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
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
"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.