And Everything Nice (2 page)
I told Nathan this, and that I planned to send her an email the next day. To say sure, I was interested. But I wouldn't hold my breath waiting to hear back.
“That's my Steph.” Nathan patted my knee. “Future star of training videos.”
Was he making fun of me? Because he'd made me sound a little pathetic.
He said, “You'll be trying out for
American Idol
next.”
Wrong. I didn't mind the idea of making a training video as a break from my routine. When I was little, I told everyone I wanted to be on tv. So it would be kind of like that. But I was no entertainer.
And by the way, this story is not about how I joined the choir and became a singing star, in case you were wondering. That's not what happened.
“You sound like Joanne,” I said. “She's all enthused about this rock choir she's in. She wants me to come with her next Tuesday night and try it out.”
“Is it seniors singing Lou Reed songs and shit? I saw something about that on tv once.”
“She claims the choir members aren't that old. And the songs are by artists like Elton John and Billy Joel. And Journey, for god's sake.”
“Journey's awesome. Don't knock Journey.”
“What, you think I should be in the choir too?”
“Only if you want to. Though what else have you got going on a Tuesday night? It's not like you're taking a course.” Nathan took online college courses part-time in business management. So that one day he could open his own bar. As if that would ever happen.
I said, “I do things. I work out, I watch TV, I go clubbing with the girls.”
“Exactly. What have you got going on that's
interesting
? Not much on the nights you don't see me.”
I fake-swung at him and he ducked. “Yeah, well, I'll think about trying the choir. And thanks for ganging up on me with Joanne about it. Thanks a lot.”
He turned on the tv with the remote and put his arm around me. “I'm not ganging up. I'm on your side. I want you to enjoy yourself on the nights I'm working. And I know you've been feeling a bit same-old, same-old lately. So why not change it up? Do something new and exciting?”
“The choir would be new, yeah,” I said. “But exciting? I don't think so.”
It was like I was asking to be proved wrong.
J
oanne and I drove to the next choir practice together in her car, me at the wheel. On the way, she said, “So you know, the choir is big. A hundred and ten people this season, someone said last week. Everyone from teachers, lawyers and media types to young moms, cab drivers and students.”
“Sounds like I'll fit right in.”
“Are you being sarcastic?”
“Duh.”
“You'll be fine. As long as you're prepared for warm-up exercises at the beginning, when we sing scales. And at the end, everyone stands up, joins hands, forms a huge circle inside the church and sings a circle song. It's corny, but it's nice.”
“A circle song? Like in preschool?”
“I said it was corny.”
“How about if I drop you off right now and drive away? Fast.”
“Oh, Stephanie.”
“I'm kidding.”
“Well, ha-ha. And that's all I wanted to warn you about.”
I said, “Why are there so many people in the choir? What do they get out of it?”
“Some people just love to perform. And some are wannabe rock stars, I suppose. Or failed rock stars.”
“But not you. Those aren't your reasons. Are they?”
“No. I get to perform every day for the surly teenagers in my classes at school. And I never wanted to be in a band.” She didn't say anything else for a minute. Then, “There's something about making music in a group that's more fulfilling than singing alone can ever be. The whole really is greater than the sum of its parts. If you know what I mean.”
I didn't, but I was about to find out.
T
he nave of the church buzzed with the voices of a hundred-plus people talking when I walked in. A middle-aged woman greeted me at the door. She had me fill out a form and a name-tag sticker, and she handed me a file folder full of sheet music. She said, “You're welcome to try us out tonight for free and see what you think. If you like it, you can come back next week and pay the hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee!”
Yeah, yeah.
“Now smile,” she said and took my picture with a digital camera. “For the choir list.”
I took a seat in the tenor section that started five rows back from the front. Around me, assorted tenorsâmale and female, older and youngerâstood and sat, talking to each other like old friends. A woman with wild, curly gray hair, wearing a long hippie-ish dress, hugged a younger woman in jeans and a flannel shirt. Down the aisle, a skinny guy in his late twenties, wearing a white silk scarf around his neck, was talking to another guy his age. I heard him say something about a musical he'd seen onstage. Or was it a musical he'd been in?
In front of the tenors were four rows of womenâthe altos. Next to them and across the aisle: more women. They had to be the sopranos. Joanne and Wendy were over there, chatting away.
Behind the sopranos sat about twenty men, mostly gray-haired, who made up the bass section. They weren't talking as much as the women. They weren't hugging either. Though at least one man laughed way too loudly at something another said.
I checked my phone. The practice was supposed to start at seven thirty. It was seven twenty-six. I took out some lip balm from my bag, applied it and tuned in to a conversation between two women seated behind me.
Woman #1: “There'd better be more singing this time, and less talking. Those announcements last week went on forever.”
Woman #2: “I know. That killed me. And I hope that tattooed biker guy doesn't sit near us this time. His singing really threw me off.”
Woman #1: “Now, now. Not everyone can be as good a singer as you are.”
Woman #2: “I
have
been singing for years.”
Woman #1: “And your voice is amazing.”
There was a pause, during which Woman #2 might have taken a bow. Then she said, “Hey, isn't that Anna Rai coming in the door? She wasn't here last week, was she?”
Woman #1 said, “Is it her? I'm not sure. Yes! It is. Good spotting. And hey, a celebrity.”
The tall woman getting the welcome treatment at the door
was
Anna Rai, a local tv personality. She wasn't superfamous, but most people in the city would recognize her. It helped that she looked the same standing at the front of the church as she did on tv. Her long, shiny dark hair was expertly styled. Her flawless eye makeup made her big green eyes look even bigger. And the clothes she wore were tv-worthyâa fitted jacket, a silk shell, two-hundred-dollar jeans over heels. Accessorized with a statement necklace and a designer handbag.
Woman #2: “Is she still on the six o'clock news?”
“No, she hosts a show called
Noontime
now. I caught it last week when I took a sick day. She does these lifestyle segments called âAnd Everything Nice.' The one I saw was about how she had her fabulous friends over to her fabulous house to eat fabulous food.”
“Who does she think she is, Martha Stewart?”
“She wishes. She should have called the segments, âDon't You Just Love Me?' Or âAren't I Perfect?'”
“Or, âI'm Fabulous and You're Not.'” And they both laughed.
Could they have gone more quickly from being glad to see Anna Rai to dissing her? Just because she was trying to do something different. And because she was about ten times better-looking than them, was my guess. I was about to turn around and check them out, when Woman #2 said, “Shush, here she comes.”
On her way up the aisle, Anna said hi and waved to a few people. Then she stopped right by me and flashed a wide smile.
“Is that seat taken?” She pointed to the empty pew next to me.
“Nope.” I slid down to give her some space. “Come on in.”
The two women behind me had gone quiet. No doubt listening to every word and staring. Screw them. I knew how to deal with celebrities. I once had Katie Holmes walk into my store when she was in town making a movie. She had her daughter Suri on her hip. She bought three pairs of socks, and I handled the purchase like a pro. Without drooling on her or sucking up.
I said to Anna, “Hi, I'm Steph. This is my first time here, and I'm already wondering if I've made a big mistake in coming.”
She laughed. “Hi, I'm Anna. And I know what you mean. The first time I came to choir, I wasn't sure either. There are a lot of outsized personalities in the group.”
The guy with the white scarf picked that moment to fling one end of it around his neck. “Yeah, I noticed that,” I said.
Anna unzipped her bag and took out a pen. Before she closed the bag, I peeked inside at its contents: a leather wallet, a small makeup pouch, a packet of tissues, a softcover black notebook.
“Mind you,” she said, “I shouldn't talk about people being dramatic. Seeing as I work in television.” From a black canvas bag she'd also brought, she pulled out a binder. It contained her sheet music, organized with color-coded dividers. “But I keep a low profile hereâI don't try out for the solos or small groups, for instance.”
“There are solos and small groups that people try out for?”
She laughed at the expression on my face. “They're optional, don't worry. Though you'd be surprised how many people audition. Or maybe you wouldn't.”
Someone coughed to my right. A sandy-haired guy around my age, with a buzz cut and an earring, had sat down a foot away. He was studying his music. Or was he trying to hide that he was shy?
“Hey, Brandon,” Anna said. “Good to see you back. How are you doing?”
“I'm okay. I'm not too sure about this season's music though. Have you seen the list? That song âGood Vibrations' is old enough to be my father.”
Anna chuckled. “It's a classic, all right. This is Steph, by the way. She's here tonight for the first time.”
“Welcome to the tenors,” Brandon said. “And to the sixties, apparently.”
A few minutes later, Brandon turned away to speak to someone else.
“Being here reminds me of the first day of high school,” I said to Anna. “When everyone breaks off into cliques and starts competing to be the hippest or the baddest.”
I thought about the people I worked with at the store, how they formed alliances and complained about each other. And about the kitchen staff at Sterling. Nathan was always telling me about their feuds. “Actually, maybe all life is like high school.”
Anna waved and mouthed hi at a heavyset man with a neck tattoo, wearing a
Sticky Fingers
T-shirt. He waved back and turned into the pew behind us.
“I have no desire to go back to high school,” she said. “But I do like to people watch in large groups like this. Maybe it's because I'm a journalist. I'm interested in how people behave and interact in social situations. They say everyone has a story, and I'm curious about those stories.” She smiled. “Or maybe I'm just nosy.”
I imagined the two women behind me exchanging a glance when they heard her say that. They probably thought she was full of shit, or full of herself. All I knew was that
I
didn't have a story. Not yet.
The accompanist played a fanfare on the piano, and everyone around me stood up. “Ready or not, here we go,” Anna said. And we got up and started to sing scales.
T
he practice went better than I expected. Meaning that it wasn't totally lame.
The choir director was a middle-aged bald man named Richard. He had a paunch and a sense of humor. His jokes were not as funny as he thought they were, but I liked how he handled the backtalk and questions from the choir members. And there was a lot of backtalk to handle. Imagine a room full of troublemakers of all agesâthat was the choir.
In the first half of the practice, we worked on bits of four songs. Richard taught each section its part of a twelve-bar passage, say, while the other sections sat and listened. Once we'd all run through our parts, he rehearsed us together. And guess what? To be part of a group singing a song in four-part harmony
was
kind of cool. Even if a lot of people, including me, weren't hitting the correct notes or rhythms.
I'd thought most of the choir members would be good singers, but the quality of the voices around me was mixed. Anna sang quietlyâI could hardly hear her. Brandon, who reeked of cigarette smoke, asked me twice what bar we were on in the sheet music. The
Sticky Fingers
man yelped like Mick Jagger when we sang some of “You Can't Always Get What You Want.” And behind me, Ms. All That sang loudly, in a show-offy way. Like she was singing opera. Plus, she always sang the melody, even when the tenor part was backup or harmony.