Screaming Divas (17 page)

“Well, you should think of your charms like a box of bonbons. Dole them out slowly. Let him savor each one and make him want more.” The woman bore an expression of ecstasy, presumably thinking about chocolate.

“So, uh, which bonbon do you think I should dole out first?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Well, you could talk about hobbies.”

“Hobbies?” Surely not her music. That was her passion, her life. She'd done the newspaper crossword that morning. Did that count?

Mrs. Harris released her hands at last to the chime of the doorbell.

“Oh, no,” Harumi muttered under her breath. She went to the front room.

Tiffany threw open the door. “Hiya, big boy. I've been thinking about you all day.”

“Um, hi.”

He was standing there with an armful of blood-red roses.

“They're gorgeous,” she said.

Chip looked her up and down. “So are you.”

She could feel his eyes on her back as she turned away from him in search of a vase. She couldn't remember how to walk. Every step felt strange.

In the kitchen, she found a glass pitcher big enough to hold the blossoms. She filled it with tap water and unwrapped the cellophane from the stems.

How was she going to make it through the evening? She'd never been so nervous in her life—not even when she'd soloed for the first time.

“Let me change and I'll be right with you.”

“No,” Chip said. “You look great. I love that dress.”

She raised her eyebrows. “This?” A smile splashed across her face. “It's a rag.”

Chip was wearing khakis and a cabled cotton tennis sweater, with topsiders without socks. He looked as if he was about to set out for a polo match or the country club.

“At Goatfeathers, when you're all dressed up, you look so chilly and unapproachable. But like this—” He shrugged. “I don't know. You seem friendly.”

“Chilly?” She cocked her hip. The spirit of Tiffany had invaded her body. Or it could have been Cassie. The dress.
I'm flirting
, she realized with a shock. “
Moi?
”

He pushed a hand through his hair, shifted from foot to foot. “It took me weeks—
weeks
—to work up the nerve to ask you out. And then you turned me down.”

Harumi smiled. “I told you. I had band practice.”

“Yeah, right.”

She had to turn away so he wouldn't see her dumb grin. “I'll say goodnight to Mrs. Harris and we can be on our way.”

Chip's car radio was tuned to NPR. Harumi settled back against the seat to the swell of an orchestra.

“Paganini,” she said absently.

Chip looked from the road to Harumi. “I'm impressed. I thought you were into a different kind of music.”

Uh oh. Was that a bonbon? “I listen to classical sometimes. I like different kinds of music. Even
enka.
”

“Enka?”

“Yeah, it's kind of like country and western. Songs about drinking and getting your heart broken. It's popular in Japan.”

Chip nodded.

She could tell she was racking up points, but he was getting it all wrong.

Then he looked at her and said, “Is your heart broken, Harumi?”

It was a weird question, way too personal. And what was the answer, anyway? No man had had a chance to stomp on her heart yet, but she was aching all the same. This rift with her family was making her lose sleep. She hoped that Chip would pick up on her vibe and change the subject, but he didn't.

“So, Harumi, is that it? You're pining for some other guy?”

She hated the image. And she never wanted to be like Trudy, starved for the attention of someone who didn't want her. “I've never been dumped by a guy,” she said. “Why would I be pining?”

Chip turned away. Now he was probably thinking that she was some sort of femme fatale with a string of scalps nailed above her bed. It was wrong to mislead him like this, but there was so much that she didn't want him to know.

“So what do you feel like eating? Thai? Chinese?”

“Italian,” she said.

Chip nodded. “How about Garibaldi's?”

At the restaurant, Chip held open doors and ushered her inside with his palm at the small of her back.

She liked feeling his touch. She wondered what it would be like to fall back into his arms. To kiss him.

They were polite with each other through platters of antipasto and spaghetti carbonara. They were giggling by the second bottle of Chianti, stumbling against each other after cappuccino and tiramisu as they made their way to the car.

“So,” Chip said, ramming a key into the ignition. “Do you want to drop by my place for a nightcap? Listen to some jazz?”

Harumi felt a flash of panic. She was too drunk to walk in a straight line. There was no way she'd be able to fend off Chip's advances if he got ideas.

The dashboard clock read 10:16. Still early. Would he believe a 10:30 curfew?

“All right,” she said. Her voice was barely audible over the engine. “But I have to be home by midnight, or I'll get fired.” She rolled her eyes for effect. “She's quirky that way, Mrs. H., but I have to humor her or I'll lose my job.”

“Okay, Cinderella.”

She watched his hands on the steering wheel, watched the streetlights slide over his sharp jaw. He was so handsome.

They rolled along in silence until Chip clicked the radio on again. The announcer's mellow tones filled the car with words that she knew: Bach, symphony, violin.

She had told him about the band over dinner. He'd seemed to enjoy her quick sketches of Trudy (“Supremes fanatic”), Cassie (“the southern Sylvia Plath”), and Esther (“child boxing champ”). Silently, she'd wondered how she would explain him to her friends. Southern gentleman? Stick-in-the-mud? Trudy might think he was boring, but she liked his old-fashioned interests, his clean and ironed clothes.

“When's your next show?” he'd asked.

“Next Friday. At The Cave.”

She couldn't imagine him among the punk wannabes in their leather and safety pins. He'd be as out of place as her father had been. He might get hurt. Even so, when he hinted that he'd be in the audience, front row, with bells on, Harumi had smiled and said, “I'd like that.”

The car was drawing up in front of an apartment building with window boxes and shutters. It wasn't sleek and modern as she'd expected. At least, not from the outside.

Chip bolted out of the car and around to the passenger side before she had a chance to get out. She'd never met a man with manners like his. Her own father still walked in doors ahead of her mother, stubbornly clinging to Eastern ways. He never held out chairs or guided his wife with a hand on her back. And of course, he was so different from the guys at The Cave. Adam and Noel were almost another species.

Harumi stood to the side on the narrow porch while Chip unlocked the door. He reached inside and flicked on a light, adjusted the dimmer switch, and waited for her to enter.

Harumi took in the beige carpet and the brown tweed sofa and armchair. She was impressed by the healthy green leaves of the dieffenbachia and ferns. Her father cultivated bonsai, little trees always kept firmly in check, not allowed to grow. Her mother arranged cut flowers in cold glass vases. Here, however, in Chip's living room, there was life, vigor—evidence of a generous spirit.

“Have a seat,” he said. “Is cognac all right?”

“Mmm.” Harumi sank into the sofa. Crossed her arms and legs. Uncrossed her arms. Tucked her legs beneath her. Let her head loll against the back of the sofa.

Chip returned with two globes of amber liquor.

Harumi's fingers brushed his—zap!—when he passed the glass to her. She closed her eyes and took a sip. She could feel the other end of the sofa sink as he sat down beside her.

“Harumi, how old are you? I mean, if you don't mind my asking.”

Her eyes snapped open. “Eighteen.”

She saw Chip shrink away from her and set his drink down. “God, I thought you were older. You seem so self-assured.”

Was she too young, now?

“I spent a lot of time around adults as a child,” she said. “With my parents' friends.” It was a little lie, a tiny lie, but she needed to tell it. Too much honesty would be like riding a raft over rapids. Besides, she'd already given him enough bonbons for the night.

“Do you think your parents would like me?”

Harumi shot him a look and was disarmed by his boyish, earnest expression. “No,” she said with a laugh, honest this time. “You not nice Japanese boy.”

Chip laughed, and guilt stabbed her in the stomach. It was wrong to make fun of her parents with their funny accents and foreign ways, but she was still angry at them.

Harumi lifted her glass and took a big swallow. The cognac burned her lips and tongue. It blazed down her throat. She started coughing.

“Are you okay?” Chip took the drink from her and patted her on the back.

“It went down the wrong way,” she said when her breathing was under control again. She wondered if he could tell how nervous she was. His hand was still on her back, and she was sure he could feel, even through her spine, the frantic beating of her heart.

He didn't say anything. His body was still except for his steady, even breathing. And then, as if he'd been gathering up his forces, he tugged Harumi onto his lap, into the cage of his arms, and he kissed her.

She let her lips go slack under his, let his tongue work its way into her mouth. A fever spread through her limbs and loosened her joints. But then his fingers began traveling over her body, grazing nipple and thigh, and her back went rigid. She forgot to breathe. When his mouth left hers for a moment, she sucked in a great gust of air.

“I'm yours,” Tiffany panted, her ample chest heaving with desire. “Take me now before I faint.”

Harumi couldn't help it. She started laughing.

Chip backed away. “What's so funny?”

“Nothing. I'm really sorry. I just started thinking about—oh, never mind. I think you'd better take me home.”

For a moment, he was silent and she thought that he might refuse. They'd both been drinking a lot. Maybe he couldn't drive. She might have to call a taxi.

Harumi couldn't bear to look at him. She remembered the way his expression had frozen when she'd turned him down for a date. This was worse. She'd followed him to his apartment and accepted a drink. She'd even let him kiss her, and then she'd humiliated him by erupting into a giggle fit while kissing him. The man had pride. He probably would never call her again.

They didn't speak in the car. Harumi let herself out as soon as they reached the curb. She mumbled “Thank you” and then dashed up the sidewalk, into the foyer. She could hear the car's engine idling behind her. When she got up to the apartment, she looked out the window. The Saab was gone.

On Friday night, The Cave was packed. You couldn't move without stepping on someone's steel-toed boots. This was what Trudy loved.

The band went onstage at ten and played till midnight, nonstop. They knew each other well now, and their set was seamless. With just a nod from Harumi, or a tilt of the head from Cassie, they decided their next song. When they finally quit, Trudy's throat was raw and sore. She'd been a total banshee.

The crowd started chanting, “Dee-vahs! Dee-vahs!”

Trudy shook her head. “My voice is shot. Cassie, you sing something. I gotta get a drink.” And then she stepped off the stage.

The crowd parted and Trudy flushed with pleasure. She floated toward the bar, a big smile plastered across her face. Midway, she felt a tug on her arm. She looked to see a girl with eyes made up like Cleopatra, black hair shaved within an inch.

“Hey, I'm the president of the Screaming Divas fan club,” the girl said. “Can I interview you for our newsletter sometime?”

A fan club. Wow. “Sure,” Trudy said, trying to act as if this happened all the time. Inside, she wanted to whoop for joy. “Give me a call later.”

The girl grinned. “Thanks.”

Behind her, on the stage, the band broke into a slow song, one they'd rehearsed only a few times. Cassie's voice flooded the club.

At the bar, Trudy heaved herself onto a stool. She was so tired that she didn't even realize Noel was beside her until his lips brushed her ear.

“Why don't you let her sing more often?” he said. “She has a good voice. And she's pretty.”

Trudy shrugged. “She doesn't want to.”

Noel shook his head. “I'll bet you're holding her back.”

Trudy knew he was baiting her. She took a long swig of Diet Coke and pretended to ignore him. Finally she couldn't resist. “So where's the ball and chain?”

Noel shrugged. “Hell if I know. Gone.”

“You mean you broke up?” Trudy felt a war whoop rising within, but she contained herself. Instead of rocketing to the ceiling, she put her hand on his shoulder, pretending to console him.

“Yup. She's insane.” Noel shook her hand off and turned to her, all businesslike. “So she's gone, which means that we need a new bass player. What do you say?”

Trudy bit back a grin. This was the moment she'd been dreaming of. I'm a hot commodity, she told herself.
Everybody wants me and it feels great!
So what if her parents couldn't be bothered to see her shows. It was better than booze, better than sex, better than any kind of drug. Then she took a hard look at her band. Cassie was center stage. She was still, but an energy radiated from her and all eyes were on her. Harumi's fingers were acrobatic, her concentration almost supernatural. And Esther pounded out the beat as if her life depended on it. Her red hair was flying all over the place.

The crowd was chanting again. Trudy was gassed up on Diet Coke and Noel and ready for the spotlight once again. “Just a sec,” she said. She pecked Noel on the cheek, then sprang from her stool. The crowd parted once again, cheering as she strutted to the stage.