Singsation

by Jacquelin Thomas

  When Brent signaled to Tyrone to put on the track, Deborah inhaled, hoping to still the tremors that had begun at the bottoms of her feet and filled her now.

  “No matter what, let’s go all the way through,” Brent said. “Lavelle and I want to feel the general sound.”

  Music filled the room, and the moment Deborah opened her mouth her tremors were replaced with the knowledge that she was where she belonged.

  They sang for over two minutes, blending as if they’d sung together forever. Deborah closed her eyes and swayed. The beat burrowed itself inside her, and when the last note was released, it took her a few moments to open her eyes.

  The room was silent until Lavelle said, “I guess we have a lot of work to do.” He shook his head. “That sounded awful!”

  Deborah wondered what he’d been listening to, but when she glanced at the other faces, everyone was nodding.

  “Brent, have the guys check Deborah’s mike. I can’t hear her. And do something about Emerald’s too. She’s all in my ears.”

  Deborah glanced at Emerald. She had crossed her arms in front of her and was glaring at Lavelle.

  “What about me, Lavelle?” Vianca asked. “How do I sound?”

  He waved his hands. “You’re fine.” Turning to Brent, he said, “I want to do this again until it sounds right. I don’t care how many times. We only have six weeks and all these songs.” He flipped through the papers on top of the piano. “We don’t have time for mistakes.”

  As Lavelle’s voice got louder, Deborah’s muscles tightened.

  “Deborah, I need more sound from you,” Brent directed.

  She nodded.

  “Okay, gang,” Brent said. “Let’s try this again.”

  They sang for almost three hours, stopping and starting at different points, until Lavelle, without saying anything, left the room.

  “Ladies, take a break, but don’t go too far.” Brent sighed.

  Emerald rushed into the hallway and Vianca wandered over to the coffee table. Deborah followed her.

  “Is there something wrong or something I should know about?”

  Vianca stirred her coffee and frowned at Deborah as if she didn’t know what she was talking about.

  “Lavelle seems mad about something.”

  “Oh, that. He’s always like that. I told you he’s a perfectionist. We’re fine, but he wants each note flawless. In a day or two, he’ll be laughing with us.”

  Deborah dropped a tea bag in a cup and casually asked, “What’s going on with Emerald?”

  At that moment, the door opened and Emerald came back into the room. The smile that Deborah was used to seeing on Emerald had returned, and her eyes had brightened.

  “Well, I’m ready to get back to work.” Emerald smiled.

  “Oh, brother.” Vianca sighed under her breath.

  “Ladies, can you get to your mikes?” Brent asked. “I want to check them before Lavelle gets back.”

  For a few minutes, each one sang, and once Lavelle returned, they sang “Love’s Game” a few times before Lavelle called a fifteen-minute lunch break.

  Afterward, they sang until Emerald and Vianca complained of strained vocal cords. Deborah held her hand to her throat, grateful the others had spoken the words she would never say.

  “Okay, let’s wrap it tonight. You have tomorrow’s schedule?” Brent continued to talk, but all eyes followed Lavelle as he stomped from the room.

  Vianca and Deborah barely spoke as they strolled into the parking lot. It wasn’t until Deborah was in her car that she realized Vianca hadn’t even asked if she wanted to go to the gym or shopping or any of the things she was always suggesting they do together.

  As soon as she got home, Deborah swallowed two teaspoons of honey and brewed a cup of lemon tea. She lay on the couch and sighed. Her apartment began to darken as the sun set. Deborah allowed the day to play through her mind. First Emerald’s strange behavior, then Lavelle. This was very different from what she’d imagined.

  One thing was for sure—what people saw onstage had very little to do with what happened behind the scenes. Deborah sighed. Whatever was going on with them, she knew she could never become a part of it.

  She put her teacup on the coffee table and reached for the Bible. Not sure of what she wanted to study, she just opened the book, and it fell to a scripture that she’d been studying for a week now: “No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate one, and love the other . . . ye cannot serve God and mammon.”

  She closed the book. There was nothing else she needed to read. That scripture alone would keep her focus on God and away from the mess that seemed to be going on around her.

  CHAPTER 19

  IN THE WEEKS THAT FOLLOWED, REHEARSALS MOVED from five days a week to six. The long hours they’d been working became longer. Between dance and singing sessions, daily fittings, and appointments with stylists, Deborah had little time for anything besides workouts and church. Even homesickness didn’t seem to find room in her life, and she felt a longing for Villa Rica only during short conversations with her parents or Willetta.

  Although many nights Deborah went home with a sore throat or aching feet, she loved her life. Just as Vianca predicted, Lavelle was much more personable as the days went on. He even took the time to chat with her during lunch breaks, and the band was treating her like a longtime member. Her only concern was Emerald, whose mood swings increased along with their rehearsal time.

  She’d been in Los Angeles for two months, and she hadn’t had time to make friends outside the group. Deborah didn’t miss that as much as she thought she would—she spent much of her free time with Triage.

  They’d never discussed that kiss. When he returned from his trip, they returned to their brother-and-sister roles. From attending church to sharing casual lunches to taking strolls on the beach, they spent much of their free time together. But it was clear to Deborah that she had read more into the kiss than was there. And as the day came closer for her to leave on tour, she was able to push her feelings into a far corner of her mind.

  Triage came over to help Deborah the night before she was to leave on tour. As she sorted through the last of her mail, Triage struggled with a large suitcase, finally dropping it at the front door. “Are you sure you have everything you need?” he asked breathlessly.

  Deborah was turned away from him, checking the carry-on bag still open on the couch. “Uh-huh; why?”

  “’Cause I don’t think this is heavy enough.”

  She began to laugh before she even turned around. “Sorry. Do you think I overpacked?”

  “No,” he said, holding his chest as if his heart were hurting. He slumped into the chair. “I’m not dead yet.”

  She tossed a pillow at him.

  “Do you want any more of this pizza?” Deborah lifted the large box that held one lone slice.

  “Nah,” he responded, clicking on the television.

  Deborah glanced at him, slouched in the chair. “So it’s my last night in Los Angeles with you, and all you’re entertaining me with is pizza and Jeopardy?”

  He clicked off the television and frowned seriously. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d want to do anything since your plane leaves so early.”

  She burst into laughter at the sight of his drawn face. “I’m teasing.”

  “We can still do something. You wanna go to the movies?”

  “No, I really don’t want to do anything. I’m too nervous.” She sat on the couch and held her head in her hands.

  Triage grinned. “You’ve been waiting for this grand tour!” He moved the suitcase next to her onto the floor and sat down.

  “I know,” she moaned. “But I have more butterflies now than I had the day I auditioned. Suppose I forget the words to a song? What if I trip onstage and my gown falls off ?”

  He laughed. “Now, that would be funny.”

  She lifted her head. “It might not be so funny. I might get a standing ovation.”

  His smi
le disappeared. “I know I’d clap,” he said seriously.

  She turned away. “You know, I got you a going-away gift.” She took a wrapped box off the corner table.

  “I thought you were the one going away, so I brought you something.” Triage reached into the gym bag he’d brought with him.

  “I guess this is why we’re friends.” Deborah laughed.

  “Open yours first.”

  She slowly unfolded the pink paper and gasped. She lifted a brown leather book from the box. It had been engraved in gold: “Deborah Anne Peterson, First Tour.” She covered her mouth with her fingers. “Triage, this is beautiful.”

  He took her hand. “Deborah, I know how long you’ve been looking forward to this, and I want you to remember every moment.” Gently, he took the book from her, and flipped through the gilded pages. “What I like best about this book is that not only does it have plenty of room to write, but back here”—he stopped and showed her the pages—“are places for photos. Make sure you take lots of pictures.”

  She was still shaking her head when he gave her back the book. “I don’t know what to say—”

  “Thank you will be fine.”

  She smiled and hugged him. “This is incredible. I’ll try to write in it every day. And when I get back, I’ll read it all to you,” she kidded.

  “I don’t know if I’m going to want to hear all about your antics on the road. It can get pretty wild out there.”

  “Well, you should know me by now.” She pointed to the box in his lap. “It’s your turn. I wanted you to have something to remember me by.”

  A few moments later, Triage was turning the Bible over in his hand. “You know, the last real Bible I had like this, Grandma gave to me. I don’t even know where it is now—probably home with my parents in Chicago.” He smiled at her. “So you got tired of me looking over your shoulder, huh?”

  “No, I just wanted to make sure that you would keep going to church, even without me.”

  He laughed. “I’m going to try. Thanks, Deborah. This means a lot.” He browsed through the pages. “Hey, what happened to all those different-color markings and notes that are in your Bible?” He laughed.

  “You’re going to have to make your own. And that means you’re going to have to study.”

  He faked a loud sigh. “Okay.” Then he became serious. “I would like to study more. You know, Deborah, hanging with you has taught me a lot more about God, or at least is bringing me back to where I used to be.” He glanced at her. “Do you really read your Bible every day?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t always make the time the way I should. I wish I did, though, because whenever I spend time with God, I feel better. Like there’s nothing that can happen to me that I can’t handle.”

  He nodded. “That’s the kind of relationship I’d like to have, and going to church with you has helped a lot.” He turned the Bible over in his hand. “And this will help. Should I just start at the beginning?” He opened to the first book. “Just begin with Genesis?”

  She shrugged. “There are lots of ways to read the Bible; you don’t have to read it through like a book.” She took the Bible from him and turned to the New Testament. “When I was a teenager, I asked my father where should I start, and he suggested the book of John. He told me that book would give me a good overview of Jesus and His life. It was true. It was so easy to understand, it made me want to read everything.”

  “Then that’s where I’ll start.”

  Deborah smiled. “I’ll read it too, and if you have any questions, I’ll try to help.” She laughed.

  “I thought you already read it.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything. Every time I read the Bible, I see it a new way.”

  He shook his head. “One day . . .” When he looked at his watch, his smile disappeared. “You have to get up early. I’d better get out of here.” She followed him to the door.

  “I’m going to miss you, kiddo,” he said, pulling her ponytail.

  “Sure, for a day or two. And then you’ll go running back to all those women you were hanging out with before I got here.”

  His eyes darkened, and he lifted her chin with his finger. “I don’t think so.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Have a great trip.”

  She hugged him.

  “The next time I see you, your name will be up in lights.” He tapped her nose with his finger, then walked away.

  She watched Triage bound down the stairs, then closed the door when she could no longer see him. Triage had been such a great friend, she thought, but if that’s all he was, why did her heart ache so?

  CHAPTER 20

  DEBORAH’S EYES WERE GLUED TO THE WINDOW, and had been that way ever since the Town Car had crossed through the Midtown Tunnel. She’d never seen anything like New York City. The tall gray buildings were squeezed together like Leggos. But the people really amazed her. Deborah had never seen so many in one place before.

  As their car crept down Madison Avenue, Vianca exclaimed, “I love New York! I hope we have time for sightseeing tomorrow, after rehearsal.”

  “Me too,” Deborah said, her voice full of excitement. “I’d love to take some pictures of the Statue of Liberty and the Empire State Building and the World Trade Center—”

  “Are you kidding?” Emerald’s voice was sharp. “You’re not going to have time for that. Even if you did, the best thing for you to do is use it for rest. If you think rehearsals make you tired, wait until you find out how performing on the road makes you feel!”

  “Oh, Emerald, don’t try to scare her. It’s not that bad.”

  “Well, maybe not for you since you get special treatment.” Emerald leaned across Vianca, who was sitting between them. “Listen to me. I’ve been at this longer than Miss Know-It-All here. There are going to be days when you wish you’d never heard the word ‘concert.’”

  Deborah couldn’t imagine ever feeling that way, but she was relieved when the car stopped and the conversation ended. She jumped from the car and let her eyes rise up the front of the building, which never seemed to stop.

  She couldn’t hide her awe as she followed Emerald and Vianca into the elegant lobby. She’d been impressed with the Beverly Hotel, but the Madison Palms made it look like a Ramada Inn. The enormous foyer was decorated with richly veined marble floors, glittering crystal chandeliers, and ornate gilt-framed mirrors. After checking in, they took the elevator to the thirty-second floor. Their rooms were side by side, and Deborah couldn’t wait to get inside.

  “Ladies,” Emerald said, “we have to be back in the lobby in forty minutes.”

  “We know,” Vianca snapped, then disappeared into her room.

  Deborah quickly stepped into her room before Emerald could say anything. But her thoughts of being between Vianca and Emerald faded quickly as she took in the opulence around her. The chamber was bigger than her apartment. A beautifully made-up king-size bed sat in the middle of the far wall, and to its right, a large sitting area with a couch and two chairs was placed to take advantage of the view through the picture window.

  She was admiring the antique desk and matching chair when there was a knock on the door. Only then did she remember her luggage. She rushed to her purse, then tipped the bellboy as he laid her bags on the luggage rack.

  The moment the man left, she changed into jeans and a tank top. She wanted to call her parents, but there wasn’t time. In a few minutes, she had to be in the lobby, where they would meet the vans that would take them to Madison Square Garden.

  She picked up her purse, tied a sweater around her waist, and pulled her new journal from her carry-on bag, then ran out the door.

  The crew was unloading instruments from the tour bus, which had just arrived in New York. Charles screamed out instructions while Brent talked with Madison Square Garden officials. It sounded like controlled chaos. But Deborah hardly noticed.

  She slowly moved across the edge of the stage, looking out into the massive darkness of the Garden. The sea
ts were empty, but it didn’t take much for her to imagine the auditorium filled with cheering fans, waiting to hear her sing. What a debut!

  “This is pretty awesome, huh?” Vianca asked, sitting down and letting her legs swing over the edge of the stage.

  Deborah joined her. “In all my dreams, I couldn’t have imagined this. I wish they would turn on the lights, so that I can see the entire place.”

  “No need for that. You won’t be able to see anything once we’re doing the show.”

  “Really?”

  Vianca shook her head. “Except for maybe a few people in the first few rows, it’ll look just like it looks now. It makes it easier for me to perform.”

  Deborah shook her head. She wasn’t sure. What she loved about singing was the pleasure it brought people—the look of joy on their faces.

  She opened her mouth to question Vianca more about that when she noticed her friend’s frown. Deborah looked in the direction of Vianca’s gaze.

  A slender woman with long reddish-brown hair past her shoulders was leaning against the wall, and Lavelle stood close to her. “Who’s that woman with Lavelle?” Deborah asked.

  Vianca waved her hand in dismissal. “That’s Phoebe Garland.”

  Deborah turned toward the stylish woman. She was wearing what looked to be an expensive sweater set over a short python-print leather skirt and matching narrow-heeled pumps. “That’s Phoebe?”

  Vianca stood and put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, she used to sing backup for Lavelle before she went solo, you know.”

  “I know that.”

  “Well, you should also know that I replaced her.”

  Deborah didn’t seem to notice Vianca’s tone. “She’s really attractive—”

  “In an obvious sort of way,” Vianca snapped.

  Emerald sauntered across the stage toward them. “Vianca, did you see Phoebe? You know, Deborah, Phoebe’s joining us on the tour as an opening act,” she said sweetly.

  Vianca rolled her eyes and stomped away.