Follow the Sun

by Sophia Rhodes

  It didn’t take long before she returned. I heard the flap of the tent being lifted as Rosario entered, and froze. I was so terrified that she’d recant on her feelings or tell me that our love-making had been a terrible mistake, that when she called my name I sulked and pretended I was asleep.

  She didn’t buy it. She sat on the edge of my mattress and shook me by the shoulder. “Listen, Carmen and I have a long history, as you’ve already figured out.”

  “I don’t care to know about it,” I mumbled.

  “Yes, you do.”

  “Your business is –”

  “Oh come on, cut the crap here,” she said, sounding annoyed. “I know you think there’s something going on between her and me, but you are wrong.”

  I sat up and whirled back to face her, my eyes flashing with anger. “Then why can’t you say whatever you need to say to her, to my face?”

  “Because some things need to be said in private.” She reached to caress my cheek as a gesture of appeasement. “Carmen thought my offer to take her away from here was still open. I told her I had moved on and that I honestly had no clue that I’d find her here. I wouldn’t have driven down to Hollister if I’d known it would hurt her to see me.”

  “I thought she broke it off with you.”

  Rosario nodded. “She ended everything last year after that mess with her ex-husband. She was going to quit the farms, start fresh, get a job in town…but it didn’t work out that way. I guess she came back here because it was the only thing she knew. And she thought Pedro might come back for her…”

  Her voice trailed off. “Honest to God, I wish I could help her, but she’s more determined to blame me for breaking up her marriage than to get her shit together. I think she expects that I will somehow support her now that he’s gone for good. But it’s too late for me.”

  “You don’t feel anything for her anymore?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “Carmen hurt me a lot. When she begged Pedro to forgive her, I felt betrayed. She told him I had seduced her, that it was all a mistake…”

  She looked down. It suddenly dawned on me that her reluctance to get involved with me may have had a lot to do with Carmen. “You didn’t want to go out with me because of her, isn’t it? Because you thought I was straight and would turn on you too…”

  Rosario sighed, sadness darkening her face. “I’ve walked down that road a few too many times, Diana. It always ends up bad. I’ve been in fistfights with boyfriends and fathers and I just don’t want to play that game anymore. I detached from Carmen as soon as I drove out of here. I swore to myself that the next time I messed around with a woman, it would be somebody who’s sure of what she wants.”

  “Do you think I am?”

  She was silent in thought. ‘It’s too soon to tell. But I would like to believe it, Diana, I really would.”

  “So what do I have to do to convince you?”

  “Just be yourself. Don’t be afraid tell me what you want.”

  I nodded, grasping my knees. “I think I can do that.”

  She kissed me on the lips. “Vamos, querida. This is our last night here, let’s make the best of it.”

  Red embers still smoldered atop wood chips not yet devoured by the bonfire. By now, our third day here, the wedding was decidedly tamer. Those who had gotten too drunk at last night’s fiesta were still nursing their tender stomachs and seemed more content to vegetate by the campfire, but nobody wanted the night to end. Tomorrow was a new working day, back to the reality of hard labor in the orchards, no more weddings to celebrate for another season. But as the moon progressed high in the night sky, most of those still left around the fire grudgingly admitted their exhaustion and got up wearily, bidding the rest of us a good night before retiring to their tents.

  Soon there was no one left by the fire besides Rosario and myself. She strummed her guitar softly as the last people there, a young man and his girlfriend, who had kissed through the romantic ballads that had been played, sleepily waved goodbye and stumbled off.

  I looked at Rosario and it was as if the same thought entered our heads at the same time – let’s stay a while longer, make this moment last just for us two. A cheeky smile broke wide on my face as Rosario smiled, looking down at the chords as she played softly, a song just for me. Long dark eyelashes fringed her cheeks, casting shadows across her velvety skin. She didn’t look up but I noticed she bit her lip slightly.

  “What do you feel, Diana?”

  I hugged my knees. “What do you mean?”

  ”I mean, what do you feel like doing right now?” she asked, refusing to make eye contact.

  I looked up to the sky-filled sky. “Hmm, besides grabbing you and kissing you everywhere?”

  She laughed. “Besides that.”

  I closed my eyes, allowing the moon to illuminate my upturned face. It was such a beautiful night.

  “I feel like dancing,” I shrugged, grinning.

  “Dance for me then.”

  “I was only kidding!” I protested, seeing if I could get away with the retraction if I just smiled prettily.

  She shook her head. “Come on, do it for me. I won’t even look, honest.”

  I stood and shook a numb leg. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Just listen to the music,” she replied, closing her eyes again.

  I did – it was a soft, bittersweet melody that made my chest burst with longing. My arms raised higher, even with my shoulders as though they’d turned into wings, and I spun around, hair flying in all directions. “Whee,” I laughed. “I’m flying.”

  Sparks flew from the fire like bright fireflies, like the sparkles on a fireworks stick. I became one with the fire, swaying from left to right, undulating like a reed next to a windy lake. Then I became the moon, infused with the milkiness of her glow. She reached within me to draw out a more translucent being, pale and ethereal like a fairy under starlight. Then I melted into a song, the pulses of my heart becoming a rhythmic beat, a well-rounded chord. Then I was empty, as empty as a nightingale after singing her heart out at midnight, a vessel emptied of voice and force.

  “You see, you can dance,” said Rosario softly.

  My eyes flew open – is this what I had been doing? I had only allowed myself to float free as a bird. Is this what it felt like to dance?

  She knew I would protest, so she raised a finger to her lips. “Come here.” I obeyed, finding myself nuzzled in the crook of her arm, comforted by the warmth of her body. I leaned my head against her chest and listened to the thump of her heart.

  “You have a strong heart,” I said.

  “I’d have to, to put up with you,” she replied, squeezing me against herself.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Back at the little blue house in Pacoima, Leonora didn’t say anything about me sharing the back bedroom with her granddaughter. She must have known that there was something going on between us, but whatever her thoughts might have been on the matter, she showed no hint of judgment or displeasure. She was old school, Rosario said – by not talking about it, she could pretend it didn’t exist and carry on as usual. It was an odd arrangement but it worked beautifully. I helped her around the house, doing anything from doing the laundry and hanging it on the clothesline out back to peeling potatoes to fry for the evening’s meal while she talked to me about all sorts of things that had gone on back in her youth. I was helping her practice her English, she joked before teaching me back the same words in Spanish.

  Rosario and I ran the deliveries together, getting out of bed while it was still dark and chilly outside. We started by dropping by various farms to pick up the trays of seeds and boxes of produce that were to be drop-shipped to warehouses and stores across the Valley. When we didn’t have any deliveries scheduled for the day, we did quick jobs at the farms themselves, joining in on a day of fruit picking or legume-planting. It was hard, back-breaking work at times, but at the end of the day, even withal that caked-on dirt under our fingernails and the sunburns on
the backs of our necks, we could sit back on our haunches, look at each other and burst out laughing, knowing that we were together, and we were free to live as we wanted.

  “So are you really going to be a famous rock star, like Leonora says?” I teased her one afternoon as we were loading up the truck.

  “Hey, I’m getting pretty good tips at Brothers,” she replied defensively. “Between that, the weddings and the quinceañeras I do pretty good, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, but we’ve gotta get you on the Dick Clark show, like your grandmother’s so keen on,” I giggled.

  “Oh, shut up, Di,” Rosario laughed. “It’s not as easy as you think. To get anywhere in that business you’ve gotta have an agent, and agents don’t want to sign on people like me.”

  She kept on stacking the crates onto the back of the Studebaker while I just stood there, silent. The thought that there were people out there who refused to give Rosario the time of day solely on the basis of the color of her skin filled me with anger. Why did the world have to be such an ugly, rotten place?

  “Not that I haven’t tried plenty to get in the door,” she continued. “There’s the RCA building on Sunset Boulevard where all sorts of record labels, agents and producers have their offices. I tried to go in once but the doorman kicked me right back out. I couldn’t go inside without an appointment, he said, but how in tarnation am I supposed to get an appointment with someone in the industry if they don’t get to hear me sing?”

  Rosario paused, and a dark cloud of fury passed over her face. “ The chap told me his job was to keep out the riffraff. That’s exactly what he said. It’s like Fort Knox in there. If you’re not white, there’s no getting through.”

  “Well, let me see if I can get better results,” I said breezily, wiping a speck of dirt from my cheek with the back of my hand.

  She gave me a lopsided grin. “You nincompoop. Let’s say, pray chance you get inside. Then what? How are we going to get someone to hear me?”

  “Why, we’ll record a demo tape. I’ve heard of these five-and-dime record stores downtown where you can go into a soundproof booth for fifteen minutes or so to listen to records. Apparently some of those booths are made so you can also sing, and they’ll give you a copy of the recording.”

  I thought she’d burst out laughing or tell me that I was being silly, but her face took on a contemplative note. “You know, that might not be a bad idea after all.”

  We recorded Rosario’s demo record on a Wednesday afternoon inside a little mom and pop store off of Costa Mesa Avenue where the front door backed onto an alley. She brought her guitar right into the booth and I fed several quarters into the slot that activated the recording system. When the light switched from red to green, Rosario played a string of five songs over approximately twenty minutes and I kept my hands balled into tight fists as I hoped and prayed that the LP would turn out all right and do a good job of showcasing Rosario’s melodious, captivating voice.

  By the following Monday, we had identified our target: Joe Cocker, talent agent extraordinaire who hailed from the Big Apple and was reputed to have arranged numerous deals for unknown young singers, many of them Negroes, who went on to sell platinum records. As his reputation wasn’t lost on aspiring musicians, word was that he was harangued everywhere he went and had therefore developed an ironclad system of secretaries and doormen who accompanied him from parking lot to office and held back anybody who tried to get to him directly. Even if we somehow managed to gain a snowball’s chance in hell of approaching him, it would be a one-shot deal.

  With those kind of odds, what have you really got to lose?

  The main floor of the building at number Six Hundred and Twenty-Five Sunset Boulevard was a veritable zoo of delivery vans, bicycle messengers and mail curriers spinning in and out of the huge revolving doors that took up half the entranceway. Bright light spilled through the large window panels that faced the lobby area and cascaded downwards over a mosaic of Italian marble tiles.

  I walked steadily to the receptionist behind the desk in the front lobby, all too painfully conscious of the clicking echo made by my Mary Jane heels which could have doubled as Fred Astaire’s tap shoes from the sounds of it. I swallowed hard and painted on a smile as I approached the perky blonde.

  “Hello there,” I grinned. “I’m, uh, trying to see if Mr. Cocker is in?...”

  I could have kicked myself. My voice went up an octave in the middle of the question and I was certain the girl could spot me for yet another teeny-bopper trying to steal into Cocker’s time. I’d be lucky if she didn’t call security.

  To my astonishment, the receptionist smiled right back. “Ah, are you one of the girls they sent over from the agency?”

  “I, uh...,” I bit my lip. She still looked at me expectantly, and there was nothing I could do but beam right back. “That’s right.”

  “Well, if you’ve brought a copy of your resume, Mr. Cocker will see you in a jiffy.” She pointed toward the ceiling with her index finger. “Fifth floor,” she said. “And good luck.”

  I took the elevator up and got off on the fifth floor, where I turned to the right and walked along a carpeted hallway toward a door labeled Sunset Media Talent Management. I took a deep breath, steadied my nerves, and pushed the door open.

  Four other young women were seated along a row of chairs that stretched along the far wall. They turned their heads to glance at me for a moment before resuming their chit-chatter. In my gingham dress and scuffed shoes, with no perm and bare legs instead of nylons, I was clearly no threat.

  One gigantic leafy potted plant was placed between the threshold of a second door, which was presently closed, and a small reception area. A heavyset older woman wearing a black polkadot dress with a white lace collar smiled at me brusquely. “If you’ll just have a seat, Mr. Cocker will see you about the Girl Friday position. May I have your name?”

  “Diana Morris.”

  “And Miss Morris, a copy of your resume please?”

  I flinched, feeling myself turn white. “I…uh, I forgot mine. But the agency sent me,” I stammered, only to hear the titters of the others young ladies behind me.

  The woman tried to hide her wince. “All right, my dear, you may have a seat,” she pointed to the last remaining chair. “You’re the last one for today.” As an afterthought, she added, “I do hope one of you young ladies works out. This is our second day of interviews and it’s frankly exhausting to find someone suitable for such a demanding temp position. I’m sure the agency told you, but since our dear Anna went on maternity leave we’ve had our hands quite full and I’m only supposed to be here part-time.”

  It took nearly an hour and a half for each prospective Girl Friday to have her interview. As each left the office, she flashed a triumphant smile which made me cower all the more. It was as if they could all see right through me. To kill time and stop myself from fidgeting and driving myself crazy with worry, I chewed on my cuticles until they were raw and bleeding. I clutched Rosario’s album on my lap, hoping my hands wouldn’t sweat through the thin paper sleeve. Please God, I whispered silently, don’t let me screw this up for her.

  “Miss Morris, Mr. Cocker will see you now.”

  Startled out of my reverie, I jumped up to my feet and nodded to the older lady who in turn gestured toward the door that led into Cocker’s private office. With my heart beating a mile a minute, I shuffled inside and closed the door behind me.

  A big-boned middle aged man wearing a white shirt with rolled-up sleeves sat behind a large desk staring straight at me. His round, balding head was circled with a smatter of greying black hair. A sharpened pencil was tucked behind his right ear.

  Joe Cocker leaned back in his head and looked me up and down. “So, Miss Morris, I hear you’ve left your resume at home?”

  I took two more steps toward him, closing the gap between the door and his desk. I could feel beads of perspiration appear along my hairline. “Uh, yes, I’m sorry,” I whispered, heari
ng my voice break.

  Cocker let out a crooked smile. “You look rather young to be a girl Friday. Here, have a seat,” he said, pointing to the chair across from him.

  I eased myself into the chair and licked my lips, uncertain as to where to begin. His eyes travelled all over me, taking in my frilly dress, my crossed bare legs, my small breasts. Suddenly I knew what I had to do, and my shyness gave way to a desperation that I never knew I possessed.

  I flipped my long blonde hair over my shoulder and flashed him a dazzling smile. “Well, actually I have a confession. I did come up here with an ulterior motive.”

  Cocker brightened up, apparently amused. “Well, that’s good, since I believe I’ve already narrowed down on my next secretary.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. “So what is it that I can do for you, young lady?”

  I stared right into his eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and placed the record on his desk, pushing it toward him. “You can listen to this.”

  His shoulders crumpled, deflated. I watched his face instantly shift from bemused to exasperated. “Oh, come on now,” he exploded. “This are the kinds of games you kids are up to these days? I’m sorry to tell you this, Miss Morris, but you’ve wasted two hours of your day for nothing.”

  With that, he flicked a tiny knob on his desk and spoke into it. “Mrs. Lowenstein, would you please come in here?”

  I stared at him wide-eyed, stricken with panic. “Oh, please just give me a minute of your time. Only a minute, please!”

  He was already coming to his feet. “I’m sorry, but I am not taking any more clients. Perhaps you haven’t heard me clearly. Good luck and good day to you, miss.”

  His secretary poked her head through the door. “Is everything all right?”

  Cocker shook his head. “Actually no, not really. I thought your job was to screen out my visitors, Jean. Why am I paying you the big bucks for?”