Screaming Divas (21 page)

“
Dear Rebecca
,” she wrote, “
I am unhappy in our relationship and I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore.
”

With Rebecca, she knew, it was best to be direct.

She was going to have to give up her job, but that was okay. She'd socked away quite a bit of money over the past few months, and she was sure she could find something else. She'd sling burgers at McDonald's, if need be.

At one in the morning, after four drafts had already been crumpled and tossed, Esther finished her letter. She signed it, stuffed it into an envelope, and went downstairs to get a stamp out of the kitchen drawer. Then she slipped back out into the cold, hopped in her car, and drove to the nearest mailbox.

She wouldn't go to work tomorrow. She'd leave a note at the gallery and that would be it.

When she got back home, she went straight to bed. William Faulkner would have to wait.

She thought that relief would wash over her immediately, that sleep would come easily, but she tossed and turned all night. The letter in the mailbox was like a bomb waiting to go off. At dawn, after a few twisted dreams, she dragged herself out of bed and splashed her face with cold water. Her eyes in the mirror were red-rivered and shadowed.

All day long, she found herself looking over her shoulder, as if Rebecca might be there, ax in hand. It was silly. The letter hadn't even been delivered yet, but in her sleep-starved state, paranoia ruled.

By the time she got home that night, after classes and band practice, she was too tired to care. She glanced at the note her mother had left on the table—“Call Rebecca”—and shredded it. Then she dove into bed.

It was not until two days later, at four in the afternoon, that Rebecca showed up on the Shealy family's front porch.

Esther heard a car tear into the driveway, heard a door slam, and quick steps on the sidewalk. This was followed by the doorbell—three impatient rings. She crept to the window knowing what she'd find, and there it was—Rebecca's red Mustang.

She heard her mother chirping downstairs, and then Rebecca's deeper voice.

“Esther, honey? Could you come down here, please?” Her mother's voice was obscenely cheerful. She had no idea what was about to go down.

Wild thoughts caromed in her head. She could jump out the window and flee across the lawn, or hide herself under the bed. If she just ignored them … but now her mother was banging on the door. “Esther? You have a visitor.” Damn that singsong voice. She'd be setting out coffee and home-baked cookies any minute now.

“Coming.”

Rebecca stood in the foyer in a sharp tweed suit. She looked great, totally unaffected, and Esther wondered if she had gotten the letter.

“Hey,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

“Hello.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Rebecca reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out the letter. “We need to talk.”

Esther's mother bustled in the background, her ears, no doubt, alert. “Let's go someplace. We can sit on the porch.” It was cold, but she didn't want Rebecca in her house.

To her relief, Rebecca followed her outside and took a seat beside her on the cement steps.

The first words she said were, “You have devastated me.”

Esther hung her head. “I'm sorry.”

“What happened? We were so happy. We loved each other.” Her voice was getting louder, verging on the hysterical. Esther hoped her mother was minding her own business.

“Is there someone else? Some boy?”

Esther shook her head. It was true. She was cured of Cassie, after all this time.

“Don't you love me anymore?”

Esther could see that her hands were trembling. She was truly falling apart. Part of her wanted to soften the blow, but she knew what she had to do. “No,” she said. “I never loved you. Not from the beginning.”

And then Rebecca was wailing, clawing at Esther's face, and the door opened. Esther's mother stepped out onto the porch and bent down. “Is everything okay?”

“It will be,” Esther said. She squeezed Rebecca's shoulder once, one final time, and disappeared into the house.

Cassie was late. Trudy would probably be furious, but she'd get over it. After all, she wasn't the one who'd booked the studio. And the money was coming from Cassie's daddy.

By some weird coincidence, he'd reserved studio time on the anniversary of her mama's death. They'd never done anything formal to recognize the day, so she assumed he wasn't aware of it. He'd probably forgotten. Or maybe it was his feeble attempt to distract her from grief. But this day always made her feel edgy and sad. She had a hard time concentrating.

When she screeched up to the curb, she saw them standing there on the sidewalk, Trudy, in jeans and a cracked leather jacket, shifting from foot to foot; Harumi, hugging her bass; and Esther, hovering nearby. Cassie knew that since Rebecca was no longer helping out, Esther wasn't sure of her place in the band. But she'd come along as a drummer. She was good at it, and she was dependable. All of them ought to praise her more.

“Hey, y'all,” she shouted. “Sorry I'm late!”

Esther's face lit up with what looked like relief. “We thought you were ….” Her eyes darted from Trudy to Harumi, and back to Cassie again.

“What?”

“We thought you were shooting up with Adam,” Trudy said, looking her straight in the eye.

They knew? How could they know?
She'd been so discreet, keeping her arms covered, her mouth shut.

“Look,” Trudy said. “This band means a lot to me. I don't want you to screw it up.”

“It means a lot to me, too,” she said, annoyed. It's not like she was some junkie, selling herself on street corners, desperate for her next fix. She had it under control.
“We're worried about you,” Harumi put in, quickly. “What you're doing is dangerous.”

Sweet, innocent Harumi. Cassie spread her arms and gathered them in a group hug. “I'm totally fine. I just thought I'd give it a try, once or twice, for kicks. I'm not addicted. So don't you worry about me.”

When they came out of their huddle, she could tell that Harumi and Esther were reassured, but Trudy—she'd need a little more convincing.

“Come on,” she said, waving them on like a tour conductor. “We've got a demo to record!”

Once they were all set up in the studio, Cassie turned things over to Trudy. She wasn't interested in keeping everyone in line, anyway.

Trudy reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper that had been folded into an origami crane. She flattened it and read aloud. “Okay, we're going to do ‘Crashbaby' and ‘Lady Lazarus Rises Again' first, just to make sure we get those tracks laid down. I think those are going to be our hits.” This, with a nod to Cassie. “And then we'll do Esther's song.”

“Really?” Esther's eyes flooded with tears.

“It's a good song,” Harumi said, quietly.

Cassie nodded in agreement. Tell her now, she thought, willing Trudy to be nice. Tell her what she means to us.

“You've proven yourself to be a true Diva,” Trudy said. “And this song has actually kind of grown on me. Plus, it's sometimes good to slow down once in a while, give ourselves a break.”

They hadn't practiced it all that much, but Cassie was sure they'd be able to conjure some rough beauty.

The studio sound engineer was waiting for his cue on the other side of the glass. They put on their earphones, adjusted their mics, and did a sound check.

“Are you ready?” Trudy asked.

They all screamed at once, “Yes!”

By the end of their allotted time, they'd managed to record five songs. It was a solid sampler, enough to give local DJs and record companies a taste of their talent. As they were packing up, they made plans to celebrate at the Capitol Café.

“Before that, would you mind doing me a favor?” Cassie interrupted.

“Anything,” Trudy said. “As long as it doesn't involve Adam.”

A low blow, but Cassie figured she'd ignore it. “Would you all go with me to Mama's grave?”

“Of course we will,” Esther said. It was as if now that her initiation was complete, she was free to speak up.

They all moved closer. She could feel their warmth, their strength. This must be what it's like to have sisters, she thought.

“What did your mama like?” Harumi asked.

“What did she like?” What a strange question.

Harumi shook her long hair out of her eyes as she tried to explain. “When we went to Japan, after my grandfather died, we laid his favorite things at the family altar. Like tangerines and green tea. To keep his ghost happy, I guess.”

Cassie nodded. She was pretty sure the spirit of her mother wasn't happy. Whenever she dreamed about Mama, she was raging. “She liked to drink. And she was really, really into beauty pageants.” She rolled her eyes, but Harumi just nodded thoughtfully.

“Okay, let's go,” Trudy said.

They caravanned to the cemetery and parked in a row under some oak trees. Dusk was falling. The sky was edged in pink, and bats swooped over their heads as they walked across the lawn to her mother's grave. Talk about spooky.

Cassie walked up to the headstone and traced her mother's name—Leticia Anne Haywood—with her fingers. “Hi, Mama,” she whispered. “I'm sorry I've been away so long.”

Usually, on this day, she lit a candle in her room and talked to the ceiling, imagining that her mother was listening. Sometimes she cried a little. But she was always alone.

Harumi stepped forward and put her left hand on Cassie's back. In her right hand, she held a tube of lipstick, which she placed in front of the stone. Trudy came next, with a mini bottle of whiskey. And then Esther. “Did your mama like music?” she asked. “Maybe we could sing something for her.”

Cassie's eyes were filling with tears. “She did,” she said, with a little laugh, dragging her wrist across her nose. “She trained me to sing ‘How Much Is That Doggie in the Window?' It was my stage number. She had it all choreographed. Do you know it?”

“Wait here,” Harumi said. “I'll get my bass.”

A few minutes later, after a quick lesson, they were all singing a raucous punk version together. Cassie thought that they sounded good, but her mama was probably turning over in her grave.

At the end of April, the Divas were in a rented van, plowing through the night. “Crashbaby” had started getting airplay on WUSC, the local college radio station. They'd be opening for Ligeia the next evening at a club in Washington, DC. This was the big time, baby. Trudy inhaled the scent of leather seats and closed her eyes. Soon they'd have their own van—no, a bus!—with “Screaming Divas” splashed on the side in DayGlo colors. Maybe they'd have the whole thing carpeted inside with bright pink shag.

Trudy was so caught up in her fantasy that she didn't notice Noel disappearing from the seat across the aisle. He'd been snoozing only minutes before, a thin line of drool hanging from his lip. She twisted around in her seat and saw him sitting next to Cassie. Their heads were bent close together, and they were giggling about something.

Trudy was too keyed up to sleep. She just sat there, listening to Alan's snores and Esther's lip-smacking and the hum of the van engine. There was nothing to look at outside. It was black, the moon behind clouds. Instead, she looked at the pictures in her head—the Divas on an arena stage, buff boys tossing up their boxer shorts, the crowd shrieking for more.

They pulled into a Maryland diner at dawn. The Divas piled into one booth, Ligeia into another. Across the table, Cassie seemed spacey. Distracted. Trudy wondered if she was on something. Then again, maybe she was just sleepy.

“Are you going to be all right tonight?” Trudy asked her.

“Sure.”

“How about you, Esther?”

“Yeah. I mean, I think so.” Her pale cheeks flooded with pink.

Trudy had been riding her hard, like some kind of dominatrix, but Esther had actually improved over the past month or so. Post-Rebecca, she'd started to relax a little more. She tossed her hair around when she was hitting the drums, and made those rock star grimaces you always saw on TV. Esther had become fun lately.

Trudy glanced over at Harumi, who was shoveling hash browns into her delicate mouth. She looked rested and serene. Trudy didn't have to worry about Harumi. She might have concerns about Harumi's dad showing up, but he wouldn't be driving all the way to DC to cause a scene.

They'd been so pumped up about this trip that they'd managed to write three new songs over the past two weeks. They'd practiced every day for three to five hours, then lounged around talking about what they'd wear. Trudy had a little go-go dress with tiers of fringe that she'd found at a vintage clothing store. She was going to wear it with white majorette boots. Very sixties. Harumi had decided on one of her Goatfeathers outfits—a simple black dress and fishnet hose. Esther, who didn't have Rebecca to dress her anymore, would probably wear what she always wore—one of those Indian print peasant dresses. And Cassie, well, she said she was saving it for a surprise.

A couple of hours later, they were stretching their limbs in front of the club, glad to be out of the van at last. Trudy scoped the premises with approval. The Kit Kat Club occupied an old warehouse by the Potomac River. The outside was weathered wood, deliberately spray-painted with graffiti. There was a big dirt lot for parking. Trudy didn't see a marquee, but the regulars probably knew what was going on anyhow. No doubt flyers were plastered all over town. She had faith that the buzz was out about Ligeia and Screaming Divas.

They were greeted by Leo, a cute young guy with dyed blond hair and a trio of hoops hooked through his left earlobe. “Hello,” he said, almost bowing. “Welcome. We're glad you found your way here.”