Starry-Eyed (30 page)

We moved to the United States when I was nine years old. When I was fourteen I started going to a restaurant called Golden Gates in our neighborhood in Northeast Philly. It was a Russian nightclub and restaurant that had live entertainment. One night I was out partying with my friends and I heard one of the singers, this guy called Gennaro (Tedesco). He had one of the most beautiful voices I'd ever heard. He sang a bunch of songs that night, some stuff in Russian, some in Spanish, and then he sang “Lady in Red.” He sounded so incredible. I had a moment like, I want to sound like that, I want to do that, I want to work here. I remember just standing there and saying to myself, “I want to do that.”

I knew the owner of Golden Gates and the musical director, so I asked to audition sometime soon after that night, and I did. I had a mini disc to sing along with, but I don't remember what I sang. They told me that I had a lot of potential but I just needed to work really hard.

So I took that advice and I started listening to Marc Anthony's music. And it was when I listened to his music that I knew I wanted to be a professional entertainer. Marc Anthony's music moved me—his voice moved me and I wanted to sound like him.

For the next two summers, I blasted my karaoke machine and tried to mimic everything that he was doing. At first, I sounded really bad; I didn't know how to sing properly. I remember our neighbors would knock on the ceiling and the walls because I was annoying as hell. I would come home from school, and instead of doing my homework first, I would start singing to Marc Anthony. In the span of two summers, I went from neighbors telling me to shut the hell up, to opening the window to see who was there, listening to me.

I was lucky enough to be exposed to music when I was a baby. So it grew from there. I would encourage parents and their kids to experience music and the arts together. Whether it's going to a musical or singing for friends and family for fun, anything. But the sooner you expose your child to the arts, the sooner they can discover that world, and I believe they become better people because of it.

A
NTHONY
F
EDOROV
, the
American Idol
season four finalist, has built an impressive list of credits in stage musicals, including Roger in the Off-Broadway revival of
Rent, Cinderella
with the Nashville Symphony,
The Sound of Music
at Paper Mill Playhouse,
The Fantasticks
Off-Broadway, and
Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
in several productions around the country. His sold-out New York City cabaret debut featured songs from his favorite stage roles, early pop influences, select songs from his debut EP, and a fun recap of songs from his
Idol
stint. Currently, Anthony is the lead singer for the Chicago-based rock band 7th Heaven.
www.7thheavenband.com
.

GRAVY AND MASHED

Tanya Lee Stone

Jess's stomach lurched. She grabbed for one of the bags she stashed in a secret spot in the wings. Strange to think of a brown bag as a comfort, but at the moment she needed it like a five-year-old needs a blankie to sleep through the night.

She relied on those bags to survive the every-Friday voice performance requirement at City Arts High.

Jess tossed the used bag into the backstage garbage and wiped her mouth. She stood next to the heavy folds of the thick, plum curtain. She took some comfort there, too—even with its close proximity to the danger zone that was the stage—the draping offering partial protection, like an overhang on a stormy day.

She waited for Mia to finish her song, every second further sealing Jess's fate—that inevitable walk to center stage approaching with every quarter note, each beat accelerating gripping fear, quivering legs seeking to root to the floor.

What if I screw up
? Jess thought.

A battle ensued in her brain, her breathing, her body.

What if they think I'm no good
?

She breathed slow and deep, intentional, in through the nose out through the mouth—good air in, bad air out—directing the breath to calm her shaking calves, thighs, belly, arms, hands, fingers. Drop shoulders, release neck.

Jess called on the trick her father had taught her, imagining a pretty blue light streaming into her with every deep breath, swirling, curling through her, filling her up. The exhale pushing out dark black air, like a dragon expunging plumes of smoke from its nostrils.

Blue light in, black light out. Blue light in, black light out. She steadied.

Onstage, Mia's crescendo rose then fell, settling into a satisfying low vibrato held to the half rest. She broke the spell with a small smile, a small bow, and strode offstage.

The audience, made up of their City Arts classmates from all the different disciplines—drama, dance, and music—stomped and cheered, whistled and woo-hoo'd, while the teachers smiled and took notes.

“Yeah, MIA!” one guy hollered. “Way to bring it!”

Jess didn't want to leave the shadows of the curtain folds to take her turn. But she did, one step headed toward the stage as Mia brushed past. With a faint tilt of her head, amber eyes narrowed, Mia gave a tug on her snug glittery top and gave Jess a condescending pat on the arm.

“I'm sure you'll do just fine.”

. . . . .

Four years earlier, Mia and Jess had stood behind a different curtain, at a different school, waiting for their names to be called. City Arts was auditioning kids for their magnet performing arts high school. Jess's town could only afford to pay for the top three rankings. If you made top ten, you could still go, but tuition was high.

“How great would it be if we both got in?” Mia had said, her eyes opening even wider than usual. “Forget stupid chorus and school plays. We could actually train for the real thing!”

Jess's hand made small circles on her belly. “I don't feel so well, Mia,” she said.

“You always say that, Jess. It's just nerves, we both know how awesome you are. Sing for them like you sing for me and you'll be fine.”

It was easy for Mia to comfort Jess. They had bonded a long time ago, during a fifth-grade sleepover when they first discovered they both loved to sing. From that night on, whenever they were at one of their houses, they would belt out Broadway tunes from
Rent
and
Wicked
and
In the Heights
, singing and dancing and laughing.

Sometimes when Jess sang, it was so beautiful Mia cried. She once told Jess it was as if the world disappeared and Jess just
was
the song. Mia called her the Real Deal. But Jess only felt that way when no one was watching.

At school, Jess inevitably choked, her fear simply getting the best of her. That's why Mia always got leads and Jess was usually stuck in the ensemble. She had been an orphan to Mia's Annie, a guest at the tea party to Mia's Alice, a Lost Boy to Mia's Peter Pan.

. . . . .

Jess hesitated midstep, one foot off the ground. Mia's you'll-do-just-fine sneer snaked down inside her, touching the terror she had begun to conquer, taunting it to rise back up through her throat.

Jess put her foot down. Blue light in, black light out. She hurried to her mark, single white tape strip on the black floor, determined not to lose her nerve. She stood, looking into the audience, still Jess, raw, not yet embodying Lili from
Carnival
, as the accompanist played the opening notes of “Mira.”

She sang on cue. Her voice sweet, a bit trembly, but nice. No wrong notes. Her peers sat patiently, waiting to be wowed.

Note by note, Jess began to fill Lili's shoes, a girl far from home, wrapping herself in memories of the place where everybody knows her name.

“
You're fine
,” Jess's thoughts poked through the song, occupying a parallel layer in her brain. “
You can do this. You can be Lili
.”

Jess anchored herself in images of Lili's touchstones, a familiar chair, house, street, just like she had done in her musical theater singing class earlier that week. Her voice lost its tremble, gaining in strength. From Row C
center, Dylan smiled. Stella nodded her head in time with the music, unconscious acknowledgment. Jess was on the right track. She gave herself over to the sensation, fed by the growing connection with the audience. She could feel it now: they were seeing Lili/Jess, maybe even
just
Lili, not Jess
as
Lili.

The high note was coming. Jess could picture her sheet music, dark pencil marking where she had time to take a breath. She nailed it, solid, steady. The rest would be cake. She was in the clear.

Relief washed over her, and she smiled. But in that infinitesimal distraction Lili's presence peeled away like clothes falling to the floor. She was Jess again.

Naked.

Lost.

Midphrase.

The accompanist kept vamping, coming back around with musical room for her to jump in, but the words had vanished.

Jess's eyes darted around like a pinball in an arcade game, out to the back wall of the theater, down to Dylan gritting his teeth, behind him, to Stella, indecipherably feeding her the next phrase. How could she still not be able to kick this stage fright thing? It was even worse now that she was a senior. People probably had more sympathy for her when she was younger, but to have gotten this far and still freeze up onstage was ridiculous. She felt the eyes of her peers boring into her.

She turned her head toward the piano looking for a life preserver to be tossed her way as she drowned.

“I'm sorry. Line?”

“‘Can you imagine . . . ,'” the accompanist said, giving her the prompt.

She finished the song, barreling through in a blur. She made no more mistakes, but the moment of connection was gone. She smiled weak, offered a quick obligatory bow, and half walked, half ran off.

Blinking rapid-fire, Jess tried to trick tears back, wiping the wet away.

She gathered herself in the wings, then went back to her seat in the audience next to Dylan, who pulled her in with a brotherly arm, whispering, “I'm just glad the dance department doesn't have to do this every week!”

Stella leaned forward, her auburn hair falling over her right eye. She squeezed Jess's shoulder. “You were great. Don't even worry about it.”

They watched the rest of the performances in silence.

. . . . .

Later that day, Stella and Jess sat at the corner table in the lunchroom, and let the noisy chatter and rush of kids obscure them. Stella was a glass-half-full kind of girl with her own sense of style. She was always there with a look-on-the-bright-side and a practical solution. A musical theater major a year behind Jess, Stella was also a killer pianist and often played accompaniment for her friends. Stella pushed her cat-eye glasses up higher on the bridge of her nose.

“You really should eat, Jess.”

“Ugh, I can't. So close . . . and yet so far. I was almost in the zone and then I choked. Humiliating.”

“Everybody messes up lyrics, Jess. No big deal.”

“Yeah, but just when I manage to stop shaking long enough to actually get into a song, I blank on the words?”

“So what? You nailed it up until then. It was great.”

“I don't know, maybe it was a bad omen. That admissions rep from U Michigan will be here in two weeks. You know how I perform that day will decide whether they accept me into their musical theater program and it's one of my top choices,” Jess said. “I'm never going to get my stage fright under control by then. Maybe I'm just not cut out for this.”

“Honesty. Finally.”

Mia.

Hip shoved out, smirk in tact, curly black hair irritatingly shiny, Mia. The heeled boots she wore every day made her two inches taller and it always took Jess by surprise. Jess still had the mental image of Mia as the
petite, perky girl from middle school. She wondered if she still acted like that girl with her new friends, saving the snarky sass just for her.

“I was getting tired of your If-Only-I Didn't-Suffer-from-Crippling-Stage-Fright-You-Would-Understand-How-Fabulous-I-Am routine,” Mia continued. “It's good that you're facing it. You really just don't have the chops, do ya Jess?”

Jess felt the familiar flip-flop of her stomach, bringing back her pre-performance jitters. Her gut grumbled, but she steeled herself.

“I'm not going to play your little mind games, Mia.”

Mia pulled at one of her curls and released it. “You don't need
me
for mind games. We both know how well you play them all by yourself.” She gave an irritated wave at Jess, dismissing her. “Just stay all tweaked like you are now and that admissions rep will zero in on ME. As it should be.”

“You are so delusional, Mia,” Stella said. “You seem to be forgetting there are other singers to compete with.”

Mia laughed hard and sharp. “Yah.
Okaay
,” she said. Then she spun around on the ball of her shoe and left.

Stella looked at Jess. “Let's assume she's not threatened by me because I'm a junior, shall we? Otherwise, I think she just insulted me.” Stella laughed it off. “But seriously, what is her deal with you?”