Beyond the Song

by Carol Selick

  “Can you teach me how to sing?” Eric asked one lazy Sunday morning as we lay in bed, my head on his infuriatingly flat stomach. I sat up and straddled him.

  “Cool. I’ll teach you what I know,” I eagerly answered, my flimsy nightgown strap falling down one shoulder. He got distracted and kissed my wayward breast.

  “You’re doing so well with your guitar! Why do you want to sing?” I asked.

  “Never mind. Forget it. Let me teach you what I know!” What he knew was how to get my nightgown off in record time. Between fits of laughter, he rolled me on my back, and our lazy Sunday morning turned into a sizzling Sunday afternoon.

  Later I wondered why he changed his mind about wanting me to teach him how to sing. Maybe his ego couldn’t handle me doing something better than he did. In any case, if I was honest with myself, I had so much going on with my music that I was relieved.

  I was preparing for an open call audition for a new Broadway play I’d seen listed in the Village Voice. They called it a “rock opera,” Jesus Christ Superstar. I chose Mary Magdalene’s “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” a powerful ballad about unrequited love. Every time I sang it, it brought up the old feelings I’d had for Bruce before I’d met Eric. Now those feelings seemed like just a classic case of transference.

  On the morning of the audition, I felt confident and prepared. I’d worked on my song with Maxine during my voice lessons and rehearsed it every day on my own for the last two weeks. It was unusually hot for May, so I put on a lightweight peasant blouse, a long, white gauze skirt, and sandals. By the time I got to the Mark Hellinger Theater, the line had swung around 51st Street and two blocks down Eighth Ave. I checked out the competition as I took my place in line. Some of the long-haired bearded guys really did look like Jesus, and the rest of us looked like hippies auditioning for the cast of Hair—a colorful collage of tie-dyed shirts, Indian beads, feathers, scarves, and peace signs.

  As the line moved within one block of the theater, I studied the lyrics on my music sheet—extra insurance in case my nerves got the better of me. I could already feel my legs wobbling, so I closed my eyes and tried picturing a peaceful country scene. But my daydream was shattered by the sounds of drills and hammers coming from the construction site across the street. The midday sun was burning down and sweat started dripping off the back of my neck. Thinking I’d put my hair up, I was rummaging through my shoulder bag for an elastic band, when shouting erupted from the other side of the street. “You’re nothin’ but freaks! Dirty hippies! Get a real job!” Half a dozen workers had put down their tools and gathered at the edge of the construction site.

  As if on cue, a lone female voice rose from the crowd, belting out the opening line from the theme song of Hair. As she continued to sing, strong, and clear, I found myself spontaneously joining in. Others did too, swelling the song, as the singing rose and rippled through the line in a wave of peace and understanding. The effect was exhilarating. We were all caught up in the message of harmony, but it was really a “fuck you!” to the angry guys across the street.

  The louder we sang, the louder the hardhats yelled. If they crossed the street, if it turned into a mob scene, I’d be right in the middle of it. My mind flashed back to the chaos of the day I was caught up in the violence of the anti-war protest in Washington—the sickening crack as a club hit a protester’s skull and the splatter of blood as he went down right in front of me. What if the hardhats started throwing bricks? We were all sitting ducks. No one was going to lose their place in line and blow their chance to be on Broadway. No one, except for—me?

  It would be at least another hour before my turn to audition. Was it worth the risk? The singing had died out, and the vibes in the line were turning tense and ugly like the vibes across the street. Even if I got the part, was this what I truly wanted? I pictured myself in the cool, dark theater—walking on stage, announcing my name, singing a song that the big-shot directors had heard a hundred times. Was it worth putting myself through that? Was it worth another hour of this tension in the brutal heat, for a job that I truly didn’t want to do? No! I walked out of the line, found the closest air-conditioned coffee shop, sat at the counter, and splurged on a hamburger and a big, icy coke.

  Bruce had helped me realize that I was impulsive. Sometimes it worked in my favor, and other times not so much, like when I showed up at Robbie’s commune in Virginia. But this time I knew I’d made the right decision. If I really wanted to be on Broadway, I’d have taken the risk and soldiered through the line. But it wasn’t my dream. Being a recording artist was. Bailing out of the audition might seem flaky to someone else, but I was fine with it. I was being true to myself.

  That night, I was looking forward to telling Eric about my decision and everything that had happened, but before I got the chance, he greeted me with news of his own. He walked into the apartment with a big smile on his face, gave me a bear hug, and led me to the couch.

  “Carol, you know that band I’ve been subbing with? Well, they told me their regular guitar player is still having problems, and they want me to go on tour with them!”

  My stomach sank and my heart started to race. “Really? For how long?” I managed to ask, faking a smile.

  “Just three weeks. We’ll be opening for some big acts! I’ll be playing in Boston, Chicago, and a bunch of other cities. I didn’t get the schedule yet.” I was speechless. All I could think of was how lonely I was going to be.

  “What’s the matter, babe?” Eric asked.

  Groupies. There were always groupies hanging around bands. I pictured them circling the stage door like lionesses hungry for prey.

  “I’m happy for you, but three weeks is a long time.”

  “Don’t worry. Come here. You know how I feel about you,” he said, gently pulling me towards him. “I told you from the start that I was on the road a lot.”

  “I know, but I’m gonna miss you.”

  “I’m gonna miss you, too. It’ll go fast.”

  “But what if the tour gets extended and you get tempted?”

  “That’s not gonna happen. You know I’m a one-woman man and you’re the one.”

  Nothing I could say would stop Eric from going. Our relationship was getting tested and I didn’t want to be the clingy chick who couldn’t live without her man for a few weeks. Work on your own music, I told myself. Keep it together.

  The next day I got a letter from Mona. It was like a sign from the universe. She’d called me after the bust to say she was not standing by her man. She was getting out of Dodge. Jeffrey Sachs was going to prison for a very long time and she was moving to Los Angeles.

  “I was very impressed with your music, Carol,” she wrote. “If I connect with anyone in the music business in LA, I’d like to help you.”

  Mona’s letter was just the boost I needed. I was gonna concentrate double hard on my music. The time without Eric would go fast. I had a career, too. He was so wrapped up in his own music trip that he never even asked how my Broadway audition went. He’d never asked what happened with my demo either, and I hadn’t brought it up. I had to make him realize I had some heavy-duty opportunities, too. We both needed to support each other’s dreams. It wouldn’t always be easy, a career, and a man, but I was determined to have my cake and eat it too—especially the icing!

  36

  STORM CLOUDS

  And if the future is in question,

  Won’t waste my time, looking for the rain.

  The sun will break through somehow.

  It’s shining here and now . . .

  Some changes are shocking and unexpected, whether good or bad. They come out of the calm blue skies and shake you up like a windstorm, leaving you changed forever. Eric had been gone a little over a week, and just as I predicted I was feeling lonely. What I hadn’t predicted was how hard it was to do my music. I asked Nina to hang out with me on Sunday, knowing she’d help ge
t me back on track. Nina was one of the strongest women I knew. Fiercely independent, in just ten months, she’d transformed herself into a true New Yorker. She walked fast, never looked anyone in the eyes, and had the entire subway system memorized.

  “Wait up, I can’t go that fast!” I yelled as we practically jogged the half block to the park. It was a perfect Sunday: kids on skateboards and bikes, lovers on blankets, and the sweet smell of magnolias mixing with the pungent scent of marijuana. How could I feel depressed on a spring day like this?

  “You need to catch up and get some real exercise!” Nina called back over her shoulder.

  “Yeah? I do my favorite exercise in bed,” I answered sprawling down on the nearest park bench. “I just read that a half-hour of sex burns off about 200 calories.”

  “Not if you’re just lying there and letting him do all the work.”

  “You’ve got a point!” We both started laughing. “What’s happening with your sex life?”

  “Nothing to report. Too busy studying. But after I get my degree I’m gonna do some serious traveling.”

  “Ooh—looking for more exotic men?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not going for that. I want to see the world before I commit.”

  “I wish I could be like you, but I miss Eric!”

  Nina rolled her eyes like she always did when she thought I was going overboard about a man. Going from playful to serious, she turned to me and let loose.

  “I’m gonna save you a ton of time and money. You don’t need therapy and you don’t need Eric. Your parents did a number on you, especially your father. They made you think that finding a man and getting married was the most important thing in life.”

  “Then why did they keep saying I needed to be independent?”

  “I don’t know, but up to now, they’ve been placating you about your music. They just see it as a little hobby and distraction that will go away when you meet the Right One.”

  “What if I’ve already met him?”

  “Their idea of Mr. Right isn’t a musician. They want you to be with a “Somebody”—a lawyer, doctor, business guy—someone rich. And the only job they want you to have is wife and mother. Or, if you have to work, teacher.”

  Nina knew me better than anyone, and I knew she was right. Still, it was hard to hear. I sat glued to the bench, my mouth tightly shut. She was talking so fast it was pointless to say anything until she’d finished. I tilted my head back, closed my eyes, and felt the warmth of the sun on my face. I needed time to take in Nina’s words. After a minute of welcome silence, it was my turn to talk.

  “You can’t just wave a magic wand and tell me to change. Bruce has been helping me and I am more independent. But Eric is the real deal! I’m in love with him.”

  Nina jumped up from the bench. “So you’re obsessed with Eric? What about your music? Why aren’t you obsessed with that?”

  “I don’t know, Smarty Pants, why don’t you tell me why I can’t stop thinking about him!”

  “Well, at least he’s not a lawyer!” Nina joked and we both broke out laughing.

  “If you mean Marvin, he’s taken. He wrote to me a few weeks ago that he was in love and staying in California. If I want to keep the apartment, he’ll put my name on the lease!”

  “Far out! Seriously, Carol, show your parents that you can make it without them, or a man, or even Bruce. You can do it, you have a lot going for you.”

  “I know, but– ”

  “But you’re hung-up on Eric. When are you going to realize how amazing you are? In less than a year, you’ve been writing with a famous songwriter, got your song accepted by a publisher, and now you’re gonna get your very own apartment! Live your own dreams, Carol!”

  “Boy, you really tell it like it is! But, that’s why I love you,” I said as I gave her a quick hug.

  On the way home I stopped at the corner newsstand to buy the Village Voice. I wanted to check out club listings showcasing unsigned artists. The Voice had brought me many lucky connections: the pop-rock band in Brooklyn, my voice teacher, and what started it all, Marvin and the apartment. If I hadn’t been reading The Voice on the corner of 72nd Street, he’d never have known I was looking for a place. Now his apartment was gonna be mine. I was on the other side of the Lincoln Tunnel and in the fast lane to becoming an official New Yorker.

  That night the phone rang at 1:30, waking me from a deep sleep. I knew who it was before I picked up the receiver.

  “Hi, Baby. Sorry if I woke you. Just got back to the motel. I wish you were here. I really miss you.”

  “Me too! How’s it going?”

  “It’s going great! Big crowds. We’re opening for Grand Funk Railroad!”

  “That’s so cool! Someday they’ll be opening up for you! I can’t wait to see you!”

  “I’ll be home in about a week and a half. I’ve got something I want to ask you when I get back.”

  “I can’t wait that long! What is it? Good or bad?”

  Eric chuckled. “Don’t worry, Babe, it’s all good! It’s about our future. I’ll ask you when I see you. The time will go fast.”

  “But can’t you at least give me a hint?” I asked in my most flirtatious voice. I was starting to feel turned on.

  “No,” he said with a little laugh. “It’s something I have to do in person,” Eric teased, picking up on my sexual excitement.

  His words went through me like a lightning bolt.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “I guess I’ll have to wait. “

  “You won’t be sorry.”

  “Miss you!”

  “I miss you too!”

  My mind was racing so fast I couldn’t fall back to sleep. Could Eric be asking The Question? The “Will you marry me, I can’t live without you” question? I was feeling so many emotions—love, fear, happiness. I wanted to call Nina, but it was too late, even for her. Thank god I’m seeing Bruce tomorrow! I thought. Maybe he’ll calm me down.

  I felt myself blushing as I sailed into Bruce’s office. I’d had two hours of sleep and a full day at the health food store, and was still flying high. He immediately picked up on my mood but waited for me to speak first.

  “I’ve got some big news!” I announced.

  “You look happy about it.”

  “Eric called me from Boston last night. I think he’s going to propose!” I blurted out.

  “What makes you think that? Did he ask you to marry him on the phone?”

  “No. But he said he missed me and had something important to ask about our future. What else could it be?”

  “I don’t know. How would you answer if he asked? You’ve only known him for three months.”

  “My answer is yes! I love him!” I smiled at Bruce, but the look on his face told me he didn’t approve. I was so excited about the possibility of marrying Eric, I didn’t care.

  “Do you really think you’re ready for marriage? What about your music career?” Bruce asked, leaning toward me, looking concerned.

  “Eric’s a musician. He understands.” Nothing Bruce said was gonna change the way I felt. I knew what I wanted and that was to be Mrs. Eric Portman. Carol Portman, that sounded great!

  “What about your work here?” Bruce pressed on.

  “Maybe I’ll be so happy I won’t need therapy.”

  “We’ll see. For now, let’s just take it one step at a time.”

  By the time I got home, I was coming down from my high and looking forward to crashing. I opened my mailbox in the entranceway, expecting nothing but bills and takeout menus. That’s when I saw the elegant eggshell envelope with the LA return address from Mona. More good news? I wondered as I raced up the stairs. Of course! It’s May 21st! I realized. The sun’s just gone into Gemini! This is my lucky time! I walked into my apartment, plopped on the couch, and tore open Mona’s letter. I was blown away by t
he stationery—Hyako Music Company, Sunset Boulevard.

  Hi Carol,

  Great News! I’m working for a music publishing and artist management company. We have a lot of money behind us and are interested in finding people to publish. You know how strongly I feel about your talent. I sure would like another demo tape. I’ve met people out here who could help you if they like it. Have you heard of Jackson Browne? His single is number eight in the nation now. . . the label is called Asylum and the manager is David Geffen.

  From what I remember about your material, you have an incredible voice and talent for writing I, personally, am not interested in the money-making end of it. If I can help, that’s plenty for me.

  I’m living with a wonderful guy and if things keep going well, we will be married this summer or fall. If you come out here, you can stay with me until you get yourself situated.

  Anyway, I guess I better go. Please send the tape as soon as it’s finished and keep in touch.

  Love,

  Mona

  I was floored! It was my time! “Things come in waves. When they’re bad, they’re really bad, but when they’re good they’re really good!” Bruce had once said. My life was finally coming together. I wanted to dance around the room but was too tired. I crawled into bed, put Mona’s letter on the night table, and crashed.

  37

  I’M A WOMAN

  Hello my friend, I’d like to make a confession.

  I think I’ve given you the wrong impression of me

  I’m not the girl that I pretend to be

  I’ve not yet given up my childhood fantasy…

  Eric called around eleven o’clock Sunday night from a rest stop somewhere in Ohio to tell me he’d be back a day early. The band manager was saving money by traveling through the night. Eric would go back to his place, crash, and call me the next day, which was Memorial Day. The health food store would be closed and we’d have the entire day together.

  I drank a cup of Sleepy Time tea and tried falling back to sleep but my mind was racing. Tomorrow could change my life forever! I tossed and turned, Sadie, Sadie, Married Lady running through my mind.