Screaming Divas (19 page)

There was just enough moonlight coming through the slit in the curtains for Esther to make out Cassie's face. Her golden hair was splayed on the pillow. The ironic set of her mouth had softened into an angel's kiss. In the dark, her scar was invisible.

Esther held her breath and reached a hand toward Cassie's pillow. With one finger, she stroked a lock of hair. It was soft as corn silk.

Suddenly, Cassie's eyes popped open and she laughed.

Esther drew back her hand.

“You thought I was asleep, didn't you?”

Esther buried her face in her own pillow. “I'm sorry. Your hair looked so soft. Not like mine, all wiry and wild.”

Esther felt a hand on the back of her neck. Cassie's fingers worked their way up her nape, into the thick tangle of curls. “I'd love to have hair like this,” she said.

Then Cassie was moving on top of her, and Esther felt her breath on the back of her neck, then lips. “If you want me to stop, just say so,” Cassie whispered.

Esther felt fever spreading through her body. She wanted to roll over and touch Cassie, but she didn't dare. She held herself still as Cassie's fingers sneaked up her pajama top and traveled her bare back. She stayed on her stomach until Cassie moved off of her and nudged her onto her back.

When Cassie straddled her, Esther saw that she was naked. Her skin was glowing in the moonlight. As Cassie leaned down and began unbuttoning her top, Esther rose to kiss her.

Trudy was riding a city bus, trying not to inhale. The passenger next to her smelled of sweat and garlic. Someone had let out a fart.

She was trying not to listen, either. She was doing her best to tune out the endless nattering of the woman behind her. It wasn't that hard. Trudy had a radio in her head, and whenever she wanted, she could turn up the volume. Right now, Diana Ross and the Supremes were singing about living in shame and missing Mama. It was one of their older songs, recorded after Flo was gone and just before Diana set out on her own. Before things started to go downhill.

She was a little scornful of Diana for deserting the group. She'd never do that to her girls. And they'd never be Trudy Sin and the Screaming Divas. It sounded stupid, anyway.

She fingered the stuffing coming out of the ripped vinyl seat in front of her, then turned her attention to the scenery outside. They were passing through a neighborhood of one-story brick houses with neat lawns, many adorned with garlands of colored lights or pine branches.

Sometimes, when she found herself alone, she'd go out walking around. As she passed each house, she'd make up a little story about the people who lived there. She could sometimes see them through the windows, especially at night when the houses were lit up and she was covered by the dark. They'd be watching TV, or having dinner, or reading the newspaper.

Once she saw a mother and daughter dancing together. A waltz, it looked like. Maybe the woman was trying to teach her something. Trudy stood on the sidewalk watching until they missed a step and collapsed against each other in a fit of giggles. She and Sarah had never laughed like that together.

If only her mother had been a stay-at-home brownie baker—and she wasn't thinking of Amsterdam hash brownies—a one-man woman, someone who cared about what other people thought, even.

Instead, Trudy had gotten a mother who squeezed out babies and then played favorites. She wasn't really into the kids. She'd had her own agenda from day one. She'd wanted to rebel against her staid upbringing, the all-girls school, the white gloves and embossed stationery, “sir” and “ma'am.” Trudy thought that she understood.

The bus wheezed to a halt and Trudy got off. She walked a couple of blocks under oaks and maples until she reached her destination. She stood at the foot of the driveway, unable to move any further, staring at her mother's house. It had been her house once, too, back before she'd gotten arrested.

She tried to guess at what was going on inside. Maybe Sarah was walloping Baby Ken, Trudy's latest baby brother, who must already be about two. Or maybe she was sitting on a pillow, meditating, trying not to think about all the sorry details of her life.

Sarah must have had big dreams at one time, something more than a series of loser husbands and this house in suburbia, but Trudy couldn't remember what they'd been.

She reached into her jeans pocket and felt the cassette—a tape of Supremes songs as covered by Screaming Divas. It wasn't studio quality; they didn't have that kind of money yet. But it would show Sarah that she'd been doing something with her life. That she was going to be somebody.

She took a deep breath and a step up the driveway. Then another, and another, till finally she was on the porch, at the door with her fingertip hovering over the glowing button of a doorbell.

What if Sarah wouldn't let her in the house?

She closed her eyes and summoned up whistles and applause, the girls in the front row who copied her clothes. She was a Diva, damn it, and nothing was going to get her down.

She pressed the doorbell.

She could hear the commotion inside—the blare of a TV, Ken's squalls, her mother's sharp voice. And then footsteps, a pause as someone looked through the peephole, followed by the jangle and clink of the chain lock. The door opened.

Sarah stood there, eyes narrowed, hip cocked, cigarette held like a roach. She took a drag, studied her daughter. “You'd better not be in some kind of trouble again.”

Trudy ignored her and held out the cassette. Now seemed as good a time as any to give it to her. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “I made this for you.”

Ash from Sarah's cigarette dropped to the floor, but she didn't seem to notice. She put the butt in her mouth and squinted through the smoke as she examined the tape, turning it over and over in her hands.

Sarah looked older. It had been less than a year since they'd last met, but the crinkles that rayed out from her eyes were deeper. Her hair looked a little ratty and her roots were showing. Trudy wondered how her latest marriage was going, but she wasn't about to ask. She was still standing on the porch.

“I have a band now,” she said. “We play in Columbia all the time. People say we're really good.” She wished she'd brought them along for moral support. She tried to summon them now—Cassie, the golden one; Harumi, with her quiet strength; Esther, so full of goodness.

Sarah looked up then. “You look like you've lost some weight. Are you eating all right?”

“Yeah, Ma. And working hard. With my band.”

“Huh. Your daddy was in a band once. He never made any money at it, though. Never got famous.”

“I know. I lived with him for a while.”

“Guess I knew that.”

At last, Sarah opened the door wider and stepped back. It seemed that she'd figured out that Trudy wasn't about to torch the place.

“Well, let's see what this sounds like,” she said, brandishing the tape.

The living room looked the same as she remembered—thick beige carpet, stained in some places from coffee spills, a maroon vinyl sofa, a glass-topped coffee table stacked high with magazines. An artificial Christmas tree hung with candy canes took up one corner. It was so utterly middle American that Trudy could hardly believe they'd ever lived in a teepee.

Just then, Ken toddled into the room. When he saw Trudy, he went for cover behind Sarah. He didn't remember her at all. Trudy guessed that her name never came up in conversation and that they didn't keep pictures of her around.

Her other half-brother and sister and Joey, her brother, were nowhere in sight. They were probably with their fathers for the holidays, as usual.

She plopped down on the sofa while Sarah tried to disentangle herself from the curly-haired boy attached to her legs.

“What's this?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the tape player. “Sounds like ‘Baby Love.'”

Trudy's voice blasted out of the speaker, fast and frantic. You could hear her gulping for breath between phrases.

“Yeah, it is,” she said. “We do a lot of Supremes covers.”

Sarah shook her head. “You ruined my favorite song.” But she was smiling. Amused. “You want something to drink? Beer? Iced tea?”

“Tea is okay.”

Sarah kept talking as she went into the adjacent kitchen, Ken still tugging on her leg. “Ken, why don't you go say ‘hey' to your sister?” And then, “So you're keeping out of trouble, huh? That's good. I heard Grandma and Grandpa were sending you some money and you know that if they hear anything bad, they'll cut you off. Like they did me.”

“I know that.”

Sarah came back with a tray of drinks and pretzels in a bowl. “You'd better eat a little. You look skinny.”

They sat there, side by side, for a few minutes, listening to the tape.

“I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that we'll be moving soon,” Sarah said at last.

It figures, Trudy thought. She probably would have skipped town without saying a word if Trudy hadn't dropped in. Trudy stared at the ice in her drink.

“We're going to California,” Sarah continued. “End of next month.”

Well, California might be a cool place to visit someday. Trudy had always wanted to go to Hollywood. If things kept going well, maybe the Divas could go on tour out West.

“Good luck,” she said, forcing herself to meet her mother's eyes.

Sarah reached out then as if she was going to touch Trudy's cheek or smooth down a strand of hair, but midway her hand dropped to the sofa. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I know I haven't been the kind of mother you wanted.”

Trudy shrugged. “I guess you did your best.”

As soon as she finished her tea, she stood up. “I've got a bus to catch. See you later.” She was walking out the door before Sarah had a chance to stop her. Or not. Her heart was banging like Esther's drums.

She was halfway down the driveway when she heard Sarah call out, “Thanks for the tape!”

“Hey, no problem,” she shouted back. “Send me a postcard when you get where you're going.”

On New Year's Eve, all of the Divas had been invited over to Cassie's house to watch Dick Clark. Her dad and step-mom were still off on their cruise. They wouldn't be back for another five days.

Cassie had invited Rebecca, too, but she had plans to go to some artist's party where there'd be a cash bar and a live band. Esther was relieved. She was also a little nervous. She hadn't seen Cassie since Christmas, although they'd talked on the phone a few times. Whenever she thought about that night, she felt uneasy. She remembered how her skin had tingled, how she had felt herself open to Cassie's fingers, but she also remembered how lonely she'd felt. When she'd looked up at Cassie, she'd seemed to be studying Esther like a science experiment. There had been no tenderness in those eyes. And then, when Esther had touched her back, she'd started moaning and wailing so loudly that her mother had come and tapped on the door to see if everything was all right. Mortified, Esther had tried to draw away, but Cassie had clamped her wrist between her thighs. It was almost as if she'd wanted Esther's mother to walk in.

Something had changed in Esther after that night. Instead of being in awe of Cassie, she now felt wary. And while the things they'd done together had made her feel good, she also felt violated, somehow. That wasn't love.

Esther changed from the sweat suit she'd been wearing all day into a pair of jeans and a pink mohair sweater she'd gotten for Christmas. She went into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of packets of microwave popcorn and her keys.

“Mom, I'm going now,” she called out.

Her mother appeared in the doorway. “Esther, honey,” she said, reaching over to pull a strand of hair out of her daughter's eyes, “I know there might be some drinking, and, well, if you need someone to drive you home, give us a call.”

“Yes, Mom.” She leaned forward and kissed her mother on the cheek.

Esther had never been to Cassie's house before, though she knew of the neighborhood. She'd jotted down directions on the back of an envelope as Cassie dictated them over the phone. Now she held the scrap of paper against the steering wheel as she drove. Left on Elm Street, right at the stop sign, four houses down. She found the big brick house without too much trouble. The sconces on the front porch were lit and a couple of cars were in the driveway. She recognized the Beetle as Cassie's.

She parked her car at the edge of the lawn so that she wouldn't get blocked in. She wanted to be able to leave whenever she felt like it. Then she trudged up the yard to the front door.

Cassie appeared almost as soon as she'd rung the bell. Her hair looked kind of stringy, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Esther wondered if she'd been sick. “Come in!” She reached for Esther's arm and pulled her inside. Trudy and Harumi were sitting on the floor, flipping through Cassie's record collection. Adam was there, too. Before, she would have been annoyed to find him there. He wasn't a Diva, after all, but tonight she felt relieved. If Adam and Cassie were together, Cassie wouldn't expect anything from her.

Esther took a look around. The room was tastefully furnished, with lots of cream jacquard. On the wall, there was an oil portrait of Johnette, Cassie's stepmother. Framed photos of Cassie and her father and stepmother were gathered on a shelf, but there was no sign of her real mother.

“Oops,” Trudy said, knocking over a long-necked bottle. Everyone watched for a moment as the beer soaked into the plush, beige carpet.

“Fuck,” Cassie said, after a few beats. She didn't seem mad, though. She picked up the bottle and disappeared for a moment. She came back with a roll of paper towels to sop up the mess.

Now the whole room seemed to stink of beer. There was also the fug of cigarette smoke and something else—that smell that sometimes lifted off Esther's brother's sheets when she did the laundry. It was Adam's smell, Esther realized. He and Cassie must have had sex before the others arrived.