Inner Diva (2 page)

His mother studied him for a silent moment,
then came to him and placed a tender hand on his cheek. “My son,
you still mend your broken heart,
si
?”

Carlos turned away. “I’m not talking about
myself, Mama. What about Luisa? She would be heart-broken if she
got attached to this woman, only to have her desert her.”

“Monica no talk about a transfer.”

“Neither did Angela.” His tone was bitter,
and he hadn’t meant to get into this topic with his mama. He shook
his head, trying to pull the conversation back on track. “Do you
remember Luisa’s tears when Angela left us?”

Mama came up behind him and patted his
shoulder. “Luisa is a little girl. She have many losses in her
life. She learn to deal with them. Monica will help her, not hurt
her.”

Carlos drew a breath and exhaled. Was she
right? Was he being overly sensitive to the possibility of loss
because his heart was still raw from Angela’s departure? Not to
mention that Monica physically resembled Angela, the two women
seemed to be cut out of the same cloth. He made the mistake once of
allowing an ambitious woman to steal his heart and his family’s
trust. He would never allow the same mistake twice. He wouldn’t do
that to Luisa.

“Any chance the agency could assign Luisa a
nice Hispanic girl? Someone from the neighborhood -- maybe someone
we know already?”

Mama chuckled and gestured at him with her
hand. “You worry too much. You let Monica do her work. Just watch.
Luisa will do well.”

Mama placed a kiss on his cheek and sat down
at the table with her tea.

The door of her limousine slid open, and she
stuck out a high-heeled foot, pausing to soak in the expectant
silence of her onlookers. With a satisfied grin, she turned in her
seat, gripped the hand reaching out to her and left the automobile,
standing on the red carpet that covered the sidewalk. Her silk
Versace gown hugged her slim form and floated like a dream as she
strolled, gracing the crowd with her best Mona Lisa smile. Her
escort and most perfect accessory slid out of the limo behind her
and followed, dressed in his black tuxedo and crisp white shirt,
holding her arm protectively.

“Watch out! Down below, watch out!”

Monica looked up and bolted, barely escaping
the onslaught of a huge stage light on its cable wire just inches
away. Steve Phillips, the stage guy on a twenty-foot high backstage
platform about two feet square, and one of her best buds, hoisted
the cable on its pulley, halting the light before it collided with
the stage. “Got it under control!” he said with the slightest trace
of panic in his voice. Monica suspected he was trying to convince
himself as much as everyone else. “Wouldn’t have let it hit anyone.
Or anything.”

Monica grinned at him. She’d worked with
Steve on several productions, and he was a fun-loving guy who made
her laugh. He drew his hand over his brow with an exaggerated
“Whew” gesture and tugged the light back up where it belonged. She
really needed to keep her mind on her work and her imagination
under wraps tonight.

The set was coming together. But it needed a
few more details. She dug through the big box at her side,
searching for a crystal clock for the end table. A framed family
photograph showing members of the cast at a younger age hung on the
wall behind her, adding authenticity.

The theater’s winter production this year
took place in a ski lodge. An unexpected blizzard trapped the
visitors in for Christmas, and the play followed how each family
resolved its issues through the love and togetherness of the
holiday.

Steve stepped off the lowest rung of the
backstage platform. She gave his arm a gentle punch. “Watch those
flying objects, okay buddy?”

He chuckled. “Lost my grip. Makes life
exciting, right?”

Monica gave him a half-hearted whack with a
pillow from the ski lodge sofa.

“Looks really good out here.”

“Thanks,” Monica said. She looked around and
had to agree – it was like standing in an actual Colorado ski
resort.

Steve sat down, leaning back into the sofa’s
cushions. “So, when are you going to move to the front of the
stage?”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You’re always backstage, making it work
behind the scenes. When are you going to give it a try front and
center?”

She gave him a dubious look. Her, act? It was
a frequent daydream, but she knew the difference between fantasy
and reality. “When are you?”

He shook his head. “Not me. I’m happy with
the lights and sound. This is where I want to be. But you. I know
you have talent, and I think it’s high time you start using
it.”

She stared at him. “I was under the
impression I was using my talent. For this.” She made a gesture to
include the intricate decorations of the set.

“Sure, you do a great job with sets. And God
knows where the theater would be if you hadn’t become the manager.
You’re great with publicity and all the administrative details. But
when are you going to try out for a part?”

She looked at the floor and felt a little
warmth in her cheeks. “Now, why would you think …?”

“I saw you studying the script last night.
And I heard you running through the lines.” He stood and joined
her, placing his hand on her elbow. “You wanted a part, didn’t
you?”

Monica shrugged.

“Why didn’t you try out?”

She squeezed her lips together in a
close-mouthed smile. “I’m needed back here.”

He lowered an eyebrow at her. “Uh huh.”

She always broke into a giggle when he did
that. “What? I am.”

“Sure. Or is it that we’re a little too
fearful to put ourselves out there and try something new?”

She studied him. “Okay, that too.” She hated
that he could read her so well.

He tugged on her arm. “What do you say we
grab something to eat? I’m starved.”

She nodded and headed to the back where she’d
left her coat.

“And make me a promise, would you?”

She shrugged on her jacket. “What?”

“Next show -- whatever it is -- go for it,
Mon. Get up the nerve to audition. You’d be great out there.”

Monica shuddered. Practicing lines in her
bathroom was one thing, but up on a stage in front of an auditorium
full of people was another. Even at the theater located on the
outskirts of St. Louis, which had become her home over the last few
years. She loved running the box office, designing the advertising,
helping select the plays, making sure the seats were filled. It was
a great job, and she was pretty good at it.

But acting was another thing entirely. The
theater had an unending supply of talent knocking down its doors.
The director wouldn’t consider her for a role.

Or would he?

Then again, it was her dream. Literally.
Often she’d awaken after dreaming of being onstage, soaking in the
applause and adoration of the crowd. Lately, her dreams invaded her
waking hours as well. Out of nowhere, a vivid daydream of
performing as an actress interrupted her work and completely
distracted her. Like when she almost got hit in the head by an
errant stagelight.

She had an inner diva. A sleeping one, at the
moment, but still, there. And she needed a nudge to emerge into the
spotlight.

Maybe making the move from backstage -- her
comfort zone – to front stage was the answer. The question was, did
she have the courage to do it?

“Maybe.”

“That’s all I’m getting from you? A maybe?”
Steve zipped his own jacket and headed toward the backstage
door.

“I’ll think about it.” Monica followed, and
almost got run over by Trina, the female lead of the show. “Excuse
–“ she started, but didn’t finish because the self-proclaimed star
of the show whooshed past, her male co-star trotting along behind
her. They were in the middle of a discussion (aka, argument).

“No, it doesn’t work if you do it that way,
Brad. When you cross stage left it hides me completely from that
side of the auditorium. My reaction to your revelation is vital.
It’s the turning point of the scene.” She stalked downstage with
Brad following.

Monica glanced at Steve and they shared a
laugh. “You see what you’d be saving us from if you were the female
lead?”

Forty minutes later they were seated at
Burger Barn, finishing up cheeseburgers, fries and milkshakes. A
haze of fifties-nostalgia hung on the walls and a jukebox sat in
the corner, loaded with Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and Johnny Cash. The
waitress wore a poodle skirt, sneakers and pony tail and Monica
wondered if the middle-aged woman’s foul mood could be explained by
her understandable disenchantment with the uniform.

Monica’s cell phone rang. She gave Steve a
surprised look and fumbled in her purse before answering it.

“Monica? I got off two hours early and can
talk now.”

Although the caller hadn’t identified
herself, Monica recognized the voice and the accent – Senora
Garcia.

“Thank you so much for your call back.”

“If you want, you come over now and we talk.
You meet Luisa.”

Monica’s heart jumped. She was hoping she’d
have a chance to meet again with Mrs. Garcia. Show her how
interested she was, and prove herself trustworthy. That being late
for their last appointment was a fluke.

But what about Carlos? It was clear he didn’t
support her involvement with his sister.

“Have you spoken with Carlos?”

“Yes, yes. Don’t worry.”

“I don’t think he wants me to mentor
Luisa.”

Mrs. Garcia paused. “He has no problem with
you. So, you come?”

“Yes, of course, I’m on my way right now.
I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Twenty minute. Okay. Bye bye.”

She flipped her phone shut and looked at
Steve.

“Hot date?” he said with a grin.

“Not hardly. I’ll tell you about it later if
it works out.” She gathered her coat and began to slide out of the
booth.

“Ahh, the mystery.” Steve gave a wave and
helped himself to her remaining French fries.

Thanks to less-than-normal traffic and Monica
risking a ticket by exceeding the speed limit the whole way, she
landed on the Garcias’ doorstep exactly twenty minutes after
hanging up. If that didn’t tell the woman she was a reliable role
model, what would?

Mrs. Garcia waited by the door and welcomed
Monica in with a hearty, “Come, come.”

Once Monica had settled into an overstuffed
chair in the living room, Mrs. Garcia sat and then jumped up again.
“Oh
Dios
mio
, my manners! Wait.” She bustled to the
kitchen and returned with a large order of fast food French fries.
“You’re hungry, yes?”

A delighted smile popped onto Monica’s face.
“No, no thank you. That’s very sweet of you, but I just finished
eating. I’m stuffed.”

The wide grin on the older woman’s face lost
a little of its sheen. “You’re not hungry?”

Monica hesitated a moment. “Actually, leave
them here. I may be later. Thank you so much.”

Mrs. Garcia nodded and returned to the couch.
“So, you meet my Luisa tonight,” she announced.

Monica felt a hitch of excitement in her
breath. Not only were the Big Sisters a terrific organization that
would allow her to make a difference in a child’s life, it
delivered a strong message to her mother and sister, too. As in:
she had a purpose to her life that didn’t always involve them and
their schedules. And now, the time to meet Luisa was here.

“Oh yes,” she breathed. “I’d love to meet
her. But first, we need to decide the terms of our arrangement. How
often would like me to visit? What nights and times? Would you
object to me taking her places like the park or the movies?”

Mrs. Garcia chuckled and leaned over to pat
Monica’s hand. “You a good girl, you see? And I want my Luisa to be
a good girl too. Smart. Strong. Able to care for herself. So, you
come over, stay with Luisa, talk with her, take her places. Yes!
She’ll see how it is to be a strong, smart woman, and she’ll be one
too.” She lifted up the box of fries and waved them in Monica’s
face. “Eh?”

Monica grabbed a few celebration fries and
held them up. “Cheers!” she cried and took a bite. Mrs. Garcia
laughed and followed suit.

As Monica munched, she couldn’t help bask in
the positive perception Senora Garcia had of her. This was just how
she wanted Mom and Barbie to see her – a strong, smart woman. It
was kind of nice that a complete stranger had come to that
conclusion.

The older woman set the box on the table and
held up a well-worn finger. “Now, it’s time.” She stood, walked a
few steps to the edge of the room and called down the hall, “Luisa!
Come!”

Like an antsy puppy spotting escape through
an open door, a little girl came zooming down the hall and halted
in front of Monica. She was petite, dressed in a pair of bangled
blue jeans and a short hoodie jacket. A sliver of tanned skin was
visible where her shirt didn’t quite reach her waistband. Her dark
hair looked difficult to control, judging from the wisps escaping
from the two purple barrettes on each side.

“And you are?” Luisa asked in an adorable
voice and Monica knew immediately she was in trouble. She wouldn’t
be able to deny this nymph anything. She looked into the girl’s
eyes. They were the same soft mocha color of her brother’s.

And for some reason, that made her
shiver.

Clearing her throat and pulling herself
together, she held out her hand. “I’m Monica. It’s very nice to
meet you, Luisa.”

They shook hands like mature business people
and then Luisa asked, “How old are you?”

Monica chuckled. “You’re getting right to the
personal stuff, aren’t you? I am twenty seven. How old are
you?”

Luisa rewarded her with an amused smile. “I’m
ten. But I know someone about your age. My brother, Carlos.”