development as a singer.
"I'm his future, his justification for all his terrible sacrifices," she said. "I will succeed."
She said it with such vehemence and intensity, she made my heart skip beats. I thought the look an her face was wonderful. and I thought it was all there in her voice, in the way she made the audience freeze in awe of her talent.
Rose had came here at what she hoped was to be the end of a trail of betrayals. She had loved her own father very much and she talked often about the way he had made her feel special, but she also admitted she had sensed something very insubstantial about him, something so carefree and irresponsible that he was more like a little boy. His adulterous affair had left her and her mother destitute as well as in shock and disbelief. Her mother, however, looked at it as a betrayal only of her, as if Rose wouldn't suffer anywhere near as much.
When Evan's aunt, Charlotte Alden Curtis, the sister of her father's lover, came to them for help with Evan, making them feel they had to bear the responsibility of what her father had done, she readily accepted the consequences. Slowly, Charlotte corrupted Rose's mother, deliberately setting her up with a womanizer just to enjoy some sick revenge. Ironically, however, all this brought Rose closer to her handicapped brother, and together they found a way for her to develop her dancing talent and defeat Charlotte's revenge. A child of betrayals. Rose could never betray Evan's efforts, for he saw his own validation in her successes.
Cinnamon was most puzzling from the beginning. There was always a sharpness, an underlying bitterness behind every look and word. She seemed to be able to touch a deeper, darker world and draw upon it to strengthen herself. Ghosts, spirits, shadows fertilized and enriched her view of life, rather than frightened her. Despite her distaste for Howard Rockwell, she enjoyed being on stage, even if it had to be with him. Watching her perform. I felt she didn't memorize lines and pretend to be someone, but instead permitted and enjoyed having that new persona possess her, just the way she claimed the spirits that lived in her home had possessed her. The theater was really her world, far more than Howard Rockwell would ever appreciate or ever know.
Nevertheless, what Cinnamon proposed, even though she knew what impact that proposal could have on her own future, truly surprised me. It wasn't until lunch hour that she and I were able to relate to Ice and Rose what we had discovered the night before. They were both as sickened and disgusted about it as we were.
"The fact is." Cinnamon pointed out. "I don't know who we should blame more for all this, our sick Howard Rockwell or Madame Senetsky, whose need to protect her image and reputation far outweighs her own daughter's needs."
"It amazes me how indifferent and aloof some parents can be toward their own children." Rose said, her own life clearly an example. "When that umbilical cord is cut, it's cut. It's almost as if they feel they've done their duty in just giving birth, fulfilled some responsibility to the species or something, and then go on to travel the Selfish Highway, terrified that we'll somehow cause them to lose one moment's pleasure."
"Whatever." Cinnamon said, impatient to tell us what she wanted us to do. "I have a plan. and I'll need everyone's cooperation."
When she described it to us, we were all speechless. We tried to talk her out of it, but she was adamant.
"You'll take the most blame," I pointed out to her. She shrugged it off.
"I admire Madame Senetsky for her
accomplishments, of course. but I ask myself. would I like to be her?" She smiled and shook her head. "I have no problem with that answer, and I'd bet everything I have and will have that none of you do either. However, if anyone here would rather not be a part of this. I certainly understand."
"I'll help," I said without hesitation.
"Of course I'll help," Rose said.
"Me, too." Ice added.
"Look at it this way," Cinnamon said. "We'll be like producers and directors."
"What will we call this major production of ours?" Rose asked. Cinnamon thought a moment.
"How about 'Falling Curtain'?"
No one laughed. If anything, it made us all pause and give it some deep thought.
Falling curtain.
It was too true, too descriptive, and too much of a prophecy to belittle or ignore.
As if Fate knew what was best for us and had decided to take a hand in what was to follow, unexpected events dictated we would be alone when we most needed support. Mommy called me the next day, very upset. Daddy's new combine had broken down, and he was tied up with that and some other problems on the farm.
"We just can't get away, sweetheart. I know how much you wanted us to be there."
I was about to say. "No, you don't. Mommy," but instead I assured her I would be fine. Maybe I was a good actress after all, I thought. Maybe it rubs off.
Cinnamon learned the next day that her mother had come down with a severe chest cold and was unable to travel even ten miles. That evening. Ice's father called to tell her about the death of his uncle and how his need to attend the funeral in South Carolina would prevent him from coming to New York as well. Rose's mother had already written off any attempt to attend our next Performance Night.
We had only ourselves. We hoped it was enough.
"Now we'll take on one of our most difficult acting jobs." Cinnamon instructed. "Grin and bear it. ladies. Well all treat Howard Rockwell the same as usual. Pretend we know nothing about what he has done."
"I'll be biting my lip so hard. I'll get blisters," Rose complained.
"It'll be hardest for you on that stage. Cinnamon, rehearsing with him." I pointed out.
"I like a challenge." she replied, and Ice laughed.
"I have other words for him beside 'challenge' that I'm sure are much more descriptive, and you know me. girls. I'm not one to rely on words," she said.
We laughed.
It amazed and even excited me how close the impending danger and risk made us all. Would I ever again have friends as wonderful as these? I wondered. If nothing else ever came of my experience here, this alone was worth it.
We did what Cinnamon ordered. however. We put on the act. Rose even added a nice touch by asking Howard questions at dinner, as if he was truly our resident expert about theater, agents, producers, and audiences. He gave long-winded answers rife with references to this performer and that, quoting directors and producers. All of us listened, our eyes barely shifting toward each other for fear we might laugh aloud or in some way give away our own performances. It was so easy to humor someone who had an ego as swollen as Howard's ego was.
It was far more difficult to keep our intentions hidden from Madame Senetsky. Fortunately, she was busier than usual preparing for this particular Performance Night, Ms. Fairchild made it a point to impress upon us how hard Madame Senetsky was working to bring in the most influential and wellknown people. The names were leaked out in dribs and drabs: told to our teachers in front of us, casually mentioned at lunch and dinner, thrown in with orders to staff and to Mrs. Churchwell while we were present.
It was almost as if Madame Senetsky had decided to psych us out, to bring us to the cliff of nervousness and taunt us with being pushed over the edge just to see how well we would perform and stand up to it all. She was turning up the pressure like some sadist working a torture chamber to discover what we were really made of. Could we survive in this competitive world? Better to find out now, she surely thought, and not waste anyone else's time.
Building up the night this way made us even more anxious about Cinnamon's plan.
"Maybe we should wait," Rose suggested, "Maybe when there aren't so many important people here."
"No," Cinnamon insisted, "The more significant the audience, the better it will be. I want to repeat what I told you all at the start. If anyone feels more comfortable not being a part of this, no hard feelings. I can't blame anyone. All of you have worked hard to get to this point. It's understandable you wouldn't want to throw it away."
"So have you worked ha
rd,' Ice said sharply.
"I've got to do this," Cinnamon replied.
"So do we." I said. I looked at Rose. She nodded.
"I just wondered." she said with a shrug.
"No," Cinnamon corrected. "just a case of basic stage fright."
"And remember,'" we all chanted imitating Madame Senetsky, "even the most seasoned actors and musicians experience stage fright, butterflies, shattered nerves before stepping on stage."
Our laughter at ourselves brought us our only small moments of relief. The rest of the time, tension was our shadow, following us everywhere, even into our dreams.
On the morning of Performance Night, we were brought together for our instructions concerning the usual reception that would take place immediately at the end of the show. We were reminded about our behavior and what Madame Senetsky's expectations would be.
We were then permitted to relax and prepare ourselves mentally and emotionally for the evening's activities. Steven went off to his computer games. Howard decided to review his lines and practically demanded Cinnamon join him, but she turned him down again, claiming a bad headache this time. Rose occupied herself with warm-ups in the dance studio. Ice went for a walk and then retreated to her room, and I took my violin and sat alone, playing some of the music I remembered Uncle Simon loved to hear. We were all like firecrackers, afraid to get too close to each other because we might set each other off and blow ourselves to bits.
When I went upstairs to get ready for the show. I met Steven in the hallway.
"What is it with everyone today?" he asked. "No one wants to talk. I nearly got my head chopped off when I poked it in to watch Rose go through her exercises. and Cinnamon just glared at me as if I was a child pornographer or something. I feel like I'm in the movie High Noon and it's ten to twelve. The clock is a monster!" he cried, throwing his arms up.
I had to laugh,
"That's it," he said quickly, encouraged by my mirth. "If you're too serious, you'll make mistakes.'
"You know something. Steven," I said. "When I first met you, I thought you had to be a mistake, but now I'm convinced that, of all of us, you have the best chance of success in this business."
"Huh?" he said.
"See you downstairs," I said, and left him scratching his head.
I tried to get some rest. Mommy called again to wish me luck and Uncle Simon got on to apologize for not sending flowers in time. I kept thinking about what we were about to do and how it would affect all of us. I hoped my family wouldn't be disappointed in me if it went badly, but I was in firm agreement with Cinnamon. It was something we had to do. No opportunity, no chance for success was worth having to live with not doing something to correct what we were all convinced was a terrible wrong.
Incredibly. I fell asleep, and woke in time to dress and prepare for my performance. Ms. Fairchild had already informed us that Madame Senetsky wished us to follow the same order of appearance, which worked fine for Cinnamon. In fact, it was what she had hoped would happen. What she forgot to consider was how we would all perform, knowing what we knew was about to occur. It was like stepping on a hot stove, not a stage.
Edmond Senetsky came backstage twenty minutes before it was to begin. Except for his attending some dinners and occasionally stopping by to watch and listen to us work in class, we hadn't had much opportunity to speak with him or he with us. He looked very dapper and energized in his bright red ascot and black tuxedo,
"I have someone here to consider each and every one of you tonight." he began. "I don't want that to make any of you unduly nervous, but as my mother often says, you are always being judged out there anyway. You shouldn't have any more or any less concern than you normally would. That's the character of a true professional, and it's my firm belief that every one of you has what it takes to be one. So, good luck. Break a leg and help me make my ten percent."
Steven was the only one who really laughed. Howard looked too serious and took every word literally. We simply stared at Edmond, all of us wondering the same thing. How much did he know? How much did he care? What would he be saying before this evening ended?
He left to take his seat. While Madame Senetsky greeted our audience. Steven stepped into the wings, waiting to be introduced. He had his head down and kept opening and closing his hands. Then he looked up at me, smiled, and said. "I feel like I'm a surgeon about to operate on someone's brain."
"As long as it isn't mine," I told him. He laughed, looked at me seriously for a moment and said. `You're great. Honey. I really will miss you when this is over."
Of course, he had no idea what that might mean at the time, but it was eerie.
As soon as Madame Senetsky left the stage. M.r. Bergman began to introduce Steven. I stepped back into the shadows, my heart so caked in fear. I could barely feel its beat. Moments later he was at his piano. Steven's beautiful music followed, and that was soothing. Every once in a while. Rose. Ice. or Cinnamon would look my way and we would lock our eyes like the conspirators Howard so often accused us of being. He paced about like some zoo beast in its cage. Occasionally we heard him mumbling lines to himself, saw him pause, take a dramatic stance, and then nod and continue,
When Steven finished and the applause came, it was just as loud and enthusiastic as it had been for his first recital. I turned to look at Ice. She was to be the first of us four. and I knew it would be extra difficult for her tonight. As she walked by me to take her position in the wings, we grasped hands and held each other's for a moment.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "I'm fine, I'm all music," she added with a smile. I nodded, wished her luck, and watched her go on stage.
Cinnamon lingered in the rear doorway. I was next to perform and then came Rose. She wouldn't leave to do what she had to do until Rose was introduced. We knew how long we each took out there, so we had our timing down fine. I only hoped I could do as well as Ice was doing. I thought as she began to sing.
It was all going along as it should. The audience's reaction to Ice was more overwhelming than it had been the first time. Her voice seemed richer, stronger, resonating with a timbre that touched hearts. I felt it in my bones. She was going to be a star. When she came off-stage, she hugged me.
It's a piece of cake." she said. "Just as soon as you step into the spotlight, it all happens. You'll see. It's magic out there."
Mr. Bergman was introducing me. I glanced back at Cinnamon, who still looked very confident. She nodded at me. Rose in her dance tights came up beside her. She was so radiant, so beautiful. I thought. I knew in my heart I couldn't let them down. It all had to work. We had to be better than anyone imagined.
I pulled myself up when my name was given and then I walked out on the stage. In a real sense. I wished my parents were out there tonight and not just out there in my heart and mind. I thought, When it was over, they would surely be even more proud of me. I had to remind myself they were here, Uncle Peter was here. Uncle Simon, all of them. Wherever I go, they go, for they are always in me, a part of me, a part of who and what I am.
I raised the bow and the music came, as it always did. I played as if I was trying to keep Death himself at bay. I would charm the devil. It was almost as if the violin was truly connected to my very soul. I didn't think about it. I was like a tightrope walker who never looked down, but just kept his eyes forward, his concentration fixed on the goal, the finale, but I did sense how well I was playing. I could feel every note.
When it ended. I had a wonderful sense of completion, a sweet exhaustion. and I bathed in the applause. I'm meant for this, I thought. Oh, yes I am. There's no doubt. No matter what, Honey Forman, I told myself, you'll be back out here. one way or another, you'll be back.
Rose looked flushed in the wings. Her face seemed on fire when she pressed her cheek to mine and whispered how wonderful I had been. We were taking the audience higher and higher, which was just what Cinnamon wanted. The explosive resolution would be that much more dramatic. It was as if we were all relay runners, pa
ssing the baton. Rose took it from me and glided out on that stage to dance as she had never danced before, her every turn, spin, and leap slicing the air with grace and beauty.
I looked back. Cinnamon was gone. We had all completed the preparations earlier, now we had to follow our plan. Ice was distracting Steven. I looked for Howard, who was backstage going through his voice exercises. I drew closer to be sure he didn't go looking for Cinnamon. He looked up at me. "How much longer?"
"Four minutes. maybe," I said. "Where's Cinnamon?"
"In the wings, taking her position on the other side of the stage from you," I replied.
"You don't do that." he said, smirking with disgust. "You don't stand there like someone looking for a handout from the audience. You make them wait. You fill yourself with the power," he bragged. "She'll miss a beat," he predicted. "You'll see, I'll end up having to carry her through each piece we perform."
"With your broad shoulders of talent. Howard, that should be no problem." I said.
He looked at me with a little smile of confusion and then shrugged it off and returned to his exercises. Finally, he decided to take his position stage left. Cinnamon was to be in position stage right, both of them waiting for Mr. Marlowe to come on stage after Rose's exit.
I sucked in my breath.
The time had come. She was whisked in like a shadow, unnoticed in the pool of darkness behind stage.
Mr. Marlowe set the scene.
"Our first cut," he began. "is from
Shakespeare's immortal Othello. Othello has come to Desdemona's bedroom to kill her because he is convinced she has betrayed him with Cassia."
The lights went out.
A bed was rolled on the stage in the darkness for Desdemona. The lights came on.
Howard stepped onto the stage and, looking at the audience. began.
" 'It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul,' " he recited. " 'Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars. It is the cause. Yet I'll not shed her blood, nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, and smooth as monumental alabaster. Yet she must die, else she'll betray more men,'