I woke up this morning with Tara curled around my body, with her head resting on my chest. I was astonished by her gift of trust. I was tempted to lie there and just soak it all in – until I looked at the clock. I was so tired last night, I forgot to set the alarm. We had less than 30 minutes to get to the studio. I didn’t want to wake her, but she would’ve been furious if I didn’t allow her as much time as possible to get ready.
After we woke up, it was a mad dash to get showered and dressed. We literally ran out the door. This was not the romantic start to the day that I had hoped for. Not only did I completely ignore her last night after dinner, I was extremely anxious and short tempered as we got ready to go this morning.
I study Tara’s body language as she hands me the espresso. She doesn’t appear upset with me. If the shoe were on the other foot, I’m not sure I would be as quick to forgive.
I take a long drink of my coffee and scald virtually every taste bud on my tongue. Tara watches me with a look of vague amusement. “Next time should I bring a bunch of roasted coffee beans for you to munch on like sunflower seeds? If I had known you wanted to drink it all in one gulp, I would have put more cream and sugar in it.”
Before I can formulate a suitable response, my name is called. Again, I have to make a tough call about which song I want to sing. I briefly consider singing a Sam Smith song with my guitar, since I played piano in the last round. But I’m not quite as familiar with his song as I am with my other choices. It’s a relatively new song and I haven’t done it as many times. My brain is so sluggish from lack of sleep, I’m afraid I might massacre the lyrics.
So I walk over to the piano, lean into the mic, and announce to the audience, “This was a big hit for Billy Joel in the 1970s and it’s one of my favorites. I’ve spent many years being a piano man, a guitar man, saxophone man... Well, you get the picture... I hope you enjoy it.”
I’ve literally played this song a thousand times or more. It’s a perennial favorite at wedding receptions, because it’s a good sing-along song. I have developed my own signature embellishments of the introduction and chords. I can tell when the crowd realizes it’s the classic Piano Man. The crowd erupts into thunderous applause and the audience starts to sway in time with the music, or at least, what they think is in time with the music. I learned a long time ago not to follow the crowd’s lead on the timing. As I sing about the loneliness of endless gigs on the road, I am more determined than ever to win this contest and put those days behind me. I finish the song with a flourish. I’m really proud of the way that I pulled it together and performed.
I scan the audience for Tara. She is sitting in the front row holding up a glow stick as if it’s a candle. I mentally chuckle at her imitation of the quintessential groupie.
I go back stage to await the results in a scene eerily similar to yesterday’s. It’s almost like the movie Groundhog’s Day. After a little polite, stilted conversation with my fellow contestants, they finally call us in to give us our results.
The judges give me a well-deserved jab for choosing a song so similar to the last round from the same era. It’s a valid criticism. But overall they seemed to really like it. I have to wait until all the other contestants have heard their critiques before I’ll know if I’m brought back for another round. After a tense drawn-out segment where our names are drawn at random, my name was the very last one called. I nearly pass out from relief when I hear my name. I swear I hear Tara shouting over the din of the crowd, “Way to go, Aidan!”
If Tara didn’t have to go home this afternoon, I could celebrate that partial victory. As it is, my elation is tempered by a small thing called life. My morose attitude is quickly adjusted, though, when Tara strips off her interpreting jacket and lets down her hair, in a billow of rich dark satin, and launches herself at me. I have to catch her with both hands and brace myself against the couch behind me. Otherwise, she would have toppled us to the ground in her enthusiasm.
For the moment, she seems to have forgotten that the halls back stage aren’t exactly private as she rains down kisses on my face. “Oh my Gosh, Aidan!” she exclaims. “I don’t think you could have done that song any better. It was perfection. I’m so proud of you!”
“Yeah, I was pretty proud of the way it went,” I respond modestly.
“Well, you should be proud. Everyone loved it!” she insists. “Come on, let’s grab lunch before I have to go to the airport.”
“Will you be okay on the flight back?” I ask. “I know flying is not your favorite thing.”
“If I get nervous, I’ll just remember what it was like to have you sit beside me and hold my hand,” she responds with a small smile that does not quite reach her eyes.
“I wish I could take you to the airport. Unfortunately, I have to tape a bunch of promotional spots for the show.”
“Aidan, you pay attention to the contest and I’ll manage everything else,” she firmly instructs. “You can’t afford to be distracted. I’ll be fine, I promise.”
Lunch was interesting. We were both trying to put a positive spin on less than ideal circumstances. It makes me think what life might be like if we both had to work all the time to make ends meet. It’s a daunting thought. But the facts are simple. I want Tara in my life, and if I have to juggle Tiki torches to make that happen, I will.
As lunch draws to a close, Tara says, “I need to catch the shuttle to the airport.”
I gather her in a tight embrace and kiss her deeply. When I pull away, I kiss her on the forehead. “I have to hope I won’t be home too soon, sad to say, or this would all be for naught. But keep the home fires burning for me either way, okay?”
“Always,” Tara promises as she gives me a lingering kiss.
Looking up at the clock, I wonder if class is ever going to end. It’s one of my required classes to graduate; yet I already covered this material in my AP English class in high school. Really, how many different ways are there to interpret The Scarlet Letter? I usually enjoy this class, but today I can’t stay focused. Apparently, both my brain and heart stayed behind in Los Angeles.
I haven’t heard from Aidan all day. He sent me a text this morning to tell me he was on his way to the studio, but it wasn’t the same without me. I should’ve stayed, because it isn’t doing me any good to be here. I can’t seem to think about anything except Aidan. It’s disconcerting because I never wanted to be one of those girls whose entire life revolves around a boyfriend.
My mom was an accomplished woman, before she met my dad. They met in college where she was in school to become a speech therapist. But after they got married, she gave up all that because my dad had to travel so much. Before I came along, she travelled with him. It must have been exciting to travel to all those exotic places my dad visited while serving as a translator. My arrival must have put a wedge between them. Still, I have greater sympathy for my mom. Now I can almost understand why she felt that her world had ended, when my dad died. Of course, understanding why she did it doesn’t erase all the pain. She owed something to me as well, didn’t she? I don’t know. I just know I need to protect my heart from that kind of pain.
Hopefully, my next class will go by a little more quickly. I’ve almost finished all my sign language classes. I seem to have a natural talent for picking it up, and I wonder if it’s something I inherited from my dad. As a translator he spoke several languages. I wish I could still speak the Japanese he taught me, but after so many years of disuse, most of it’s gone.
It’s hard for me to believe the difference between the two classes. When I’m signing, time flies by before I can blink. As I’m leaving the classroom, my professor stops me. Immediately my heart sinks, because for the life of me I cannot figure out why she needs to speak to me. I thought I was doing really well in this class. When we get to her office, she closes the door. Now I’m on the verge of a panic attack.
“Ms. Isamu, I think you know that I consider you one of my most talented students.” Professor Solomon states with a smi
le.
“Thank you very much,” I reply with a self-deprecating shrug. “I really enjoy your class.”
“Well, you’re a joy to teach,” she responds with a gentle smile. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
I stare at her for a moment, a quizzical expression on my face. “Uh, okay,” I stammer.
“Relax, I’m not going to give you bad news,” she responds with a laugh. “ I called you in to see if you’d be interested in helping me with an outside assignment.”
“You want me to interpret for you?” I ask, thoroughly confused.
Professor Solomon grins at my question, “In a manner of speaking, I do. I am helping out with a day camp for deaf and hard of hearing junior high school students, and I need some help. I can’t interpret for everyone. You are such a natural born teacher, I thought you might enjoy the opportunity.”
“Really? Do you think I’m ready?” I ask, trying to tamp down the excitement in my voice. “Shouldn’t you ask one of the seniors?”
“If I thought any of them were as good as you, I would have,” she replies pointedly. “But your interpreting style is more suited to this assignment. Don’t you think your skills are up to the task?”
“I’d like to think they are,” I answer honestly. “But I haven’t had a lot of experience working with kids. When is this?”
Professor Solomon nods as she answers, “I have a feeling you’ll do just fine. The camp is the second weekend of next month.”
“I’ll ask for the time off, but I can’t promise anything until I get my schedule,” I answer cautiously.
“I understand,” she says. “Just let me know.”
I’m still watching the clock. This time, it’s because Aidan is supposed to Skype me at 8:30. I can’t wait to tell him my news. I tried to distract myself with homework, but it’s not really working. I’m not sure I have any recall of what I’ve just read, since my brain is so busy with other things.
Finally, at 8:25, my computer chirps to inform me Aidan is beeping me from Skype.
I honestly try to do the good girlfriend thing and ask him about his day before I share my news. But Aidan isn’t having any part of it.
“Gracie, your eyes are dancing. What’s up? Have you already found a new boyfriend?” he teases.
“Never,” I insist. “You’ve ruined me for all other men.”
“You have no idea how happy that makes me,” Aidan answers with a big grin.
“It’s true. You’ve spoiled me,” I reply with a laugh.
“It’s my honor to spoil you. But I’m really curious what’s going on to make you so happy,” he says.
“Well, I was offered a temporary job,” I explain.
Aidan chuckles as he responds, “Another job? When on earth are you going to fit it into your schedule?”
“That’s the really great thing!” I exclaim. “It’s for school credit. My boss at the gas station allows us time off for school-related stuff, so I should be okay.”
“I see. So, what’s this new mystery job?”
“I actually get to use my sign language interpreting skills,” I say, nearly bouncing out of my skin with excitement. “Out of everyone in the class, my professor chose me. She thought I would be really good in this environment.”
Aiding gives me a wry smile as he says, “Gracie, I’m not a bit surprised. You’re one of the best sign language interpreters I’ve ever seen. Nobody would ever know that you haven’t graduated yet.”
“Still, I haven’t worked with kids. I’m afraid that I’m going to look like a buffoon.”
“Gracie, stop stringing me along,” he practically growls. “What in the heck is going on?”
“Oh, I can’t believe I didn’t tell you!” she says, chagrined. “My professor chose me to work at a day camp for junior high school kids.”
“Congratulations Tara,” Aidan declares. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“Thank you,” I say bashfully. “I just hope I’ll do a good job
“Hey, no shortchanging yourself,” Aidan instructs firmly. “She wouldn’t have chosen you if she didn’t think you could do it.”
“So how was your day?” I ask, eager to hear how he did.
“Weird. It was just weird,” Aidan responds, stress written all over his face.
“What happened?” I ask anxiously.
“Well, the good news is, I made it through another round of competition. They threw a curveball at us today. We had to sing outside of our usual genre. So I sang some Garth Brooks. I think they were a little surprised that I could pull off country.”
“I’m sure it was amazing, I’m so proud of you. So what was the bad news?” I ask with trepidation.
“I think the producers sometimes forget that I can hear with the cochlear implants. So, right in front of me, they were asking all the other contestants how they feel about me being deaf. I noticed that they were taping these interviews. Nobody was particularly mean, but a couple of them think my deafness gives me an unfair advantage.”
“You’re right,” I concede. “It’s weird that they would be taping those interviews after promising not to make it a central issue of the competition. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Aidan nods his head. “So do I,” he admits. He rests his head against the back of his chair and rubs his eyes. I can tell that he hasn’t gotten much sleep. “But why would they go to all the trouble of making promises if they planned all along to renege?”
“Because people are scum-buckets?” I suggest, not so tongue-in-cheek.
Aidan sighs. “I hope my gut is wrong on this one. But you did warn me not to do business with them.” His usual upbeat demeanor is completely absent. He looks so destroyed that I wish I could crawl through the computer screen and give him a hug.
“Aidan, you have no idea how much I hope that, for once in my life, I’m wrong about something like this,” I state emphatically.
“I hope you’re wrong too,” Aidan says. “Because, if this turns out the way I think it’s going to, I’m toast.”
My eyes are filled with tears as I murmur, “Aidan, remember, no matter what happens. I’m still your biggest fan.”
The next morning, as I’m setting my DVR to record after hearing a teaser for the show, I shake my head in dismay. I thought I knew pretty much all there was to know about bullying, from my own experience. But, after hearing that promo, it’s clear that my bullying experience was strictly for amateurs. The producers had raised cyber bullying to an art form.
At first, I’m in complete shock. Now I’m just angry. The producers are doing exactly what they said they wouldn’t do.
I send Aidan a text message. “I’d advise you to stay away from any television sets today.”
A few moments later, I receive his incoming message. “Too late,” he advises. “Rory sent me a link to it.”
“What did you think of it?” I tentatively ask.
“Well, to be honest, I could have lived without hearing that I shouldn’t even be competing against ‘normal people’, because that’s what the Special Olympics are for.”
I cringe when I read that. I know this is the last thing he wanted. I wish I would have stayed there with him, because at least then I could accomplish something more than sitting at the counter, eating solo and looking pretty.
“That’s awful!” I exclaim. “She should get kicked out of the competition for unsportsmanlike conduct.”
“Eventually, she was. But, I think the damage is already done,” Aidan states, shaking his head. “If they go through with this promotion, I’ll be getting sympathy votes and I don’t want to get those kind of votes.”
I raise an eyebrow even though he can’t see me. “Aidan, with all due respect. In this kind of show, a vote is still a vote. You don’t have any control over whether your singing or your deafness gets you a vote,” I argue.
“Still, it feels like cheating to me,” he responds, his voice laden with frustration.
&nbs
p; “Aidan, if I was on one of the shows, don’t you think they would use every second of my tragic life story and play it to the hilt?”
“I suppose.” Aidan concedes. “But this feels different. It’s like they are trying to set me apart from all the other contestants. I want an honest competition.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“I guess I’ll see what happens tomorrow,” the long delays between his texts showing his fatigue.
“I hope we’re both wrong, and they don’t exploit your life just for ratings.”
“I’m praying that you’re right,” Aidan admits. “I’ve discovered that I like this winning stuff. It’s cool to be recognized. I’d like to be known as something other than Rory’s talentless little brother.”
I smile to myself as I text a reply, “You could never be thought of as talentless. After all, I have personal, intimate knowledge of how well you kiss. That’s a very special talent, and you have plenty of it.”
Aidan sends me a funny emoticon of lips. “I’ll be sure to list that skill on my resume. People will be really impressed.”
“I don’t know, Aidan. With your movie star looks, if you add spectacular kisser to your resume, you could be booked for the next decade,” I tease.
“Look at you being all sassy,” observes Aidan. “Why does it have to surface when I’m a thousand miles away?”
“Oh, I’m sure that there will still be plenty of sass when you get home,” I tease.
So the Heart Can Dance (A Hidden Beauty Novel Book 2) Page 23
