Born to Sing, no. 1

by Donna Del Oro

  “Sure, sure, tell us all ‘bout it,” David scoffed half-derisively, half-teasingly. “I lost her to that rich SOB.”

  “You never had me, if I recall!” I laughed and nudged his arm. He nudged me back in good humor.

  David and I were still good friends. Prof Nits said David Fogel would go far with his mellifluous baritone. David’s father was an opera singer, played the European circuit, and David was anticipating joining him that summer. He already had a male agent in London scouting the European houses for him and David promised to send my performance tape to him as soon as it was ready. I was getting excited at the possibility of soon becoming a professional opera singer.

  No man was going to stand in my way.

  Since my sophomore year, I’d already chosen and rehearsed my pieces countless times for the performance tape. I just needed to do record them. David couldn’t figure out why I hadn’t already made the tape. I blamed my lack of time on class work and my two part-time jobs. Also, my education minor took up a lot of time but I needed something to fall back on in case the singing career fell through. David blamed my romance with D.J. for taking up too much time.

  And he was probably right.

  For the life of me, I didn’t know what was holding me back. Maybe it was fear of failing. Fear I’d never make it as a professional opera singer. Maybe I didn’t really want to know.

  Cheryl and I gawked at the neoclassical, red-brick mansion, flanked with white columns. Magnolia trees and stone pines graced the entrance, a circular driveway and front courtyard that rivaled anything I’d ever seen except in photos. White jacketed waiters ushered us and our bags around the back through tall, wrought iron gates. The pool area was huge and the bricked patio lined with tall, Italian cypress trees and huge tubs of cone-shaped rosemary.

  On an enormous grill, cooks with white tunics over their jeans were barbecuing enough briskets for a small army. There was a buffet table laden with mounds of corn-on-the-cob, kettles of chili beans, bowls of salads and French bread. Trays of hors d’oeuvres were hoisted by black-uniformed women who threaded their way among the hundred or so guests milling around. Servants approached us and took our bags into the house. Then, without ceremony, we were all urged toward the tubs of beer on ice and wine coolers.

  David Fogel, his hair a natural honey-blonde, swept a lock from his forehead when a slight breeze came up, making me recall in an instant all the times we’d helped each other rehearse—since Voice classes together our sophomore year. He’d had wonderful voice teachers, including his father, and had taught me vocalization exercises that I used every day.

  A voracious reader, he was handsome in a geeky way, a little overweight but Cheryl, his current girlfriend, was helping him lose the extra poundage he’d gained over the winter. I was happy to see him socializing more and joining Cheryl, D.J. and the rest of us on their occasional outings. Our little college group of five, newly arrived from Austin, latched onto Lone Star bottles of golden light beer. We toasted each other’s future careers with optimistic gusto.

  Because it was an unseasonably warm day for March, we drank

  them down fast. There was piped out country music playing on well hidden speakers, which prompted Cheryl and David to start dancing. D.J. was nowhere in sight but one of his brothers, who introduced himself as Matt, joined our group. He was a stockier version of D.J., dark-haired and good looking, with the Irish florid complexion of all the McKay men.

  “Now, don’t go shy on me, Eva. I’ve heard all about you,” Matt said, hugging me instead of shaking my hand. “D.J. said you were pretty but I sure wasn’t expecting a real stunner like you. Don’t get frightened and clam up.” He laughed heartily. I didn’t know what to think of this garrulous brother. I was to learn later that all the McKay men were outgoing and loquacious. Transplanted Irishmen with Stetsons.

  “There’s McKays all over the place here,” he continued, “aunts, uncles, cousins, sisters-in-law, little brats. D.J. and I are the only McKay men still gloriously single. Once married, we’re done for, y’know that. We’re Catholic so we marry for life and have lots of kids.” Matt wrapped an arm about her shoulder and squeezed. “Just so you know what you’re facing. Are you Catholic, sugar?”

  “Yes, but D.J. and I are just friends.”

  “Ah, so he hasn’t got you to home plate yet, huh? You’re a tough one, a real challenge for him but fair warning. Just don’t give in to him, chica. He loses interest once they give in.”

  I knew what he was talking about but I wasn’t expecting such bluntness from D.J.’s older brother. Sure, D.J. and I hadn’t had sex yet but we’d come awfully close. I wasn’t a virgin, having given it up to a boy I’d fallen for in my freshman year—a boy I thought I’d been in love with. It took me six months to get over him after he dumped me and I’d sworn off men ever since. I was more than afraid. I was scared witless. Especially now with so much at stake.

  A glorious career on the horizon!

  But lord, we’d come close. And I stayed on the Pill just in case our self-restraint got overwhelmed by The Moment.

  As I went through the motions of new-girlfriend-meeting-family, I began to wonder if that’s all I was to D.J.— a new challenge? Just like his singing, perhaps. Just a temporary interest? Like all his other passing fancies?

  D.J. didn’t need to worry about performance tapes or talent agents or summer gigs. He had all this to come home to if he failed. What did I have? A summer of mucking stalls and worrying about my father’s emphysema-caused, hacking cough and feeling guilty that I could do nothing to help him. As much as I loved my parents, I couldn’t go back there empty-handed. Not after all my work these past four years. And my family’s sacrifice, to some extent. Ever since I graduated high school, they’d been counting on me to get a job and help them make ends meet. Especially now, with my father’s emphysema and his other health problems getting worse.

  D.J. appeared, barging through a clutch of relatives, looking more than cute in a plaid western shirt and black jeans. He took ahold of my arm, kissed me on the cheek, then swiped playfully at Matt’s hand on my shoulder. With feigned jealousy, he pried me away from his brother.

  “Evita, you look great.” Pride and affection shone in his face and I was thrilled that D.J. was pleased. I’d spent my last few bucks before payday, buying new jeans and a new, lightweight sweater. It was scoop-necked, dipped low in front from the shoulders, and was the sexiest thing I’d ever worn. I wore my straight, auburn hair in my usual plain ponytail but had taken extra care with my makeup, wearing a bright coral lipstick to match the color of the sweater. After all, I could clean up good when I had to.

  We did a half-hug and he bent to whisper in my ear, “Don’t let Matt scare you off. He’s full of shit. All the McKays are full of shit. They all shovel buckets of blarney.”

  “I heard that, buster,” Matt said, giving D.J. a mock kick in the shins. “And here’s the biggest shit-kicker of us all, Big Jim.”

  My arm around his waist, I let D.J. steer me around just in time to face Big Jim, the family patriarch. He was taller than his two youngest sons, at least six-foot-six and stocky of build, barrel-chested, the bulge in his Western shirt nearly hiding the silver-concho belt buckle the size of a dish. Under his hat, his hair was gray and seemed to be thinning but the McKay dark-blue eyes twinkled like that of a younger man.

  “Well, my boy said you were a pretty thing and he sure didn’t exaggerate. You look like that actress, what’s her name. Has anybody ever told you that? And that hair—my oh my! You’re the prettiest Hispanic girl I’ve ever set my ol’ eyes on.”

  Big Jim pumped my hand, a big grin creasing his plump cheeks. I wondered if this was all part of the McKay charm. Was he bullshitting me or was he sincere? D.J. muttered something under his breath while Big Jim dipped his black Stetson hat in the traditional way of Texans paying respect. I couldn’t help but wonder if I should curtsy. After all, I was meeting the Texas equivalent of aristocracy. The Lord of the Manor, so t
o speak. Instead, I murmured politely and smiled my best, high-wattage smile. I could do charm, too.

  The big man stepped aside and ushered his wife forward, and it was in the woman’s attractive face, framed with soft chestnut curls, that I saw the youngest McKay son. Mrs. McKay’s full, red-lipsticked mouth pursed in appraisal, then quickly slid into a beautiful, warm, dimpled smile. I sensed right away it was just a surface warmth.

  “So nice to meet you, Eva, isn’t it? Pretty name for a pretty girl. D.J. has talked about you so much, how much you’ve been helping him with his singing.”

  When Texans turn on the charm, it just drips honeysuckle. Nevertheless, I was flattered by their attention and praise, so I smiled brightly in gratitude and thanked her. A glance up at D.J. and I witnessed his discomfiture. Evidently, something was bothering him. Maybe I wasn’t saying the right things…

  “He’s been working hard, ma’am, especially on his phrasing. These Italian and French arias can be challenging…”

  “Please call me Liz, sweetie,” his mother cooed, patting my arm. “My son tells me you two are paired off frequently because your voices…what’s the word, D.J., you used? Complement each other’s in tonality?”

  “Yes, that’s true,” I replied, “at least, that’s what Professor Woronicz tells us. I’m a coloratura—uh, basically a lyric soprano. D.J’s rich, full-bodied tenor blends well with my range.”

  “She can run and trill, can hit the high notes off the staff—the kind of soprano the opera houses want for bel canto,” D.J. added, giving my waist an affectionate tug.

  Not wanting to be stingy with my blandishments, I chimed in, “Well, let’s hope so, anyway. The professor says D.J. could be another Jose Carreras if he wanted, his voice has that special quality. He could be a crossover artist, too, and even do Broadway musicals and operettas, in addition to classical opera. He really has that choice—”

  I broke off as D.J. flushed red and looked down at his boots. Big Jim harrumphed loudly before excusing himself and striding off. It was an abrupt, rude departure which left me dumbfounded. Moments ago, he’d been all honey and charm. Now he was stalking off like an angry grizzly. Clearly, I’d said the wrong thing. Mouth open, bewildered, I didn’t know what to think.

  Liz McKay frowned at her husband’s back and then cast a fretful look at her son. D.J. covered his misery by immediately taking a long draw from his beer bottle.

  “I’ll go check on the beer supply, Ma,” he muttered tightly, glancing down at me as I stood mutely mortified. He tugged at my long ponytail. “Hey, it’s okay, not your fault. Just a family disagreement, a clash of wills is all. I’ll be right back.”

  The husky catch in his voice belied his emotions. D.J. wended his way toward the tubs of beer, then uneasily looked back at Liz McKay and Matt, who was staring at his mother.

  “Matt, darlin’, have them bring out the champagne. We need to toast D.J.’s birthday before people start to eat.”

  With Matt gone, Liz settled a serious gaze on me. It was not the sweeter-than-honey, pleased-as-punch look the woman had bestowed just a moment ago.

  “Let me be frank, Eva. It hasn’t been easy on D.J. Ever since his voice changed and I insisted on his taking private voice lessons, he’s been mercilessly teased by his older brothers, all except Matt, that is. D.J. was always having to prove to them that he was just as manly as they were. He had to be as good as they were in sports, at riding, at shooting—the usual tough Texan stuff.” She shrugged prettily and fingered the iridescent-gray pearls at her throat.

  “Even with girls,” she continued, eyeing me sharply, “he’s had to prove he was just as…virile as they were, just as much of a ladies’ man. My son is really at heart an artist although his father refuses to see him that way. This past year, Big Jim’s been fussing and fuming over D.J’s future, what career path he’ll take. Of course, he wants his son to follow the other boys into one of the family businesses or go to law school and end up like Big Jim’s uncle in the State House in Austin. But I keep telling him it’s in our blood—D.J’s and mine. The boy can’t help it, not with a gift like that.”

  I gave her a quizzical look but waited patiently for an explanation. Liz McKay, I was beginning to realize, was a force in her family, one not to be reckoned with lightly.

  “I used to sing on Broadway,” Liz confided with just a hint of a sheepish smile. “I never had leading roles, unfortunately, but I was Laura’s understudy in the 1955 production of Oklahoma and in the chorus of that show for more than two years. It was a long, successful run. I met Big Jim one night at a patrons’ cast party. He’d come with a business associate of his and when he learned I was a poor lil’ gal from Dallas and a little homesick—well, we sort of clicked and as they say, the rest is history.”

  Liz concluded by sweeping one bejeweled hand about her as if all the wealth, status and family had fallen into her lap by accident.. In response, I could only shake my head, marveling at the woman’s crossroads-in-life choice. How could she have given it all up—the bright lights, the fame and excitement of Broadway, the chance to sing and perform, to entertain and make people laugh and cry? It was beyond my reasoning ability.

  Still, when one falls madly in love…

  I smiled politely, striving to keep my expression as noncommittal as possible. Liz’s vivid green eyes glittering, the woman leaned over and touched my chin conspiratorially.

  “You go for it, my dear, now while you can, while you’re young. Because one day, you may have to make that same choice. Marriage and children or a career on the stage.”

  My chin lifted a notch once her hand withdrew. “Isn’t it possible to have both? Look at Beverly Sills, Renee Fleming, Frederica von Stade— all world renown opera singers with families and children.”

  “Don’t even think it, my dear. Not yet. Get established first, then perhaps…perhaps it’s possible these days to have both worlds, I don’t know. Opera singers travel a great deal, don’t they?”

  “Yes, they have to. Unless they’re in a regional opera company, they go where the roles are. Vienna, Berlin, Milan, Paris, London, San Francisco, New York…” I trailed off, feeling foolish. Of course, Liz McKay would know this.

  “Let me go one step further, Eva,” Liz McKay offered, avoiding my eyes, her hand nervously fluttering about her pearls. “D.J. deserves his chance. He has risked a great deal, defying his father. Now that D.J. has made this choice, to make it in opera, his father has threatened to disown him if he’s not successful at it. Big Jim feels that he’s been through enough aggravation with D.J.’s wanderings, the boy’d better apply himself wholeheartedly. Nothing about the McKay family is half-baked, you know. I see what D.J.’s done. He’s worked hard to get to this point. He’s turned his life around in the past two years. I saw how good he was at the Winter Concert. Even his father had to admit D.J’s got what it takes to make a career of his singing and acting abilities. Big Jim just hasn’t accepted it…emotionally yet.”

  Her crimson-manicured nails digging into my arm, the older woman bent closer to me. A sweet floral scent emanated from Liz’s hair and skin. Expensive perfume. Everything about Liz McKay carried an air of sophistication, privilege, money. But in her manner of speaking, there was also evidence of shrewdness, determination…even cold calculation.

  All of a sudden, I felt like a campesina. Way out of my league.

  And terrified. The woman’s underlying message was just now penetrating me. I realized with horror that D.J’s mother regarded me as a threat to her son. She’d already concluded I stood in the way of her son becoming a great opera singer!

  “Don’t tie D.J. or yourself down with sentimental talk about marriage or babies. Believe me, it’s not all fun and games, playing house. In a couple of years, men get tired of you, no matter how well you keep yourself. They start to stray, even family men, do you hear me? Men like D.J., good looking, from rich families—they’re prime targets for gold-digging females.”

  My mouth dropped open. Did
she actually consider me a gold-digging female?

  “I know you’re not one of them” —Liz McKay didn’t say this with a convincing tone, I felt— “and you’re a decent girl, from what I’ve heard. But, well, things happen when you’re star struck and in love. Just don’t get sidetracked from your own career goals, dear girl, by getting pregnant. Please don’t do it to yourself or to him. Not now.”

  “No, no, ma’am, I won’t,” I promised vehemently, feeling like the blood was draining from my body. What else could I say?

  Something deep in the pit of my stomach felt hollow and sick. For a moment, I began to see myself as Liz McKay saw me. A pretty but poor girl who was going to ruin her son’s opportunity for a career on the stage. A foolish girl who’d toss away her own ambitions for a chance to marry into wealth.

  Poor Tejana trash.

  My polite smile plastered on, I nevertheless kept shaking my head like some silly bobble-head doll. “No, ma’am, I wouldn’t do that. My career means too much to me.”

  “Good, so glad to hear that, Eva. But the young, well, they’re sometimes myopic.”

  “So glad to hear what, Ma?” D.J. was back, clasping me around the shoulder, leaning over to give an affectionate peck on my right ear.

  “So glad to hear your rehearsals are going well,” Liz McKay smoothly lied. “For the spring opera. Cosi Fan Tutti.” She clicked her tongue officiously. “Must tend to the others, my dear. I’m so happy we had this little chat, Eva. I feel so much better, don’t you?”

  Off the woman strolled, in a flurry of green chiffon and diamonds the size of walnuts, the matriarch of the McKays. Big Jim was a marshmallow pushover compared to the steely but satin-cloaked Liz McKay. My friend or enemy?

  Definitely my enemy if I did anything to thwart D.J’s career. That much was certain. And why would I want to? The woman had me pegged all wrong.

  D.J. was watching me stare after his mother. There was concern in his eyes.

  “Mom can be a little overbearing, Eva, but she’s been awesome, the way she’s supported me in this tug of war I’ve had with Dad over my singing. He wanted me to—well, it doesn’t really matter what he wants me to do with my life, right? I’m the one who’s got to live it. I may not be here for a long time but I’m sure here for a good time. That’s the McKay motto. And a good time means singing with you, Evie.”