“Sure.” Trudy flopped down on the sofa. The coils whined beneath her. “If you want.”
“I told her about your other band,” Cassie put in.
Harumi cringed. She didn’t want to think about those guys. She hoped that this new band would take themselves seriously. At the very least, she hoped they planned on practicing.
Cassie sat down on the sofa beside Trudy, as if she were settling in for a performance.
Harumi plugged in the amp, slowly unzipped the case, and brought out Zelda. When she was finally ready, she looked up at Trudy, who was leaning forward, waiting for some sign of genius. The fingers of Harumi’s left hand began crawling over the frets like spiders, while she strummed out the first bars of “Für Elise” with her pick. At the sight of Trudy’s puzzled expression, she bit back a smile, and then segued into “Bela Lugosi’s Dead.”
Trudy started humming along. Cassie’s combat boot was tapping. Harumi stopped worrying about the neighbors and gave herself over to the bassline. By the time she got to the end of the song, no one was sitting down.
“So do you want to join up?” Trudy asked.
That was it? The audition was over? “Uh, sure.”
Trudy reached out her hand as if they were a couple of businessmen. They shook.
“Well, alright then. I hereby declare you a Screaming Diva.”
13
Esther was alone in the gallery, flicking a feather duster over the sculptures and furniture. She was in a meditative state, bathed in New Age harp music. Then the bell on the door tinkled and Rebecca appeared.
“Guess what? We’re having a party!”
Esther put the feather duster under the counter. “A party?
“An art show. A gallery opening. You remember that bloke Adam? The one who made the coat of arms out of a garbage can lid? We’re going to represent his work.”
“Cool.” Esther pictured herself flitting from guest to guest with a plate of canapés.
“And I have the most brilliant idea,” Rebecca went on. “Why don’t we ask your friend—the little Japanese girl—and her band to play? It would be purr-fect. Trash art, trash music.”
Esther felt as if her skin had suddenly become a size too small. She hadn’t spoken to Harumi since that night in the car, since the night she’d met Rebecca. She knew that Harumi worked at that bohemian coffee shop on the next block, but there was no point in going there. Their friendship had crashed and burned.
“Well, uh, actually that band broke up,” Esther said, not meeting Rebecca’s eyes. “She’s in a new band now. A girl band.”
“How fabulous. Even better.”
Esther shifted her weight, trying to think of some sort of response. She wondered what Rebecca would make of Cassie. Maybe she’d go after her with the same kind of intensity she’d used in seducing Esther—the prowl and then the pounce. For a few seconds, Esther imagined the two of them clawing at each other, but it was Rebecca she was jealous of, not Cassie. She closed her eyes and choked back her fear.
“What’s the band’s name?”
“Uh, Screaming Divas. I think.”
“Fabulous! I love it!”
“They haven’t actually performed in public yet. I don’t know if they’re any good.”
“Darling, they don’t have to be good. We want something rough to go with the feel of Adam’s work. Think of it as performance art, not music.”
She crossed the gallery and reached out to stroke Esther’s cheek. “Please, darling, will you ask your friend? As a favor to me?”
Later, after a woman had bought a string of hand-painted clay beads, after a pair of Yankee tourists had waltzed off with a signed Blue Sky print, Esther said goodbye for the day and rounded the corner to Goatfeathers.
She’d been there a few times before on coffee breaks with Rebecca, but never during Harumi’s shift.
The interior was dark. Most of the tables were empty, though Esther spotted a thirtysomething guy in a blue Oxford shirt at the center table. He was leafing through a dog-eared copy of Architectural Digest. A group of students in USC regalia and crew cuts were crammed into one booth. Empty beer bottles cluttered their table.
As Esther walked by, she heard one guy say, “Hey, get Connie Chung over here. We need more brewski.” The others laughed.
Esther felt that old anger rise within her. Her first impulse was to grab one of those empty beer bottles and bring it down on the guy’s prickly head. He was big, though—meaty and stupid—and she knew she’d lose the fight. She might end up with a broken head herself. But she couldn’t just ignore the remark.
She turned to the booth and said, “For your information, your waitress is named Harumi. And her roots are Japanese, not Chinese.”
They stared at her for a moment. Then the ringleader smiled and said, “Who the hell are you?”
Esther could feel someone coming up behind her. She moved out of the way and Harumi brushed by.
“Hey, guys. More beer?”
Esther watched for a moment as Harumi loaded a tray with clinking bottles, and then climbed on a stool across from Blue Oxford Shirt. He looked up and smiled at her.
Harumi was beautiful and confident, Esther thought. She didn’t need anyone to defend her from the bigots and assholes of the world. Look at the way she held herself—back straight, chin high, eyes cool. She held everything important deep inside and there was no getting at it.
Esther watched her one-time best friend come toward her, pad in hand.
“Hey, Esther. What’ll it be?”
Esther’s heart was ticking like a bomb. All of the words she wanted to say jammed in her throat.
Harumi waited, her face blank. “Here’s a menu. I’ll give you a few minutes.” She went back to Blue Oxford. “Another Red Stripe, Chip?”
It was hard to believe they’d once chased the ice cream truck together and traded Nancy Drew books. To Harumi, Esther was just another customer, another tip that she had to hustle for.
When she returned, Esther still hadn’t opened the menu, but she knew what she wanted. “I’ll have a café au lait,” she said. “But I came here to ask you a favor.”
14
“A gig!” Trudy whooped and jumped around the room. “We’ve got a gig!” What’s more, it would be at Adam’s opening. She would show him that she wasn’t just some little girl. She was a contender.
“You mean you’ll do it?” the little Earth Mama said.
Trudy didn’t know anything about Esther, but she liked her already. This neo-hippie in layered gauze and wooden beads was the angel of rock-and-roll bookings. She would have a special place in punk rock heaven. Trudy would remember what she had done for them when the biographers and interviewers appeared with their pads of paper, eager to know every detail of Screaming Divas’ history. Or herstory.
Harumi scowled from across the room. She stroked her bass as if it were some kind of talisman. Trudy noticed that she always did this when she was tense about something. “We need to practice,” she said. “A lot. And Cassie needs to learn how to play that guitar.”
“Well, don’t practice too much,” the tall blonde woman named Rebecca said. “We’d like the music to be, y’know, rough.”
Trudy nodded. Rebecca didn’t look rough at all. She, in her tight black suit and herringbone stockings, made all of the furniture in Trudy’s living room look especially shoddy. But this woman was in tune like no other. She understood, as Harumi didn’t, that they would be playing for the people, not a bunch of society bores in tuxes and mink. She knew that their appeal rose above their inability to sustain a beat.
“We don’t have a drummer,” Cassie said.
“We’ll find one,” Trudy said quickly. “Esther? Do you want to be our drummer?”
Esther’s pale face turned red. “Me? I, uh, I have no musical experience.”
“Just kidding,” Trudy said. “Seriously. I have someone in mind.”
“At ease, girls. I’m sure you’ll be fabulous.”
> “Well, let’s break out the booze and celebrate!” Without waiting for a response, Trudy marched into the kitchen, reached into the fridge, and filled her arms with Corona. She wished that they had champagne, but anything that fizzed a little would do. Back in the living room, she passed out the drinks.
“One for you,” she said, handing a bottle to Rebecca. “And one for you,” to Harumi. When she held out a beer to Cassie, she shook her head, as usual.
“No, thanks.”
Trudy was disappointed for a split second. She thought that just this once, on this most auspicious occasion of landing their first gig ever, Cassie might imbibe. But no. And Trudy understood. She knew about her mother’s drinking problem and about the accident that had wrecked Cassie’s face.
They popped open the beers and toasted their impending success. Trudy sat cross-legged on the middle of the floor at Rebecca’s feet.
This woman was way cool. And she could help Screaming Divas conquer Columbia. “Can you drum, Rebecca?” Trudy asked.
“Probably.” Rebecca took a long draught and winked at Esther, who was sitting silently in the corner.
Esther, Trudy noted, suddenly looked very uncomfortable. She sat, back straight, knees together, as if she were at a job interview or something. What was her deal? Harumi had mentioned that Esther was an old friend and Cassie knew her from school. Trudy sensed that there were secrets to be uncovered. Well, there was time enough for that.
“Who’s going to sing?” Harumi asked now. She’d put down her bass, but her mind was still on technicalities.
During practice, Trudy and Cassie took turns as lead diva. Cassie sang the songs she’d written and thrashed around the room; Trudy did her Screaming Divas versions of Supremes songs. But alone, when the others had packed up and gone home, Trudy practiced Cassie’s songs. She copied Cassie’s movements in front of the mirror and worked menace into her voice. She knew that she could do the songs as well as Cassie.
Here in the living room, Trudy and Cassie exchanged glances. Trudy stared hard, willing Cassie to give in.
“It’s your band,” she said, dropping her gaze. “You can sing. I think I’d be more comfortable in the background anyhow.”
“We’ll all be singing,” Trudy said. “We’ll all be screaming and dancing and having a ball.”
15
Well, why couldn’t she be a drummer? Esther tapped her chopsticks against her bowl. What was so funny about the idea of her drumming? If she practiced, she was sure that she could do it.
“A dollar for your thoughts, luv,” Rebecca said from the other side of the table.
This was Esther’s birthday dinner. She wouldn’t turn eighteen till the following day, but she’d be going out to some family restaurant with her parents and they’d be eating cake and ice cream together. She couldn’t invite Rebecca to join them. It would be too weird.
On her last birthday, Harumi had slept over and they’d watched old movies. Harumi had given her a bracelet. This year, she’d be lucky if she got a card from her.
Of course Rebecca had given her a gift. Earlier, in Rebecca’s apartment, Esther had been handed a shoebox, wrapped in silver paper and decorated with tendrils of blue ribbon. She’d felt a gush of excitement as she shook the box and felt something rattling around inside.
“Come on, darling. Open it.” Rebecca was leaning forward and Esther could tell that she was eager to tug at the ribbons herself.
In spite of Rebecca’s impatience, she did her best to prolong the moment. She removed the ribbons and coiled them beside her, then slit the tape with her fingernail.
Rebecca’s manicured nails drummed on the arm of her chair.
Finally, Esther lifted the lid, parted the tissue paper, and stared into the box. She’d never seen anything like it, so at first she wasn’t sure what it was. It was long and white and plastic and there was a little switch. A curling iron? Esther took the thing out of the box and flicked the switch. It began to hum and vibrate in her hand. She tentatively touched it to the back of her neck, where the nerves were tight. Maybe this thing was supposed to reduce stress or something.
Rebecca was watching her with a mischievous smile.
“Umm, what is it?” Esther finally asked.
“It’s an orgasm machine,” Rebecca whispered. “I couldn’t think of anything I’d rather give you more.”
Esther blushed. She couldn’t imagine a more embarrassing gift. This was worse than the training bra her grandmother had once given her for Christmas and that she’d unwittingly unwrapped in front of the entire family. And what was she going to do with it? If her mother found it, she’d freak. “Well, thanks,” Esther said.
Rebecca smiled. “It’s my pleasure, entirely. Now I don’t know about you, luv, but I’m famished. Is Chinese okay?”
So here they were, with their rice and jasmine tea, listening to plucked strings in the Jade Pagoda Restaurant.
“I was thinking about that band. The one we booked for the art show.”
Rebecca nodded, encouraging her.
“I was thinking that it would be cool to be in a band. To be the drummer, maybe.” That was kind of a lie. Esther knew that her interest in Screaming Divas had more to do with Cassie. If she were in the band, she could see Cassie almost every day. She could stare at her golden hair from behind her drum kit and breathe in her perfume.
And Harumi. Maybe they’d be able to patch up their friendship. They’d finally have something in common. Esther missed Harumi, and seeing her at Goatfeathers and in Trudy’s living room made the feeling sharper. Sure, she had Rebecca, but these days there was no one in her life her own age, no one who knew her background.
16
Trudy kept watch from her crow’s nest. She set the needle in the groove, cued up the next record, and leaned over the railing to scan the crowd. If she craned her neck, she could see the top of the narrow, graffiti-lined staircase, and Jan checking IDs at the door. Inside the club, people leaned against the brick walls or balanced on wooden stools, the tips of their cigarettes flaring like fireflies.
Noel hadn’t been to The Cave in three weeks. Trudy imagined his home life: Wendy screaming, “A hex on you if you walk out that door!” When he finally showed up, alone, no less, she thought she was seeing things.
“Shit.” Trudy glanced at the spinning vinyl and shrugged. “Let them listen to all of side one.” She hurdled over the railing and climbed down the ladder.
Trudy homed in on Noel immediately. “Hey, stranger. Where’ve you been?”
“Trudy.” He wobbled a bit as he slung an arm over her shoulder. He’d obviously had a few. Was this a sign of trouble in paradise?
She tossed her hair back. “I’ve got a band now.”
“So I’ve heard.”
He was keeping track of her—another good sign.
“Truth is,” Trudy said, leaning in close enough to taste the beer on his breath, “we’ve got a gig coming up, but we don’t have a drummer.”
“And?” Noel’s mouth was inches from hers.
“And I was wondering if we might borrow Alan.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Noel said.
Trudy could feel his hand gliding over her hips. He’d never touched her like this in public before. Either he was out-of-control drunk, or things were so bad with Wendy that he didn’t care what kind of rumors got back to her.
“Do you want to come over later?” Trudy asked.
“I’m almost a married man.”
“You say it like you mean it,” she said, teasing. She could tell just by looking at him that he was hot for her. Anyway, who got married at nineteen? She ran her thumbnail over his fly, then whirled away. “I’ve got to change the record. These people aren’t dancing.”
Five minutes later, Noel was gone.
Trudy asked Johnny Fad to take over in the DJ booth and went in search of him. He wasn’t standing in line for the bathroom or leaning against the wall smoking a cigarette. He wasn’t in the Pink Room either, but
Cassie and Harumi were, sipping Diet Cokes and watching the pool game through gauzy smoke.
“Have you seen Noel?” she asked.
Harumi shook her head.
“No,” Cassie said. “I didn’t even know he was here.”
Trudy was about to bolt off, to check the sidewalk and the area surrounding the building, but Cassie grabbed her arm.
“Just chill with us for a moment, okay?” she said.
Trudy was still tense, ready to pounce on Noel the minute she saw him. “I think he’s getting ready to leave Wendy,” she said. “He was kneading my ass in front of everyone.”
Harumi listened politely, her face blank, but Cassie rolled her eyes.
“You deserve much better. Why settle for Noel when you could have someone who really cares about you? You ought to hold out for someone who’s crazy about you, who’d be willing to cut his wrists if you asked him to.”
“Have you ever been in love before, Cassie?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
Trudy figured that was a lie. If she’d experienced real love, she’d know that it was like a freight train bearing down on you and there was nothing you could do to stop it. Even if the guy was an ax murderer, it’s not as if you could control how you felt about him.
“Women Who Love Too Much—ever hear of that book?” Cassie asked, digging her in the ribs. “I think Johnette’s got a copy. I could borrow it for you.”
“Ha ha.” Trudy knew where she was coming from. She’d heard about Cassie’s mother, how the woman had been a doormat for her husband. It was easy to understand that Cassie wouldn’t want to be like that, crying herself to sleep every night, escaping in booze. But love, that was the thing that made living worthwhile.
“So, Cassie, if you could have anyone here, who would you choose?”
Cassie looked slowly around the room. One of the guys playing pool was pretty hot. He was tall and slender with a pulpy mouth and deep-set eyes. And then there was Jeff, the David Bowie lookalike, dressed in black as usual, a tuft of bright blond hair peeking out from under his caballero hat, enigmatic as ever.
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