And just like that, I was back into my natural habitat; money.
Chapter 4
Dakota
“Yes, yes, fucking yes!” I heard Emma screaming out as I opened the studio door.
It wasn’t a shocking sound. I wasn’t fazed at all actually. The only thing surprising about hearing Emma moaning out while screwing some guy was the fact that they were still going at it as the sun had started to come up. Usually, she and her boy toy of the night would have fallen asleep by now.
Emma loved to bring guys back to the studio instead of her apartment. She said it creeped her out when they knew where she lived. I never really understood why she didn’t get creeped out when guys knew where she worked, though; that seemed just as intrusive, especially since she owned her own dance studio.
After staying out until close to four o’clock in the morning dancing, getting up at seven o’clock wasn’t something I cherished doing at all. But work came first. As much as I tried to keep my vocal clients built into a normal eight to five schedule on Monday thru Friday, it never seemed to work at all. Everyone wanted appointments in the evening or on weekends, especially the younger kids.
New York families weren’t at all like the families I knew when I was growing up. When I grew up, families didn’t have packed schedules for their kids that constantly involved being occupied. We had time to be kids and hang out and sit and do nothing, but not the kids I dealt with. Kids that came to me for vocal coaching were part of an elite New York crowd of children. Their parents wanted what was best for them, or so they thought and keeping them over scheduled and overworked seemed to be the key.
Kids like Braxton who concentrated his life on theater weren’t the problem. Kids like Mary Beth Henderson were what were totally wrong with New York society and young children. Mary Beth would probably have been a relatively decent little girl had her mother not ruined her. Ruth Ann Henderson was a wretched woman whose whole life purpose seemed to be making everyone around her as miserable as possible.
Despite me consistently telling her that early Sunday mornings were not available for appointments, she consistently made her appointments for early Sunday mornings. I used an online scheduling system and had tried desperately to fix it so people couldn’t schedule appointments until at least noon on Sundays, but none of my efforts seemed to work. I put a notice on my page saying appointments should be after noon on Sundays, but Ruth Ann Henderson wasn’t interested in any of my rules.
A better woman, more confident than I, would have stood up to Ruth Ann and insisted appointments were at the correct times, but I hadn’t done that. Instead, I reluctantly traipsed myself up two flights of stairs to the third floor dance studio and waited for Mrs. Henderson and her bratty 12-year-old Mary Beth to arrive.
“Quiero hacerte feliz,” a man with a Spanish accent said.
“Yes, oh yes,” Emma replied.
I just kept walking to my office and tried not to look toward Emma’s office on the other end of the studio. I made sure to slam the front door, so she knew I was there, though. It was her cue to wrap things up because I had a client coming in. The last thing in the world that I needed was Emma and her sex god making a bunch of noise when the Hendersons arrived.
Little Mary Beth Henderson wanted to make it on Broadway; her parents had her enrolled in acting, dancing, and singing lessons. The problem, as I saw it, was that little Mary Beth Henderson didn’t really like to sing at all. Sure, she showed up for her sessions and went through the exercises I gave her, but there was no spark in her singing. Even bad singers who had a passion for the craft were better than Mary Beth. A lack of emotion riddled everything she sang, and I felt bad for the poor thing. It seemed clear that she was only doing her lessons to appease her mother.
The pounding footsteps of Ruth Ann Henderson and her daughter were unmistakable. I heard them as they started their climb from the first floor and quickly ran over to Emma’s office. The heavy banging noise was a clear sign that they did not care if others were still sleeping in the building. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if Ruth Ann Henderson even realized other people existed half of the time.
“They are here; you need to be quiet,” I yelled.
“I am being quiet,” she moaned.
“Do a better job!”
I ran back to the front door in the hopes of getting Mary Beth from her mother quickly. Ruth Ann typically dropped her daughter off for an hour-long session with me and then went about doing other errands in the area. I wasn’t exactly sure what it was that she did so early on a Sunday morning; I assumed it was something related to church or shopping, but my gut said it was neither of those things. Emma always joked that she thought Mrs. Henderson had a boyfriend in the area and that was why she continued to bring Mary Beth to vocal lessons so early on Sundays. I always joked that one hour with a boyfriend didn’t seem like enough time to wedge the stick from her ass.
I took in a couple of deep breaths as I opened the front door and hoped that Emma would remain quiet. The last thing I needed was stuck up Ruth Ann Henderson hearing all the sex noises that were going on in Emma’s office.
“Hello, Mary Beth. It’s nice to see you,” I said with a fake smile plastered across my face.
Mary Beth didn’t respond to me. In fact, she didn’t even acknowledge that I had just spoken. My gaze turned toward Ruth Ann, who unfortunately did acknowledge me with a scowling glare which I couldn’t quite figure out. I had only said hello; how on earth could she be angry at me for that.
“It will need to be a long session today. Mary Beth did horrible at her audition, and you obviously need to prepare her better. I’ll be back at noon.”
Mrs. Henderson finished talking and then turned to walk away. I knew she didn’t really care if I had an objection to this sudden desire for a marathon singing lesson, but I still decided that I had to object.
“Noon?” I hollered after her. “That’s four hours’ worth of lessons. It’s not good for Mary Beth to sing that much at one time.”
“If she were in a Broadway show, she would need to be able to sing that much, so she should build up her strength. I’ll be back at noon. Do some non-singing lessons if you’d like.”
“I had only planned to stay for one hour,” I yelled down the stairs.
“Well, now you’ll stay for four.”
It wasn’t worth arguing with her. Mrs. Ruth Ann Henderson always got what she wanted. At least she never tried to stiff me for payment. If she wanted to pay me $400 for a whole morning of singing lessons, then that’s what we would do.
“Well, this should be fun,” I said as I turned to Mary Beth.
Before I had finished talking, she burst into tears. The tough little non-emotional girl hugged me and just started sobbing. I walked her into my office, and we sat down in a couple of chairs I had there. It was no use trying to talk to her until she calmed down, so I let her finish her crying and patiently held her hand to support her.
I had always felt like she was on the brink of a breakdown, and at that moment, it was clear I was right. Her little body shook as she tried to gather herself back together so we could talk. Even my hardened soul toward the Henderson family was weakening as I saw the true pain in this little girl’s eyes.
“I didn’t do that bad. She’s making me sound like I’m horrible. I didn’t do that bad.”
“I know. You’re a beautiful singer.”
The truth was that I knew Mary Beth could be a wonderful singer, especially if she could feel the music. She had the skills needed, but the lack of emotion drew out the songs and made them seem very flat and uninteresting. There was no easy way to explain that to a 12-year-old.
“We could just sit and talk for a bit if you’d like, but I think emotions are the best time for singing. What if you did that Italian song we practiced a couple of weeks ago.”
Mary Beth looked at me with her sad eyes and determination in her face as she stood up and drew in a deep breath. When the words started to flow from h
er, I could tell that this was exactly what she needed to find her passion. Her voice was magnificent, and the emotions in her tone made me want to weep as she belted out the best version of the song I had ever heard from her.
I watched her eyes, her face, and her whole body as she built up in confidence the longer the song went on. It was a moment I knew she would never forget; the moment she let a passion for singing actually enter her soul. Her determination to prove she was a good singer was exactly the emotional connection she needed.
“Wow, Mary Beth, that was amazing. Did you feel like it was good?”
“Oh, yes, it felt like freedom. Can I do another one?”
“Of course, anything you want. Don’t be controlled. Don’t worry about anything; just let the emotion guide you.”
Mary Beth picked song after song from the old ones we had worked on. She sang them in a rich and vibrant voice, unlike anything I had ever heard from her before. She was clearly much more excited about her own singing as she smiled after each song and asked to do another. By the time we had run out of songs to sing, Mary Beth fell back into the office chair and sipped on a bottle of water as she smiled in admiration of herself. She knew she was good; I saw the confidence in her eyes.
“That’s what it’s supposed to feel like?”
“Yeah, isn’t it amazing?”
“I’ve never done drugs before, but I bet this is what it feels like.”
“Well, I’m certainly glad to hear you’ve never done drugs.” I laughed. “As long as you have singing, you’ll never have to do drugs ever. You can simply find an outlet to sing for others, and it will always give you the high feeling you have right now.”
“I used to think I didn’t really want to be on Broadway. It was just my mother’s dream. But after losing that audition, I was actually sad. Not just sad that I had lost it, but sad that my mom was going to be so disappointed in me. Is it wrong that I do want to be on Broadway, even partly for her?”
“It’s not wrong. We all like to make our parents proud of us, but you have to make your own dreams your priority and not hers.”
“Maybe Broadway is my goal; I’m not sure.”
I had to laugh at the grown up conversation we were having. Mary Beth was 12-years-old; she didn’t need to be certain of what she wanted to do when she grew up. She should be more worried about class and friends than she was about her future.
“It’s okay; you have plenty of time. I’m really happy to see your fire lit inside of you, though. That is such a beautiful thing.”
“I feel the passion.”
“I felt it when you sang.”
It was a special moment between the two of us. I felt privileged to be there at the moment when she decided to stop being a moody pre-teen and start taking control of her own life. It was a hard life she had; I didn’t envy her at all, but when her mother finally arrived to pick her up, I saw that Mary Beth Henderson was happier than I had ever seen her during our sessions. Her mother promised not to schedule on Sunday morning again; I didn’t believe her, and we said our good-byes.
“Was that the same girl you had since this morning? I haven’t seen you leave your office at all,” Emma said as she sat at the front desk to the studio.
“Yep, it’s a long story, and I’m exhausted. Can we go get food?”
“Sure, let me just finish setting up your Date Tonight profile.”
“What? Why are you doing that?”
“Because it looks fun, and I didn’t want to put my profile up. Plus, you’re much prettier. I heard this app has helped people find their soul mate in like a week. That’s just what you need.”
“Let me see; what are you putting on there?”
“I just uploaded your photo and the basics. They have too many questionnaires and tests. You can log in and do those later. But I want to help pick your guy.”
I just rolled my eyes at Emma’s plan. She was always trying to fix me up, yet I didn’t think she understood if I had a man around I wouldn’t be hanging out with her nearly as much and then she’d be stuck going dancing alone.
“Let me see,” I said as I grabbed her phone and started to read about the website.
I wasn’t totally opposed to the idea of meeting a guy. Actually, I liked the idea of meeting Mr. Right; the problem was that I wasn’t sure he was anywhere out there. The level of losers around was incredible. New York had a lot of men, but most were more interested in their work careers than meeting a decent woman. They wanted one-night stands to fill their sexual gratification and nothing more.
I understood the one-night stand mentality. I had participated in a few in the years I had been there. But I preferred to actually get to know a guy. I tried to pick guys that I would at least go on a couple of dates with because I found it extremely boring to constantly be going on first dates. After a couple of dates, I knew if I wanted to keep the guy around for longer or move on. It was a similar principle to one-night stands, but I just took a little longer to make my decisions.
“It looks fun. Raul said he met a really nice girl on there.”
“Who’s Raul?”
“The guy I was with last night.”
“How nice is this girl of his if he went home with you?”
“Oh, please, don’t go on and on about the benefits of monogamy again.”
“You know this isn’t some weird thing I made up, right. Monogamy is a thing. Most people believe in it. Most women especially believe in it. I’m not the weird one here.”
“I know. I know. Most people also get their hearts broken by the monogamy they tie each other down with. I just don’t think it’s necessary. In my ideal world, you can have a very fulfilling relationship without forcing monogamy into the situation.”
“Says the woman who doesn’t have fulfilling relationships,” I muttered under my breath.
“Oh, I was plenty fulfilled last night and well into the morning.” She laughed with a wink.
We made it to our favorite lunch shop, and I continued clicking through the dating app that Emma had signed me up for. It actually seemed pretty interesting and fun for a change. I answered questions, clicked on photos that I liked, marked my favorite places to eat, and even clicked on the gym I liked to work out at.
The description of the app made it sound like there was a person going through and sorting every applicant and matching them up, or at least a virtual program that acted like a person. What did I have to lose? My dating life couldn’t get much worse than a teenage boy hitting on me. I was still a young, idealistic woman in New York hoping for the man of my dreams to come and sweep me away.
“You seem interested in it; is it any good?” Emma asked.
“Yeah, it doesn’t let you see the other person’s photo, though. You have to match with them based off of reading their profile or something like that. Seems like a lot of effort, but it’s very intriguing.”
“Oh, hell no! I need to at least see a photo. Even if it’s a totally fake one from ten years before.” Emma laughed. “I can tell right away by looking at a guy if I’m going to get along with him. What if the guy has a big beer belly or something like that? Maybe you should delete that app after all.”
I couldn’t help laughing too. That was the thing about online dating programs. No one really wanted to show who they were, and with everyone pretending to be someone else, it didn’t seem likely that there would be long-lasting matching found through such a program.
“Oh, look at this one,” I said as I laughed.
“A mix of Bart Simpson and Marge? What?” Emma laughed in confusion.
“I don’t know, but it’s funny. I like a guy who doesn’t say the same old boring stuff. I’m going to pick him.”
“Wait, no! It says he’s in the financial industry. Ugh, he’s probably a boring stockbroker. You can’t date a boring guy; that would drive me crazy. And how on earth could he be a mix of Bart and Marge Simpson? Is he a cross-dresser or something. Say no. Just say no.”
“Emma, I ha
te to break it to you, but I’m actually boring. A nice boring guy would suit me just fine.”
“Okay, but I get to pick the next one then.”
“Deal.”
We continued for at least an hour as we read each other some of the men’s profiles and took turns saying yes or no to them. By the end of the hour, I had plenty of possible matches, and it was time to sit back and see if any of them picked me as well. This was the part I hated the most. It was like high school and the dread of not getting picked. I logged into the app on my phone and deleted it from Emma’s. I would just have to wait and see if anyone thought my profile was halfway amusing and picked me.
Chapter 5
Wyatt
“A mix of Bart Simpson and Marge,” Ren said as he typed it into my profile.
“What does that even mean?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter. You just want to be interesting and witty. Girls don’t want to understand you; they want to be intrigued by you.”
“I’d like to know what I’m saying, though,” I said as I grabbed my phone back and continued with the rest of the description for my Date Tonight profile.
The rest of the guys had left when our meeting was officially turned into my dating app help session, so Ren and I just continued to set up my profile. I didn’t buy into all the hype but really, what was there to lose. Ren seemed to believe his app had the ability to really help me find someone, and I was all for finding a nice girl. Or at least I thought I was ready to find a nice girl. It was hard to know since I felt like I had surrounded myself with crazy women recently.
Women were such beautiful creatures, and I really did appreciate all their qualities. From the women who wanted to work out all the time to the ones who hated to exercise at all. From the women who liked to party and drink on the weekends to the ones who stayed home and read good books; I understood all those decisions because I had felt that same way at one point or another in my life. But I wanted to find a woman that I wouldn’t want to let go of in the morning. It was a new urge for me, and I had to see if that sort of woman was even possible.
Four Reasons to Come Page 45
