Shooting Stars 01 Cinnamon (12 page)

My first weekend rehearsal at Miss Hamilton's seemed innocent enough because Dell and two other members of the cast were there as well. We came in the morning and then she sent out for pizza and we had lunch before putting in another hour.

The weekend rehearsals were important and better because we were all fresh for them, not coming to a rehearsal after a full day of school. We had more time to analyze the lines, talk about our characters and think about our reactions.

Miss Hamilton had a small house. The living room wasn't much bigger than my parents' bedroom, but it was a comfortable two-story Queen Anne with a patch of lawn in front and a little backyard. The house itself was done in a Wedgwood blue cladding with black shutters. She had a patio at the rear of the house and a sunroom off the kitchen. We rehearsed in the living room, pushing aside some furniture to get a wide enough space for stage movements. I learned about blocking, moving upstage and downstage, projecting to the audience and reacting to characters. She at least knew all the basic things about theater, and she appreciated my interpretations and insights into my character. Most of that came from the sessions Mommy and I had spent together.

The third weekend Dell was unable to attend rehearsal because he was going on a trip with his family. I thought Miss Hamilton would just skip it, but she suggested I come over anyway. She said she would play his part and we would refine my performance. The play itself had been criticized as too adult, not something the student body would appreciate and support, but she stuck to her choice, defending it as a significant dramatic work.

"Besides," she reasoned. "our students get enough fluff on television and at the movies. They deserve something different for a change."

There was already some resentment toward her because of that. However, she saw it all as a greater challenge. 'We have to win their respect, leave them in awe, show them what real talent can do," she told me. "You'll never forget this. Cinnamon. Everyone starts somewhere."

It both amused and intrigued me that she believed I could be a real actress and make a living at it, perhaps even become famous. Was I permitting her own frustrated dreams to move over into mine? I supposed there was only one way to find out for sure and that was to be on the stage when the curtain opened and when it finally closed.

The applause will tell. I told myself, as well as the afterward. Would people really remember my performance? Would they talk about it a day later? It was truly exciting. I couldn't help but do everything possible to make it work.

That third weekend. I was surprised when I arrived at Miss Hamilton's and discovered none of the other members of the cast would be there.

"We're just doing your big scenes," she explained. "I didn't see the point in bringing them all here this time,"

I suppose I was aiding and abetting the gossipmongers and hatemongers in my school. but I couldn't help being nervous alone in Miss Hamilton's house. Dell had successfully planted the seeds of suspicion in the darkest, deepest places of my imagination.

"She's nearly thirty." he told me, "and no one has ever seen her with a man. Why doesn't she have a boyfriend at least? She's not that bad looking, is she?"

"I don't care," I told him. Her personal life is her own, and besides, you and everyone else can't know what she does or who she sees out of school."

"I'm just telling you what people say," he replied.
I hated that, the pretended indifference and innocence people put on when underneath they are enjoying the spreading of rumors When I mentioned it to Mommy, she nodded and said. "Life for most people is so boring, they have to find ways to make it interesting, even if it means hurting someone. Watch out for that." she warned. "It's not only the jealous who do such things. Cinnamon. It's sometimes just people who literally have nothing better to do. Sometimes, I think they're the worst."
Miss Hamilton began our rehearsal the same way as before: reviewing where we were in the script and then starting a discussion of what we were about to rehearse.
"When you are alone with Death, you've got to keep the audience thinking you don't know who he really is. Think of him only as a charming, handsome man, so when you reveal the truth, that you've known all along, it will both shock and amaze the audience," she said.
I knew this, but I listened as if I didn't. Then we began our rehearsal with her reading Dell's lines,
"I know it's hard for you to look at me and think of me as a handsome young man," she said after a few minutes, "but that's what you have to do."
She paused when I looked skeptical. She thought a moment and said. "A friend of mine who is an actress told me she had to do a love scene with a man she not only didn't like, but whom she said had had breath, even body odor. She said just the thought of doing it turned her stomach. She was in tears about it. She thought she would do so badly she would hurt her career forever."
"What happened?" I asked.
"An older actor gave her some good advice. He told her to imagine the man was someone she liked, someone she actually loved, if possible and see only that person. If she concentrated hard enough, he told her, she wouldn't smell a thing. She said it worked and she got through the performance."
"Why didn't she just tell the man he stunk?" I asked.
Miss Hamilton smiled and tilted her head, the small dimple in her left cheek flashing in and out.
"Now, Cinnamon, how do you think that would have gone over? What sort of relationship would they have on the stage? He might pretend to appreciate her honesty, but don't you think his ego would have been bruised badly? Remember that essay we read about the messenger? He was despised more than the message."
"I guess when the truth is painful, it's better to turn to illusion," I said.
"Yes," She smiled. "But don't go telling people I advised you to tell lies." she warned and we both laughed.
We started rehearsing again. She wanted me to keep eye contact, to look mesmerized by Death. She brought herself so close to me, to my lips, I felt my heart flutter in a panic. I think she saw it in my eyes finally and stopped.
She looked embarrassed for both of us.
"Well, let's take a short break. Would you like something to drink... tea. perhaps? It's always a good idea to have some tea and honey when you're on the stage."
"Fine," I said.
While I waited I looked about her living room. She had some pretty vases, some crystals on a shelf, inexpensive paintings of Paris. French villages, a seacoast scene that was somewhere in Italy. Were these places she had been or places she dreamed of visiting? What I realized was there were no pictures of family.
"Have you been to any of these places?" I asked nodding at the pictures when she returned with our cups of tea and some biscuits.
"Oh. No, but I will get there someday," she said. "Maybe even this summer. I've been saving."
"Where are you from. Miss Hamilton?"
"Well." she began setting the tray down and offering me my cup, "I'm from lots of places unfortunately."
"Why unfortunately? Was your father in the army or something?"
"No." She sipped her tea, looking at me over the cup for a moment as if she were deciding whether she should fall back on illusion or deal with the truth. She chose the truth. "I never knew my father, nor my mother.'
"I don't understand." I said.
"I was an orphan. Cinnamon, then a foster child.'
"Oh." I felt terrible asking personal questions now. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ply."
"It's all right. I think my being an orphan had a great deal to do with why I wanted to get into the theater first and then into teaching. When you're in a play, the whole cast becomes an extended family, especially if it has a long run. You're sometimes closer to your fellow actors than you are with your real family. At least, that's what they all used to tell me. Now I enjoy teaching, being close to my students, being a real part of their lives. Sometimes. I think I'm more involved, more concerned because
I
don't have a real family."
"Were you ever married?"
I
asked, nearly biting my own lower lip after asking.
She smiled again, sipped some tea. put her cup down and looked at me.
"You would think that nowadays people would be a lot more tolerant of women who weren't married or in a relationship by my age, but some ideas are branded in Our social consciousness so deeply, we can't help being suspicious or critical of others who don't fit neatly in little boxes. Don't think I haven't been urged by older teachers and by administrators to settle down. As if it's my fault that Mr. Right hasn't come along," she added.
"I was almost married once, but in the end, we both decided it wouldn't have worked," she continued. "We were sensible and mature and lucky. Most people get involved too quickly these days and their relationships don't have the timber to last. Then, there's all that unfortunate business afterward... one or the other drifts away or things get unpleasant.
"You've got to really believe this is it for you, Maybe I'm more careful than most people because I never had a real parent-child relationship."
She paused and laughed.
"It's fun to be your own psychotherapist sometimes, but most of the time. I'd rather just let destiny unravel the spool called Ella Hamilton."
"Ella?"
"Yes," she said sipping her tea.
"Well if you had no mother or father, who named you?"
"Someone at the orphanage. I suppose. I never minded my name. It means a female possessing supernatural loveliness. How's that?"
"That's very nice."
"Actually, it's a name that fits you better than it does me. Cinnamon."
I didn't blush as much as feel a warmth travel up my neck, a warmth that made me shift my eyes from her.
"You've got to get used to people
complimenting you, complimenting your unique look and your talents," she said seeing my discomfort. "I'm glad you're not like so many of your classmates. You're far more mature. You don't giggle after everything you say and you have self- confidence.
"I know you're frightened inside. Everyone is, but you cloak it well and you've already developed the ability to keep it under control. That's why I'm so convinced you're going to succeed on the stage," she continued.
I lifted my eyes and looked at her. Now that we had gotten to know each other better. I wanted to like her. I wanted to lower that wall between us. I wanted to trust her. by couldn't we be friends, honest friends, innocent friends? Damn the rumors. If I wanted to give her a friendly hug, I would.
"Should we get back to work?" she asked. "Yes," I said.
We began the scene again and I did what she advised. I didn't see her. I saw Dell's handsome face, heard his vibrant voice. We were inches apart and I was really getting into the role when suddenly, we were both surprised by a flash of light that bounced off the mirror above the mantel. We both turned toward the window facing the street.
"What was that?" I asked. She shook her head.
"I don't know." She went to the window and gazed out. "No one's there."
She shrugged.
"Maybe a passing vehicle reflected sunlight."
"It's cloudy. Miss Hamilton." I went to the window and looked out. too. The street just seemed too quiet to me. "It was someone," I muttered.
"Well, whoever it was is gone. It doesn't really matter now," she said. Little did she know.
She had more innocence and trust in her than I would have expected for someone with her
background.
I came from a family. I had parents.
And vet
I
knew in my heart something terrible loomed just on the other side of that fourth wail we so lovingly cherished. Hard lessons would teach me that it was far from enough protection.

Like a second shoe, it dropped two days later at school. I had just arrived and was walking toward homeroom when I noticed a crowd around the general bulletin board placed at the center of the main corridor. Most of the students were laughing. The crowd began to grow larger. I approached slowly with a thudding heart, and when those on the perimeter of the clump saw me, they stepped aside, clearing an aisle for me to walk down as I approached the bulletin board,

There, too high up to reach without a stepladder, was a picture of Miss Hamilton and me at her home, in the rehearsal, just at the point where we were standing inches from each other, our lips so close it did look like we were about to kiss. The caption under the picture was in big block letters and read: TEACHER'S PET OR SOMETHING MORE?

"Who did that?" I screamed.
"We thought you did," Iris Ainsley quipped from the outside of the continually gathering group. Everyone laughed.
I turned on her. I was so crazed with hate, my whole body shook.
Those between us saw it and stepped back.
"You disgusting, jealous little girl. You were spying on our rehearsal this Saturday. You were the one who took this picture and you know we were just rehearsing."
"Do you have to rehearse to do that?" someone else cracked. The group laughed again.
"Do what?" I cried, twisting a sarcastic smile and glaring back at Iris. "Try to ruin someone's reputation? No, she doesn't have to rehearse for that. She's spoiled rotten and vicious enough without any training. Go on and laugh, but if any one of you take something from the princess here, shell do something just as cruel to you."
Some smiles wilted as they considered what I was suggesting.
"What's going on here?" we all heard Mr. Kaplan demand. He came toward us and the students split up quickly, heading toward their various homerooms. Iris hesitated a moment, smirked at me and left. I stood waiting for him.
"What's going on. Cinnamon?"
By now
I
was sure the color had left my cheeks. I know I felt sick and wanted to flee the place.
"Iris Ainsley or one of her friends took that picture of my rehearsal with Miss Hamilton and put it up there with that stupid caption," I said nodding at the board.
He looked up at it, widened his eyes and glanced at me.
"Go to your homeroom before you're late," he ordered. Then he went off to get the custodian to bring a ladder and take the picture and the caption down.
Damage, however, was done. Mr. Kaplan called Miss Hamilton to the office and showed the picture to her. The blood that I was sure had drained from her face at the sight of the photo and its caption remained absent from her complexion most of the day. She looked pale and weak and in great anguish. I felt so sorry for her. but I was afraid to show too much affection and concern. Everyone's eyes were on us, just waiting for us to comfort each other. But she didn't speak to me or to anyone else until rehearsal began after school.
"Most of you are quite aware of what went on this morning. Some disgusting-minded person did a very nasty thing. Because of it, I've been asked not to hold any more weekend rehearsals at my home. I don't think it's going to hurt us. You're all too dedicated to this play to be set back, and I want you all to know how proud I am of the efforts you've made. We're going to show them," she declared.
Then she looked directly at me.
"If I've brought any of you any pain and trouble by not anticipating some of the disgusting things people can do. I apologize. I'll be a great deal more aware of the possibilities from now on, believe me.
"But
I
don't want this to color your enthusiasm with any play. Let's work harder. Let's make this a success. Okay?"
"Absolutely," Dell cried. The rest of us applauded and the rehearsal began. Every time Miss Hamilton approached me or touched my arm. I could feel the self-consciousness seeping in. How I hated Iris Ainsley and her buffoons for doing this to us, but I couldn't let her win. I couldn't fall apart now.
It was more difficult than I anticipated because the picture was just a start. When I arrived home that day. I found that someone had called the house and given Grandmother Beverly an anonymous nasty message, which she quickly passed on to Mommy. She used the opportunity to tell her about the scene between Clarence and me in the attic and what she had done about it, warning Mommy that I was degenerating quickly and blaming it on Mommy's permissive attitude when it came to supervising me. Mommy looked devastated, weakened and pale by the time I arrived.
She was in her bedroom sitting in her soft chair, just waiting for me. The moment I saw her face. I knew what had happened.
"Did the principal call here?" I immediately asked.
"No, why would he call, honey?"
I told her about the picture, how it had happened and what some nasty, jealous students had done. She nodded as she listened and then began to tell me about her conversation with Grandmother Beverly.
"Why didn't you tell me anything about Clarence Baron. Cinnamon?"
"It was over and I didn't see why I should trouble you. Especially since you had just come home from the clinic," I explained. She nodded.
"But you should have told me by now, don't you think?"
"Maybe. I'm sarry."
"Your father hasn't mentioned it either. I'm sure he knows too. right?" I looked up at her.
"No. I'm not so sure," I said. "Grandmother Beverly doesn't need reinforcements when she goes into battle,"
"He's never spoken to you about it?" she asked.
I shook my head.
"How odd." she muttered and looked
thoughtful. "Well, maybe you're right. She's such an overbearing woman. She thinks she's been ordained to run all our lives or something. But, I am troubled by all that's happened, honey. What did Miss Hamilton do today?"
"She ended our weekend rehearsals. I think the principal forced her to do that. She's really hurt. felt worse for her than I did for myself."
"Yes. Sometimes, innuendo is enough, too much." Mommy looked at me. "There's not a shred of truth to the ugly stories, is there?"
I shook my head slowly, the tears coming hot and heavy into my eyes.
"How could you even ask?" I said.
"You're right," she replied quickly, "but you see what the power of suggestion can be? Even I was worried for a moment. Cinnamon. I shouldn't have been, but it's only natural. I suppose. I'm your mother. I have to worry."
"I hate them. I hate them so much." I said. "I wish I did have spiritual powers and could put a curse on all of them."
She smiled.
"They'll put a curse on themselves with their own actions. It might take a while, but those kind always end up eating out their own hearts, honey. Come here," she said and held out her arms.
I stepped forward and she hugged me tightly.
"I
love you, Cinnamon.
I
trust you and
I
believe you."
"Thank you. Mommy." I said.
"What happened to Clarence?" she asked and I told her.
"You don't want to see him anymore?"
"I
think he's moved on. Mommy. We were good friends and maybe we should have left it that way." She nodded.
"I understand. More than you know," she added with a cryptic look in her eyes.
Either nothing was mentioned to Daddy, or if it was, he chose to ignore it. Grandmother Beverly made some veiled remarks at dinner, but Daddy seemed very distracted, lost in his own thoughts. Mommy noticed. too.
"Is something troubling you. Taylor?" She asked.
"What? No," he said quickly, far too quickly.
"You can't treat me like a thin-shelled egg forever," Mommy told him. "It will make me feel Worse."
He gazed at Grandmother Beverly and then smiled at Mommy.
"It's just this market, with the Feds making everyone nervous threatening to raise rates, not to raise rates," he explained. "Some of my clients are driving me bankers."
"I wish you thought about getting yourself into something else. Taylor. You used to talk about establishing your own financial group far estate investments instead of doing battle daily in that madhouse called the stock market."
He nodded.
"Maybe soon," he said.
Grandmother Beverly made a small, throaty sound of skepticism and then nodded to me to start clearing away the dishes.
Mommy glanced at me and I at her. We were spiritual sisters. We shared a sensitivity that told us something wasn't quite right. I had my own ideas about it, of course. and I made the mistake of looking away too quickly. Later that evening, Mommy called me into her bedroom.
"Is there something you know, you all know, that Daddy doesn't want to tell me. Cinnamon?'
I shook my head. How could I ever tell her what I had seen?
"You know, worrying about something terrible happening can make you almost as sick as the terrible thing itself," she said.
I nodded, but kept my eyes down. I felt so trapped.
"All right, honey. I don't want you to worry either. You have too much on your mind these days with your schoolwork, your tests and the play coming up. Let's just think about the good things," she suggested.
I smiled and nodded.
"Okay. Mommy."
The week before the play was so intense. We had three evening dress rehearsals in a row so the lighting, the sets, the props and, of course, our performances could be sharpened and coordinated. We made so many mistakes. I was convinced it would be a total disaster. People like Iris Ainsley would get what they wanted, their sweet, vicious revenge. It might very well destroy Miss Hamilton's career as well. I thought. What terrible thing had I done when I took this role and assumed this awesome
responsibility?
Miss Hamilton tried to assure us that blunders during dress rehearsals were a good thing.
"Let's make all our mistakes these nights and be perfect in front of the audience," she said.
The evening before the play opened. I had a nightmare that I had lost my voice. When I stepped onto the stage. I couldn't make
a
sound and the whole audience broke into a fit of hysterical laughter. I saw Iris's face burst into a fat, happy smile and Mommy's face streaked with tears. I woke and found my heart was pounding. It seemed impossible to fall back to sleep and that made me even more nervous. If I'm not rested and I'm exhausted. I'll forget lines, moves. everything. When the alarm sounded in the morning, I woke in a panic. My eyes looked bloodshot. I wanted to stay home, but I knew if I didn't attend school, the principal could keep me from performing.
Mommy rose to have breakfast with me and encourage me.
"I know this is a big day for you. You'll be floating, hardly hearing or seeing anything, Cinnamon, but you've just got to stay firm, stay confident. You'll be wonderful," she assured me.
Here she was recently recovered from a terrible emotional crisis in her life giving me comfort and boosting my morale. How I loved her. I thought, and hugged her tightly before I left for school. She was right about the day. It seemed to take forever. I spent most of my class time glancing at the clock, longing for the sound of the bell, hardly hearing the teachers. Thankfully, none had scheduled an exam. In the cafeteria I sat with members of the cast. We had gravitated to each other out of a mutual sense of anxiety, drawing comfort from each of us freely admitting he or she had trouble sleeping the night before, and everyone confessing fear of forgetting lines.
"Don't worry about it." Dell assured us. "When you step onto that stage tonight, you won't remember being afraid and you won't be tired. You'll be so juiced.'"
I didn't see how that was possible. When school finally ended. Miss Hamilton stopped me in the hallway and told me to just go home and rest. We had an early call for makeup and then it would begin. Or end.
At home Mommy had gotten herself back into the flow of activity. She took over preparing our dinner because she wanted to be sure I ate something light. Daddy had promised to get home early. Grandmother Beverly was coming to the play. too. "to see if all this time had been wasted."
Mommy looked so much her old self, hovering around me as I prepared to leave for the school theater. All I could think was if I failed, she might regress.
It
added to the pressure.
"You'll do fine, honey," she told me as I started down the stairs. "Just being part of something like this is wonderful. You'll see."
We hugged. Daddy was still not home, but he had called to say he was on his way. Miriam Levy, the head of our student makeup crew, was coining by to pick me up. I headed out, looking back once to wave to Mommy in the doorway, and then I released a hot, anxious breath and got into Miriam's car.
There was so much commotion in the makeup room, it was hard to worry. Miss Hamilton was busy with details, putting out small fires. We had no time to talk. Finally, twenty minutes before the opening curtain, she gathered the cast together and gave us her pep talk.
"I want you all to know that I'm proud of you already. In my short life in the theater. I learned that what makes the difference is not perfection, but the ability to deal with imperfection. Mistakes will happen. Expect them, but stay on your feet and react to them so that the audience never knows. Good luck, gang. Thanks for giving me so much of yourselves," she concluded, her eyes fixed solely on me.
We took our positions. Someone cried. "The place is full!"
My heart dipped like a yo-yo in my chest and touched the bottom of my stomach. I thought I would vomit and was happy Mommy had made sure I had a very light dinner. When the curtain opened, there was applause for the set and it began.
Like a baby duckling just realizing it can swim. I glided through the lights. I could feel myself growing stronger, more confident with every successful line delivered. Dell was as strong as ever-- even stronger-- and our performances enhanced each other's. I felt as if I had been on the stage all my life. Maybe it was remembering Mommy and myself in the attic, all those stories we acted, those people I portrayed. Whatever. I didn't miss a word or fail to hit my marks.
When it came time for Dell's and my most dramatic scene, I could sense that the audience was rapt. but I didn't think of them. I thought of who I was in the play and what I was saying and what was happening. How much I wanted the sense of calm and completion my character had at this moment. How brave her love had made her. The sweet tragedy brought tears and when the final curtain closed, the applause was thunderous.
I had avoided looking directly at the audience all evening. The lights had helped block them out, but when we took our curtain calls, and I came out on the stage. I was overwhelmed by the sight of all those people rising to their feet. I glanced at Miss Hamilton. She was glowing so brightly, she looked like a little girl again.
The moment I stepped off the stage, we hugged. "Thank you," I told her.
"No. Cinnamon, thank you. Thank you for being who I thought you were. This is just the beginning for you," she promised.
Afterward, friends and family came backstage. Mommy looked so beautiful and so healthy, my heart burst for joy. Daddy couldn't stop complimenting me and I saw how much he enjoyed the accolades other people were lavishing on him.
"She's a natural."
"What a talented young lady."
"You must be so proud."
In the background, looking overwhelmed herself, stood Grandmother Beverly. She, too, welcomed the praise and was glad to take credit for being a member of my family.