by Anna Adams
“Ms. Laurent, you disappointed me greatly yesterday evening,” her teacher started.
“I—” she started to protest. Ms. Tragent silenced her with a wave of her hand.
“James Baldwin insisted I take you into his class, and I trusted him. You showed remarkable raw talent for someone who had never trained her voice properly. You made a great impression during auditions for the lead. Your technique wasn’t perfect, but I still chose you over Lindsey Linton. But yesterday, you disgraced yourself and me. And now you have me saying something I thought I would never say: Thank God Ms. Linton was there. I want an explanation, and I want it now.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Tragent,” Maude protested. “I can’t explain what happened. I had a serious case of stage-fright.”
Ms. Tragent sneered.
“That wasn’t stage-fright, Ms. Laurent. Half an hour before, you were perfectly well. You were calm as a cucumber. I’ll tell you what happened since you refuse to be honest. You let your personal life interfere with your professional life. You let your emotions get the best of you!”
Maude’s eyes blazed.
“Your nephew once advised me to do so,” she argued, her face getting warmer with shame and a sense of indignation. “He told me to dig deeper in my emotions.”
“Don’t twist my nephew’s words. If he told you to use your emotions, your suffering and joy to give depth to your performance, he certainly didn’t mean to tell you to let them get out of hand, like they did last night! I taught her everything she knows. And I never taught her that,” Ms. Tragent snapped angrily.
“You mean you never taught him that,” Maude corrected.
“No, I meant her, Ms. Laurent. I meant Isabella Beauchamp née Tragent, Matt’s mother. My baby sister,” she said.
“Your sister was Matt’s mother?” Maude asked incredulously. She’d assumed Matt’s father was the connection between Matt and his aunt.
“She was. And she was a lot like you. Very gifted. But too emotional. And in the end, she surrendered to her husband’s pressure and gave it all up, She wanted to be a good wife,” Ms. Tragent threw out the last word as if it were an insult.
“I need to know right now, Maude Laurent, are you committed to singing?”
Her eyes pierced Maude like daggers. She took a deep breath and calmly replied
“Yes, I am committed.”
“Then, be at Morningside Sunday morning at six o’clock sharp for your first private lesson,” Ms. Tragent declared before standing up and walking towards the door.
Maude almost fell off her chair.
“But you never give private lessons!” she exclaimed.
“Is that complaining I hear, Ms. Laurent?”
“No. Of course not!”
“Good, because I cannot stand complaints. Six o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”
She passed the living room and looked haughtily towards the sofa where Jazmine and Cynthia were sitting.
“Jazmine Baldwin, shoulders!” she ordered sternly.
Then she continued her way and showed herself out.
“She’s giving me private lessons,” Maude said dazedly.
“Ms. Tragent?!” Cynthia exclaimed in wonder. “She never gives private lessons. Even some of my friends at Julliard didn’t manage to convince her.”
“I can’t wait for Lindsey to find out!” Jazmine cried excitedly. “Promise me you won’t tell her without me, Maude.”
The girls laughed and proceeded to celebrate Maude’s success with vanilla ice cream.
When Maude went up to her room that evening, she turned on her laptop and typed in the Google search bar: “Finding your real parents + France”
She never wanted the Ruchets to rattle her again. Before having the courage to face the future, she needed to know about her past. She needed to know where she came from, who she was in order to stand up to the Ruchets. There was no way the Ruchets would hide her parents’ identity any longer.
“Close your eyes and try to relax,” Ms. Tragent said as she circled around her.
Maude closed her eyes, but was unable to relax under Ms. Tragent’s stern stare.
“Did I say close your eyes and tighten your fists?” Ms. Tragent sneered. “Loosen your shoulders, Ms. Laurent. Now turn your head in slow circles. Round and round clockwise. That’s good.”
Having slept with difficulty the previous night, Maude was afraid she’d doze off if she relaxed completely.
“Relaxing before singing is essential, Ms. Laurent. Stress won’t help your technique and it certainly won’t help your singing or my ears. My ears cannot tolerate mediocre singing.”
Maude flinched. How could she have fallen from singing Cinderella’s part to being accused of “mediocre singing”?
“I never said you were a mediocre singer, Ms. Laurent,” Ms. Tragent said as if reading in her student’s head.
Maude’s eyes shot open in surprise.
“Eyes shut, Ms. Laurent!” she ordered sharply. “Your face is an open book. The least observant reader can read your emotions. I am far from being your average reader. You have to learn to control your emotions. Your audience isn’t interested in your personal life. They don’t want to see you battling against your inner demons on stage.”
“For sure,” Maude nodded her agreement.
“Did I ask you to speak, Ms. Laurent?” Ms. Tragent asked coldly.
Maude almost answered “no” but stopped just in time.
“How can you relax if you’re speaking?”
How could she relax when her teacher was mentally torturing her? Maybe giving her private lessons wasn’t a privilege. Perhaps it was just Ms. Tragent’s way of exacting vengeance.
“Is my voice a distraction, Ms. Laurent? Do you think I am torturing you for my own pleasure?”
Maude shut her eyes tighter and tried to steady her breath.
“Open book,” Ms. Tragent observed disdainfully. “How’s my nephew?”
Maude’s face flushed, but she remained silent.
“Silence. Finally. The sound I wanted to hear.”
She circled around Maude like a hawk.
“You obviously have feelings for my nephew,” she continued, turning her back on Maude.
Maude’s eyes opened wide, and she was about to protest, but again held back just in time.
“Eyes closed,” Ms. Tragent repeated tiredly without bothering to look at Maude.
“When will you learn to hide your emotions, Ms. Laurent?”
Maude tried to wear a mask of indifference, but couldn’t quite succeed.
“My nephew is a player, Ms. Laurent. Any tabloid will tell you that.”
Maude’s breath quickened, but she struggled to maintain an impassible expression.
“I don’t think he’s ever been in love, and it is unlikely he will ever be. Don’t ever make the mistake of thinking you can change a man. You will only waste your time.”
Maude steadied her breath and erased any trace of emotion from her face.
“Good,” Ms. Tragent acknowledged satisfactorily. “Open your eyes, Ms. Laurent.”
“As a singer, you will sometimes have to perform in the worst conditions. Sick, hungry, cold. Conditions won’t be ideal. The people you love won’t always be a means of support. It may happen that they will be the cause of your distraction. A bad break-up right before you perform, bad news, a dying brother, a pregnant sister going into labor minutes before you go on stage. Whatever the reason, life has a way of butting in. That is why it is important for you to learn to put that aside before you go on stage. Before ruining another one of my shows,” Ms. Tragent admonished sternly.
Maude smiled already imagining herself as a lead in an upcoming opera.
“Not that I would dare put you in another one of my operas,” Ms. Tragent added. “Now, straighten your shoulders for the following vocal exercises.”
Chapter 10
You’re so peaceful while you sleep
I could watch you for a lifetime
/>
Immersed in a slumber so deep
You don’t hear the clock chime
It was Maude’s first recording session and she was to start recording the piano arrangement for the first track “Sunrise.” Maude was alone in the live room, but could see, through the large glass pane, James Baldwin, Matt, and Sam, the sound engineer, gathered in the control room, listening and recording as Maude played the soft, moderato melody accompanying Matt’s lyrics. She had spent hours practicing this melody and knew it by heart. She could play it eyes closed. She barely tensed when she saw Alan Lewis enter the control room to oversee the recording although he knew next to nothing to recording an album.
To say he’d been upset upon hearing the news of Maude’s “public humiliation,” as he called it, would have been an understatement. Walking into the control room that morning, he wanted Maude to understand that he was keeping an eye on his investments and that he wouldn’t tolerate another faux pas. He listened to the melody and witnessed her graceful ease while playing but still left the room with a smirk on his face.
“Time to take a break. After the break, you’ll play the bridge again, but a little slower,” James, said in the microphone.
Maude headed towards the kitchen and was soon followed by Matt.
They hadn’t spoken all morning and Matt didn’t know how to break the ice.
“Listen, Maude, about last Saturday, I just wanted to apologize for—”
“There is no need for you to apologize for Saturday. I just wished you’d told me you didn’t want to come,” Maude interrupted tersely.
“I did want to come, I—”
“Really? Then why did Jazmine have to call you to tell you to come over?” she asked.
Matt sighed.
“It’s complicated. But I made it as soon as I could. I’m sorry I wasn’t backstage with you before the show. I’ll do anything you want to make it up to you.”
“It’s okay. I just think we should be honest with each other from now on if this friendship is going to work. I just assumed you would come because you came to the pre-event ritual and everything. I really needed your support Saturday,” she ended, barely looking at him.
Matt’s heart clenched as her sorrowful eyes reminded of her haggard look Saturday on stage.
“I promise I won’t fail you whenever you perform in public again. I’ll be there before everyone else,” he promised.
“On another topic entirely, Cynthia was talking to me about a Baroque exhibition next Friday at—”
“Cynthia is too obsessed with museums for her own good,” Matt interrupted. “You should just tell her you don’t want to go, she’ll understand. I tell her all the time. I just can’t stand museums. My father forced me to go when I was little and to learn all the great artists’ dates of death by heart. I really hate museums,” Matt insisted frowning profusely.
Maude smiled.
“Actually, I’m the one who wanted to go the Met for an exhibition on European Baroque art. I was going to ask if you wanted to come, seeing as you owe me for completely and utterly abandoning me last Saturday. But seeing how much you viscerally hate museums, I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do.”
Matt gulped and tried to think of unsaying what he’d just said.
“I don’t viscerally hate museums. That’s a strong word. Maybe we could—”
“Forget it. I’ll just go ask someone else, it’s fine,” Maude smiled gently.
She headed back to the studio, and Matt followed her, cursing himself interiorly for his blunt honesty.
“Thomas Bradfield, you’ve got to learn to hold that D major. It is four beats, not two,” Ms. Tragent scolded. “Don’t just skip along to the next note! Class over. Out, all of you,” Ms. Tragent ordered as if she couldn’t stand their presence any longer.
Maude and Thomas hurried to get their things, but Lindsey blocked Maude.
“Is it true?” she asked coldly.
“Is what true?” asked Maude innocently although she had a feeling she knew where this conversation was going.
“Jazmine told me Ms. Tragent was going to give you private lessons.”
Maude smiled. Jazmine hadn’t even waited for them to tell Lindsey together.
“That’s right,” she replied.
“If I’d known all I had to do to get lessons was run off stage, I would’ve done it a long time ago,” she remarked snidely. “I hope Ms. Tragent also told you that I saved the entire show and that I sang beautifully. Next time you have stage-fright, you might want to give your understudy a heads-up before the curtain goes up.”
Maude’s cheeks burned with shame, but she lifted her head a little higher.
“Why? Do you plan on being my understudy forever?” she retorted.
Lindsey smirked.
“You have no idea what’s coming at you, Maude. But when it does, I want to be the first to see your face,” she said as she walked haughtily away.
Maude looked at her strut away, an uneasy feeling building up in her chest. She followed Thomas outside, still mulling over what Lindsey had said.
“Don’t let Lindsey get to you. She’s just jealous. Besides, her performance wasn’t as great as yours would have been. I would much rather have done it with you than with her.”
Maude smiled gratefully at him.
“Still,” he pursued. “Getting private lessons with the most sought-for teacher in New York is something to celebrate, I should think. Are you free for dinner Friday night?”
Maude stopped in her tracks.
“Are you asking me out?” she asked, astounded.
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. We could go to this awesome restaurant I just discovered and after, head to the new Baroque exhibition at the Met. I know how much you like art exhibitions.”
Maude’s smile widened. Thomas was decidedly nothing like Matt, she thought. Thomas was steady and trustworthy and always took her seriously while Matt never lost a chance to push her buttons and hated museums.
“Alright, I’m in,” she chirped.
“Cool, I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“There, all done,” Cynthia said as she put the final touches to Maude’s hair.
Jazmine and Cynthia took a step back to admire their work. They had braided her hair into a Grecian-inspired braid making Maude feel like one of an ancient goddesses she had seen in the Louvre’s Antiquity wing.
“You look great,” Jazmine sighed. “Thomas won’t know what hit him.”
“Simple, but elegant. You look perfect,” Cynthia chimed in.
“You’re the best,” Maude thanked Cynthia. “Hey, can I check my emails on your laptop?”
“Sure, go ahead!”
“Thank goodness Mom and Dad went out, or they would’ve wanted a picture and Mom would’ve chatted with Thomas and everything,” Jazmine remarked while Maude checked her emails.
Maude had contacted a French administration called CNAOP when she had learnt that more and more adopted children were looking for their parents’ identity, whether dead or alive. Although she had never been adopted, she could turn to the administration to find out who her real parents were. She had been checking her mail and emails for days, waiting for the French administration to answer her about her parents.
Maude sighed interiorly. Still nothing.
“This evening is no big deal,” Maude insisted for the hundredth time while turning the laptop off. “We’re just good friends going out on a Friday evening.”
“At a fancy restaurant,” Cynthia added playfully.
“After having spent over two months working long hours together every evening,” Jazmine added, laughing.
“Why do you make it sound dirty?” Maude asked, laughing in spite of herself. “Looking attractive in Cinderella’s rags is far from easy, believe me!”
The girls dissolved in giggles and almost didn’t hear the doorbell ring.
“That’s your cue,” Jazmine said.
“Hum, maybe I should
go check out this young man,” Cynthia said, wagging her finger.
“I think I should too. You know, check out his background, his family, their profession. And have the talk,” Jazmine said, shaking her head.
“Don’t you two dare!” Maude warned giggling. “Just stay locked up in this room. I don’t want to see you peep.”
She hurried downstairs to open the door. The Baldwin sisters discreetly ran to the top of the staircase to watch them talk.
“They’re so cute,” Jazmine cooed.
“Cuter than Matt and Maude together?” Cynthia asked raising an all-knowing eyebrow towards her sister.
“Matt told you?”
“He didn’t have to!” Cynthia exclaimed. “You prevented him from coming to the Opera!”
“I did no such thing, Cynth! I swear, I just told him not to play with Maude’s feelings. He interpreted what I said his own way!” Jazmine exclaimed indignantly.
“You had no right to meddle in their business. How would you feel if I meddled in yours? How would you react if I told Jonathan what I thought of him for pushing away the prettiest girl at Franklin High?”
Jazmine hid a smile. “Come on, you know how Matt is, Cynth.”
“I know how he usually is, and I’ve seen how he’s been with Maude, and I can’t say he’s the same. At any rate, their relationship isn’t yours to tamper with. It’s up to Maude to decide what she wants, and I’m not entirely certain it’s Thomas.”
“Since when have you become an expert on love?” Jazmine scoffed.
“I, at least, am an expert in being an older sister. You’ve had a little sister for three months, and you’re already acting like a dictator! I, on the other hand, have had the most annoying little sister for sixteen years and still manage to keep my cool.” Cynthia pointed out in a matter-of-a-fact tone. “I owe so much to yoga,” she sighed, glancing slyly at her indignant little sister.