Shooting Stars 01 Cinnamon

by V. C. Andrews

  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. an
d 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.

  "I knew you would do well, honey," Mommy whispered. "Our spirits assured me.

  "And you know what?" she added.

  "What?"

  "They were here. too. I could hear them clapping for you." We laughed.

  Was the world really this wonderful after all?

  8 My Turn to Shine

  "There's someone I'd like you to meet," Miss Hamilton told me when the crowd began to thin out.

  Mommy. Daddy and Grandmother Beverly had left while I cleaned off my makeup and changed. They were waiting in the lobby. I turned from the makeup mirror and looked up at a tall, thin man with small dark eyes, a sharp straight nose and a squareboned, cleft chin. He had thin, arrogant lips and styled dark brown hair. He looked impeccably dressed in a gray, pin-striped suit and tie. There was a small twist in the right corner of his mouth that made him look lofty, condescending.

  "Cinnamon. I'd like you to meet a good friend of mine. Edmond Senetsky."

  "Hello," I said, gazing quizzically at Miss Hamilton. It was obvious to me from the way she was gloating that this man was important to her.

  He extended his
right hand, a slim hand with long fingers, one of which was dressed in a gold and diamond band. It wasn't a wedding ring, just a very expensive piece of jewelry.

  I stood up quickly and shook his hand. He had a soft, unremarkable grip, more like the grip of someone just letting go.

  "Edmond is a theatrical agent. Cinnamon. I once had illusions of him representing me," Miss Hamilton said. She laughed, but he didn't.

  "I think the worst thing you can do to someone is give them false hope," he declared firmly. He looked at Miss Hamilton and added. "Those who can, do: and those who can't, teach."

  She didn't stop smiling, but I thought that was a mean thing to say and stopped smiling at him.

  "He's right. Cinnamon," Miss Hamilton said quickly. "There's no disgrace in being the teacher either. You get to live on through your students."

  "Precisely," Edmond said. He wasn't English, but he tried to speak so perfectly, he sounded like someone imitating a distinguished Englishman.

  "Anyway, honey, you might have heard me mention Edmond's mother. Madame Senetsley who was once a very famous Russian stage actress and who now operates one of the most prestigious dramatic arts schools on the East coast. Actually, she takes on only a handful of new students every year. Edmond thinks you could be one of them."

  "I didn't say that exactly," he corrected quickly, showing some annoyance. "You've given a passable performance tonight for a high- school."

  "Passable, Edmond?" Miss Hamilton pushed.

  "Well, perhaps somewhat more remarkable than that. but I must warn you, the creme de la creme auditions for my mother every year. It's one thing to compete with your classmates in a school this size, but quite another to go head to head against the best in the country."

  "You're going to frighten her away, Edmond," Miss Hamilton told him.

  "If I do, she's meant to be away," he said. He drew a step closer to me. His eyes were beady, his lashes long enough to make any girl green with envy. "Let me tell you this one truth about the theater, the movies, television, modeling, anything that has to do with performance. Miss..."