Falling Stars Read online

  In fact. I was eating things I had never seen

  before. but I was afraid to ask what they were. The

  vegetables looked and tasted different from any I had

  eaten, and between courses, we were served sherbet! I

  thought it was odd to have dessert before the meal

  ended, but soon learned it was served as a device to clear the palate, so we could fully enjoy what was yet to come. There was so much to learn above and beyond my music. I really wondered if it was possible

  to do so in so short a time.

  Was Steven right? Would any of these things

  matter if I could play exceedingly well? How were

  people judged in the world after all?

  Madame Senetsky's dining room help were

  efficient to perfection, moving in and out, between us

  and over us without so much as creating enough of a

  breeze to move a single strand of anyone's hair. And

  they were so quiet, too. It was as though they were

  ghosts and not real people. I saw how Madame

  Senetsky's eyes moved from one to the other when

  they served, cleared away a dish, or replenished

  something. It was almost as if she was waiting for

  something to drip, something to bump so she could

  pounce.

  Finally, just before dessert was served, she

  turned her attention to us.

  "Well, gentlemen, what do you think of my

  new stable of horses?" she asked.

  All of our teachers looked at us as if they were

  actually going to make life-changing decisions that

  very moment and tell one or more of us to leave the table, go upstairs, pack, and be gone. I found I was

  actually holding my breath.

  "I think you have a charming group, Madame

  Senetsky," Brock Marlowe began. "Frankly, I can't

  wait to begin working with them."

  There was a silence we all expected to be filled

  by one of the other instructors, but all we saw were

  some nods and then eyes turned to Madame Senetsky. "Charm is something to be nurtured," she

  began. "but it is in no way a substitute for hard,

  dedicated work. These gentlemen will quickly

  determine if you are all making such an effort, and

  they will report to me on a regular basis. I have placed

  great faith in your natural abilities. Don't disappoint

  me."

  "Or me," Edmond piped up, looking toward

  Rose in particular.

  "It will be a while before you get your greedy

  hands on these prodigies and gobble up your ten

  percent. Edmond," Madame Senetsky said. Our teachers laughed. Howard joining them as

  if he was an old, experienced thespian already. "I can see my son is already counting his

  commissions." she continued.

  "Mother," Edmond said. "you know I'm in this

  for the love of it and not the profit."

  "Spoken like a true agent," Alfred Littleton

  declared. When he laughed, he laughed in silence, his

  heavy body bouncing, his jowls trembling.

  There was more laughter, and then the

  discussion took a remarkable turn away from us and

  centered on the current New York theater and music

  scene. Except for Howard, who really did keep up

  with it, the rest of us could only be fascinated

  listeners.

  "I'd like them to attend the new production of

  Madame Butterfly at City Opera." Mr. Littleton said. "Puccini is not real opera," Mr. Bergman

  remarked. "Why don't you take them to Wagner at the

  Met?'

  "Why not do both?" Mr. Marlowe interjected. "Of course we will," Madame Senetsky said.

  She turned to us again, "Ms. Fairchild will discuss

  your first weekend with you tomorrow," she told us.

  "We have arranged for you to visit MOMA." "Visit who?" I blurted. I think it was the wine

  going to my head that gave me the courage or

  unfastened my tongue from the roof of my mouth. "The Museum of Modem Art." Howard quickly

  explained in a stage whisper.

  "Oh." I felt the heat in my face. Did they all

  think I was a country bumpkin? "Sorry."

  "Yes, and that night you will all attend an offBroadway production of modern dance," Madame

  Senetsky continued, not pausing for a beat. "Sunday

  afternoon, there is a lecture on Renaissance theater at

  the New York Public Library. All of your

  transportation will be arranged.'"

  "You're pretty lucky kids," Cameron Demetrius

  said.

  "Let's hope they appreciate it." Mr. Berman

  added.

  "Oh, they will," Madame Senetsky said. She

  seemed to be looking more at me than the others. 'If

  not tomorrow, then the day after."

  She then announced that we were excused.

  Howard rose first and thanked her and our teachers.

  They stood to say good night. I couldn't help but

  notice how Edmond Senetsky held Rose's hand a little

  longer than he held Cinnamon's. Ice's, or mine, and

  how his eyes fixed on her face as well. Howard smiled

  slyly at me, and then we all left the room and headed

  for the stairway.

  "That was fantastic," Howard began before we

  were too far. "It was like being on public television or something. Can you realize and appreciate who our

  teachers have met, worked with, known?"

  "Do you think Mr. Bergman might have known

  Mozart?" Steven joked.

  "Don't be an idiot. You better not fool around

  with Bergman or you'll be out on your Mozart ear."

  Howard warned him.

  Steven shrugged,

  "Daddy will find me somewhere else before I'm

  in the taxi cab," he replied.

  I could see how his nonchalance infuriated

  Howard Rockwell.

  He pounded up the stairway ahead of us. At the

  top he turned, a wry smile on his face.

  "Anyone notice how much flirting Edmond

  Senetsky did with Rose here?"

  "Stuff it. Howard," Cinnamon snapped. He laughed.

  "Good night, girls. I'm getting some rest for the

  big first day." He walked off.

  Steven looked after him and then shrugged. "I've got some calls to make. See you in the

  morning," he said. "Remember, don't disappoint!" he

  warned with a silly smile and followed Howard. Rose looked upset.

  "Don't let Howard get to you," Cinnamon told

  her. "Was he right?"

  "No," I said quickly.

  Once again, they followed me into my room. "Close the door." Cinnamon told Ice, and she

  did so.

  Cinnamon then sat on the floor in front of my

  bed and leaned against it.

  "I thought Mr. Marlowe was very goodlooking. but Mr. Bergman looked like he was

  suffering from hemorrhoids,'" she added, and

  everyone laughed. "Sorry for you and Steven. Honey,

  He looks tough."

  I sat beside her and sprawled. Rose followed,

  and then Ice sat in front of us.

  "Honey's not the only one who should worry.

  Mr. Littleton is not going to like my singing voice. I

  don't sing opera," she moaned. "My daddy brought me

  up on jazz."

  "That won't matter. Ice." Rose said. "It's like

  training with a long-distance runner even though

  you're going to specialize in the sprint."

  "That's
a very clever way to put it," Cinnamon

  said. nodding. "Were you a good student?"

  "I was on the honor roll a few times, but my

  family moved often and I attended too many schools." "Why?" I asked.

  She looked like she wasn't going to answer, and

  then said. "My father was trying to avoid

  responsibilities."

  "You mean with his other child and the other

  woman?" Cinnamon asked.

  "yes, and he was just a man who got bored

  easily. The longest we were anywhere I can remember

  was nearly two years."

  "That didn't give you much of a chance to make

  really good friends or boyfriends, did it?" Cinnamon

  asked.

  "No, but as I told you. I have a boyfriend

  attending NYU. When my mother and I moved after

  my father's death, my boyfriend Barry visited me

  every weekend,"

  "How serious are you two?" Cinnamon asked.

  Their eyes met.

  "Serious," Rose said. "More than I've been with

  anyone else."

  "How much more?" Cinnamon pursued. "More," Rose said.

  They eyed each other for a moment, and then

  Cinnamon folded her lips into a knowing smile and

  nodded, after which she turned to me.

  "I know Honey's got someone." Cinnamon said.

  "She put his picture out pretty quickly. What about

  you. Ice?"

  She shook her head.

  "Looks like you and I will be on the prowl

  then," she told her, and Ice smiled. "Not that we need

  any commitments," she added. "I don't mind being

  compared to a nun in terms of my dedication to my

  efforts to develop my talents, but chastity is asking a

  little too much."

  Rose laughed.

  "It's a bit late for it anyway." Cinnamon

  revealed. I felt myself blush. Ice's eyes seemed to

  illuminate. Cinnamon gazed at all of us.

  "I'm not the only one here. am I. girls?" Rose didn't hold her gaze.

  "That's what I thought. Rose." She looked at

  me. I shook my head and Ice did the same.

  "Well, we're evenly matched, virgins against

  fallen women," Cinnamon said. "Although," she

  continued, her eyes distant. .'when I made love with

  my boyfriend, we were in one of those illusions

  Madame Senetsky would permit. We were playing the

  roles of the spirits in my house."

  "Spirits?" Ice asked, her eves narrowing with a

  look of fear.

  "Yes. I told you, the spirits of the people who

  first lived in it. They made me do it." she said, and

  then laughed.

  Ice, relieved, laughed, too, and we all relaxed

  even more. Rose leaned her shoulder against me. and

  Cinnamon suddenly dropped herself lower, her head

  practically on Ice's lap.

  We spent the rest of the time talking about our

  various love experiences, and what we each searched

  for in a boyfriend. Ice told us about a time her mother

  had arranged a blind date for her.

  "You own mother arranged a date for you?"

  Rose asked her. "How come?"

  "She thought I was being stuck-up because I

  wasn't going out much."

  "How was the date?" Cinnamon asked. "A disaster. Even though I was smart to end it

  quickly, my mother was upset about it."

  "Why did you have to end it quickly?" I asked. "He was a soldier on leave and he was moving

  too fast for me. A friend of mine at school who played

  piano was there and knew the band. He ended up

  taking me home. When my mother found out, she was

  upset."

  "Why did that bother her? Wasn't she proud

  you made the right choices?" Rose asked quickly. "No. I told you. She thought I was being stuckup. but I'm not going to be anyone's good-time

  trophy," she declared with hot pride. "If that makes

  me stuck-up. good."

  "I don't blame you for that." I said.

  "Stop worrying about it," Cinnamon declared.

  "Madame Senetsky wouldn't permit it, anyway." "I don't need Madame Senetsky to watch over

  that!" Ice said with her eyes wide.

  Cinnamon stared at her a moment and then

  smiled.

  "You know, there's no reason why you can't

  make them your trophies. Men think that sex is

  designed for their pleasure only.

  "But that's far from true," she added. She

  looked at Rose. "Am I right. Rose?"

  "I don't think of either of us as a trophy," she

  said softly. "As long as you both respect each other.' Cinnamon seemed disappointed in her

  response. She looked like she was searching for an

  ally in her war with the world.

  "I'm tired," she said, rising. "This conversation

  is to be continued."

  Rose and Ice got up as well.

  "What's first tomorrow?" Rose asked. "After breakfast, we all meet with our specialist

  in the morning, and then in the afternoon, we're all

  meeting with Mr. Masters to perfect our consonants

  and vowels," I said.

  "There is absolutely nothing wrong with my

  vowels a good laxative wouldn't fix." Cinnamon said. For a split second, all of us looked at her as if

  she had gone mad and then, we all laughed so hard I

  was sure, thick walls or not, we would bring the boys

  back out to see what was happening.

  No one came.

  We said good night and I began to prepare for

  my first night in a strange house, sleeping in a strange

  bed,

  After I washed and put on my nightgown, a brand-new one Mommy had bought me. I sat at my vanity table and brushed my hair, just as I always did. For most of my life, my Uncle Simon lived across from my room at home, above the barn in a makeshift apartment. Sometimes, he would sit at his window and watch and listen to me practice my violin before I went to bed. For him. I suppose my window resembled a television screen. When I was older. I realized I had to pull down my shades when I was dressing and undressing, of course. although I never saw or felt him looking at me in any lustful way. He was always so protective of me, doing my chores for me, especially if he thought Grandad had given me something to do that was too hard. It was almost as if I had a second father, or maybe an older brother watching over me, giving me a sense of security.

  I surely could use him here. I thought, and then suddenly realized that my thoughts had gone to him because I had the strangest feeling I was being watched right now. I gazed in the mirror and shifted to the left a bit. My heart stopped and started. There was a shadow in the window behind me.. I was sure of it, because a moment later, it was gone.

  For a long moment, my heart was pounding so hard. I didn't think my legs would support me. I rose slowly and, after taking a deep breath, walked to the window. My hands were clenched into small fists at my side. My stomach felt as tight as a drum.

  Inching myself to the glass. I looked out at the fire escape. There was no one there.

  Breathing with relief. I stepped back. Had it been a shadow cast by the moonlight and the clouds sliding across the inky night sky? I waited to see if there was any sign of anyone and then, satisfied, returned to my table, finished my hair, and went to bed.

  After I turned out the lights. I listened keenly for the sounds in the house. Back home, I had long ago become acquainted with every moan in our pipes, every whistle of the wind through loose shingles or over a shutter. I had expected we would hear the city traffic, but we wer
e so isolated on these grounds, there were no sounds of cars and trucks. How would I have known without having been here before, of course? Occasionally, the scream of police, ambulance, or fire sirens did find its way over the iron gates, up the grounds, and into my room, but it was so muffled, it sounded like something coming from someone's television set.

  No, I thought, it was far quieter than I had anticipated. The house was so firm, so solid, almost as if it had to obey the rules of etiquette. too. Every groan or burp in the pipes had to be subdued. Respect for the inhabitants required silence, or at least keeping noises to little more than a rustle and a swish.

  I concentrated. Was that someone whispering, or was that part of my ever-growing imagination?

  My eves shifted toward the window again. The shadow had returned, resembling someone in a hood and a cape. I stared at it and waited. It's only the moon and the clouds, I told myself. I didn't move. I didn't breathe. After a while the shadow was gone again. The whispering ended. too. Darkness fell even thicker around the fire escape. Clouds had joined above like a curtain closing. The moon was shut away. Night had taken full control of the stage.

  I closed my eyes.

  For a while, despite my deep fatigue, sleep seemed impossible. I was simply overtired. nervous. I had underestimated how tiring and how much of an emotional strain the day had been for me. When sleep finally came, it was like a welcomed surprise, drifting in and washing over me, resembling another blanket.

  But soon I tossed and turned, fretting in and out of shadows and tunnels, hearing voices, footsteps, and strange childlike singing. I woke once or twice but immediately fell back to sleep, and finally slept so well that when the sunlight opened my eyes again, it was early in the morning.

  I quickly turned to my window. The sunshine glittered on the metal fire escape that had been the platform for the dance of those strange, dark shadows.

  Surely what I had seen the night before. thought I had heard outside my door and windows, and my parade of distorted dreams were products of my overworked imagination. I thought. Be happy, I told myself. Be hopeful. Be as proud as Mommy and Daddy were for me.

  Today is truly the beginning of the rest of your life.

  4 A Shadow at the Window

  "She did it deliberately!" Howard exclaimed as soon as he came through the dining room door to have breakfast. "Just because I expressed some

  unhappiness about it."

  "Who did what?" I asked. The rest of us were long since there.

  "Dracula's daughter gave yours truly the first work detail. And it's a week at a time!" he added.

  "What do you actually have to do?" I asked.

  Steven was sipping his coffee, his eyes barely open. Ice and Rose had bowls of cereal and Cinnamon had toast and jam. I was the only one eating eggs and a bagel.