Shooting Stars 02 Ice

by V. C. Andrews

  "I've seen stage fright and I've seen stage flight," he said. "but you've got stage terror."

  "It's not funny. Balwin. I'm going to make a fool of myself," I cried.

  "Then you'll make one of me, too," he declared firmly. He held out his hand and I got out of the car. "Take a deep breath," he said. "Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Go on. Relax yourself. This is nothing. If she doesn't like you, it's her loss, not yours.'

  "Right," I said. "Sure."

  He laughed and we entered the theater. It was so quiet and empty. I thought we had come on the wrong day. Suddenly, a tall, thin dark- haired woman emerged from the shadows, her heels clicking on the tile floor of the small lobby.

  "Are you this Ice Goodman?" she asked holding a paper in her right hand. She had large brown eyes and a sharp nose, so pointed at the tip, I thought she could cut steak with it.

  "Yes," I said.

  "You're ten minutes early, but that's fine. Madam Senetskv is in the theater. And this is your accompanist?" she asked nodding at Balwin.

  "Balwin Noble," Balwin said extending his hand. She simply looked at it and nodded.

  "Go right to the stage and begin." she ordered, turned and retreated into the theater.

  "Ready?" Balwin asked.

  "No," I said.

  "Good," he said and led the way.

  It was dark except for some small light on the stage. It took a moment for my eyes to get used to the auditorium. At first I thought there was no one there and then I saw someone sitting all the way in the rear.

  Balwin continued down the aisle to the piano. He sat, set out the music and looked at me. Then he nodded at the stage.

  "Just do it as we have been." he said.

  I looked back toward the woman in the rear. She was like a manikin. I couldn't make out much detail. but I saw that her hair was pulled tightly up into a coiled chignon at the top of her head. a little toward the rear where it was clipped. Why weren't there more people here. I wondered, and where was that tall, sour-looking woman who had greeted us?

  Shaking.. I stepped up onto the stage. Balwin had me do a quick warm-up and then I looked at him and he nodded. I took a deep breath and he began.

  I sang as best I could. As I went on. I felt myself relax and I thought only of the song itself and then, as if by magic. I thought I saw Daddy sitting in the first row. looking up and me and smiling.

  And in his hand was his trumpet mouthpiece.

  I did my second piece. too. No one spoke to us afterward. In fact, the elderly woman was gone when I stepped off the stage. We stood for a while and then realized no one was going to talk to us, so we started out, looked in the lobby and found no one.

  "Why couldn't someone at least thank us for coming or say goodbye?" I muttered.

  Balwin shook his head.

  "I guess they don't thank you. You thank them." he said and we left.

  He was very quiet most of the way home. I knew what he was thinking. It was a disaster. It was so bad we didn't even rate a goodbye and thanks for the effort. I felt sick to my stomach. The only thing that cheered me a bit was knowing Mama would be happy I failed. I wasn't going to tell her anything though. She would be so angry that I had gone to the audition in the first place.

  I didn't forget about the audition, but all of the days right before graduation and the school year's end seemed full of small explosions and exhilaration. You could hear it in everyone's voices, how they burst with happiness and excitement. Lives were being planned. There was talk of colleges and jobs. It seemed as if a grand doorway was slowly opening for everyone to pass through into a new world, everyone but me.

  Daddy made more progress with his therapy and there was talk now of his coming home. He and I didn't discuss the audition. It was left hanging in the air like some dream. I think he was afraid of my being disappointed and what that would do to him as well.

  Mama carried on more about the new demands that would be made on her. but I could see she was happy about Daddy's impending return. too. With it was the promise of some sort of restoration. Daddy even added to her optimism by talking about their moving to a nicer place. He had compensation funds and he was promised a softer, easier job when he could return to work. He was, after all, something of a hero to the company.

  When I had filled out my application. I had indicated I wanted Madam Senetsky to respond to Mr. Glenn at the school. I was afraid of anything arriving at the apartment and Mama finding it first. Finally, three days before the last day of school, the principal called me to his office. Mr. Glenn was there. too. The moment I walked in, I knew something astounding had occurred. Their faces radiated with

  congratulations.

  I read the letter of acceptance signed by Madam Senetskv twice before really absorbing it. Once more in my life. I was muted, unable to speak. They laughed and congratulated me again, Mr. Glenn had Balwin called to the office. When he heard what had happened, he started to cry. It wasn't sobbing: it was just the emergence of some tears he quickly flicked away.

  He and I left the building with the principal's permission and Balwin drove me to the hospital. Daddy was doing some upper body exercises in his wheelchair. The therapist turned when Daddy stopped and stared at us entering the therapy center.

  I didn't speak.

  I didn't have to speak.

  What I did was hold up his trumpet

  mouthpiece.

  He cried out and then, to the amazement of his therapist he stood up and took a few unassisted steps toward me. I ran into his arms.

  "Mama will be furious," I said.

  "So what's new about that?" he replied and we laughed. "How can we do it. Daddy?"

  "We can," he insisted. "and we will. I mean, you will." Balwin nodded in agreement.

  Outside the therapy room window, on the ledge, a sparrow paraded and flapped its wings.

  And I remembered a little girl, afraid to speak, finding a voice in the music, the same music that helped the sparrow lift itself away to soar in the wind.