Diva (22 page)

Freedom! The next morning when I wake up, I can feel it in the air. Freedom. Freedom from Nick, from

Sean, from Arnold—freedom to do whatever I want to do without having to ask anyone's permission, and

it's wonderful. So the first thing I do is log onto my journal and start to finish the entry from last night. I'm adding the part about Arnold and the lobster, when there's a knock on the door.

It's Mom. She's holding two manila envelopes. "I wanted you to see something. I was up all night,

working on them."

"What are these?"

"I think you'll be able to figure it out. You're a smart girl. Why don't you look at them. I'll give you a makeover, if you want. But later."

I nod and take the envelopes. I sit on the bed and take out the first one. It's from Mom's accountant, Mr.

Lowman: a letter and last year's tax return. I don't know why she's showing me this. I have no clue how to

read a tax return. But I flip through it.

On the first page, there's a section that says INCOME. Lines with numbers. The highest number is on the

line that says BUSINESS INCOME and I practically fall off the bed when I see it. I had no idea Mom

made that much.
Is this all from real estate, or does that include her business of sponging off Dad
?

I check out the line marked ALIMONY.

The number on that line is 0.

Point for Mom. But is child support the same as alimony, or is it separate somewhere? I flip through the

rest of the form and find nothing about child support. Then I see that the second envelope says CHILD

SUPPORT in Mom's round, girlish handwriting. She's written in purple and dotted the I with a circle.

Inside is a Post-it note from Mom that says CAITLIN, CHILD SUPPORT ISN'T INCLUDED ON THE

TAX RETURN. LUCKY ME. It's attached to copies of Dad's child support checks. I recognize that

handwriting too—his wife, Macy's.

The second thing I notice about the checks are the amounts—they would
maybe
pay for my clothes if I

didn't wear anything extravagant like, say, sneakers. I remember the big deal Dad made about paying for

my voice lessons. If you subtracted that amount, the check is practically nothing.

The third thing I notice is that the checks are always late. Sometimes two or three months at a time, and

every one is signed by Macy.

I slip all the papers back into their envelopes.

I find Mom in her room. She's putting on her makeup. In times of distress, it's always makeup. I slide the

envelopes over by the mirror.

"How about that makeover?" I say.

She pulls out a bottle. "Wash up first. I have this new cleanser." She hands it to me. "And moisturizer.

You need to moisturize, even when you're young—to trap in the moisture and prevent damage. I wish I'd

known that when I was your age. There are so many things I wish I'd known, but that one I think of every

time I look in a mirror."

I start to repeat the line about how there's always Botox, but instead, I say, "You're mad about what I said that day, about leeching off Dad."

"Not mad." She hands me the moisturizer. "Sad, a little. You were thinking it for a long time, weren't you?"

I nod. "Years. But I thought Dad… I thought…"

"He used to pay alimony. We agreed I was going to be a stay-at-home mother. But then he married Macy

and they contested the agreement. So I got my real estate license and started selling Emma Leigh. I liked

those things anyway. They were fun, and with my looks and personality, I was good at them." I nod. It

always comes down to her looks. Is that because she feels like that's all she has? Scary thought. I finish

with the cleanser and start moisturizing.

"Ted was still paying pretty much child support at that point—not enough, but something." She looks at me and then moves my hands away from my face. "No, no, honey. Like this.

An upward motion, with the thumbs. The idea is to gently massage away any future wrinkles." She works

the moisturizer in like I'm one of her Emma Leigh clients. "But any time I'd start earning a little more, he'd come to me, wanting to make the payments lower. I think Macy saw my picture in the real estate ads.

Never mind that real estate's an iffy business. Never mind that Key Biscayne is an expensive place to live

—we could always move someplace cheaper, as Lance pointed out constantly. Never mind that you were

his
child
for God's sake, and he should
want
to support you and
want
you to live someplace nice."

I wince. Dad never
wanted
to pay for anything for me. Even I knew that.

Mom continues. "Finally, I asked him what he was willing to pay, and we settled on an amount that was

maybe a quarter of what he should have been paying."

"Why?"

"Sometimes you get tired of fighting." She hands me a bottle. "Okay, now you're ready to get started. I always make my clients do it themselves, so they learn how."

I start to apply the foundation, with an upward motion like she suggested. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess I thought it was better if you didn't know what a jerk your father was."

"I think I always knew, but
jerk
isn't the word I'd use."

She laughs. "Right. And you thought I was a jerk because you thought I sponged off him." She hands me a blush. "Excellent job on the foundation, by the way. You have such beautiful skin—such tiny pores."

"Thanks." I take the blush from her and start to sweep it on.

"I wish I'd known."

"I didn't want you to. But I don't want you thinking I'm lazy either."

I apply the blush, and she nods that I did it right. "But Arnold. You acted like you needed him for

support."

She pushes her hand through her hair. "It's always such a struggle to pay for the upkeep of this house. But it's the only home you've ever known. I worry about college too. Your father's child support stops

completely when you hit eighteen."

I look around her room, and think about our house. She was willing to put up with Dr. Toe-Jam just to stay

here? For me?

"I might get a scholarship," I say. "There's scholarships for music."

I wait for her to say something awful about how you can't count on those things. But instead, she says,

"Well, we can hope."

I finish with the blush and start with eye shadow. "Which colors do you think?"

She points to a small case. "This one's the base, for the entire lid. And then this one's for the brow line, and this one's for the crease. It gives you the extra definition you need." She points to a couple of colors.

"And…"

"What else?" I say, assuming she means another eye shadow.

"Oh, I don't know. I guess it felt… nice having someone like that, someone wealthy, wanting me like that.

He made me feel…" She shrugs.

I remember the feeling I always had, walking arm-in-arm with Nick at school.

"Valuable," I say, brushing on the base eye shadow. "He made you feel valuable."

She nods. "Yeah. I guess that's it."

I say, "I think that you are way too valuable for Arnold Mikloshevski and his clammy hands."

She nods. "I know you're right. But sometimes it's hard to believe that. It's so hard to find someone who

loves you for yourself, and not just because you're pretty or act the way they want you to act."

I think of Sean. I have that with him. Yes, he's a friend, but he's a good friend.

"Are you okay?" I say.

She nods. "I think I'm getting better." She takes out a different lipstick and holds it near my face, then recaps it. "Oh, Caitlin, he really was a toady little man, wasn't he? Every time he kissed me, I'd think,

Valerie McCourt, has it really come to this
?"

I giggle, then stop myself. "He kept looking at my boobs."

"Mine too—and he had some boobs of his own, let me tell you!

I can't suppress the giggle that comes after that, and Mom joins right in.

"Mom?" I say after a minute. "I wish… I have a performance tonight at school."

She raises an eyebrow like,
Were you going to tell me about it
?

"Yeah," I say. "I thought you were too busy with Arnold, so I didn't…" I know that's not really true. "I'm sorry. I just didn't tell you. But it's at eight tonight, and I'm wearing the dress you bought me, and I wish

you'd come."

"I wouldn't miss it." She looks at the blush I've put on. "And maybe I could help you out with your makeup for it too.

I nod. Things with Mom will never be perfect. They are what they are. But even when times are hard,

we'll always have makeup just like when I was little. Cosmetics are the glue that binds us together. But

maybe we can have a bit more.

Sean and I sing our duet the best we've ever sung it. Maybe the best I've ever sung
anything
. For once I sound like an opera singer to my own ears, and I know that this is what I want—to be a diva, to stand

onstage and make other people hear this music the way
I
hear it, not as something old and faded, but as something alive, forever and ever. And I'll do anything—including telling Mom I need to spend the

summer in New York and trying and auditioning and taking a chance on not making it—to get there.

Sean kisses me on the cheek when we take our bow. Then I run backstage to change for the finale and sit

in the darkened wings listening to Gigi singing her solo. Gigi came back today with her leg in a cast (but

scheduled to heal up) and ruined Misty's night by saying she could do her Judy Garland number. They cut

her dance routine. Instead, she's singing a ballad. It floats backstage to where I'm sitting in the gray

darkness. I'm so glad I
can
perform. I have a chance.

After the finale, Rowena catches me backstage. "You were incredible."

"Thanks. I'm really happy."

"I saw your mom in the audience. That's great that she came."

Now is the moment when I should pretend intense interest in makeup removal. But instead, I face Rowena.

"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about that."

"About what?"

"About New York. I lied when I said I asked my mom and she said no. I never asked. I'm sorry."

"What? Why not?"

"A lot of reasons. Stupid ones. Being afraid, maybe. But that's over now, and I really want to go, and I

think she'll let me. I'll talk to her about it this time. I promise."

Rowena's concerned expression has changed, and she's staring at something behind me. I turn and realize

she's looking at Mom. "I guess we'll find out."

Mom is rushing toward me. She's removed her jacket to reveal a glittery, tight T-shirt. She's yelling,

"Baby! Oh, baby, how could you not have told me about this?"

"I'm sorry," I say. I'm apologizing to everyone today. "I'm glad you made it."

"I got the car jump-started. And I had to ask my friend, Linda, to take over my open house. But I wouldn't have missed it. You were so beautiful! And
La Traviata
." She turns to Rowena. "That's my very favorite opera in the world."

I gesture toward Rowena. "Mom, you remember my voice teacher."

Mom smiles her classic Valerie McCourt smile, the one on the real estate signs. "Of course. It's Rowena,

right?"

"Right, and…"

"Well, I have to congratulate you. You've done an incredible job with her. She's improved. A
lot
." I feel a flicker of annoyance. I push it aside.

Meanwhile, Rowena's stammering, "Er…"

"When she was a little girl, she used to sing around the house all the time, and it got so I could barely

think straight from all the racket. But now… you are one incredible teacher."

Okay, more than a flicker.

"Thank you. Caitlin's a wonderful student."

"And may I add," Mom says, "that you have the loveliest coloring. I can make that gray thing work for you, and if you'd like to set up an appointment, I could show you some creams that would fluff those fine lines

right out."

Okay. Way,
way
more than a flicker.
Stop talking, Mom
.

But Rowena's still being gracious. "Maybe so. Can you come before Caitlin's voice lesson next week,

then stay and listen to her? I have been thinking I don't devote enough effort to my beauty routine."

"Honey, you can never be too young or too old for proper skin care. Skin is like a child. It needs

nurturing. Nourishment."

Rowena nods. "I'm so glad you phrased it that way because there's another thing that requires nurturing. A talent like Caitlin's needs a place where it can grow. So perhaps
while
we're doing the consultation, I can tell you about an excellent summer program I've suggested to her. I understand she hasn't mentioned it to

you yet, but…"

They keep talking. I remove my stage makeup. They're doing fine without me. Maybe some things about

Mom aren't as annoying to other people as they are to me. Maybe part of the reason she's a successful

sales person is she's outgoing and charming.

"Well, it would be hard for me, being alone all summer," Mom's telling Rowena, and I accidentally stick a finger into my eye from the surprise. "But it sounds like a wonderful program, and I guess I'll have to get used to it, if she's going to go away to college soon."

Rowena laughs. "Yeah, I'm an empty-nester myself now. This program could even help Caitlin to get a

college scholarship."

"That would be great," Mom says. "I never finished college myself. It's something I always regretted."

She looks away, a little sad. I never thought of my mom as having regrets. I always assumed she got what

she wanted—the guy, the house, the free ride. It never occurred to me she might have wanted to be

something other than just my mom.

I think about what Miss Davis said, the day Gigi and I did the
Glass Menagerie
scene.
Do you think