by Anna Adams
Undaunted, Matt just smiled and said,“There were rumors about us but—”
“You know what, Matt,” Maude interrupted angrily. “I really don’t want to hear about Lindsey, or anything that has to do with you or your love life. We aren’t friends, remember?”
“Right,” Matt replied in a lazy drawl that infuriated Maude further. “Because if we were friends, you wouldn’t have a problem listening to me talk about my love life like you obviously do right now. I guess you just can’t handle picturing me with another girl,” he finished, amused by the look of utter indignation that spread across Maude’s face.
Her face was so expressive at that moment, she couldn’t hide a single feeling even if her life depended on it. She looked ready to pounce on him.
“As amusing as it is to annoy you, let’s try to act like professionals,” Matt suggested.
Maude nodded, too angry to speak and even angrier at herself for actually caring whether he might or might not have been in a relationship with Lindsey.
“I’ve been working like crazy this past week on three new songs: ‘Leaving You Behind,’ ‘Reckless,’ and my favorite one so far, ‘Sunrise.’ Take a look at the score.”
She took the music sheet, relieved to change the topic. She quickly surveyed the score, her face slowly softening as she read the lyrics. She steadied her breath and started to sing.
You’re so peaceful while you sleep
I could watch you for a lifetime
Immersed in a slumber so deep
You don’t hear the clock chime
But suddenly daylight appears
The rays of light dance on your skin
Your morning smile chases away my fears
With you, the shadows can’t win
Maude stopped and faced Matt.
“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.
“I was inspired when I wrote it,” he said softly, his serious gray eyes resting upon her. He remembered the morning he had walked in on Maude practicing near the window and felt this song was the closest to expressing in words the image of the sunlight on her face.
Maude, thinking he was speaking about Lindsey, headed hastily towards the piano.
“So, which song was giving you such a hard time when I came in? Was it ‘Leaving You Behind’? We could work on it together if you like.”
As she sat in front of the piano, a bright ray of light softly rested on her face, her whole demeanor seeming almost ethereal.
Matt smiled calmly and said, “‘Sunrise.’ ‘Sunrise’ is giving me a hard time. Let’s work on that one first, okay?”
“Your fingers are numbered from one to five, your thumb being number one,” Maude explained. “Hand position is essential. Don’t slouch your fingers like that. Imagine you’re holding a ball. Lower your wrist,” Maude indicated gently.
Maude was giving an impatient Ben his first piano lesson.
They were both seated on the stool in front of her white Yamaha piano, and Ben was trying his hardest not to press all the keys at once.
“Say, Maude, when will I be able to play Beethoven and Chopin like you?”
“You’ll need a lot of practice, Ben. It won’t happen overnight.”
Ben sighed.
“What’s wrong?” Maude asked concerned.
“No instrument seems to suit me,” Ben explained.
“You haven’t tried enough instruments to give up.”
“My sisters were instantly drawn to the instruments they chose, almost like they were magically drawn to them. They mastered their instruments in no time.”
“That may be. However, for us mere mortals, it takes time and a lot of practice. You still have months to make your choice.”
“What if I don’t find the right instrument?”
“I’m sure your parents won’t mind if you choose an instrument after twelve. Your choice mustn’t keep you from loving other instruments. Take Victoria for example. She plays the djembe and a number of other percussions.”
“I want to feel the way you feel about piano. Your eyes light up every time you spot a piano, and you spend hours on this stool. When did you start playing?”
“During my eleventh year,” Maude mused. “It’s funny. I guess I followed your tradition without even knowing it. I didn’t have access to many other instruments except for the recorder, which is the only instrument we learned to play at school in France. You’re lucky, Ben.”
Ben, shoulders drooped. He didn’t seem to think he was so lucky.
“Maybe you should broaden your search,” Maude suggested. “You’ve only tried instruments you already know. The world is a big place. You should try something completely new, without inhibitions or preconceived ideas.”
Ben’s eyes lit up suddenly, and he jumped off the stool.
“Thanks, Maude!” he cried, hugging her tight.
“What about that piano lesson?” she called out as he made a beeline for the door.
“No need!” he answered.
Maude sighed. She wasn’t much of a teacher anyway. For a minute there, she thought she sounded uncommonly like a younger version of Ms. Tragent.
Chapter 8
“Maybe I could sing ‘Paris’ in a higher pitch?” Maude suggested.
She was lying lazily on the orange sofa in the Creation Room early that Saturday morning in late February while Matt was at the piano. They had decided to meet earlier than usual that morning to finish ‘Paris’ once and for all and start on a new song. That proved to be a lot harder than anticipated. Even though Maude had rewritten the lyrics, Matt knew there was still something missing although he couldn’t put his finger on it. Like the perfectionist he was, he adamantly refused to submit anything but perfection to James Baldwin.
“No, pitch isn’t the problem. You’re a mezzo. We don’t want your voice derailing or that will be sloppy.”
Maude yawned. She had spent every evening for the last two weeks in rehearsals. Ms. Tragent was stricter than ever much to Lindsey’s delight. The role of Clorinda suited her to perfection. Lindsey was also learning Cinderella’s part as her understudy, but Maude refused to feel bothered by it even though she was tired of feeling her breathe down her neck. Thomas as Prince Charming had spent hours the previous evening practicing with her even after Ms. Tragent had left the theater. Maude stifled a second yawn, but Matt caught it nevertheless.
“You’re tired. And rightly so. We’ve been working on this song for two hours and the sun has barely started to come up. Why don’t we go back to the cafeteria for some coffee and bagels?”
“I think I’ve had enough coffee for one morning. I’ve been on a daily dose of caffeine ever since rehearsals started. Thank goodness we haven’t started recording yet.”
“Recording is one of the best parts in creating an album,” Matt said. “And Cenerentola is a fun, romantic opera. I’d think any girl would have fun playing the lead in a fairy tale.”
“I’ll enjoy it if I manage to get a full night’s sleep before going on stage. I think I need to take a walk. I feel like I haven’t seen the sky for weeks now,” Maude said yawning openly.
“Tell me you’ve at least had a proper tour of New York.”
“I’ve visited Manhattan with Jaz—”
“First of all, Jaz thinks Manhattan is New York, but that isn’t true. Haven’t you visited the other boroughs? Brooklyn? Queens?”
Maude shook her head.
“Did you even visit The Statue of Liberty?”
Same answer.
“Coney Island?”
“I haven’t had time to visit all these places. I have so much to learn about music. New York can wait.”
“No, it can’t. I love the Baldwins, but they eat and drink music and sometimes forget that there are other interesting things in this life aside from it.”
“Okay, I’ll take next Sunday off and visit New York. Now can we get back to finishing this song? It’s going to end up making me gag. We’ve tried it a hundred different ways: high
, low, slow, fast. I’m sick of working on the same song over and over again,” Maude cried out in exasperation throwing her scores up in the air. They floated in the air before falling limply to the floor like leaves falling from a tired, autumn tree.
“Okay, that’s enough, Maude,” Matt laughed. “When a singer starts hating their own song, it means it’s time to take a break. Grab your coat and things. I’m taking you out.”
“Where?”
“Do you trust me?” Matt asked, his gray eyes dancing.
“Absolutely not,” Maude answered, crossing her arms.
“It doesn’t matter,” Matt replied, undaunted. “Grab your things. I’m kidnapping you for the day.”
“I have rehearsal at six.”
“That’s fine. We have an entire day ahead of us, and we’ll make good use of it.”
Maude peered at him dubiously.
“I think I’m going to say yes,” she gave in. “Only because I’m sick of staying cooped up in a room that feels more like a torture chamber than a Creation Room today. ”
“I’ll let that slide because you’re tired. Know that no one makes fun of Violetta.”
“Your Creation Room has a nickname?” Maude asked as she put on her coat and gloves. “If I weren’t so tired, I’d be rolling my eyes right now. Let me guess. Either Violetta was the name of your first crush, or you’re a fan of the Italian opera La Traviata.”
Matt looked at her, visibly impressed. “I see you know your stuff. Your second guess was right.”
“Compliments won’t keep me from thinking that naming a room with a girl’s name isn’t ridiculous. And what’s your car’s name? Carmen?”
Matt laughed as he called the elevator.
“You’ll thank me this evening after you’ve spent the time of your life.”
“That depends. Where are you taking me first?”
Matt shook his head.
“No questions asked. Today, you follow me blindly.”
“Do I look like the kind of girl who would blindly follow a random guy through the streets of New York City?”
“First off, I am not a random guy. Secondly, you do look like the kind of girl who could use a lesson on trust.”
By then, they had reached the sidewalk. The air was chilly, and Maude tied her scarf a bit tighter around her neck. Catching a cold was strictly forbidden before the representation of La Cenerentola. Lindsey would be too happy.
The sun had barely come up, but the city was already full of life. Men carried dark suitcases, and women in stylish winter coats scurried along like ants in a gigantic ant farm, all of them knowing exactly where they were headed, no time needing to be wasted. Business men and women poured out of never-ending lines of yellow cabs that never had to wait long before new, hurried customers jammed themselves into the vehicles. It was Matt and Maude’s turn to scramble inside a cab Matt had successfully hailed.
“Where are you headed?” asked the cab driver, barely looking at his passengers.
“Battery Park,” Matt answered, dropping back against his seat.
The cab driver, who had a heavy beard that almost ate his entire face, peered in the rearview curiously, his small, diamond-shaped eyes fixing Matt. His tiny eyes suddenly seemed to explode out of their sockets.
“Hey! You’re that singer. Matt!” he yelled excitedly.
Matt smiled calmly and nodded.
“‘Call the Love Doctor cuz my heart is breaking’”, the driver sang, completely off-key. “‘Losing you, babe means losing everything.’ Oh damn, my daughter loves you—”
“Not just his daughter, apparently,” Maude whispered.
“Seriously, she drove me crazy with that song. Do you think I could get an autograph?”
They were at a red light, and the taxi driver was waving a crumpled ad for a pizza place in Queens in front of Matt’s eyes. He laughed and took it.
“All right, what do you want me to write?”
“Tim, you’re the greatest!” he said enthusiastically.
“Your daughter’s name can’t seriously be Tim.”
“Okay, that one’s for me,” he admitted. “You can sign another autograph to Kim, my daughter. She’d better not throw me another fit for the rest of her life after this!”
They all laughed as the light turned green.
“So, we’re headed towards Battery Park. Are you taking the ferry there? You guys doing some sight-seeing today?”
“Absolutely. Maude has been in New York for over a month and still hasn’t seen all there is to this city.”
“Aww, that’s a shame. At least you’ve got yourself a great guide with Matt.”
“I guess,” Maude shrugged. She doubted “great” and “Matt” should be used in the same sentence.
“In a couple of months, you’ll tell your friends you had the famous Maude Laurent in your cab.” Matt said.
“Are you a singer too?” Tim asked excitedly.
“Well actually—” Maude hesitated.
“She is incredible,” Matt cut her off. “She’s a talented singer, songwriter, and pianist. We’re working on her first album and with a voice like hers, she’ll be the next sensation.”
“You seem to be in good hands, Maude. It’s important to have someone believe in you so passionately,” Tim said. “I’ll drop you off now. Have fun, kids!”
Maude and Matt made their way through the crowd to buy tickets for the ferry. She noticed the stares that converged towards him that he didn’t seem to see or pretended not to see. He always seemed irritatingly at ease, as if nothing could get to him. Was he sincere in what he thought of her? Apart from James Baldwin, Maude wasn’t used to having people believe in her. She had always believed in herself, but ever since she had arrived in New York, she felt in awe of everything she had to learn. But she wasn’t afraid of hard work
“We’re ready to board. Follow me,” Matt called out, waving his tickets.
Hundreds of people started to board on the ferry. Maude followed Matt towards the deck.
“I hope you’re not seasick,” Matt said, leaning over the rail.
“I hope you’ll be able to swim back to the shore if I push you over the rail,” Maude replied.
“It would be such a tragic loss for the world if I were to drown. Picture the headlines ‘Eighteen-Year-Old Pop Sensation Murdered by a Crazy Fan.’”
“Need I remind you that I am not a fan?”
“You made that perfectly clear, but that’s not how the tabloids will see it.”
The horn rang loudly announcing the departure of the ferry. Maude leaned against the rail to watch the boat slowly depart. She breathed in happily, the sea air filled her lungs, her eyes closed, her hands tightened around the rail. She opened her eyes again and peered in the water, the waves joyfully crashing against the steadfast boat, the wind murmuring in her ear accompanying the seagull’s laugh.
“Music is everywhere,” Maude said softly. “It is in the water, in the wind’s hum, in the bird’s cry, in the boat’s horn. Rhythm surrounds us. That is one of life’s greatest gifts.”
“I agree. In a big city like New York, you can find inspiration everywhere. This city has a variety of beats but one has to take the time to listen.”
“That’s how I felt in Paris also. For the first time in my life, I heard the rapid pulse of the city. In Carvin, the pace is slow, almost lifeless. I felt constrained, bound.”
Matt peered at Maude. Her face was calmly content, and he felt he had been right to whisk her out of the studio for a day.
“Don’t think about Carvin today. Think only of the present. You and me. Here and now, okay?”
“You’re the guide,” Maude conceded. “And a great one at that according to Tim.”
“Tim is a very intelligent man,” Matt stated, a humorous glint in his eye.
“Except for his taste in music,” Maude joked.
“I beg to differ.”
As they laughed, Maude thought maybe spending a day outdoors with Mat
t wasn’t such a bad idea after all. She glanced at his face as he looked afar and was almost amazed at how handsome his facial features were as if drawn by the hand of an invisible sculptor. Maybe she should get to know him better before dismissing him as an obnoxious, self-centered celebrity.
Her musings were shattered abruptly by an incoherent amount of squealing, crying, and screaming.
A large herd of ecstatic fans rushed towards Matt, pushing Maude savagely out of their way.
“Ouch!” she cried as she was rammed into the rail.
Of course, no one heard her. Matt was too busy taking pictures, signing autographs, and laughing with his female fans.
Maude turned away irritably, but was pulled back in when a pretty brunette thrust her camera forcibly into her hands.
“Could you take a picture of us?” she ordered rather than asked.
Maude glowered before shoving the camera back into the girl’s hands, “Of course,” she answered sarcastically.
Not that she cared in the least that a dozen girls swarmed around Matt, she told herself. She had just wanted to spend a calm, uneventful day discovering the city. She winced as she heard Matt laugh at her and very seriously pondered on different ways she could push him over the rail and still make it look like an accident.
“Look Maude,” Matt called out, interrupting the train of her murderous intent. “We’ve arrived.” He abandoned his group of fans who let him go reluctantly as he went to Maude.
Maude lifted her eyes to take in the beauty of the Statue of Liberty as the ferry approached Liberty Island.
The regal statue valiantly held up her golden torch, her body draped in a simple but majestic coppered toga, her face set in firm determination. Her crown glistened in the soft morning sun and imperturbable, she stood on her pedestal, watching the visitors rush excitedly out of the ferries to the land. Maude and Matt hurried out with the rest of the passengers. Maude had rarely felt such life surge through her as she raced to get to the top of the Statue. She hurried Matt along as well, who was amused to see her as eager as a child about to open her long-awaited Christmas presents.