Falling Stars Read online

  "Let's get it all first, be sure of our facts. It could either be the end of a problem or the end of us here if we don't handle it right," Cinnamon pointed out.

  We were all silent.

  "Tonight," Cinnamon repeated. "After dinner. We'll change our clothes first. Wear sneakers." she advised. "Going up a fire escape is hard in heels.

  Everyone was silent a moment, the same cold fear flowing through our veins. Ice shook her head.

  "It was such a nice day. too. Or at least, I thought it was. The park, the restaurant, being on Fifth Avenue and seeing all those expensive stores... for a while I felt like I was in a magical place."

  "You were." Cinnamon insisted, "and you'll be there again." She looked at me with determination. "All of us will."

  When we went down for dinner, we learned that Madame Senetsky had gone to meet some theater friends for dinner tonight and would not be with us. The dinner itself was finally just a dinner and not so much a learning experience with a guest chef and a lecture about wine and food; nevertheless, at Madame Senetsky's orders, we were treated to chicken Kiev. Ms. Fairchild didn't eat with us, but did give us an introduction to the entree, explaining what it was and where it had originated. She then left the dining room as well.

  Howard and Steven were not at the dinner. All Ms. Fairchild told us was that they had other plans, which were approved.

  "I'm sure he had nothing special," Cinnamon said. "but he was too embarrassed to face us."

  "Who cares?" Ice muttered.

  "He's so stuck on himself he thinks everyone is interested in his every breath," Cinnamon said. "You don't know how hard it is to have to work with such a person on the stage. He's always giving me one of his looks that ask. 'Is that the best you can do?' Even Mr. Marlowe is growing impatient with his narcissism."

  "His what?" Ice asked. and Cinnamon retold the Greek myth of Narcissus, who fell in love with his own image and died pining away, in love with himself.

  "Hell, half the people I know can have that nickname," Ice commented.

  "Present company excluded. I hope." Rose said.

  We all laughed. The clock was ticking, however, and everyone knew what that meant. After dinner ended, we all cleared the table, helped with the dishes and silverware, and reset the table for the morning. Then, quietly, no one so much as breathing loudly, we paraded up the stairs to our rooms to change. Cinnamon had decided we would go up through my window. They all gathered in my room, but just before we started out, we heard the boys coming up the stairs. Cinnamon indicated we should all be very quiet. We heard them talking and then pausing to listen at my door.

  "Maybe they didn't come home vet," Steven said. "They're probably having a Treat time."

  "So?" Howard came back at him. "We had a Good time, didn't we?"

  "No," Steven replied.

  Ice smothered a laugh. We heard them go to their rooms and close their doors.

  "Okay," Cinnamon said. She approached my window, 'No one speaks. Just take your time going up."

  She opened the window and stepped onto the landing. Rose looked at me and I followed. Ice next. Rose last. As quietly as we could, we climbed the metal ladder to the landing above. The light was on in whatever room it was. Cinnamon waited for us all to reach the landing and then she approached the window, which was shrouded by a curtain. She tried the window, and it moved.

  "Careful," Ice warned.

  Making it up a little more than an inch at a time. Cinnamon had it open about a foot and then parted the curtain. We gathered around her and the four of us peered into the room. It was a bedroom, not unlike our own. A closet door was open and we could see a row of men's slacks, some sports jackets, and some shirts.

  "Look," Cinnamon said, nodding toward the bed. "Aren't those your clothes. Honey? Your blouse and jeans?"

  "Yes." I said.

  Suddenly, we heard music. It was the same music I had heard coming from behind the mysterious doors in the costume room. In a whisper. I told the others.

  We continued to listen and wait. No one moved. I could hear Rose breathing hard at my left ear. Ice was between Cinnamon and me and Cinnamon leaned into the window. Then she pulled back quickly.

  Rose gasped. but Ice held her hand over her mouth.

  Edmond Senetsky entered the bedroom and then walked toward the closet. He was wearing a sports jacket, tie, and slacks, but his feet were bare.

  "But he doesn't live here, does he?" Rose whispered.

  "Shh," Cinnamon said, putting her finger to her lips. We watched him standing at the closet door. He took off his jacket and began to undo his tie with his back to us. Then he reached for a hanger and hung up the jacket. He put the tie on a tie hook and began to unbutton his shirt.

  "Now we're the Peeping Toms," Ice muttered.

  "Just wait," Cinnamon said. "Something's not right."

  "Tell me about it," Ice whispered in my right ear.

  We continued to watch. When the shirt was completely unbuttoned, he began to peel it off, and that was when we saw what looked like a bandage wrapped around his upper torso. He looked down and began to unwind it.

  "What the heck is he doing?" Rose whispered.

  No one dared speak or could speak. I think all our hearts were on pause. We barely breathed.

  Then he turned-- and we saw the bandage free a small, perky bosom. I couldn't move, couldn't swallow. We were clumped together, all of us finding a place to grasp another. Ice had her hand wrapped tightly around my right wrist. Rose was grabbing my blouse and pulling it so hard. I thought it would tear. I had one hand clinging to her blouse and Cinnamon had her left hand pressed against Ice's thigh.

  "That's not Edmond Senetsky," Cinnamon whispered.

  Whoever it was lowered the slacks. We saw what looked like men's underwear briefs, but when they came down, there was no doubt in any mind this was not a man.

  The scene before us was hypnotizing. No one could turn away, nor could anyone move a muscle.

  Whoever it was then headed for the bed and picked up my blouse. She put it on and gazed at herself in the mirror.

  Cinnamon pulled us all back.

  "She can see us in the reflection," she whispered.

  "Let s get out of here,," Ice said. "Now!"

  Without any discussion. Cinnamon backed farther away from the window and nodded toward the ladder. We had to go down in reverse order. Rose first, Cinnamon last. Going down was much harder, not only because we couldn't feel our legs and distrusted the grips our hands had on the metal railings, but because the ladder was at such an incline, it took much more nerve to descend than ascend. I tried keeping my eyes shut tight. We had to be careful we didn't step on each other's hands. I nearly stepped on Ice's. Rose was moving so slowly. At one point she actually froze.

  "What's happening?" Cinnamon called down.

  "Rose can't move," Ice said. "Oh. no. Get her to. Ice. Hurry."

  Cinnamon and I listened to Ice speaking softly to Rose, trying to calm her, urging her to take one more step and then another. Rose whimpered.

  "I'm going to fall," she moaned.

  "Not if you hold on tightly and just take your time. Carefully lower your foot to the next rung. Go on. Do it," Ice said a little more firmly.

  Finally. Rose began to move again, and then we saw the darkness above us get washed in light, and we all froze once more.

  Whoever it was had opened the curtain. Was she coming out? "Quickly," Cinnamon begged.

  Rose found the strength and made it to my landing. We each followed, and all of us hurried through my window and into my room, where we collapsed on the floor. My neck was so damp with nervous sweat. I needed a towel. So did the others.

  "Well?" Ice was the first to ask.

  "I don't know what to say. Edmond Senetsky is not a man? Was that what we learned?" I asked.

  "That can't be so. He's a bit of a dandy, but I never thought he wasn't a man," Cinnamon replied.

  "It looked just like him, didn't it?" Rose asked. "Well, didn
't it?" she pursued when we were all still silent.

  "Yes and no," Cinnamon said. "I don't know. It wasn't a good light. It's all so bizarre. One thing is for sure." she added, looking up at us all. "we don't say anything about this to anyone, not yet at least."

  "I wouldn't know how to begin." Rose said. "I feel a little sick to my stomach. How are we going to behave normally tomorrow?"

  Cinnamon smiled.

  "Just follow Madame Senetsky's advice and focus completely on your work. Remember, a good performer can't see beyond the footlights."

  "I don't think I'll have the strength to make one turn, much less dance," Rose complained.

  "You will," Cinnamon said. She gazed at Ice and me. "We all will."

  "Then what?" Ice asked.

  "I don't know. Not yet. anyway."

  She laughed,

  "How can you laugh about this?" Rose demanded.

  "I was just remembering how most of the kids in my school thought I was weird because of the way I dressed and the things that interested me.

  "After seeing this. I realize I was as healthy as the whole Brady Bunch put together," she said.

  Everyone was quiet, lost in her own thoughts for a few moments.

  "I don't know if I'll get any sleep tonight." Rose said softly as she stood up. She looked at her hands. "Ugh." She held them up. They were black from the metal ladder. "I guess I need a shower."

  "Me, too," Ice said.

  She and Rose went to the door.

  "Try to rest, anyway." Cinnamon said. She lingered behind after they had gone to their rooms. "What a day you've had.

  Honey. I can't believe you won't collapse when your head hits the pillow."

  "Me, neither."

  She started for the door,

  "Cinnamon?"

  "Yes?"

  "Why do you suppose she's taking our clothes?"

  She stood there, thinking for a moment, and then looked at me and said. "She wants to be more like us, I guess."

  She shrugged. "Really?"

  "I don't know what else to say. Honey. I suppose we'll find out eventually. Night."

  "Night," I replied in a small broken voice. She walked out and closed the door.

  I turned to my window, and then I hurried to it and closed it tightly, closing the curtains as well.

  Tonight, I thought. TonightI'll wrap the darkness' around me like an old friend and look for sleep to be the doorway to my escape.

  The morning was suddenly something to fear.

  9 Evan Investigates

  If we appeared silent and secretive to Howard before. I thought he surely would believe we had committed some heinous crime when he confronted the four of us at breakfast the next day. We were that glum and quiet.

  Actually, we didn't have to talk. He did most of it, raving about his day, the people from the theater he had met, going backstage at a hit play, meeting the crew, talking to actors and actresses, and then going to dinner with an agent's assistant who had already shown some interest in him.

  After having overheard him and Steven the night before, we felt certain he was lying about it all.

  "Why would you meet with another agent? What about Edmond Senetsky?" Cinnamon quickly asked.

  "Just because we attend the Senetsky School, we don't have to sign with Edmond Senetsky," he practically whispered. "Sometimes it's better to let a few fight over you. The word gets out and producers take note. That comes in handy at casting time."

  "At the moment. Howard," Cinnamon said, "I'm just concerned about getting through our first Performance Night, much less casting for Broadway shows."

  "Ridiculous. It's not going to be much of an audience. All of us are having either friends or family. My parents are coming, of course,

  "Mine aren't," Steven piped up. He looked at us and added. "They are very busy little beavers, and have to dam up some money in Bermuda,"

  "Regardless," Howard said, rolling his eyes to indicate his impatience with Steven. "it won't be like playing before thousands. which I did at my school and twice for the community theater."

  "All week long. Laura Fairchild has been announcing the names of people attending. They are not just family and friends," I said.

  "Besides, Madame Senetsky says an audience of two can make you just as nervous as thousands," Rose added. "She told me that just last week, matter of fact. She also said if you're not nervous, you won't do well, remember?"

  "That's just an excuse people who get nervous use. Believe me, it's an old wives' tale," Howard claimed, waving it off.

  "What have you decided is an old wives' tale?" Madame Senetsky asked.

  She had entered just as Rose had finished. so I was sure she had heard. Howard must have thought so. too. He turned a shade of crimson and then a little blue.

  "Nothing very important." he quickly answered.

  She stared at him a moment, looked at us, and then took her usual seat at the head of the table. She was not often there at breakfast with us, taking it in her own private quarters instead. The maid came in immediately to pour her a cup of coffee, but she shook her head.

  "Nothing for me, thank you." she said and turned back to us. She had a way of capturing us with what people in the theater call the Caesural pause, a dramatic pause that holds your attention. I knew her well enough by now to realize that she was truly doing what she wanted us to do: always perform, take on the demeanor of someone on stage. The effect for ine, however, was to feel as if everything she said and did was calculated. contrived.

  I wondered if there was ever a time when she was just herself, someone who wasn't conscious of the lighting so she would know how to present her best profile; someone who wasn't waiting for reactions from her listeners and observers; someone who wasn't posturing and looking for constant applause.

  What was her real voice like, her real smile, her real laughter, and even her real tears? Had she been an actress so long that it was impossible for her to find herself anymore, to take off the makeup, to remove the costume? Was she like Cinnamon had suggested we were, someone looking always to escape herself, her past, some terrible real pain?

  She held her gaze a moment longer on me than she did on the others. It made me wonder if she could see what I was thinking. I looked down quickly and waited, my nerves twanging like the strings of my violin.

  "Since we are closing in on our first important date," she began, "I want to be sure we are all going to start this week on the right foot. I would expect that everything you do, everything you say and even think will be of importance," she added, glaring at

  Howard. He seemed to shrink in his seat.

  Steven stirred his coffee and sat with a fat Cheshire cat smile on his face. enjoying Howard's discomfort at being chastised, even slightly.

  "I am designing a lighter diet for you all. I want you all to be quick on your feet, energetic, and dedicated. The halls of this house should be filled with music, music, music, and the echo of voices reciting, rehearsing, the consonants and vowels resonating in every corner.

  "I have never had an opening Performance Night with a new group of students that did not go very well and leave most of my guests quite impressed. and I do not expect or intend for this one to be any different.

  "There will be a small reception in the ballroom afterward. Later this week. I will discuss how I want you all to behave among the agents, actors, and producers who will be there. There is a fine line to walk between modesty and self- confidence. I would like all of you to be attractive and interesting to my guests. but I want you to have an air of innocence and wonder about you."

  When she pursed her lips, her eyes lit with a sardonic brightness, rather than a soft smile.

  "Most everyone who attends will want to feel like he or she has made a discovery, and not the Senetsky family," she said. She looked like she was holding back a laugh the way someone might swallow back a revolting taste.

  "That is just fine. Let them think what they need to think. Egos must be stroked and fulfil
led. I don't mind taking a backseat to all of it if you succeed as I know and expect you will," she added.

  She sat back. No one uttered a sound. We didn't even breathe "I assume you have all heard the name Jack Ferante?"

  "Of course," Howard said quickly. "He's the president of the Screen Actors Guild."

  "Yes. He is a close friend of mine and he happens to be in New York this weekend. He will attend." She looked from one of our faces to another to see the effect of her announcement. Her blue eyes darkened with her scrutinizing gaze. Except for Howard, none of us looked terribly impressed.

  "He has friends in very high places, in the theater, in the opera, in some of the country's finest symphonies," she emphasized, somewhat annoyed at our stoical response.

  "Actually," she continued. "he has never been able to attend one of my Performance Nights. He has been on location in a film himself or occupied with SAG business. You should all feel quite honored and quite fortunate.

  "I would look with very bitter and disappointed eyes on any action that would detract from our focus this week. I hope that is perfectly clear." she concluded and then rose, paused, and turned to us, her eyes panning each of our faces. "Is it?"

  I looked at Cinnamon. It really was almost as if Madame Senetsky could read our minds. I thought. Cinnamon looked like she agreed with me and nodded slightly, knowing what my look questioned.

  "Yes. ma'am," Howard boasted.

  "It sure is," Steven said, his smile still sitting on his lips.

  "We understand. Madame Senetsky," Cinnamon said, speaking for the four of us.

  "Good. To work then," she said, tapped her cane, and left the room.

  Howard practically leaped at the rest of us.

  "Someone could have warned me she was standing right there," he complained.

  "Who could possibly interrupt you when you are giving us one of your lectures. Howard?" Cinnamon asked with feigned innocence.

  "You should have expected it anyway," Steven told him. "Living in this place is like living in someone's ear," he said, grimancing.

  "What's that mean?" Rose asked. Little alarms went off in all our hearts. Steven shrugged.

  "You know, with Ms. Fairchild popping out behind us. I check under my bed every night," he said facetiously, but I wondered to myself why it was that the boys never felt as spied upon as we did. Why wasn't this mysterious person at their bedroom windows, too?