to the school.
The elevator opened on a narrow hallway with pale yellow walls. I noticed scuff marks along the sides near the chipped and broken molding. The hallway floor was covered in a grayish brown rug that was very worn and dull. From some apartment came the heavy aroma of a pot roast cooking. Was that the way it was in New York apartments? Everyone knew what you were having for dinner? Why was he so excited about living here? I wondered.
We stopped at a door and he dug his hand into his pocket to produce the keys that opened three door locks. I laughed to myself. thinking how we never locked our door back in Ohio.
"Voila," he said, stepping aside after he had opened the door.
I walked in slowly. There was no real entryway. The doorway opened on the small kitchen. Mama would laugh at it. I thought. Our pantry was bigger. The appliances looked old and the walls were almost as faded as the hallway walls.
"In here," he guided, taking my elbow and turning me into the living room.
It, too, was rather small, with one oversized dark brown sofa, two matching chairs, and a glass coffee table. There was a scratched and dull hardwood floor with one oval area rug that looked like it needed a good shaking out. On the far side of the room was a sliding glass door that opened to a balcony just big enough for two people if they stood side by side, and close to each other at that. A curved black iron grating was set in the balcony walls. It curved inward with arrow heads as if to discourage anyone from leaning over too far.
The walls of the living room were papered in a vanilla ice cream shade. There were two large framed prints on opposite walls, both rather uninteresting pictures of city scenes, put up for their color coordination more than for their artistic merit. I thought. Even the frames were drab. The room itself was quite messy: some dirty dishes with remnants of sandwiches, dirty glasses with the soda now flat and oily-looking like some stagnant pool, dirty silverware, a few empty cans of beer lying on their sides, another on the floor by a table holding a pizza box. Magazines and books were strewn over the sofa and one of the chairs and on the floor beside a pile of notebooks.