Now Rae Dawn looked again at the light streaming from the professor’s window and made her decision. She snapped the philosophy book shut, slipped on her loafers, and went out into the night.
“MAY I COME IN?” Rae asked when Dr. Gottlieb answered her knock.
He stood aside. “By all means.”
“I’m sorry to come so late. I saw your office light on, and—”
Gottlieb shrugged. “The hour is of no consequence. I am a night bird.”
Rae Dawn smiled. “Night owl. ”‘
“Ah.” The professor gave a little self-deprecating laugh. “I would think that after twenty years my English would be better. But your idioms escape me at times.”
Rae entered the office and seated herself in the leather chair across from his desk. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About authenticity. Transparency.”
He nodded and motioned for her to continue.
Despite her earlier determination, a shudder of nervous tension ran through her. “This isn’t really about music, Professor,” she said apologetically. “I probably shouldn’t be taking up your time.”
“I am here for you no matter what you wish to speak about,” Dr. Gottlieb said. “Surely we are more than professor and student by now.” He laid a hand on his chest. “For my part, I think of you as the daughter I never had. The child of my heart.” He smiled. “Besides, for a musician, everything is about music. Life is music. Music is life.”
At his words, a radiant warmth shot through Rae Dawn’s veins. He was so kind, so accepting. So … fatherly. She’d never had a father—not a real one, anyway, and with a shock of recognition she realized that she had grown to think of him that way too.
“All right. Well, you see, I haven’t told my friends the truth about myself. About Picayune. About my family and background. I’ve been rationalizing it, telling myself it doesn’t matter. But then you said what you did about hiding in darkness and not letting the light shine through the music—”
Dr. Gottlieb twined his fingers together and inclined his head. “And… ?”
“And I need to tell them, don’t I? I need to be honest. I can’t be authentic in my music if I’m not authentic about myself. Otherwise I’m just blowing smoke out my—” She stopped abruptly and felt heat rise into her face.
“Smoke out your ass?” he finished with just the hint of a smile. “That is the correct phrase, yes?”
“Yes.”
“I must admit I do not understand that one very well. I have never personally seen this smoke from the buttocks, and believe it to be a physical impossibility. But then there are many things I have not yet experienced.”
Rae Dawn laughed, and her tension dissipated a little. “Anyway, I want to tell them the truth. I really do. But—”
“But you are afraid of how they might respond,” the professor finished.
She nodded.
“You fear they might not wish to be your friends any longer if they knew the secrets you have been hiding from them?”
“I don’t know,” Rae said miserably. “I can’t really believe they’d reject me because of my background. But they might not be too happy that I’ve kept it from them for so long.”
“And yet—” He made a rolling motion with his hand.
“And yet I have no real choice.”
The professor raised an eyebrow. “We always have choices, child. As long as we live, we choose. You can choose to be honest or not. They can choose to accept you or not. You are responsible not for their reactions, but for your own integrity.” He tilted his head. “Besides, how do we ever know that we are fully loved unless we are fully known?”
RAE HAD INTENDED to return to the dorm gather her nerve, and then go down to Delta’s room to talk. But while she was still pacing, trying to formulate the right words, the door opened and Delta came in.
“Hey,” she said, plopping down on Rae Dawn’s bed. “This is such a great space. I’m jealous.” She looked around. “Where’s your roommate?”
“Gone.” Rae shrugged. “She transferred to Rowan Hall to room with a friend, and the Student Affairs office never got around to assigning anyone else. I lucked out.”
“I can’t imagine why anyone would move out of Castlebury into Rowan,” Delta said. “Those dorms on back campus are like rabbit warrens. Small rooms, with high little windows and concrete block walls. Reminds me of jail.”
“Like you’ve ever been in jail.” Rae Dawn forced a laugh. “I prefer being on front campus too. It’s so peaceful. We may not have private baths or elevators, and sometimes going up three flights of stairs is a pain, but it’s a fair trade-off.”
Delta wandered over and peered out the window. “I love these tower rooms. Nice view. You’ve even got a balcony up here.” She pointed to a small glass-paneled door angled across a corner of the room.
“Yeah, but I have to keep the door closed. A small colony of bats has taken up residence in the eaves.”
Delta shuddered and moved away from the corner.
The superficial talk dissipated like fog, and an uncomfortable silence settled over the room. Delta continued to pace.
“Okay, what’s up?” Rae Dawn said at last.
Delta looked at her. “That’s exactly what I was about to ask you. You’ve been acting strange lately.”
“Strange?”
“I’m your best friend—at least I think I am. But lately I don’t feel as if I know what’s going on with you. And you were really rude to Tabby Austin at dinner tonight.”
“Rude? How was I rude? I was very restrained, if you ask me. Didn’t say a word to her.”
“Exactly. You ignored her completely, as if she wasn’t even there. It’s not like you, Rae Dawn. Something’s bothering you.”
Rae let out a sigh. This wasn’t going the way she had planned, not at all. “Yeah,” she said, “something is bothering me. But I’m not about to spill my guts in front of Miss Priss.”
“What do you have against her? She’s a perfectly nice girl.”
“Right. She’s perfect.” Rae Dawn flexed her shoulders and twisted her neck, trying to release the tension. “Want to know the truth? It’s because she’s so perfect. She makes me feel—I don’t know. Different. Inferior.”
The word was out before Rae could call it back. She felt a tingling chill creep up her spine.
“Inferior?” Delta repeated. “How could you possibly feel inferior? You’re smart, you’re talented—”
“I’ve always felt inferior,” Rae Dawn said, cutting her off. “And it’s not a figment of my imagination, Delta. You don’t know what it was like, growing up the way I did. You have no idea.”
Delta leaned forward, and when she spoke her voice was quiet, entreating. “So tell me.”
The compassion, the openness in her voice took Rae Dawn by surprise. No wonder Delta was so popular, so welcome anywhere she went. It wasn’t because of her looks or her personality. It was because she cared.
Tears stung Rae’s eyes, and she swallowed against the rising emotion. Then the floodgates opened. She propped her elbows on her knees and looked directly into Delta’s eyes. “When I was a little girl—” She paused.
“In New Orleans,” Delta supplied.
“No, not in New Orleans.” Rae Dawn sighed. “New Orleans is a fantasy, a dream wish. I was born and raised thirty miles northeast, outside of Picayune, Mississippi.”
“But you told us—”
“I made it up, all that stuff about New Orleans. I mean, the places I told you about are real enough. I spent a lot of time there as a teenager. But I never lived there, even though I desperately wanted to. To live anywhere, actually, other than Picayune.” She took in a ragged breath and went on, describing the broken-down trailer, the experience of living on Hobo Creek, her fathers drunken rages, her mothers apathy.
“So anytime I could hitch a ride, I’d escape to New Orleans. I’d hang around the Quarter, listen to the music. Sometimes tourists would take pity on me an
d give me a little money. All I dreamed of was being able to live in New Orleans and play the piano. And then out of the blue I got a scholarship to come here.” She paused. “A resident need stipend.”
Delta looked puzzled.
“It’s a grant for state residents who have no way of paying for college otherwise,” Rae Dawn explained. “Reserved for the most desperately poor.” She shook her head. “And I almost didn’t get that, because I had a hell of a time just convincing my parents to sign the application papers. They didn’t think I needed to go to college. I suppose they expected me to work at Winnie’s Washeteria and take care of them for the rest of my life.”
The memory of the trailer, and her parents, and the moldy, fishy smell of Hobo Creek caused Rae Dawn to cringe. “I’d had enough of being teased and taunted, of being yelled at or rejected—or worse, invisible. I got on a Greyhound and left it all behind, and once I’ve graduated I’m never going back there. Never.”
“You were laughed at because you were poor?”
“Because I was poor and dirty. Because I wore clothes from the Goodwill. Because my daddy was a drunk and my mama was a zombie. You name it.”
“And the worst offenders,” Delta ventured, “were little clones of Tabitha Austin. Rich, pretty, privileged.”
A stab of remorse caused Rae Dawn to flinch. “I guess so.”
Delta smiled. “Or little clones of me.”
“Not you,” Rae protested. “You’re not like that. You’re different. You understand. You care.”
“But how would you know I cared if you didn’t give me a chance?”
Rae Dawn looked up. Delta was gazing at her, and there was no hint of condemnation in her expression. Just a softness that spoke of empathy and affection.
“What makes me different from Tabby?” she asked.
“Well… I know you.”
“Right.” Delta nodded. “So let us know you. Tell us what’s going on in your life.”
“As a matter of fact, there’s a good deal going on,” Rae said. “But I should tell Lauren and Lacy too.”
ON THE WAY DOWNSTAIRS to round up the twins, Delta considered the implications of Rae Dawn’s revelation. She couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be that poor, to grow up ashamed of your own parents, to hate going home.
Delta had never considered her parents rich, by any stretch of the imagination. Solidly middle class, with a split-level house, two cars in the driveway, and two children, the Foxes represented the consummate small-town family.
Mama seemed bored once in a while, now that Delta was looking at her family from the outside, with a dispassionate eye. Occasionally Daddy was grouchy if business was in a slump. But nobody got drunk or yelled or cursed, and everybody always had clean clothes and plenty to eat and lots of books and a television to watch Ed Sullivan.
Delta had never known deprivation or hunger or isolation. Never been teased or bullied. There had never been a question of whether she could or would go to college, or whether there would be money enough for tuition. If she lived to be a hundred, she would never truly understand the kind of upbringing and family life Rae Dawn had endured.
She paused outside the twins’ open door and then entered without knocking. Lauren sat at the desk painting her fingernails a violent, ghoulish shade of red, and Lacy sprawled across one of the beds practicing her guitar.
Both of them looked up.
“Hey,” Lauren said. Lacy waved and went back to strumming.
“Can the two of you come upstairs for a minute?”
“Give me a sec,” Lauren said. “I’m almost done.” She held up a hand. “Like it?”
“Ah, sure.” Delta winked at Lacy. “It’s kind of the color of vampire blood.”
Lauren blew on her fingernails and capped the polish, then stood up. “Exactly the look I was going for. Lady Dracula.”
RAE DAWN TRIED TO SUPPRESS the writhing in her stomach as she sat facing Delta and the twins lined up sideways on her bed, shoulder to shoulder. The image of a firing squad came to mind, but she pushed it aside. She’d already told Delta the bad part, which had turned out not to be so bad after all. But now she had to repeat everything for Lauren and Lacy, and the stiff formality of the situation made her even more anxious.
She blew out a breath. “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said. “I, ah—” She paused. This hadn’t been quite so difficult in the context of the conversation about Tabitha Austin. But just to blurt it out, cold turkey, while Lauren and Lacy sat there eyeing her with curious expressions … well, she hadn’t the faintest idea how to get started.
“Do you want me to summarize our earlier conversation?” Delta offered.
A surge of gratitude flowed over Rae Dawn. “Please. If you don’t mind.”
“All right.” Delta adjusted her position on the bed so she could make eye contact with the twins. “It’s like this—we all thought Rae was from New Orleans, but she isn’t. She’s from Picayune, Mississippi, and she grew up really poor, and she’s here on a need scholarship, and she didn’t want to tell us about it because she was ashamed.” She said all of this very quickly, then turned back toward Rae.
Stunned, Rae Dawn gaped at Delta. She hadn’t been prepared for such a blunt, truncated narrative of her past. And yet it seemed easier, somehow, to hear it in such a matter-of-fact tone, without any drama.
“What, you’re embarrassed about your family?” Lauren asked.
“Yes.” Rae Dawn nodded. “My father is an alcoholic. A drunk. My mother pretty much checked out of life years ago, except she still keeps on breathing. I was raised in a broken-down trailer and never knew where my next meal was coming from. It was—” She paused. “Bad.”
“And you were self-conscious about telling us?”
“Yes. No.” Rae frowned. “Not self-conscious. Mortified. Humiliated.”
“What a load of rubbish,” Lauren said. “For God’s sake, girl, we don’t give a damn about your family.”
“Well, yes, we do,” Lacy broke in. “We give a damn about how it has affected you and hurt you. But it doesn’t matter where you came from. It matters who you are.”
Relief rolled over Rae Dawn, a cleansing, healing wave. She began to tell them the whole story, even parts Delta hadn’t heard. Her visceral response to music, the longing to play and write and be somebody. Her love of New Orleans, details of her furtive visits as a teenager, her fantasies about being part of the music scene in the Quarter. Her ultimate escape from Picayune via the scholarship offered to her. The way she had resigned herself to becoming a teacher instead of a musician because it gave her security, a means of supporting herself.
And then, finally, she came to the best part. The miracle. She told them about Manfred Gottlieb listening outside the practice room and asking her to come to his office.
“I don’t know how he knew about me,” Rae Dawn said, “but it was like he had an inside track on my life. He understood. ”
She judiciously omitted the part about why he understood. She wouldn’t feed the rumors about him or betray his confidence.
“Anyway,” Rae Dawn concluded, “he’s been giving me lessons. Teaching me—for free. ” She beamed at them. “He believes I have real talent, both as a professional musician and as a composer. And he’s helping me.”
Hoots and whistles and applause filled the little tower room as Rae Dawn’s friends celebrated with her. They hugged her and laughed and talked over one another. At last a serious-looking brunette stomped down the hall and stood in the doorway staring at them until they all shut up.
“Sorry,” Rae said, glancing at the clock on her bedside table. “I didn’t know it was so late.” It was after eleven, and ten o’clock was the start of quiet time in the dorm. They were lucky the house mother hadn’t heard them.
“Never mind about that,” the girl said. “I’m just passing the word. There’s a moon tonight, and the ginkgo is shedding!”
With a whoop and a holler, the four of them trooped down the stai
rs and out into a beautiful October night. Someone had built a bonfire in the fire pit on front campus. “Dean of Students has brought s’mores!” a tall upperclassman informed them as she dashed by on her way to the tree.
Together they ambled over to the ginkgo tree and watched as the yellow, fan-shaped leaves cascaded down in lazy spirals. All around them, girls were jostling and jumping to grab a leaf before it touched the ground.
“Catch it!” Lauren called to Lacy. “You’ll find the love of your life before next spring!”
“Do you believe this stuff?” Delta asked Rae.
Rae Dawn shrugged and held up both hands in an attitude of surrender. A single ginkgo leaf drifted into her palm and lay there quivering like a golden butterfly.
“Not really,” she said. “But I’ll keep it anyway.”
Delta snatched a falling leaf from the air and stuffed it into the pocket of her pajama top. “Come on, everybody,” she said as she grabbed each of the twins by an arm. “Let’s go get some s’mores before they’re all gone.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Rae caught a glimpse of burnished copper illuminated by the moonlight. She turned. Tabitha Austin was standing under the ginkgo alone, with a single leaf caught in her hair.
Gently Rae Dawn pulled it out and handed it to her. “This is yours, I believe.” She hesitated. “Why don’t you come on over and have s’mores with us?”
After a moment’s indecision, Tabby nodded. “All right,” she said in a tentative voice. “I—ah, I’ve been meaning to tell you. I really enjoy your music—with the Delta Belles and all. You’re so gifted—on the piano, I mean. And your voice. You could be a star.”
“Thanks.” Rae Dawn smiled, and she felt something warm and accepting break open inside her. For the first time in her life, she didn’t feel ashamed to be standing next to the likes of Tabitha Austin.
Delta Belles Page 7
