Inner Diva

by Laurie Larsen

  “I saw you studying the script last night. And I heard you running through the lines.” He stood and joined her, placing his hand on her elbow. “You wanted a part, didn’t you?”

  Monica shrugged.

  “Why didn’t you try out?”

  She squeezed her lips together in a close-mouthed smile. “I’m needed back here.”

  He lowered an eyebrow at her. “Uh huh.”

  She always broke into a giggle when he did that. “What? I am.”

  “Sure. Or is it that we’re a little too fearful to put ourselves out there and try something new?”

  She studied him. “Okay, that too.” She hated that he could read her so well.

  He tugged on her arm. “What do you say we grab something to eat? I’m starved.”

  She nodded and headed to the back where she’d left her coat.

  “And make me a promise, would you?”

  She shrugged on her jacket. “What?”

  “Next show -- whatever it is -- go for it, Mon. Get up the nerve to audition. You’d be great out there.”

  Monica shuddered. Practicing lines in her bathroom was one thing, but up on a stage in front of an auditorium full of people was another. Even at the theater located on the outskirts of St. Louis, which had become her home over the last few years. She loved running the box office, designing the advertising, helping select the plays, making sure the seats were filled. It was a great job, and she was pretty good at it.

  But acting was another thing entirely. The theater had an unending supply of talent knocking down its doors. The director wouldn’t consider her for a role.

  Or would he?

  Then again, it was her dream. Literally. Often she’d awaken after dreaming of being onstage, soaking in the applause and adoration of the crowd. Lately, her dreams invaded her waking hours as well. Out of nowhere, a vivid daydream of performing as an actress interrupted her work and completely distracted her. Like when she almost got hit in the head by an errant stagelight.

  She had an inner diva. A sleeping one, at the moment, but still, there. And she needed a nudge to emerge into the spotlight.

  Maybe making the move from backstage -- her comfort zone – to front stage was the answer. The question was, did she have the courage to do it?

  “Maybe.”

  “That’s all I’m getting from you? A maybe?” Steve zipped his own jacket and headed toward the backstage door.

  “I’ll think about it.” Monica followed, and almost got run over by Trina, the female lead of the show. “Excuse –“ she started, but didn’t finish because the self-proclaimed star of the show whooshed past, her male co-star trotting along behind her. They were in the middle of a discussion (aka, argument).

  “No, it doesn’t work if you do it that way, Brad. When you cross stage left it hides me completely from that side of the auditorium. My reaction to your revelation is vital. It’s the turning point of the scene.” She stalked downstage with Brad following.

  Monica glanced at Steve and they shared a laugh. “You see what you’d be saving us from if you were the female lead?”

  Forty minutes later they were seated at Burger Barn, finishing up cheeseburgers, fries and milkshakes. A haze of fifties-nostalgia hung on the walls and a jukebox sat in the corner, loaded with Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis and Johnny Cash. The waitress wore a poodle skirt, sneakers and pony tail and Monica wondered if the middle-aged woman’s foul mood could be explained by her understandable disenchantment with the uniform.

  Monica’s cell phone rang. She gave Steve a surprised look and fumbled in her purse before answering it.

  “Monica? I got off two hours early and can talk now.”

  Although the caller hadn’t identified herself, Monica recognized the voice and the accent – Senora Garcia.

  “Thank you so much for your call back.”

  “If you want, you come over now and we talk. You meet Luisa.”

  Monica’s heart jumped. She was hoping she’d have a chance to meet again with Mrs. Garcia. Show her how interested she was, and prove herself trustworthy. That being late for their last appointment was a fluke.

  But what about Carlos? It was clear he didn’t support her involvement with his sister.

  “Have you spoken with Carlos?”

  “Yes, yes. Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t think he wants me to mentor Luisa.”

  Mrs. Garcia paused. “He has no problem with you. So, you come?”

  “Yes, of course, I’m on my way right now. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minute. Okay. Bye bye.”

  She flipped her phone shut and looked at Steve.

  “Hot date?” he said with a grin.

  “Not hardly. I’ll tell you about it later if it works out.” She gathered her coat and began to slide out of the booth.

  “Ahh, the mystery.” Steve gave a wave and helped himself to her remaining French fries.

  Thanks to less-than-normal traffic and Monica risking a ticket by exceeding the speed limit the whole way, she landed on the Garcias’ doorstep exactly twenty minutes after hanging up. If that didn’t tell the woman she was a reliable role model, what would?

  Mrs. Garcia waited by the door and welcomed Monica in with a hearty, “Come, come.”

  Once Monica had settled into an overstuffed chair in the living room, Mrs. Garcia sat and then jumped up again. “Oh Dios mio, my manners! Wait.” She bustled to the kitchen and returned with a large order of fast food French fries. “You’re hungry, yes?”

  A delighted smile popped onto Monica’s face. “No, no thank you. That’s very sweet of you, but I just finished eating. I’m stuffed.”

  The wide grin on the older woman’s face lost a little of its sheen. “You’re not hungry?”

  Monica hesitated a moment. “Actually, leave them here. I may be later. Thank you so much.”

  Mrs. Garcia nodded and returned to the couch. “So, you meet my Luisa tonight,” she announced.

  Monica felt a hitch of excitement in her breath. Not only were the Big Sisters a terrific organization that would allow her to make a difference in a child’s life, it delivered a strong message to her mother and sister, too. As in: she had a purpose to her life that didn’t always involve them and their schedules. And now, the time to meet Luisa was here.

  “Oh yes,” she breathed. “I’d love to meet her. But first, we need to decide the terms of our arrangement. How often would like me to visit? What nights and times? Would you object to me taking her places like the park or the movies?”

  Mrs. Garcia chuckled and leaned over to pat Monica’s hand. “You a good girl, you see? And I want my Luisa to be a good girl too. Smart. Strong. Able to care for herself. So, you come over, stay with Luisa, talk with her, take her places. Yes! She’ll see how it is to be a strong, smart woman, and she’ll be one too.” She lifted up the box of fries and waved them in Monica’s face. “Eh?”

  Monica grabbed a few celebration fries and held them up. “Cheers!” she cried and took a bite. Mrs. Garcia laughed and followed suit.

  As Monica munched, she couldn’t help bask in the positive perception Senora Garcia had of her. This was just how she wanted Mom and Barbie to see her – a strong, smart woman. It was kind of nice that a complete stranger had come to that conclusion.

  The older woman set the box on the table and held up a well-worn finger. “Now, it’s time.” She stood, walked a few steps to the edge of the room and called down the hall, “Luisa! Come!”

  Like an antsy puppy spotting escape through an open door, a little girl came zooming down the hall and halted in front of Monica. She was petite, dressed in a pair of bangled blue jeans and a short hoodie jacket. A sliver of tanned skin was visible where her shirt didn’t quite reach her waistband. Her dark hair looked difficult to control, judging from the wisps escaping from the two purple barrettes on each side.

  “And you are?” Luisa asked in an adorable voice and Monica knew immediately she was in trouble. She
wouldn’t be able to deny this nymph anything. She looked into the girl’s eyes. They were the same soft mocha color of her brother’s.

  And for some reason, that made her shiver.

  Clearing her throat and pulling herself together, she held out her hand. “I’m Monica. It’s very nice to meet you, Luisa.”

  They shook hands like mature business people and then Luisa asked, “How old are you?”

  Monica chuckled. “You’re getting right to the personal stuff, aren’t you? I am twenty seven. How old are you?”

  Luisa rewarded her with an amused smile. “I’m ten. But I know someone about your age. My brother, Carlos.”

  Monica froze, her breath catching in her throat.

  “Except he’s not twenty seven, is he, Mama?” Luisa went on, oblivious to the impact her change in topic had on Monica.

  “No, hija, twenty eight.”

  Monica nodded, and was relieved when Luisa raced on, “I’m in the fifth grade, I go to Centerville Elementary, and my teacher is Mrs. Bakewell. My favorite subject is reading and I just finished all the books in my classroom, so Mrs. Bakewell asked the sixth grade for more books.”

  Monica laughed. There was no language barrier here, and no trouble getting the kid to open up. This was going to be fun.

  Luisa chattered on a little while, then her mom silenced her with a shush and a hand on her arm. “Little one, enough. You must be quiet now. Monica wants to come over and visit you and take you places. Is that good?”

  Luisa jumped up and down, clapped and shrieked so loud, both the adults had to shield their ears with their hands. To Monica, it was the perfect reaction. It felt good to be appreciated and wanted.

  Mrs. Garcia turned to Monica. “Tuesday, Thursday and two weekend days a month. Too much?”

  Monica looked at the little girl bubbling over with excitement. “Not too much at all.”

  An hour later, Monica gathered her things to leave and asked Mrs. Garcia for a private word in the kitchen. The older woman joined her and patted her on the shoulder. “See? I told you you’re a good girl. A strong woman. Smart. You’re good for my Luisa.”

  A wash of emotion filled Monica. “Thank you. She’s a great kid. I’m really looking forward to getting to know her better.”

  Mrs. Garcia nodded. “She likes you. I can tell.”

  “I hate to bring this up again, but I’m curious. This whole arrangement seems perfect, except for Carlos.”

  Mrs. Garcia stomped her foot and got a look about her like a solid oak tree. “Carlos will be fine. He works so hard, but he doesn’t understand about the needs of a young girl. Luisa needs someone in her life besides us. He’ll understand, you’ll see.” She patted Monica’s shoulder again and nodded vigorously. “He’ll be okay.”

  Monica smiled but she had her doubts. As she made her way to the door, Luisa was at the desk near the phone, writing something on a piece of paper. She gasped when she saw Monica approach, and hurriedly tore the paper from the pad and folded it sloppily. She ran over to Monica and presented it to her, her face beaming.

  “This is for you.”

  Monica accepted it. “Why, thank you very much.” She began to unfold it and Luisa stopped her by squeezing Monica’s hands.

  “No! Read it later.” Then she stood on her tiptoes, motioned for Monica to lean down, and placed a prim kiss on Monica’s cheek.

  The smile that lit Monica’s face emerged from the warmth in her heart for this little girl. “Thank you.”

  After waving good-bye, Monica left. When she’d gotten in her car and fastened her seat belt, she unfolded the paper. Scrawled in Luisa’s handwriting was the message, “Your Little Sister, Luisa,” and a phone number. Scattered around the rest of the page in red pen, quickly blurring due to the sudden welling of tears in Monica’s eyes, were hearts and stars.

  Chapter Two

  On Thursday evening, Monica arrived at Luisa’s house. She climbed the stairs to the front door. It flung open and Mrs. Garcia bustled out, battling with her breath and tucking her uniform blouse into her pants in the back.

  “Hola! Good to see you. Luisa is inside. Go, go.”

  Monica couldn’t help but flash the woman an amused smile. Always on the run, wasn’t she? Never time to sit and relax. Well, she could help with that. On Big Sister nights, Mrs. Garcia could rest assured.

  “Adios,” Monica said with a wave. After the senora’s car pulled out, Monica turned to the door. She rang the doorbell, and waited only a few seconds for Luisa to pull the door open and present her with the biggest grin Monica had seen in a good long while.

  “Would you please come in?” she asked politely, and although her words sounded civilized and grown up, Monica knew she displayed great constraint by not jumping up and down and shrieking.

  “Such good manners. Thank you.” Monica passed by and entered the quaint, cluttered living room. She looked around and noticed a backpack sitting on the table, the zipper open and stray papers sticking out. When she turned back toward Luisa, the little girl looked like a thermometer approaching explosion.

  “I’ve been thinking of you all day. I couldn’t wait to see you.”

  “Me, too!” The words were out in a whoosh before Monica’s were even done, and Luisa followed them up with a bear hug – although because of their height differences, she squeezed her arms around Monica’s waist, but hey, the sentiment was there.

  Monica looked down at the little girl. “Is there something in particular you’d like to do?”

  Luisa bopped her head so hard Monica was afraid she’d pop a vertebra. “Want to see my room?”

  “I’d love to.”

  Luisa grabbed Monica’s hand and pulled her down the short hallway to the first door on the right. On the wall hung a Golden Arches recruitment poster, slightly tattered at the edges, but it added a dash of color to the brown wall. Two dolls stood in stiff poses on the waist-high dresser. A dozen books sat stacked on the top shelf of a bookcase, dwarfed by the empty space beside them. In the center of the room, a single bed with a headboard, covered with a hot pink spread. What looked like a poodle was sewn in white fabric into the middle, although the pup lacked one eye and most of its puff tail. Throw rugs covered the wooden floor.

  As Monica gazed around, her mind jumped to what wasn’t there. What she could buy to fill this room for Luisa – more books, dolls, toys, and Legos. Posters of her favorite movie stars to decorate the walls. Cute outfits to fill the tiny closet. A computer and a radio.

  Yet, when her gaze had made a sweep of the room and landed again on Luisa, the girl beamed with anticipation. “Do you like my room?”

  “I sure do. It’s awesome.”

  Luisa did her intense head bob again and skipped over to the bookshelf. She pulled each book off, raising them up to show her the title, then read it carefully. Most of them were Scholastic. So, she liked books, did she? Good to know.

  “Do you want to read?”

  “Nah, not right now. I’m reading past my grade level though. Mrs. Bakewell says I’m a really good reader.”

  Monica joined her near the bookcase and sat on the floor. “Keep reading, Luisa. It’s a really super thing to do with your time.”

  Luisa nodded excitedly, then ran over to her dolls. Monica craned her neck to follow the little torpedo, so full of energy.

  “I got this one from my Aunt Carmen last year for Christmas.” She stroked the velvet ball gown the doll wore, and the festive mood in the room grew reverent. Then, she carefully put the doll down and picked up the one wearing a tennis skirt and holding a racquet. “And this one I got at a birthday party of one of my friends.” She giggled. “I went to her party, and I ended up getting this!”

  Monica laughed. “Have you ever had a birthday party, Luisa?”

  “For my fifth,” Luisa said cheerfully. “At McDonald’s.”

  Monica nodded, thinking of another way she could help make this little girl’s life just a bit nicer.

  A few minutes later, they
had exhausted all the items of interest and strolled back to the main room. They settled at the table, and Luisa’s fingers rustled the backpack. She peeked into the bag through the open zipper, distracted by the contents.

  “Do you have homework?”

  Monica’s question made Luisa’s head dart her way. She nodded.

  “Do you want me to help you with it?” Monica smiled.

  Luisa’s brown eyes lit up at the suggestion. She tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. “I don’t need help, but you can watch me do it.”

  “Okay.”

  Luisa grinned and tugged at a couple worksheets until she had a small pile to be done. She opened her math book and showed Monica the problems requiring her attention. She lowered her head in concentration. As Monica watched her, she caught a movement in the corner of the kitchen. She looked up and caught a glimpse of Carlos hovering in the doorway, watching them. In the dimness of the kitchen, there was enough light to see his silhouette as he hung in the shadows.

  She positioned her head so it looked like she was watching his sister’s progress on her math page.

  Tonight he wore a faded tee shirt that clung to his chest so closely it could’ve been a second skin. At one time a navy blue, it had seen enough laundry detergent to settle into an evening sky color. The contours of his chest gave it an enticing shape and for a convoluted moment she wanted to place her hands on his vast shoulders and explore every inch of cotton-covered chisel. She had to suffice with letting her eyes make the journey instead of her hands. She secretly savored each visual step of the way, till the shirt tucked into a denim waistband.

  Imagining what lay south of that waistband caused her face to heat and her breath to go a little shaky.

  So, she raised her eyes to covertly study his face. When she dated, she stuck to men who were decidedly Caucasian. Blond hair, blue eyes, light-colored skin. Although there was absolutely nothing wrong with that combination, this man offered its polar opposite. Everything about him was dark. Exotic. Foreign. Different. Everything she was not. His skin, the color of an August suntan, all outdoors healthy and working hard. His face sported a shadow of stubble. She liked the result. She imagined the scratchy feel of his whiskers on her palm. His black, wavy hair was slightly too long for the conventional businessmen she normally encountered. Yet, it was just one more thing that made him different and appealing to her.