Screaming Divas (15 page)

Esther had been stuck at school with a teacher who wanted to discuss her paper, and now she was thirty minutes late for work. She thought of popping into a phone booth and letting Rebecca know she was on her way, but figured she'd be better off heading straight for the gallery.

A sneaky part of her knew that Rebecca wouldn't yell at her or dock her pay for tardiness, but Esther tried not to abuse her privileges; she wanted to keep everything professional at work.

When she walked in the door, she was surprised to find Rebecca in her path, tapping her toes with her arms crossed. “Where have you been?” She pointed to her watch, and then, for emphasis, to the clock on the wall, an arty timepiece with arrows for hands and shapes instead of numbers.

“Sorry,” Esther said, ducking her head. Rebecca was obviously agitated and it was obviously her fault, but why?

“I've got something to tell you.”

Esther looked up then and saw that Rebecca wasn't angry, just impatient.

“What is it you've always wanted?” Rebecca asked in a gentle, coaxing voice.

Esther had no idea where this was leading. She tossed up her hands. “A million dollars? World peace?”

“Be serious, dear.” Rebecca rested her hands on Esther's shoulders and leaned in to deliver her message. “I've made you a drummer.”

“What?”

“That's what you wanted, isn't it? To be a drummer for Screaming Divas.”

Esther rubbed her forehead with her palm. This made no sense. She was still in the floundering-around-in-the-basement stage. She wasn't ready to join the band yet, and she hadn't auditioned. “What did you do?”

“Well, Trudy—Ms. Sin, rather—came by earlier and asked me to handle bookings for the band ….”

Esther sighed. “And you said you'd do it if they let me be drummer.”

Rebecca's arms dropped to her side and she took a few paces. “Not
let.
I didn't say ‘let.'”

Esther could feel tears welling, but she fought them back. She wanted to be in control of her own life, but Rebecca had the reins. At the very least, she could control her emotions.

“Rebecca,” she said flatly. “I appreciate everything you do for me, but I wanted to do just this one thing on my own.”

“But she asked me,” Rebecca went on. “She begged me to help them and then she told me that they need a new drummer and I thought of you. If you don't want to do it, I'll find somebody else.”

Esther climbed onto the stool behind the cash register and leaned on her elbows. What was it that her mother was always saying? It's not what you know, it's who you know. And she knew Rebecca. She had to admit that her mentor was well connected and willing to make things happen. If it took Rebecca's intervention to get close to Harumi and Cassie, then she'd put up with it.

“All right. I'm sorry I overreacted.” Esther took a deep breath and forced a smile. “It is what I want, but I'm nervous. I'm not sure I can live up to their—and your—expectations. I've only been practicing for a couple of weeks.”

Rebecca approached her then. She wrapped her arms around Esther and murmured into her hair. “I know that you'll be fabulous. No one will be disappointed.”

Then the door whooshed open and Esther wriggled out of her embrace.

Christmas was coming. Cassie dreaded the thought. She couldn't imagine anything worse than sitting around a fake tree with Johnette's low-fat candy cane cookies. Or maybe Johnette wouldn't be there. Cassie was putting off the rest of her Christmas shopping till she found out what the deal with her father and stepmother was. She'd already bought gifts for the Divas: for Trudy, an LP of
The Supremes Live at the Copacabana
, earrings shaped like guitars for Harumi, and a book of poetry for Esther. She'd gotten her dad a sweater—cashmere, no less—but she didn't want to waste money on Johnette's present if she was about to move out.

Cassie stopped wondering when her dad called her into his office.

“Listen, Cass, I need to talk to you about Christmas.” He was all business, no time for small talk. “I hate to do this to you, but I'm not going to be around.”

“You're not?”

“Johnette and I, well, we've been having some problems that we need to work out, so I've promised her we'd go somewhere, just the two of us.”

“I get it, Daddy. You don't have to apologize.” Cassie tried to keep joy from sneaking into her voice. “I think that's a great idea.”

“You do? Well, I'm glad you're so understanding. We'll bring you back something nice.”

They were headed for the Virgin Islands. They'd be cruising in and out of ports, buying trinkets in duty-free shops, dancing to reggae on the deck. And Cassie wouldn't have to endure another “family” Christmas.

“I'll drive you up to Aunt Belle's house, if you like. I'm sure they'd love to have you.”

“No, that's okay. A friend invited me to spend Christmas with her family,” she quickly improvised. She wasn't in the mood for Aunt Belle and her sympathy. She'd stay with Trudy. Then again, Trudy might be spending some time with her dad. Maybe she'd just stay home and spend her evenings watching all those holiday specials on TV like
Frosty the Snowman
and
How the Grinch Stole Christmas
.

“Don't worry about me, Daddy. I'll be fine.”

“Good, good.” He liked having a low maintenance daughter, Cassie thought. Especially since his wives and lovers were anything but.

“So what do you want for Christmas?” he asked.

At first, she was going to say “nothing,” but then she realized that this was an opportunity. He was feeling guilty, which meant he would be generous. Maybe generous enough to fund Screaming Divas' first demo.

“Well, there is one thing ….” she began.

When they were finished talking, she went into her room and sat on the edge of her bed, trying to think up a good gift for Johnette. And for Adam. She wasn't sure that buying a present for him was appropriate. After all, he wasn't exactly her boyfriend. He was more like an addiction. The more she had of him, the more she needed him. Maybe that's how her mother had felt about booze. Maybe she'd inherited a personality disorder.

Cassie wondered what it would be like to have been brought up in a normal family—like the Shealys, say. According to Esther, they played Scrabble by the hearth and her mother made casseroles with canned soup. What a life. It would be a hoot to have just a day of that.

Harumi had a new home—an apartment in the Shandon area of Five Points, an upscale neighborhood of well-kept brick buildings with magnolia trees in the front yard. She'd moved in with a widow who needed caretaking. The widow's daughter, a brisk woman with a catering business, had interviewed her in her paneled office. The questions had been personal (“Do you have a boyfriend?” “Have you ever used drugs?”), but Harumi knew the woman was just looking out for her mother and tried not to take offense.

Rent was cheap—a hundred dollars a month—but Harumi had to prepare the old lady's meals and run errands for her. She was supposed to do housework, too, and whatever else came up—stuff that would make her upwardly mobile mother cringe.

The night before, the woman, Mrs. Harris, had called Harumi into her bedroom. She was propped against the padded headboard of her bed, wearing a pink flannel nightgown scattered with rosebuds. Wisps of white hair floated over her shoulders. Her vision was poor and when Harumi walked in, Mrs. Harris moved her head at the sound, but seemed to be staring just to the left of her ear.

“Darling, would you read to me?”

Harumi looked at her watch. She was supposed to be at band practice in an hour. If she were late, Trudy would probably blow a gasket and threaten to kick her out of the band. Trudy rarely acted on her threats, but Harumi didn't want to deal with another of her tantrums.

On the other hand, she couldn't refuse Mrs. Harris, whom she'd started thinking of as her benefactor. She imagined the woman had pots of money set aside and that if she, Harumi, was loyal, Mrs. Harris would write her into her will. If she was lucky, the woman would fall asleep to the drone of her voice.

“Okay, Mrs. Harris. I'll read to you.”

A leather-bound Bible was on the nightstand and Harumi figured she'd be reading psalms, but Mrs. Harris pointed a shaky finger at her dresser against the wall. “Look in the top drawer, dear,” she said. “My book's in there.”

Harumi yanked on the brass latch and looked down at the piles of big, white underpants.

“At the bottom,” Mrs. Harris said. “I've hidden it.” She giggled.

Harumi hesitated, then pushed aside the mounds of stretched, stained nylon and found a dog-eared paperback. On the cover, a pirate held a half-naked woman in his arms. “Um,
Galley Wench
? Is this it?”

Mrs. Harris clapped her hands together and sighed like a girl at a party. “Yesssss.”

Harumi shoved the drawer shut and perched on the edge of the bed. “Uh, what page are you on?”

“Read page one hundred seventy-six. That's my favorite.” Her hands were still clasped at her chest.

Harumi cleared her throat. “She wriggled in his arms, but could not free herself. ‘Be still woman,' he said. ‘I've waited too long for this.'” Harumi could feel a blush shading her cheeks, but Mrs. Harris didn't notice. She couldn't see what was in the room, but she was obviously picturing the pirate and the wench, the pirate's big strong hands tearing the wench's dress apart. Mrs. Harris was enraptured by the muscle-roped thighs of the hero, the shining tumescence of his member. She wasn't about to fall asleep.

Harumi continued reading until the characters were in their clothes again. Then she paused long enough for Mrs. Harris to say, “Thank you, dear. That was wonderful.” She put the book back in its hiding place, and eased herself out of the room.

Walking to Trudy's house with Zelda in her arms, she still felt embarrassed. She had a vivid picture in her head of the lovers in the book. But then it melted into a vision of her and Chip. Chip, unbuttoning her blouse. Chip's tongue in her mouth.

She hadn't seen him since that night he'd asked her out. She was beginning to think he'd never visit Goatfeathers again.

Mrs. Harris had urges at unreasonable hours that Harumi did her best to fulfill.

“Darling, do you know what I would like?”

Mrs. Harris was sitting in her favorite rocking chair, listening to a drama on TV.

Harumi braced herself. She'd seen that dreamy look before. “Uh, no. What can I get you?”

“I would like a bowl of vanilla ice cream with three or four fresh strawberries on the side.”

Harumi released her breath. This was a possibility. There was no ice cream in the freezer, but she could jog over to the Food Lion and make this woman's wish come true.

“I can do that, Mrs. Harris. You wait right there, and I'll go out and get you some ice cream.”

Harumi slipped on a pair of sandals, grabbed her wallet, and headed out the door. It was just after ten and the air was cool and fresh. She raised her face to the night.

Food Lion was a couple of blocks away. At the corner, a murky figure leapt out at her. “Boo!”

Harumi jumped. Then she saw the buzz-cut ROTC guy, and relaxed. “Geez. Leave me alone.”

The guy barked a laugh and she caught a whiff of liquor. In the morning, he'd wake up next to a dumpster and wonder where he was.

Harumi stepped up her pace and pushed past him.

He trailed her for a block. She could hear the syncopation of footsteps behind her, his shuffle and stumble. The hairs at the back of her neck rose like antennae. He was probably harmless, but she wanted peace. She wanted to inhale jasmine, bathe in the moonlight. Suddenly she stopped and whirled. “Stop following me.”

“Hey, it's a free country.” She couldn't see his face. There was only that twangy, taunting voice. “Ah kin walk wherever ah want.” He moved closer in the dark.

Harumi took a step backward.

He lunged at her and she felt a vise clamp around her upper arm. She felt the heat of his body along the length of her own.

“Get away from me.” Now her voice was shrill. “I'll scream.”

His grip loosened and she wrenched herself free, turned, and started running. When she reached Devine Street, with its chain of traffic, she paused and looked behind her. He was gone.

The grocery store was almost empty. Wives had already been in and out. At this hour, the only shoppers were students with the munchies and singles dropping in after work.

The fluorescent lights were a relief after that encounter in the street. Here, everything was clean and safe. Harumi wandered into the produce department for strawberries.

“Hey.” Another voice behind her, but this one was familiar.

“Chip.”

The sight of him was so comforting that she felt like hugging him. He was wearing his blue Oxford shirt and pushing a shopping cart. Harumi couldn't help looking down into the wire cage: a slab of steak, a jug of low-fat milk, lettuce, a case of Coors, a papaya.

“Dinner?” she asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Strawberries.” Then she laughed. She told him about Mrs. Harris and her sudden desire for ice cream. And then, because she could tell he was enjoying her story, she told him about
Galley Wench
.

Chip slapped his hand to his forehead and laughed. When he calmed down, he reached for a package of strawberries and said, “What time does she go to bed?” He gestured to the case of beer in his cart. “Do you think you could slip out and join me for dinner Friday night?”

Harumi smiled, feeling suddenly mischievous. “Maybe.”

Together, they went to the freezer section, picked out ice cream, and went through the checkout. Then Chip led Harumi to his car. “I can't believe you walk around here by yourself at night,” he said, his forehead wrinkling. “It's not safe.”