Screaming Divas

by Suzanne Kamata

  Sometimes, when she found herself alone, she’d go out walking around. As she passed each house, she’d make up a little story about the people who lived there. She could sometimes see them through the windows, especially at night when the houses were lit up and she was covered by the dark. They’d be watching TV, or having dinner, or reading the newspaper.

  Once she saw a mother and daughter dancing together. A waltz, it looked like. Maybe the woman was trying to teach her something. Trudy stood on the sidewalk watching until they missed a step and collapsed against each other in a fit of giggles. She and Sarah had never laughed like that together.

  If only her mother had been a stay-at-home brownie baker—and she wasn’t thinking of Amsterdam hash brownies—a one-man woman, someone who cared about what other people thought, even.

  Instead, Trudy had gotten a mother who squeezed out babies and then played favorites. She wasn’t really into the kids. She’d had her own agenda from day one. She’d wanted to rebel against her staid upbringing, the all-girls school, the white gloves and embossed stationery, “sir” and “ma’am.” Trudy thought that she understood.

  The bus wheezed to a halt and Trudy got off. She walked a couple of blocks under oaks and maples until she reached her destination. She stood at the foot of the driveway, unable to move any further, staring at her mother’s house. It had been her house once, too, back before she’d gotten arrested.

  She tried to guess at what was going on inside. Maybe Sarah was walloping Baby Ken, Trudy’s latest baby brother, who must already be about two. Or maybe she was sitting on a pillow, meditating, trying not to think about all the sorry details of her life.

  Sarah must have had big dreams at one time, something more than a series of loser husbands and this house in suburbia, but Trudy couldn’t remember what they’d been.

  She reached into her jeans pocket and felt the cassette—a tape of Supremes songs as covered by Screaming Divas. It wasn’t studio quality; they didn’t have that kind of money yet. But it would show Sarah that she’d been doing something with her life. That she was going to be somebody.

  She took a deep breath and a step up the driveway. Then another, and another, till finally she was on the porch, at the door with her fingertip hovering over the glowing button of a doorbell.

  What if Sarah wouldn’t let her in the house?

  She closed her eyes and summoned up whistles and applause, the girls in the front row who copied her clothes. She was a Diva, damn it, and nothing was going to get her down.

  She pressed the doorbell.

  She could hear the commotion inside—the blare of a TV, Ken’s squalls, her mother’s sharp voice. And then footsteps, a pause as someone looked through the peephole, followed by the jangle and clink of the chain lock. The door opened.

  Sarah stood there, eyes narrowed, hip cocked, cigarette held like a roach. She took a drag, studied her daughter. “You’d better not be in some kind of trouble again.”

  Trudy ignored her and held out the cassette. Now seemed as good a time as any to give it to her. “Merry Christmas,” she said. “I made this for you.”

  Ash from Sarah’s cigarette dropped to the floor, but she didn’t seem to notice. She put the butt in her mouth and squinted through the smoke as she examined the tape, turning it over and over in her hands.

  Sarah looked older. It had been less than a year since they’d last met, but the crinkles that rayed out from her eyes were deeper. Her hair looked a little ratty and her roots were showing. Trudy wondered how her latest marriage was going, but she wasn’t about to ask. She was still standing on the porch.

  “I have a band now,” she said. “We play in Columbia all the time. People say we’re really good.” She wished she’d brought them along for moral support. She tried to summon them now—Cassie, the golden one; Harumi, with her quiet strength; Esther, so full of goodness.

  Sarah looked up then. “You look like you’ve lost some weight. Are you eating all right?”

  “Yeah, Ma. And working hard. With my band.”

  “Huh. Your daddy was in a band once. He never made any money at it, though. Never got famous.”

  “I know. I lived with him for a while.”

  “Guess I knew that.”

  At last, Sarah opened the door wider and stepped back. It seemed that she’d figured out that Trudy wasn’t about to torch the place.

  “Well, let’s see what this sounds like,” she said, brandishing the tape.

  The living room looked the same as she remembered—thick beige carpet, stained in some places from coffee spills, a maroon vinyl sofa, a glass-topped coffee table stacked high with magazines. An artificial Christmas tree hung with candy canes took up one corner. It was so utterly middle American that Trudy could hardly believe they’d ever lived in a teepee.

  Just then, Ken toddled into the room. When he saw Trudy, he went for cover behind Sarah. He didn’t remember her at all. Trudy guessed that her name never came up in conversation and that they didn’t keep pictures of her around.

  Her other half-brother and sister and Joey, her brother, were nowhere in sight. They were probably with their fathers for the holidays, as usual.

  She plopped down on the sofa while Sarah tried to disentangle herself from the curly-haired boy attached to her legs.

  “What’s this?” she asked, nodding in the direction of the tape player. “Sounds like ‘Baby Love.’”

  Trudy’s voice blasted out of the speaker, fast and frantic. You could hear her gulping for breath between phrases.

  “Yeah, it is,” she said. “We do a lot of Supremes covers.”

  Sarah shook her head. “You ruined my favorite song.” But she was smiling. Amused. “You want something to drink? Beer? Iced tea?”

  “Tea is okay.”

  Sarah kept talking as she went into the adjacent kitchen, Ken still tugging on her leg. “Ken, why don’t you go say ‘hey’ to your sister?” And then, “So you’re keeping out of trouble, huh? That’s good. I heard Grandma and Grandpa were sending you some money and you know that if they hear anything bad, they’ll cut you off. Like they did me.”

  “I know that.”

  Sarah came back with a tray of drinks and pretzels in a bowl. “You’d better eat a little. You look skinny.”

  They sat there, side by side, for a few minutes, listening to the tape.

  “I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that we’ll be moving soon,” Sarah said at last.

  It figures, Trudy thought. She probably would have skipped town without saying a word if Trudy hadn’t dropped in. Trudy stared at the ice in her drink.

  “We’re going to California,” Sarah continued. “End of next month.”

  Well, California might be a cool place to visit someday. Trudy had always wanted to go to Hollywood. If things kept going well, maybe the Divas could go on tour out West.

  “Good luck,” she said, forcing herself to meet her mother’s eyes.

  Sarah reached out then as if she was going to touch Trudy’s cheek or smooth down a strand of hair, but midway her hand dropped to the sofa. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I haven’t been the kind of mother you wanted.”

  Trudy shrugged. “I guess you did your best.”

  As soon as she finished her tea, she stood up. “I’ve got a bus to catch. See you later.” She was walking out the door before Sarah had a chance to stop her. Or not. Her heart was banging like Esther’s drums.

  She was halfway down the driveway when she heard Sarah call out, “Thanks for the tape!”

  “Hey, no problem,” she shouted back. “Send me a postcard when you get where you’re going.”

  34

  On New Year’s Eve, all of the Divas had been invited over to Cassie’s house to watch Dick Clark. Her dad and step-mom were still off on their cruise. They wouldn’t be back for another five days.

  Cassie had invited Rebecca, too, but she had plans to go to some artist’s party where there’d be a cash bar and a live band. Est
her was relieved. She was also a little nervous. She hadn’t seen Cassie since Christmas, although they’d talked on the phone a few times. Whenever she thought about that night, she felt uneasy. She remembered how her skin had tingled, how she had felt herself open to Cassie’s fingers, but she also remembered how lonely she’d felt. When she’d looked up at Cassie, she’d seemed to be studying Esther like a science experiment. There had been no tenderness in those eyes. And then, when Esther had touched her back, she’d started moaning and wailing so loudly that her mother had come and tapped on the door to see if everything was all right. Mortified, Esther had tried to draw away, but Cassie had clamped her wrist between her thighs. It was almost as if she’d wanted Esther’s mother to walk in.

  Something had changed in Esther after that night. Instead of being in awe of Cassie, she now felt wary. And while the things they’d done together had made her feel good, she also felt violated, somehow. That wasn’t love.

  Esther changed from the sweat suit she’d been wearing all day into a pair of jeans and a pink mohair sweater she’d gotten for Christmas. She went into the kitchen, grabbed a couple of packets of microwave popcorn and her keys.

  “Mom, I’m going now,” she called out.

  Her mother appeared in the doorway. “Esther, honey,” she said, reaching over to pull a strand of hair out of her daughter’s eyes, “I know there might be some drinking, and, well, if you need someone to drive you home, give us a call.”

  “Yes, Mom.” She leaned forward and kissed her mother on the cheek.

  Esther had never been to Cassie’s house before, though she knew of the neighborhood. She’d jotted down directions on the back of an envelope as Cassie dictated them over the phone. Now she held the scrap of paper against the steering wheel as she drove. Left on Elm Street, right at the stop sign, four houses down. She found the big brick house without too much trouble. The sconces on the front porch were lit and a couple of cars were in the driveway. She recognized the Beetle as Cassie’s.

  She parked her car at the edge of the lawn so that she wouldn’t get blocked in. She wanted to be able to leave whenever she felt like it. Then she trudged up the yard to the front door.

  Cassie appeared almost as soon as she’d rung the bell. Her hair looked kind of stringy, and there were dark circles under her eyes. Esther wondered if she’d been sick. “Come in!” She reached for Esther’s arm and pulled her inside. Trudy and Harumi were sitting on the floor, flipping through Cassie’s record collection. Adam was there, too. Before, she would have been annoyed to find him there. He wasn’t a Diva, after all, but tonight she felt relieved. If Adam and Cassie were together, Cassie wouldn’t expect anything from her.

  Esther took a look around. The room was tastefully furnished, with lots of cream jacquard. On the wall, there was an oil portrait of Johnette, Cassie’s stepmother. Framed photos of Cassie and her father and stepmother were gathered on a shelf, but there was no sign of her real mother.

  “Oops,” Trudy said, knocking over a long-necked bottle. Everyone watched for a moment as the beer soaked into the plush, beige carpet.

  “Fuck,” Cassie said, after a few beats. She didn’t seem mad, though. She picked up the bottle and disappeared for a moment. She came back with a roll of paper towels to sop up the mess.

  Now the whole room seemed to stink of beer. There was also the fug of cigarette smoke and something else—that smell that sometimes lifted off Esther’s brother’s sheets when she did the laundry. It was Adam’s smell, Esther realized. He and Cassie must have had sex before the others arrived.

  Once again, Esther was surprised by how little she cared, how relieved she, in fact, felt. She wasn’t ready for all that. She knew that now.

  “What do you want to drink, Esther?” Harumi asked. “There’s more beer. There’re some wine coolers ….”

  “I’ll just have a Diet Coke,” Esther said, remembering what her mother had said. “I don’t feel that great.” She was already thinking that she’d take off at midnight. She’d wait until the ball dropped at Times Square.

  She followed Cassie into the kitchen, suddenly unsure of what to do with her hands.

  “Umm, about Christmas Eve ….”

  “Hey,” Cassie said, handing her a cold can. “We’ll always be friends, okay?”

  Esther smiled. “Yes. Friends.”

  Back in the living room, Trudy flicked on the television. Dick Clark’s face came into view. He was just announcing the first band, a bunch of blondes in miniskirts.

  “Someday, we’re going to be on the show,” Trudy said.

  The other Divas just stared at the TV screen, but Adam raised a cup into the air. “I’ll drink to that.”

  “Wait,” Cassie said. “I have something that we can truly celebrate.” She disappeared in the back of the house.

  Something about her and Adam? That painting of Cassie he’d been working on? Esther, Harumi, and Trudy exchanged glances. None of them seemed to know about the big surprise.

  Cassie returned, hands behind her back. “Are you ready?”

  “Enough with the suspense,” Trudy growled, though even Esther could tell that she was enjoying this.

  “Ta-da!” Cassie held out a piece of paper. A check. They all moved in for a closer look.

  “My dad booked a studio so that we can record a demo, and this is going to cover the cost. It’s his Christmas present to me. To all of us!”

  It wasn’t midnight yet, but they all started tearing paper napkins into paper confetti and kissing each other.

  35

  “So how are things going with Mr. Right?” Cassie asked Harumi.

  It was post-gig—a private party at some sorority house, but a paid gig all the same—and the Divas were all gathered at the Capitol Café. Playing onstage made them ravenous.

  “Do you mean Chip?” Harumi asked, perplexed.

  “Who else, silly?” Cassie ruffled her hair.

  “Not so well.” She stirred the grits on her plate with a fork.

  “Didn’t I see him at The Cave last time we played there?” Trudy asked.

  “Yeah, he was there,” Harumi said. “I should have introduced you.”

  Actually, she hadn’t even spoken to him that night herself. Of course she’d seen him. He’d dressed down in jeans and a polo shirt, but he still looked out of place. She could imagine his discomfort, and it had moved her that he would go out of his way to prove his interest. He risked blasted eardrums and stomped-on Topsiders, all for her. Their eyes had met briefly before a taller man stepped in front of him. Then the house lights had dimmed and the overhead lights brightened, and Harumi couldn’t see faces anymore.

  Playing back that night in her mind, she thought she should have had a song dedicated to him, or thrown her pick, or committed some other showy rock star gesture. She should have talked to him, at least, but she was still too embarrassed and too tired. Maybe it was better to retreat from the real world for a while. She could deal with Mrs. Harris and her paperback novels and scratchy old records. That was just one woman’s nostalgia. And she could lose herself in the music, in the intricate movements of her fingers, whenever she was with the Divas. Even at Goatfeathers she could disappear into a role, as long as Chip didn’t show up. (And he didn’t; he was giving her space.) She liked to daydream about him, but she wasn’t ready to deal with a flesh and blood man.

  “So what’s the problem?” Trudy asked. “Was The Cave too spooky for him?”

  Harumi shrugged. “He sent me flowers every day for a week after that.” The notes were always short—the first one, an apology, and then a note to “The Rickenbacker Goddess,” praising her performances. She’d arranged the flowers by her bed so she could wake to the sight of roses and hothouse orchids. The notes, she’d saved in the pages of her favorite books.

  “Wow. What a romantic! I can’t imagine Adam sending me flowers,” Cassie said.

  Trudy snorted.

  “No one has ever sent me flowers, either,” Esther added.


  Harumi knew she’d never had a boyfriend. Maybe girls didn’t send flowers to each other.

  Sooner or later Chip would give up on her, if he hadn’t already. The last note had included his phone number and the words “call me.” If she ignored it, he’d fade from her life and find someone else.

  “Do you like him?” Cassie asked.

  “Yeah. I do. I just don’t know how to behave. Last time we were together, he was kissing me, when I thought of something funny and I started laughing.” She raked through her grits again with the fork. “It wasn’t even that funny. I was just nervous.”

  “Harumi.” Cassie waited until she looked up from her plate. “He doesn’t care. He came to our show just to see you, and he sent you flowers. You should call him.”

  “Call him right now,” Trudy said. She jerked her head toward the pay phone in the corner. It was after midnight.

  “No way.”

  “Call him! Call him!” Trudy started chanting. And then Esther and Cassie joined in, until they were loud enough to attract the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Even Pee Wee, the waitress. She sashayed over with a pot of freshly brewed coffee and filled their cups. “Girl, you need to get on that phone.”

  She pushed her plate away and swung her body out of the booth.

  “Here’s a quarter,” Cassie said, holding out a coin.

  Harumi took it. Slipped it in the slot. Punched in the number. She’d memorized it by now. She thought about hanging up after the second or third ring, and again after Chip’s first “Hello.”

  “Who’s this? Is anyone there?”

  When she sensed he was about to slam the receiver down in agitation, she spoke. “Wait, Chip. It’s me.”

  She heard him sigh and imagined the tension leaving his shoulders, his body relaxing to the tune of her voice. Maybe he was smiling.

  “Harumi.” He recognized her voice even though they’d never spoken on the phone before. “How are you?”

  She took a deep breath, not knowing what she really wanted to say. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t laughing at you.”