by Anna Adams
Lindsey, on the other hand, looked away. She refused to give Maude any more attention than she was already receiving.
“You will all be auditioning in a month for the different roles. The new student included.”
Maude’s heart fluttered with excitement. She would do everything to get the lead. Cinderella’s part was challenging, but also touched close to home. She’d always felt a feeling of sympathy for Rossini’s unfortunate but witty character.
“Now everyone position yourselves. Let’s warm up these voices.” Ms. Tragent went behind the piano and began the exercises.
Maude and the rest of the class in the various exercises that consisted in repeating Ms. Tragent’s meaningless sounds, “Ah, oh, hi, oh, uuu”.
So far so good, Maude thought.
“Position!” Ms. Tragent yelled behind her piano.
Maude looked around her. What did she mean? They weren’t in ballet class?
“Ms. Laurent, I said position!”
The boy next to Maude leaned over to her and whispered, “It means you have to stand straight. Your shoulders are a bit slouched.”
Maude straightened and smiled gratefully at the boy, He had soft blue eyes, disheveled dark hair, and a kind smile.
“Thomas Bradfield, Maude Laurent, would you like to be left alone, perhaps?” Ms. Tragent’s voice rang out through the theater and brought Maude back to reality.
Lindsey snickered while Maude felt her face grow hot. Thomas straightened up and resumed his exercise.
Ms. Tragent abruptly stopped playing the piano.
“Ms. Laurent, since you seem to be in the mood to use your voice, why don’t you take your score and sing the notes for me?”
Maude took her score and started reading the notes like she had been taught in school.
“Do, mi, fa, sol, la—”
She stopped as she heard everyone laugh except Thomas.
What now? She thought.
“You’re not suppose to sing Do, mi, fa, sol, la,” said Lindsey snidely. “Don’t you know the English notes, little French girl?”
“I’m sorry, I—” Maude started, looking at Ms. Tragent.
Ms. Tragent waved her hand.
“That isn’t important,” she said, looking at Lindsey sternly over her dark rimmed glasses.
“As long as you sing the notes correctly, you can sing them in whichever language you want. Now, resume. The rest of you, silence!”
Maude started over and finished without being interrupted.
“That will do,” Ms. Tragent said.
Maude saw Lindsey glare at her, angrily not able to understand what she had done now. And Thomas was looking at her too, impressed.
“Breathing, resonation, articulation. You need more practice, Ms. Laurent. A lot of practice. You will have to work harder to catch up with the rest of the class.” She paused, still looking at her. Maude would have given anything to know what she was thinking behind those impenetrable blue eyes.
“Now class, take your scores, and let’s start over with the lyrics this time, not the notes.”
And for two hours, Maude sang, trying to avoid Ms. Tragent’s stern stare that always seemed to be directed at her and all the while trying to keep the right “Position!” as well as the right breathing, which was the most difficult part.
Two hours flew by, and Maude was surprised when Ms. Tragent announced that class was over.
She gathered her things, almost wishing that the class could continue. She still had so much to learn, she mused.
“Hey Maude! Which way are you headed?” asked Thomas as he joined her near the exit.
“Towards Tribeca. I’m exhausted. I never knew singing could be so tiring.” And an entire day in a whole new city, she thought.
“Hard work pays off,” he pointed out as they started walking towards the subway. “What happened to your coat?” he asked, looking at the stain she had tried to hide all day.
“New York,” she answered, smiling. “New York happened to my coat. New York, its crazy subway and crazy New Yorkers.”
“Let me guess,” he said answering her smile. “You woke up early, got stuck in the subway. People started to get crazy, swear, fight, and spit. And you and your coat were collateral damage,” he finished.
Maude grinned. “You are absolutely right.”
“I’m always right!” he boasted.
“And humble. Not cocky at all, right?”
They laughed together.
“I have no idea how I’m going to adjust to all this. But I am determined to improve.”
“It seems to me you’re off to a pretty good start.”
“Not true. You heard her: ‘You need more practice, Ms. Laurent. A lot of practice,’” she said imitating Ms. Tragent’s grave tones.
“Are you kidding? That’s about as close to a compliment as you can get. For a first class, I’d say you did a great job. She said you needed practice, which is her way of saying that you have potential. You should’ve seen Mary’s first day.”
“Who’s Mary?”
“Exactly. Mary’s gone. Her first day was her last day as well. Ms. Tragent told her to never come back. And she’d previously taken singing lessons for ten years. Mrs. Tragent is the best vocal coach in New York. She is very selective and usually refuses to take more than five students in this class. I don’t know how you managed to become her sixth student. We would all rather have individual lessons with her, but she refuses to do that as well. She says she doesn’t have the time and that we should consider ourselves lucky to even be in her class. Besides, she believes that working in a group is shaping. And I must say, I wouldn’t trade one of our group classes for an individual session with any other vocal coach.”
“This was my first class, but I thought it was very interesting.”
“And you’re the only one who knew La Cenerentola. How did you know?”
Maude didn’t want to admit that the story hit very close to home, so she just said, “I think it’s a beautiful opera. Cinderella is very spirited in it. She isn’t at all like Cinderella in the Disney version who just waits for her Prince Charming. She has a wry sense of humor, and the opera is actually very funny. Even Prince Charming is different. His character is more developed, more active. He disguises himself as a valet to see how women actually behave around him when they think he is just a servant.”
“Would I make a good Prince Charming?” he asked, looking at her slyly.
“It depends. Can you sing as a tenor?” she asked, equally sly.
He laughed. “You’re a tough one!”
“You have to be tough if you want to make it in the big city. Isn’t that true?” Maude teased.
“Yes, that is very true, Maude Laurent,” he said, stopping in front of the subway entrance.
Maude liked the way he said her name. After having been called “Ms. Laurent” sharply for the last two hours, hearing her name said in a soft tone felt quite refreshing.
“Very well, Thomas Bradfield. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Same time, same place,” he said, watching her go.
Maude continued to smile as she entered the subway station.
“Ladies and Gentlemen. Due to a technical problem on the one line . . .”
Maude’s groan covered the end of the sentence.
Chapter 6
There was never a dull moment at the Baldwin house. Living in a large musical family is almost like living in a circus tent: there is never a moment of silence, and never, for one instant, can one feel lonely. The Baldwins were a joyful, noisy family. They all played an instrument. The grave tones of Jazmine’s electric bass were the first notes that woke the whole family up in the morning. Cynthia playing Bach’s Concerto for two violins in D minor were the last notes heard at night before going to sleep. And at various times of the day, especially on weekends, Victoria’s djembe echoed through the house, most of the time accompanied by James’s guitar. The two formed quite a musical pair though they
each had a particular fondness for different music styles. James Baldwin’s heart and soul belonged to Motown. Ever since Maude had arrived, she had spent the early part of the evening in his studio with Ben eagerly discovering the legends of Motown.
“Now, listen to the Jackson Five. Do you hear this incredible voice? Michael Jackson was so young, but so talented. And his brothers! He’s the only one we remember today but Jermaine Jackson was very talented, too. Those brothers had a long career together, and their repertoire was wide: rhythm and blues, soul, funk, and then disco. They represent an entire generation.”
Maude was in awe of everything James Baldwin taught her. He opened her ears to different musical styles, the different roles played by the instruments that at first seemed like the same thing to her.
“Listen to the electric bass in this song, Diana Ross’s “The Boss,” in 1979. That distinct rhythm is one of the characteristics of disco: the electric bass lays down the rhythm. You can tell the difference with the songs from the Supremes era in the 1960s. Those songs like “Stop in the Name of Love” or “You Can’t Hurry Love” were in a more soul and R&B style. Diana Ross was great at reinventing herself. That is something that you have to learn as an artist: never rely on what you think you know or what you think sounds best. You have to keep an open-mind and open yourself to different types of music all around the world and across time.”
Maude nodded, snapping her fingers to the rhythm of “The Boss.”
Jazmine came in with her bass guitar and followed the rhythm of “The Boss” so Maude could hear the unique role the bass played in the song. Maude and Ben started dancing together, Ben displaying his disco moves to a laughing Maude. They twirled, whirled, arms flying, hips swaying, hands clapping. Cynthia soon joined them. An amazed James observed the scene, thinking Maude was a perfect fit for the Baldwin family.
Maude, who at first had been worried about disturbing the household with her long hours of practicing either the piano or her singing, soon realized her music blended perfectly in the general, delirious atmosphere of the Baldwin house. The family enjoyed the new, mezzo-soprano voice that rang distinctly throughout the halls of the house, bouncing off the walls, ringing in every room. The Cenerentola’s Italian lyrics accompanied Cynthia’s final notes of the evening. And now, apart from Jazmine’s bass, the Baldwin family was occasionally pleasantly awakened by Maude’s piano practice.
Life wasn’t peaceful at the Baldwins, but full of musical frenzy in a family that got along great . . . most of the time that was.
“Please, please, please come to dinner!” Cynthia pleaded.
Cynthia, Jazmine and Maude were gathered in the sisters’ spacious room while Maude was getting ready to leave the house that Saturday afternoon. Maude was lying on Cynthia’s bed—Jazmine’s side was overtaken by a mountain of clothes while she decided on what to wear.
“I thought I could make it, but the girls really wanted us to start the auditions today. If it were just me, I’d definitely be here tonight, but we’ve got a lot of guitarists to audition, Cynth,” said Jazmine, not looking as apologetic as she sounded. “Hey, you should come to these auditions as a consultant.”
“I—I—can’t,” Cynthia stammered visibly flustered. “I’m busy this afternoon.”
“Doing what? What’s so important that you dare shut your ears to your sister’s insistent pleas?” Jazmine asked, looking at Cynthia strangely.
“Nothing, I just can’t make it,” Cynthia protested hotly.
“You’ve been disappearing a lot these days if you ask me.”
“No one’s asking you, Jaz. Just don’t change the topic,” Cynthia went on, a bit distractedly. “Can’t you try to make it?”
“Sorry, sis, these auditions are going to take up all my time. I don’t know if I’ll have time to pee, let alone eat a three-course meal this evening.”
Cynthia peered at Jazmine suspiciously.
“Oh, just admit it!”
“Admit what?” Jazmine asked a little too innocently.
“Admit you don’t want to come to dinner tonight because Peter will be there!”
“Why would I admit to something that isn’t true?”
“Because it is!”
Jazmine paused, ignoring her sister while trying to decide between two sweaters.
“Who’s Peter?” asked Maude, her curiosity piqued.
“Cynthia’s boyfriend,” Jazmine said, not quite being able to refrain from rolling her eyes.
“Ah ha! I knew it!”
“Knew what? That Peter is your boyfriend? Sometimes I actually wonder if the two of you are actually going out.”
“How can you possibly say that? We’ve been going out for two years!”
“Really? Doesn’t seem like it. You two must be the most boring couple in the entire universe.”
“Jaz!”
“Come on, you know it’s true. Maude, if I were you, I’d skip dinner tonight. Peter is a mood killer. He is . . . how can I say it nicely without hurting Cynthia’s feelings? Let’s see. He has a very good opinion of himself. Actually, his whole family thinks very highly of themselves. ”
“Jazmine Rachel Baldwin, just because Peter comes from a prominent African-American family does not mean he is stuck up!” admonished Cynthia.
“The guy thinks that Bach is the only music worth listening to. He doesn’t know a thing about music, even Bach. He just thinks it’s the only kind of music there is because his stuck-up family says it is. He probably thinks rock is the devil’s music.”
“Oh, so this is all because he said the Screaming Angels needed a little work and—”
“A little work?! That is the understatement of the year! Other than the fact that he called us the Screeching Demons, he said, and I quote, ‘Rock isn’t even music. How can your parents allow you to waste your time with such people?’ That’s what he said, Cynthia! You know it’s true. And last time when he told Mom that the women’s shelter she’s running was a waste of time, hum? I’m even surprised at him coming back after the way Dad spoke to him. Can you believe it, Maude? Dad never, ever raises his voice. You’ve seen him in the three weeks you’ve been here. He’s the calmest person I know, apart from Cynth, that is. That evening, he almost lost it.”
“Is Dad going to make it this evening, or will he bail out too?” Cynthia asked worriedly.
“I’m not sure. I think he said something about there being a lot of work at the studio and—”
“Great. So you won’t be there, Dad won’t make it. I don’t know if Mom’s going to be there. That just leaves me, Ben, and Maude. You’re coming, right?”
Maude thought quickly for a good excuse, but couldn’t concentrate while Jazmine made big warning signs and gagging gestures behind Cynthia’s back. She’d already refused to go to Jazmine’s auditions to work on her singing. But Cynthia looked so desperate. Maude didn’t have the heart to abandon the eldest of the Baldwins, who had diligently braided her hair every morning since her arrival in New York.
“Yeah, sure. I’ll be there. I’m sure it’ll be fun.” Maude answered, sincerely doubting “fun” was the right word to describe the dinner she was invited to.
“Awesome! It will be great, you’ll see. Don’t listen to Jaz: she doesn’t know what it is to be in a committed relationship,” Cynthia said, leaving the room happily.
“I certainly don’t want to know if it means being stuck in one as boring as Cynthia’s. Besides, aren’t couples always supposed to be looking for time alone? Cynthia seems to dread being alone with Peter because he is so dull and stuck-up. There isn’t a funny bone in his body, you’ll see, Maude.”
“Stop saying that, Jazmine! Your sister is a very reasonable girl. I’m sure she chose her boyfriend according to her tastes.”
“You’re right, Cynthia is a reasonable girl. That’s the problem. She used reason to choose her boyfriend, while reason should have nothing to do with it. She’s too afraid to take a risk with her heart. And that’s why we’ve had
to put up with Count Peter for two years now.”
Jazmine chose the brown cashmere sweater and turned to Maude.
“I’ll try to make it this evening that way you won’t be alone to face this dreadful dinner, and I’ll bring along a friend or two.”
“Ben will be there so I won’t be alone.”
“That’s even worse. Ben never misses the opportunity to openly make fun of Peter.”
“This should definitely be interesting,” Maude commented, leaving the room and heading towards hers.
That evening, the whole family was present, even Jazmine, who looked like she’d rather be miles away. Her face mirrored that of her father and mother, but they all greeted Peter cordially when he arrived at seven thirty sharp.
“Don’t worry,” Jazmine whispered to Maude as they sat down in the dining room. “I’ve hatched up a plan that will get us out of here in about an hour and a half.”
Maude rolled her eyes at Jazmine muttering under her breath, “You are such a drama queen, Jazmine Rachel Baldwin.”
Jazmine giggled. “You’ll see, Maude Laurent.”
Peter Longarm was a short, nineteen-year-old Harvard student and had always been first in everything. He knew everything better than everyone and always held his head a little higher than everyone else’s. He never wore anything else than his dark unicolor suits with a white tie around his neck that contrasted with his brown skin and wore shoes with heels because he wanted to appear taller than he actually was. His face was quite ordinary, but he somehow thought it was quite the opposite, and succeeded in making girls believe he was attractive. The Longarm family was a very wealthy African-American family whose founder Terence Longarm had invented a special kind of cotton candy in the 1950s. While Ray Charles was busy making a hit of his song “Mess Around,” Terence Longarm was busy working on a formula to create a form of cotton candy that didn’t melt right away and which rapidly became a favorite among kids looking for ways to make their candy last longer. At any rate, it made Terence Longarm’s wealth last longer. The Longarm family forgot their humble origins as quickly as cotton candy normally melts on one’s tongue and learned to hold their heads a little higher than everyone else’s. The only field they hadn’t entered yet was politics. That was about to change.