"What have you decided is an old wives' tale?" Madame Senetsky asked.
She had entered just as Rose had finished. so I was sure she had heard. Howard must have thought so. too. He turned a shade of crimson and then a little blue.
"Nothing very important." he quickly answered.
She stared at him a moment, looked at us, and then took her usual seat at the head of the table. She was not often there at breakfast with us, taking it in her own private quarters instead. The maid came in immediately to pour her a cup of coffee, but she shook her head.
"Nothing for me, thank you." she said and turned back to us. She had a way of capturing us with what people in the theater call the Caesural pause, a dramatic pause that holds your attention. I knew her well enough by now to realize that she was truly doing what she wanted us to do: always perform, take on the demeanor of someone on stage. The effect for ine, however, was to feel as if everything she said and did was calculated. contrived.
I wondered if there was ever a time when she was just herself, someone who wasn't conscious of the lighting so she would know how to present her best profile; someone who wasn't waiting for reactions from her listeners and observers; someone who wasn't posturing and looking for constant applause.
What was her real voice like, her real smile, her real laughter, and even her real tears? Had she been an actress so long that it was impossible for her to find herself anymore, to take off the makeup, to remove the costume? Was she like Cinnamon had suggested we were, someone looking always to escape herself, her past, some terrible real pain?
She held her gaze a moment longer on me than she did on the others. It made me wonder if she could see what I was thinking. I looked down quickly and waited, my nerves twanging like the strings of my violin.
"Since we are closing in on our first important date," she began, "I want to be sure we are all going to start this week on the right foot. I would expect that everything you do, everything you say and even think will be of importance," she added, glaring at
Howard. He seemed to shrink in his seat.
Steven stirred his coffee and sat with a fat Cheshire cat smile on his face. enjoying Howard's discomfort at being chastised, even slightly.
"I am designing a lighter diet for you all. I want you all to be quick on your feet, energetic, and dedicated. The halls of this house should be filled with music, music, music, and the echo of voices reciting, rehearsing, the consonants and vowels resonating in every corner.
"I have never had an opening Performance Night with a new group of students that did not go very well and leave most of my guests quite impressed. and I do not expect or intend for this one to be any different.
"There will be a small reception in the ballroom afterward. Later this week. I will discuss how I want you all to behave among the agents, actors, and producers who will be there. There is a fine line to walk between modesty and self- confidence. I would like all of you to be attractive and interesting to my guests. but I want you to have an air of innocence and wonder about you."
When she pursed her lips, her eyes lit with a sardonic brightness, rather than a soft smile.
"Most everyone who attends will want to feel like he or she has made a discovery, and not the Senetsky family," she said. She looked like she was holding back a laugh the way someone might swallow back a revolting taste.
"That is just fine. Let them think what they need to think. Egos must be stroked and fulfil
led. I don't mind taking a backseat to all of it if you succeed as I know and expect you will," she added.
She sat back. No one uttered a sound. We didn't even breathe "I assume you have all heard the name Jack Ferante?"
"Of course," Howard said quickly. "He's the president of the Screen Actors Guild."
"Yes. He is a close friend of mine and he happens to be in New York this weekend. He will attend." She looked from one of our faces to another to see the effect of her announcement. Her blue eyes darkened with her scrutinizing gaze. Except for Howard, none of us looked terribly impressed.
"He has friends in very high places, in the theater, in the opera, in some of the country's finest symphonies," she emphasized, somewhat annoyed at our stoical response.
"Actually," she continued. "he has never been able to attend one of my Performance Nights. He has been on location in a film himself or occupied with SAG business. You should all feel quite honored and quite fortunate.
"I would look with very bitter and disappointed eyes on any action that would detract from our focus this week. I hope that is perfectly clear." she concluded and then rose, paused, and turned to us, her eyes panning each of our faces. "Is it?"
I looked at Cinnamon. It really was almost as if Madame Senetsky could read our minds. I thought. Cinnamon looked like she agreed with me and nodded slightly, knowing what my look questioned.
"Yes. ma'am," Howard boasted.
"It sure is," Steven said, his smile still sitting on his lips.
"We understand. Madame Senetsky," Cinnamon said, speaking for the four of us.
"Good. To work then," she said, tapped her cane, and left the room.
Howard practically leaped at the rest of us.