"I have someone here to consider each and every one of you tonight." he began. "I don't want that to make any of you unduly nervous, but as my mother often says, you are always being judged out there anyway. You shouldn't have any more or any less concern than you normally would. That's the character of a true professional, and it's my firm belief that every one of you has what it takes to be one. So, good luck. Break a leg and help me make my ten percent."
Steven was the only one who really laughed. Howard looked too serious and took every word literally. We simply stared at Edmond, all of us wondering the same thing. How much did he know? How much did he care? What would he be saying before this evening ended?
He left to take his seat. While Madame Senetsky greeted our audience. Steven stepped into the wings, waiting to be introduced. He had his head down and kept opening and closing his hands. Then he looked up at me, smiled, and said. "I feel like I'm a surgeon about to operate on someone's brain."
"As long as it isn't mine," I told him. He laughed, looked at me seriously for a moment and said. `You're great. Honey. I really will miss you when this is over."
Of course, he had no idea what that might mean at the time, but it was eerie.
As soon as Madame Senetsky left the stage. M.r. Bergman began to introduce Steven. I stepped back into the shadows, my heart so caked in fear. I could barely feel its beat. Moments later he was at his piano. Steven's beautiful music followed, and that was soothing. Every once in a while. Rose. Ice. or Cinnamon would look my way and we would lock our eyes like the conspirators Howard so often accused us of being. He paced about like some zoo beast in its cage. Occasionally we heard him mumbling lines to himself, saw him pause, take a dramatic stance, and then nod and continue,
When Steven finished and the applause came, it was just as loud and enthusiastic as it had been for his first recital. I turned to look at Ice. She was to be the first of us four. and I knew it would be extra difficult for her tonight. As she walked by me to take her position in the wings, we grasped hands and held each other's for a moment.
"Don't worry," she whispered. "I'm fine, I'm all music," she added with a smile. I nodded, wished her luck, and watched her go on stage.
Cinnamon lingered in the rear doorway. I was next to perform and then came Rose. She wouldn't leave to do what she had to do until Rose was introduced. We knew how long we each took out there, so we had our timing down fine. I only hoped I could do as well as Ice was doing. I thought as she began to sing.
It was all going along as it should. The audience's reaction to Ice was more overwhelming than it had been the first time. Her voice seemed richer, stronger, resonating with a timbre that touched hearts. I felt it in my bones. She was going to be a star. When she came off-stage, she hugged me.
It's a piece of cake." she said. "Just as soon as you step into the spotlight, it all happens. You'll see. It's magic out there."
Mr. Bergman was introducing me. I glanced back at Cinnamon, who still looked very confident. She nodded at me. Rose in her dance tights came up beside her. She was so radiant, so beautiful. I thought. I knew in my heart I couldn't let them down. It all had to work. We had to be better than anyone imagined.
I pulled myself up when my name was given and then I walked out on the stage. In a real sense. I wished my parents were out there tonight and not just out there in my heart and mind. I thought, When it was over, they would surely be even more proud of me. I had to remind myself they were here, Uncle Peter was here. Uncle Simon, all of them. Wherever I go, they go, for they are always in me, a part of me, a part of who and what I am.
I raised the bow and the music came, as it always did. I played as if I was trying to keep Death himself at bay. I would charm the devil. It was almost as if the violin was truly connected to my very soul. I didn't think about it. I was like a tightrope walker who never looked down, but just kept his eyes forward, his concentration fixed on the goal, the finale, but I did sense how well I was playing. I could feel every note.
When it ended. I had a wonderful sense of completion, a sweet exhaustion. and I bathed in the applause. I'm meant for this, I thought. Oh, yes I am. There's no doubt. No matter what, Honey Forman, I told myself, you'll be back out here. one way or another, you'll be back.
Rose looked flushed in the wings. Her face seemed on fire when she pressed her cheek to mine and whispered how wonderful I had been. We were taking the audience higher and higher, which was just what Cinnamon wanted. The explosive resolution would be that much more dramatic. It was as if we were all relay runners, pa
ssing the baton. Rose took it from me and glided out on that stage to dance as she had never danced before, her every turn, spin, and leap slicing the air with grace and beauty.
I looked back. Cinnamon was gone. We had all completed the preparations earlier, now we had to follow our plan. Ice was distracting Steven. I looked for Howard, who was backstage going through his voice exercises. I drew closer to be sure he didn't go looking for Cinnamon. He looked up at me. "How much longer?"
"Four minutes. maybe," I said. "Where's Cinnamon?"
"In the wings, taking her position on the other side of the stage from you," I replied.
"You don't do that." he said, smirking with disgust. "You don't stand there like someone looking for a handout from the audience. You make them wait. You fill yourself with the power," he bragged. "She'll miss a beat," he predicted. "You'll see, I'll end up having to carry her through each piece we perform."
"With your broad shoulders of talent. Howard, that should be no problem." I said.
He looked at me with a little smile of confusion and then shrugged it off and returned to his exercises. Finally, he decided to take his position stage left. Cinnamon was to be in position stage right, both of them waiting for Mr. Marlowe to come on stage after Rose's exit.
I sucked in my breath.
The time had come. She was whisked in like a shadow, unnoticed in the pool of darkness behind stage.
Mr. Marlowe set the scene.
"Our first cut," he began. "is from
Shakespeare's immortal Othello. Othello has come to Desdemona's bedroom to kill her because he is convinced she has betrayed him with Cassia."
The lights went out.
A bed was rolled on the stage in the darkness for Desdemona. The lights came on.