Diva (18 page)

veggie."

As soon as she walks out, Sean and I burst into silent giggles.

Rowena corners me on the way out of her class Tuesday. 'Did you talk to your mother?"

I know what she means.
Did I talk to my mother about the summer opera program? The
answer is no.

No, I didn't.

"Yeah. Yeah, I did. She said no."

I don't know why I didn't ask, except that I just wasn't sure I wanted to go. I want to just enjoy where I am

for a while, and not have to leave. Still, I'm surprised when Rowena says, "Caitlin, are you sure you

asked her?"

"What? Of course I did. What would make you say something like that?"

"Caitlin, I know that to some people, the idea of success can be as scary as failure."

"What does that mean? That makes no sense."

"I think it does. If you fail, that's comfortable. Nothing changes, right? You can stay exactly where you

are."

"I don't want to do that. That's why I transferred schools. I wanted a change."

"I know when your acceptance letter went out. I know you thought long and hard about whether to transfer.

I doubt you would have if it hadn't been for my pressure."

I look away. "That was because my mother—"

"Your parents don't support your dreams. Which makes it easy to sit back and say that you can't do it. But there are people who have overcome worse adversity to make their dreams come true. It isn't always easy

or comfortable."

I think of Sean again and what he said about tenacity. Am I
un
-tenacious because I don't want to pick up and leave everything again—because I don't want to go someplace where I might not be that talented? "I

don't expect it to be easy."

"I hope not, because it won't be. But that doesn't mean you can't do it. It just means you have to want it.

And you have to want it more than anything else."

"I do want it. Really, my mother said no. I'm sorry you don't believe me."

Rowena relents. "Okay, I'm sorry. Do you think it would help if I talked to her?"

"No!" I look over at Gigi, who's waiting for me near the door. "I mean, no, I don't think so." I'm lying like the proverbial rug now. My mom… we've been having some problems. Money stuff. She says I need to

get a job over the summer."

"Oh, I see." Rowena looks surprised. Finances aren't usually a problem in our neighborhood.

I say, "But if there's something near here, I could go during the day and work nights."

"Okay." Rowena pats my hand. "We'll find something wonderful for you to do this summer. Don't worry."

I head for the door, not looking at Rowena.

"What'd she want?" Gigi asks, when I get into the hall.

"Oh, nothing. There's just a lesson I need to reschedule."

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: Lies

Date: December 1

Time: 8:14 p.m.

Feeling: Confused

Weight: 115 lbs.

I lied to Rowena…Mom might have said no, but she might have said yes too, since she just sold a house

(an expensive one around here) and has some $$, and also b/c it would give her more time to play kissy-

face w/Arnold……& now, of course, there's not the whole issue of a relationship with Sean. But…I don't

know. The idea of sending a tape & then waiting to see if I get rejected just sort of makes me feel sick…

not 2 mention having 2 go someplace new 4 the whole summer.

New place, new people. It was hard enough coming here, and now i just sort of got used to it & am happy

w/where I am.

Rowena thinks I'm afraid to try to be successful. That's just crazy. Who fears success???? I want to be

successful.

Why wouldn't I??? I just want to be successful here…

…for a while.

Shopping with Mom during Christmas season. "Joy to the World" doesn't begin to cover it. My plan,

basically, is to make sure she's dressed completely wrong for the opera, that is to say, let her buy the type

of thing she usually wants—the three Bs: Bare midriff, Bustier, and Butt cleavage. It's the least I can do

for Arnold's soon-to-be-ex-wife and soon-to-be-ex-dog.

Arnold actually gave Mom a
thousand
dollars to buy a dress, and the whole way to the Falls, Mom sits in the driver's seat of ye olde purple convertible, talking about Arnold in fishing terms—hook, line, and

sinker; reel him in; cast the net. But when we pull into our parking space, Mom clutches my arm.

"I am soooo glad you came with me."

"What?"

"It's just… I wouldn't know how to
dress
around opera people!"

I stare at her. And then I feel the steel bars of my resolve melting. Melting, I tell you. I can't send her out there looking stupid, if she
knows
she looks stupid. I can't.

"Its fine," I say. "Come on. Let's get down to some serious shopping."

Play the shopping montage scene here (like the one in
Pretty Woman
, where Richard Gere took the

hooker
to
Rodeo Drive). Mom and me at Macy's, trying on satin, taffeta, and velvet; in Bloomingdales,

putting makeup samples on each other; and at Mayors, trying on real jewelry we
definitely
aren't buying.

Since it's nearly Christmas, I choose a black velvet dress with a dark green satin sash and a bare back—

but no butt cleavage. Then we go downstairs to choose shoes.

"How about these?" Mom holds up a pair of silver high-heeled sandals.

"Too sexy," I tell her. It's fun playing
What Not to Wear
, saying what I actually
think
for once.

We finally get her into some black satin slingbacks with an open side and what Mom calls "toe cleavage"

(the only cleavage I'd let her show) and some real-looking fake diamond and emerald earrings. We're

almost finished with our shopping trip and, so far, we've done a decent job of avoiding taboo topics, such

as her dating a married man.

On the way out, we pass Jessica McClintock. Mom looks in the window.

"Nuh-uh, Mom. Waaaay too young. That's where my friends shop for prom dresses. You want to look

sophisticated."
This is fun
.

She puts her hand on my elbow. "I know, I know. I didn't mean for me."

She guides me into the shop and points to the most beautiful robins-egg blue satin, full-skirted dress. "Do you have a dance or something coming up?"

The dress would be perfect for my opera scene. I was going to wear my last year's Homecoming dress,

but this is even better. "We can't afford it."

"I didn't spend all the money Arnold gave me," she says, showing me three hundred-dollar bills.

That's just about what a plane ticket to New York would cost. I could ask her about the summer program.

But she says, "Just try it on." And I do. It won't fit me anyway—it's a size three. So I let her lead me into the fitting room.

"Remember that time when I was thirteen and I got stuck inside the dress I was wearing to Derek Wayne's

bar mitzvah?" I ask her.

Mom giggles. "That was pretty funny."

"It was not. I had to be cut out of it. It was totally humiliating." I can still picture if. me, lying on my bed, squealing like a pig, while Mom took her pruning shears to the pink satin.

"Here, let me get that." Mom turns me around so my back is toward her, then zips the dress in one move.

"No problems now. You look perfect."

I stare at my reflection. The dress fits great, and I look like a professional opera singer in it. I could be

playing Juliet, singing her waltz song, or Marguerite in
Faust
, before she gets pregnant and arrested and dies, or Violetta, or… "Can I have it?"

Mom nods.

At the cash register, she's still bubbling. "You look great. We'll look like sisters."

I roll my eyes, but turn away so she can't see me doing it. When I don't answer, she says, "You know what

I wish?"

"What?"

"I wish you would like me, Caitlin. You used to."

I'd been thinking the same thing, but I say, "Of course I like you."

She gives me this look like,
Yeah, right
, and says, "Well, I guess we should pay for the dress before we find something else."

Opera_Grrrl's Online Journal

Subject: Shopping (Guilt) Trip

Date: December 2

Time: 4:35 p.m.

Listening to: "Martern Aller Arten" ("Tortures Unabating") from The Abduction from the Seraglio Feeling: Tired

Weight: 116 lbs.

Shopping w/Mom today. It reminded me of when I was little and yet, fat, and Mom was this life-sized

Barbie doll. We'd go shopping & I could live vicariously thru her—trying short skirts on her skinny body

and satin bustiers on her perfect breasts. Back then I was sooo proud that my mom was prettier than

everyone else's. She'd tell me that once I lost that "baby fat" I'd be beautiful—and then we'd go buy Haagen-Dazs at the food court. Once upon a time, I wanted to be just like her.

Today, I pretended I still do…When I used to like Mom, it was comfortable, like nothing could ever hurt

me. I wish I could tell her everything, about Sean and how stupid I was not to figure out about him and

Rudy sooner, about how right she was about Dad, and about how scared I am of not being good enough, or

maybe being good enough…I haven't talked to her in so long, since I grew up and learned what was what.

I wonder if I could again.

But I remember Mrs. Arnold and…I can't.

I was thinking about what you said before," I say. Mom's sitting on the sofa in the living room. She has her shoes off and her toes are in those foamy things that separate them to keep the polish from getting messed

up. Now, she's painting her fingernails a blood red. It's Saturday night, and she has no date.

"Oh, Caitlin, come sit with me." She points at her toenails. "It's a 'repairing night.' Want me to do your toes? I was going to start a movie, but my nails are wet. Remember when we used to watch
Pretty

Woman
together? It would be so fun."

I shake my head. "I'm going out. But I can put the DVD in for you."

"Thanks." She gestures toward it.

I go pick it up, then stop. "After we talk." I handled the whole Sean thing, and that's made me brave, maybe? Maybe it's time to stop avoiding Mom.

She fans her nails back and forth, looking at me but not
really
looking at me. "Sure.What did you want to talk about?"

"About Arnold."

She fans faster. "Oh, Caitlin, we've been over this."

"I know. But this afternoon, you said something. You said you wished I liked you, like I used to when I

was little… younger."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I was just being silly. We had a great time today, and I screwed it up."

"No, you were right. When I was little, I used to look up to you. You were a role model."

"I suppose all mothers and daughters drift apart. When I was a teenager, I thought my mother was just a

drone who did the laundry." She stops fanning her nails and tests one, holding it to her lip. "It's dry. Can you hand me that DVD?"

"Mom, I want to talk."

"Caitlin, there's nothing to talk about here."

"But you're dating a married man. It's wrong."

"It's not much of a marriage anymore. He told me they haven't been in love for a long time."

"But how do you know? And how do you know he won't do the same thing to you, if he could do it to

her?" Trying to appeal to her selfish side—a big side.

"Caitlin, it's complicated."

"I went to see her."

"Who?"

"Arnold's wife. I talked to her."

She stands and makes an
I'm so shocked
gesture, knocking her freshly-polished hand into the lamp. She

looks at it and curses. It wasn't dry. "You
talked
to her?"

"Yes." I'm sort of enjoying that she's freaking out. Actually, really enjoying it.

"When? What did you say?" She looks from her nail to the phone, like she's thinking about calling Arnold to do some kind of damage control. "Oh, Caitlin, what did you do?"

"She's a nice lady, Mom," I say, still not giving her the information she wants. I actually
love
that she's in total freak-out mode. " Maybe it will bring her to her senses. "They have a yellow Lab. Did you know

that? And she told me about how she worries about her daughters when they're out at night."

"Caitlin, when was this? When did you talk to her?" She's fanning her hands so much it looks like she might take off. "How could you do this to me?"

"How can you do this to
her
, Mom? You got dumped by Dad. You know what it's like. How can you put

someone else through that? How can you be like this?"

"Caitlin? Answer my question."

"Answer mine!"

She reaches for the phone. "I have to call him."

"So you don't care what I think? You only care about him." When she doesn't answer, I say, "Look, I didn't tell her about you and Arnold. I… couldn't. But I wanted to. I wanted her to know because it isn't fair."

"Fair?" She plunks down the phone. "Fair? Is it fair that I'm here all by myself while your father has everything? Is it fair that you'll go to college soon, and I'll be old and fat and alone?"

"You'll never be fat," I say. "You're thin and perfect, and you don't even diet. You're never lonely either."

"You don't know anything about me. And you're the one that got me thinking this way."

"What way?"

"About the future. That I need to get married, to find someone who can sup—be with me. When you said

what you said last summer, I realized I could end up with nothing."

"What did I say?"

"What you said last summer. You could leave, and I'd have no one, nothing. I'd be all alone." She looks away. "That's when I knew I needed someone like Arnold."

Oh, God. When I'd threatened to leave and take Dad's child support with me, that was a wake-up call. She