Falling Stars Read online

  "Yes,," Mommy said, gazing at the directions. "This is the Senetsky School address."

  There were no signs announcing it as so. We paused at the gate. It was closed.

  "What do we do now?" Daddy asked. "I don't know."

  "That looks like some sort of a call box to let people know you're at the gate," I said, pointing to it.

  Daddy inched closer, and then lowered the window and pressed a button.

  "Yes?" we heard a female voice ask.

  "We're the Formans. We're bringing Honey Forman to school. This is the Senetsky School of Performing Arts, isn't it?" Daddy asked.

  "Of course it is. Drive up when the gate is opened," she snapped back. A moment later we heard the buzz, and the grand wrought iron gates opened slowly, reluctantly, the metal groaning with displeasure about being disturbed. We saw a video camera on the stone column turn toward us, its lens aimed like the barrel of a gun at our moving vehicle.

  Daddy raised his eyebrows and gazed at Mommy and me.

  "I guess you need to live like this in New York City," he said.

  Mommy nodded, but she was too interested in everything to speak. Daddy paused after driving through the gate, took a deep breath as if we were about to go under water, and then he started slowly ahead.

  A long driveway wound up to the grand house. Along the way, we gazed more closely at the elaborate Grecian fountains, the stone benches embossed with angelic figures, the beautiful gardens and pruned bushes. A rounds worker was busy trimming a tree off to our right. Squirrels leapt about nervously, pausing to glance at us, tweak their noses, and then demonstrate their ability to make a quick, successful retreat up trees whenever they needed to do so.

  "Simon would appreciate the grounds," Mommy remarked.

  "He'd probably show them where they are doing things wrong, planting the wrong flowers, foliage." Daddy replied.

  Mommy nodded, but there was no way to diminish the look of appreciation in her eyes. Seeing how much she was dazzled made me feel better about being here.

  Close up, the mansion was even more impressive. It was a three-story structure fronted by a rather long gray stone staircase, with stone railings on both sides. The grand double wood doors were in an arch, as were the large multi-pane windows on either side. The building went back so far. Daddy said it looked as long as the east corn field back home.

  All of the cornices with elaborate moldings, the shallow relief carvings, and ornamental metal cresting made the house look Gothic and bespoke its age, although it was far from worn- looking anywhere.

  "Well." Daddy said, turning off the car engine. "it certainly beats any school I ever saw,"

  "I am sure the Czar would have lived in such a house," Mommy remarked, her eyes small with her memories of her own Russian history.

  For a long moment, none of us attempted to get out. The opening of the front doors put us into action. Daddy hurried around to get my suitcases. and Mommy and I took my smaller bags. We started up the steps and quickly recognized Madame Senetsky's personal assistant. Laura Fairchild, the woman who had greeted us at my audition.

  Her dark brown hair looked shorter, trimmed about mid-ear. She wore a navy blue suit and a white blouse with blue trim around its collar. Her eyeglasses hung around her neck on a thin gold chain, the frames decorated with tiny jewels. I hadn't taken much note of her when we had gone to the audition. I had been too nervous to look at anything long or remember anything. Afterward. I was convinced I had failed, and buried the whole experience in the pool of forgets.

  Now, when I looked at her. I thought Laura Fairchild's eyes were too small for her long, rather thin and bony face. She had a small mouth as well, but when she smiled-- or really, more like grimaced-- those lips suddenly became very elastic, slicing into her sunken cheeks and opening themselves just enough to reveal her diminutive teeth. She wore a beautiful cameo on her suit jacket, just above her nearly nonexistent bosom.

  "Hello," she said, jerking out her right hand almost as if she was going to stab Daddy with her long, thin fingers and sharp nails. "I'm Laura Fairchild, Madame Senetsky's personal assistant."

  "Yes. I remember you," Daddy said. He put one of my suitcases down so he could shake her hand.

  She extended her hand to Mommy.

  "Hello," Mommy said. "What a beautiful place this is, and what an unusual house."

  She greeted me quickly, so quickly one would think I might be contaminated, but I wasn't upset about that. Her thin fingers in mine were corpse-cold.

  "The house is of Chateauesque style, of course, popularized in this country by Richard Morris Hunt, the first American architect to study at France's prestigious Ecole des Beaux-Arts," she replied pedantically with a perfect French accent. "Many of his wealthy clients built homes in this style, including the Vanderbilts. This particular residence was built in 1896, and has been in the Senetsky family ever since."

  "It's quite a farmhouse." Daddy said, nodding and smiling.

  Laura Fairchild looked at him as if he had just gotten off a boat, and then turned back to Mommy and me.

  "I'll show you to your room, give you your class schedule and your orientation packet. Please follow me. Do you need any more help with your luggage?"

  "No, we've got a handle on it," Daddy said.

  She smirked, nodded, then turned and led us into the house.

  The entryway itself was circular. On both sides were enormous Greek theater masks in what looked to be archaic stone. One was the face of tragedy and the other of comedy.

  "These look real!" Daddy said. Laura paused and turned to them.

  "Of course they're real. They come from ancient Greece. the theater of Dianysius in Athens."

  "Old as Granpa's whiskey," Daddy remarked.

  "I think quite a bit older than that. Mr. Forman," she said sarcastically, not realizing Daddy was not being literal. He looked at Mommy. who smiled to herself. She was staring down at the beautiful marble tile floor, admiring how it glittered and wondering how often it was washed. I'm sure.

  The hallway leading in was of similar marble, its walls decorated by paintings depicting famous scenes from Greek. Elizabethan, and nineteenthcentury theater, all in rich, thick, wooden frames. There was more statuary, and here and there a vase with imitation flowers. I clung more tightly to Uncle Simon's real roses. Adorning the walls as well were oval mirrors, framed in thick, rich mahogany. Above us ran a line of chandeliers with tear-drop bulbs raining light down the long corridor. On the left, about midway, was a dramatic grand spiral staircase with a dark cherry wood balustrade. The steps were carpeted in a tight, light beige stitch and looked never stepped upon.

  "I will conduct a more elaborate tour of the building for Honey and the others once she is settled in and meets our other students. All,' she added pointedly, "who have long since arrived, when they were scheduled to do so."

  "We got caught in some nasty traffic," Daddy started to explain. "There was road work and--"

  "Unfortunate." she muttered. She glanced at her watch.

  "We're actually a bit behind schedule. I'm afraid, so we'll have to make this quick. Please continue to follow me," she said, starting for the stairway.

  Mommy threw a disappointed look in the direction of the great rooms ahead of us on the right and the left. Laura was at least charitable enough to throw a gesture that way and add, "Our studios, lecture halls, dining room, and parlor are all downstairs, of course. We do have a costume storage room on the third floor. however."

  Daddy, struggling a bit with my two large suitcases, started up after her. Mommy and I trailing behind and gaping at as much as we could, from the paintings to the wainscoting. Everything looked sparkling, immaculate. Every bulb in every chandelier worked, and there must have been a few hundred.

  "What about the medical facilities?" Mommy asked even before we reached the second landing.

  Laura Fairchild turned so abruptly. Daddy nearly tripped over the next step and had to fight to keep from falling forward. She lo
oked down at us, her right eyebrow hoisted a little higher than her left.

  "Some of New York City's most respected hospitals, with international reputations, are just minutes away, and Madame Senetsky's personal physician is always available to make a house call, if need be, but we have never had such a need."

  "I was just wondering," Mommy said softly. She practically added. "I didn't mean to sound critical." I could see it in her expression, but she bit down on her lower lip to shut in the actual words and continued to follow Daddy, who struggled along behind Laura.

  The upstairs floor was thickly carpeted in the same light beige. The walls up here were filled with paintings similar to the ones below, but also included portraits of actors and actresses, singers and dancers, some of whom I recognized, but many I didn't. There were marble-top stands, upon which rested busts of famous theater people. including Greek playwrights like Sophocles and Euripides, their names embossed at the base.

  Some pedestals held small figurines: ballet dancers, pewter couples doing a dance routine, people cast in brass performing dramatic poses out of some opera or drama. I was sure. And more vases with imitation flowers.

  Without real flowers, the air was filled with the scent of cleaning agents, polishes, window cleaners. Uncle Simon's roses still had their sweet aroma. I was more grateful than I thought I'd be for that.

  Laura paused at the first door on the left.

  "This will be your room," she declared, and reached for the doorknob. We gathered behind her as she opened it to a surprisingly large room with a fourposter canopy bed and matching night stands, all in a milk-white wood. The floor was covered with a rich, thick, pinkish-white carpet. There was a large window on the west side that faced a metal balcony and some metal stairs going upward.

  "I'm afraid your view of the city is disturbed somewhat by this mandatory fire escape the city made the Senetskys build years ago."

  "It comes in handy if there's a fire," Daddy remarked cheerfully.

  "Yes." Laura said dryly. "But I wish they could have built it more off to the side. This landing is for two rooms, and then there's another for the next two. and so on and so on," she said with a deep,

  deprecating tone of voice.

  She walked to the closet door and opened it to show me how bit it was. Then she pointed out the dresser and the smaller one across from it. There was a pretty desk in the left corner with a lamp and a chair.

  "I'll set your computer on that. okay. Honey?" Daddy said, nodding at it. We had brought along my notebook. Chandler and I had promised to e-mail each other as often as possible.

  "There is only one phone line in each room,' Laura quickly said. "It's a direct line, so you can take down the number before you leave. Our students hardly have time to dawdle on computers. anyway. Most of what they need to know they will find here at the school. Theory is put to practice very quickly. We don't assign homework in the traditional sense. There is no research except for the research you do on your own skills and talents."

  "I'll just use it for E-mail," I said.

  "Yes, you and Miss Rose Wallace. it seems. Madame Senetsky finds it a very impersonal way of communicating and refuses to have a computer. We still communicate the old fashioned way, via letters and actual phone conversations." she added.

  Mommy, who was about as versed in modern technology as an Eskimo might be, squeezed her eyebrows toward each other and smiled with confusion.

  "Well, now, here is your daily schedule," Laura Fairchild said, pulling a small packet of papers out of the leather folder she had under her left arm. "and here is our orientation booklet," she added, handing them all to me. "We'll be going over all this in great detail when you're all together." She checked her watch again.

  "Please have your clothing unpacked and be ready to meet with me for a tour of the school in forty minutes." she said, and turned to Mommy and Daddy. "You should say your good-byes quickly, Mr. and Mrs. Forman. Honey has a great deal to do in a very short time because of the hour you have arrived."

  "But don't we get to meet Madame Senetsky. too?" Mommy blurted.

  "Madame Senetsky is interested only in her pupils, not their families," Laura Fairchild replied firmly,

  "But that seems so unusual,'" Mommy said.

  "Of course it's unusual. This is not a public school or in any way like a common college. Everyone who comes under her guidance and instruction does so completely, without any

  reservation, and with the realization he or she has been given a rare opportunity,"

  She paused, darkened her eyes with new intensity, and lifted her head stiffly.

  "The world of entertainment is often a world of loneliness." she continued to explain. "Madame believes it is very important-- in fact, essential-- that her wards immediately develop a sense of

  independence."

  "I don't see what harm it does to say hello to people," Daddy muttered.

  "It's been nice meeting you," Laura Fairchild said in return. She flashed a plastic smile at Mommy, and then turned to inc. "If you have any questions, save them for our general meeting, in what is now thirtyfive minutes,," she threw off, nodded at Mommy and Daddy, and strutted out of the room, closing the door behind her.

  We all stood there, gaping after her.

  "Nothing wrong with that woman that a good dose of old man McCarthy's rot-gut gin wouldn't solve," Daddy remarked.

  "Stop it, Isaac." Mommy chastised. "She'll hear you."

  "I wish she would."

  Mommy started to help me unpack. Daddy walked about the room, studying it like some prospective buyer or building inspector. Mommy worked with a sense of frenzy to keep herself from bursting into tears. I could see the small look of terror in her eyes as the time for them to leave was closing in on us. After I replaced the fake flowers in the vase on my desk with Uncle Simon's roses. I put my hand softly on her shoulder, and she turned to me, her eyes glazed.

  "I'll be all right. Mommy." I said. "Really. I will."

  "Of course shell be all right," Daddy nearly roared.

  Mommy gave him a quick look of rebuke. He shifted his eyes and studied the closet door hinge rather than look at me.

  "I don't like bringing you here and dropping you off like some sort of package," Mommy muttered. "Parents should be shown about and given a sense of relief, too. They need to know their children are secure."

  "Look at this place," Daddy said, his arms wide. "Video security, gates. bars. Ifs built like a fortress."

  "All right, Isaac." She looked at me.

  "You can call us if you need us. We can fly here quickly if we have to."

  "You're making it worse," Daddy muttered, almost in a whisper.

  She gave him a look full of fire and then she calmed down, looked at me, smiled, and hugged me.

  "I was hoping we would take you to a nice dinner, maybe meet some of your new friends." she moaned. "Just dropping you off and turning right around to go home..."

  "Sophia."

  "Okay, okay." She dropped her arms in defeat, gazed around the room, and then walked to the doorway. "Oh, make sure she has money. Isaac." Mommy reminded him.

  He reached into his jacket and produced an envelope stuffed with bills.

  "Use this to set up your account," he said. I saw there was quite a bit of money.

  "How much is here. Daddy? It's too much," I concluded, flipping through the big bills.

  "Never mind that," Mommy said. "New York is expensive."

  Daddy smiled at me, hugged and kissed me, and wished me good luck.

  They paused at the door, looked back at me as if they were watching me leave on a boat or a plant, and then turned and walked out and down the stairs. I stood for a moment, gazing at the open doorway, tears now unabashedly pouring down my cheeks. My heart felt like a clump of mud. Just as I started to flick the tears off my cheeks, a thin boy with long, ripe-cornyellow hair down to his shoulders stepped in the doorway,

  "You're not crying real tears, are you?" he asked with a croo
ked smile. He had a long, narrow nose, prominent cheekbones, and a round jaw with a slight cleft in his chin. His lips had a somewhat orange tint. He wore a light brown athletic shirt with the words Go Beet coven written in bold red letters and a piano keyboard in coal-black and milk-white beneath them. The shirt hung loosely over the waist of his very battered jeans, which had rips at the knees. His rather large feet were in dark brown Air Jordans with his sweat socks bundled loosely around his ankles. When he brushed back the strands of hair from his left ear, I saw a diamond stud in his lobe.

  He stepped into my room without an invitation, his light turquoise eyes practically circling like a wheel of fortune as he looked at everything.

  "These rooms are all about the same. I'm just across the hall." he said, smelling my real flowers. "but don't worry about noise."

  I nearly jumped out of my own shoes when he stepped closer to the wall and slammed his fist against it to demonstrate. There was a dull thud.

  "Whoever built this, built it to last a thousand years. You won't hear a thing and I won't hear a thing, so you can sob all night if you like."

  "I'm not sobbing all night," I said. "I just said goodbye to my parents for the first time ever."

  "Really?" He flopped into the chair at my desk so hard. I thought he would crack it in two. "I think I've said good-bye to my parents more than I've said good morning or good night. From the day I could walk and talk, they found places for me to go. Sometimes. I think they bribed my relatives to take me in for a weekend or so.

  "My mother says I give her nerves." he continued, taking barely a split second to breathe, "How can you give anyone nerves? 'We're all born with nerves.' I told her." he continued, rubbing the arm of the chair with his fingers as if he was Irving to sand it down as he spoke. " 'I mean you make my nerves nervous.' she replied. Ever hear anything so stupid? Making her nerves nervous? What's your name?" he asked before I could respond.

  "Honey Forman. "

  "We hardly know each other." he said. "Really. I've been with aggressive girls before, but for you to call me honey as soon as we meet..."

  "That's my name!" I exclaimed. Now he was giving me nerves. I wanted to tell him I understood what his mother had meant.