A French Girl In New York

by Anna Adams

  Maude almost clapped when he finished singing, but stopped in time to prevent embarrassment.

  “So, how was I, Queen Maude?” he asked as he joined her backstage.

  “The perfect Prince Charming!” she exclaimed.

  “Am I your perfect Prince charming?” he asked, looking at her with a deep, serious look.

  Maude faltered, but before she could answer, Lindsey shoved her and headed towards the stage.

  “Sorry. You were in my way,” she said snidely.

  “Good luck,” Maude said calmly. “Break a leg,” she added, happily imagining Lindsey limp in crutches.

  “Only losers need luck. I have talent,” she said and started to sing Cinderella’s solo.

  She did have loads of talent, Maude thought as she listened to Lindsey. Her technique was perfect, her voice assured and steady and disciplined by years of hard work and singing classes with the best of coaches. As Maude continued to listen to Lindsey she found something lacking. Lindsey was standing hands on hips, holding her head high as if she owned the world. Her attitude clashed with Cinderella’s solo that was supposed to be a lament and hope for a better life.

  Maude looked at Thomas, and saw by his frown that he was thinking the same thing.

  “She isn’t in character,” Thomas, whispered, his frown deepening.

  Maude nodded. Although Cinderella was a spirited character in the opera, in this song, she was supposed to be melancholic. She wasn’t the least bit presumptuous like Lindsey was at that moment, looking like she would just trample over her evil stepsisters if they appeared on stage at this instant demanding their clothes and breakfast.

  “He was right,” Maude said softly.

  “Who was right?” asked Thomas curiously.

  “Matt,” Maude said speaking more to herself than to Thomas. She looked at Lindsey without seeing her and didn’t notice Thomas’s frown at her mention of Matt.

  Lindsey finished and proudly walked off stage, her heels clicking louder than ever almost covering Ms. Tragent’s voice as she sharply called Maude to the stage.

  “Good luck singing after me,” Lindsey said coldly.

  Maude didn’t hear her, couldn’t hear her, as she no longer was aware of anything else but the song she had to sing and the realization that Matt had been right all along. She walked on stage and stood straight before a stern Ms. Tragent who she barely noticed.

  When she had arrived in New York City, she had tried to forget about her life in Carvin, and even more as she had studied La Cenerentola. But as she stood on the wide stage, alone, facing her teacher, she knew she could beat Lindsey. Lindsey could never impersonate Cinderella because she had always got what she wanted and had never known what it felt like to crave for anything, to hope for a better life.

  As Maude started singing Cinderella’s solo, her hands clasped to her heart, she pictured herself back at Carvin the day after she’d met James Baldwin. Mrs. Ruchet had discovered the falsified grade and had slapped her, sending her whizzing against the wall. She then ordered her to clean the entire house from top to bottom, refusing to give her anything to eat until she had finished. Standing alone in the living room, dusting the furniture, her stomach growling loudly from lack of food, Maude had wished with all her heart that she could leave the Ruchets once and for all. And at that moment, remembering her encounter with Mr. Baldwin she had felt a new, developing sense of hope. Hope that she would be able to sign a contract with his company, hope that she would leave the Ruchets and their dreary basement, hope that she would be able to do the thing she loved the most without having to hide. As she sang in her clear mezzo-soprano voice, Maude allowed her emotion to surface, without it consuming her. She dug deep in her sorrow to share Cinderella’s pain.

  Thomas, still backstage, looked at Maude with solemn admiration. While she sang Cinderella’s song of hope, her dream wrapped in a sad, poignant lament, Maude seemed transformed, her whole body inhabited by the sorrow her character felt. Thomas looked at Lindsey and was satisfied to see her arms crossed and eyes ablaze.

  Maude ended Cinderella’s solo and came back to reality with a start. She was no longer in Carvin and Mrs. Ruchet was nowhere near her, although she could almost feel a faint sting left by the violent slap.

  She looked at Ms. Tragent. The stoic teacher’s face remained as impenetrable as that of a gargoyle in Notre-Dame.

  Maude walked off the stage towards Thomas, who was eagerly waiting for her.

  “You were great, Maude!” he exclaimed.

  “Don’t lie to her, Thomas,” Lindsey said haughtily. “Her technique is far from perfect. You added way too many tremolos in the last sentences, and you should really learn to stand straight while you sing or Ms. Tragent will kick you out of this class.”

  “Your tremolos were perfect, Maude. It gave a lot more depth and feeling to the song. Maybe you should try that next time, Lindsey. You know, showing feeling. You looked like you walked straight out of Wagner’s Valkyrie, ready to smash everything standing in your way!”

  “I guess it’s easier for Maude to relate to Cinderella. She is, after all, nothing but a poor orphan herself, isn’t that right Maude?” Lindsey asked wrapping her venom in a fake, sweet smile.

  Maude wondered why everyone (and by everyone she meant Peter Longarm and Lindsey Linton) was so keen on reminding her she was an orphan. As if there was an actual possibility that she might forget it.

  She smiled sweetly back and said, “You are absolutely right. What really puzzles me is why your parents still haven’t given you up for adoption, Lindsey.”

  And with that, she swept past an angry Lindsey, Thomas closely following her as they left Morningside Theater.

  “I guess you and I will have the leads,” Thomas said as they walked outside.

  “We don’t know that for sure. I’d rather not jinx it. Besides, Lindsey is right. Her vocal technique is far better than mine. Ms. Tragent might choose her for the role of Cinderella. At least, I put up a good fight.”

  “Your technique has greatly improved in the month you’ve started class. And what you may lack in technique, you make up with character. Give yourself some credit. I am positive that you will be the Cinderella to my Prince Charming.”

  Maude’s playful laughter resounded like a waterfall, and Thomas couldn’t help but look at her admiringly.

  “The Cinderella to your Prince Charming?” she asked mockingly. “You seem to be forgetting that Cinderella, as the eponymous character, is the main character, and Prince Charming is nothing but an accessory to her happiness,” Maude teased.

  “That’s because Rossini didn’t know I, Thomas Bradfield, would one day play this part and that I would completely eclipse Cinderella.”

  “I think I should warn Ms. Tragent not to choose you because your ego would ruin the entire opera.”

  “And what makes you think she would listen to her newest, bluest student?”

  “Hey! Didn’t you just say I had greatly improved in the past month?” asked Maude in mock indignation.

  “I said you’d improved. I never said you would become Ms. Tragent’s personal and trusted confidant.”

  “For sure,” Maude acknowledged. “I don’t even know if she has any friends or family. She’s so stern and cold. I guess not everyone can have a Thomas Bradfield as a friend.”

  “I guess not,” he answered with a pleased smile. “The good thing is we’ll only have to wait a couple of days for the results.”

  Maude nodded and suddenly felt a lump in her throat. Even a couple of days felt like years to her. She certainly didn’t want Lindsey to get the part. And as she looked into Thomas’ eyes, she felt she wouldn’t mind being the Cinderella to his Prince Charming in the least.

  “The djembe is a very popular instrument in West African countries especially Mali from where it is originated.”

  “I started researching on the djembe and read it was used in Western music as well. Artists such as Ben Harper and Jason Mraz have used it in the
ir recordings,” Maude commented.

  “Exactly,” Victoria nodded. She loved to pass on her knowledge and was pleased to see Maude so enthusiastic about learning to play the djembe.

  “Now about sound. People often erroneously think that beating a drum just means slapping your hands on it as hard as you can. That isn’t true. Technique is just as crucial as it is for any other instrument, like the piano for example.”

  “Say Victoria,” Maude wondered. “Did you learn to play the djembe in Nigeria, or did you learn after you moved to the States?”

  “I started learning in Nigeria and continued here later on. There weren’t many women djembefolas because it was traditionally played by men. But that didn’t stop me,” Victoria explained with a mischievous glint. “It is mostly played in a large ensemble with a number of other djembes and with people dancing, clapping, and singing to the music.”

  Maude listened and watched Victoria strike, slap, and tone the drum with palm and flat fingers near the edge and center of the skin of the drum. The altering of her hand position gave high, medium, and low pitches respectively in a complex rhythmic pattern. Victoria’s love for her country reverberated in the instrument she skillfully played with calm concentration and a loving smile.

  “Why did your family move to America?” Maude ventured to ask. “You seem to love Nigeria so much, I can’t understand why your family would want to leave?”

  Victoria stopped playing, and her gaze seemed to drift.

  “Have you ever heard of the Biafra War?” she asked.

  Maude shook her head. History was one of her favorite subjects, but she was quite sure she hadn’t heard of that war.

  “It was a terrible conflict that took place in Nigeria when I was ten. My family and I fled the war,” she explained, her voice sounding distant.

  Maude regretted having forced Victoria into painful recollections and couldn’t bear the thought of war. She shuddered involuntarily and looked at Victoria wondering if her veiled sadness stemmed from the Biafra war.

  “The war has been over for years,” Victoria continued. “But my life is here now.”

  Victoria saw Maude’s look of anguish and not wanting to sadden her, cleared her throat, and forced a smile.

  “Now take your djembe. It won’t play itself, you know!” she said in an attempt at lightheartedness.

  Maude looked at Victoria adoringly and took her djembe with a renewed sense of admiration. There wasn’t a thing that woman couldn’t overcome.

  The night before the results for the Cenerentola auditions, Maude barely slept a wink. She was kept awake by a range of tangled emotions. She wanted the role so badly! Performing in front of a real audience would be a milestone in her existence, especially as Rossini’s Cenerentola.

  But also, she wanted to make James and Victoria proud. They had already given her so much. A home, clothes, food, kindness, and most importantly, a sense of belonging. Maude wanted to give back with the only way she knew how: singing.

  When she went to Morningside Theater the next morning, accompanied by Jazmine, she was determined to take whichever news with the bravery of a Viking and the stoniness of a stoic philosopher.

  “If you don’t get the part, we’ll drown our sorrows in buckets of ice cream,” Jazmine reassured.

  Maude nodded limply. She could no longer bring herself to speak until she knew the results.

  As she got closer to the theater, the girls saw Thomas surrounded by a happy crowd of congratulatory followers.

  Maude beamed.

  “Thomas got the male lead! Let’s go congratulate him! He deserved that part.”

  “Don’t you want to find out your results first?” Jazmine asked as she hurried behind Maude.

  Then suddenly, a girl with short blonde hair cried out: “Hurray for Maude, the new Cinderella!”

  Maude’s heart stopped for a full second. Could it be true? Maude ran to the results posted at the entrance of the theater.

  Sure enough, her name was there: “Maude Laurent, Cinderella”.

  Jazmine and Maude squealed with delight and hugged each other.

  “Congratulations, Maude,” Jazmine squeezed Maude tight.

  When she let go, Maude stepped back and bumped into someone. She whirled around and faced a disgruntled Lindsey, who’d just seen her result. Maude turned back to the results to see which part Lindsey had.

  “Clorinda,” Jazmine read out with a satisfied smile. “The role of the evil stepsister befits you perfectly, Lindsey. I see you’re also the understudy for Cinderella. Understudy!” Jazmine mocked.

  “Jaz,” Maude admonished in a gentle tone.

  Maude looked at Lindsey and couldn’t help but feel a creeping feeling of sympathy towards the girl who had been nothing but mean to her since she’d arrived. Lindsey remained silent for a moment, her face appeared to be fighting back tears and rage at the same time. Her lower lip trembled for a split second. Then she straightened in an attempt at dignity and turned to Maude.

  “You don’t deserve this part. You’ve been in Ms. Tragent’s class for barely two minutes. Your voice is weak, your technique is next to none. You can’t act, you can’t sing, you barely manage to finish your vocal exercises!”

  Maude’s budding sympathy instantly dissolved into thin air.

  “You’re entitled to your own opinion,” Maude conceded nevertheless with graciousness. She was too happy to let Lindsey’s foul mood get to her.

  “Maude deserves this part, and you know it, Lindsey,” Thomas put in as he got nearer the small group.

  “You should be grateful Ms. Tragent even gave you a part in this opera at all,” Jazmine added.

  “She’ll ruin the whole show, you’ll see,” Lindsey taunted with a distasteful grin. “Good thing I’ll be there to pick up the pieces. Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” she called out as she walked away.

  “Don’t listen to her, Maude,” Thomas said.

  “Lindsey can’t rattle me,” Maude laughed. “I guess congratulations are in order Mr. Prince Charming.”

  “Congratulations to you too. I’m sure we’ll do a great job together,” he replied solemnly.

  Maude nodded energetically, then searched for her phone.

  She couldn’t wait to tell James and Victoria.

  When Maude walked in the Creation Room, the next morning, she found Matt behind the piano, his brow furrowed in dissatisfied concentration, his fingers sliding angrily across the piano keys. He stopped and not noticing Maude, started again, still unsatisfied with the result.

  When he started over for the fourth time, Maude coughed indicating her presence.

  He turned around, and Maude felt happy to see him startled for once.

  “Surprised to see me?” Maude asked, laying her coat on the orange sofa.

  “I didn’t know if you’d come back after last week,” Matt answered.

  “You must have a pretty bad opinion of me. We still have an album to write, and I have no intention of bailing out on you.”

  “I don’t have a poor opinion of you, Maude. Quite the contrary,” Matt said, rising from the bench and walking towards her. “I wanted to apologize for last week. I was totally inconsiderate.”

  “I can take a little constructive criticism, Matt. I’m not made of porcelain.”

  “That’s not what I meant. Jaz told me your parents had passed away, and I felt totally dumb for calling you spoiled. Jazmine said I was no better than Peter Longarm, which is probably the worst insult I’ve ever received in my entire life.”

  Maude smiled.

  “That guy doesn’t have an ounce of tact, and he purposely chose the words he uttered. You, on the other hand, didn’t know anything about me. So I guess what I’m saying is, I accept your apology. Besides, you were right about my having to dig deeper in my feelings. Thanks to your advice, I got the lead in La Cenerentola. Ms. Tragent posted the results yesterday,” Maude beamed with pleasure.

  “Glad I could help,” Matt said with ease. He kind o
f liked having Maude thank him. It was definitely a positive change from having her angry with him. Although that was an inextinguishable source of amusement too.

  “You know,” she continued, “I’m also sorry I made fun of your song ‘The Love Doctor’. I shouldn’t have parodied you the way I did. I—”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Matt grinned, moving towards the piano. “I actually took it as a compliment.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It meant you cyberstalked me. I find it cute that you would want to know everything about me.”

  Matt, who thought he was only teasing Maude, had no idea that she had actually spent some time looking up his background. She really wouldn’t call it cyberstalked him per se but preferred to see it as checking out his resume.

  “I didn’t cyberstalk you,’ Maude protested, her cheeks burning. “I am not one of your groupies,” she stated firmly, crossing her arms.

  “You certainly knew my lyrics by heart,” Matt pointed out, evidently enjoying seeing her squirm.

  “Because they stuck in my head after five minutes. They really aren’t the most difficult lyrics to remember, you know. You might want to dig deeper in your feelings.”

  “That’s what I did and I wrote ‘Burning Bridges,’ Lindsey Linton’s first hit.”

  “I’m not surprised you got along with Lindsey,” Maude replied barely hiding her disgust. “You guys were made for each other! You two are probably the most conceited, arrogant, egotistic persons I have ever met!”