A French Song in New York Page 2

  Too commercial. Too technical. Too complex.

  She no longer feared criticism, but she did loathe it.

  ‘Bad teacher’ was never included in the long list of negative comments she habitually received.

  Yet, as she faced Grace Heaton that morning in the beautiful Morningside theater in which she had spent so many hours with Cordelia Tragent, Maude knew those would be the next words that came out of Grace’s mouth.

  “You’re the worst teacher ever! Ever!” Grace shrieked.

  The words echoed around the empty theater until Maude was certain they would awaken the building’s oldest dormant ghosts.

  “You’re not listening to anything I say. Not a thing! How do you expect to make any progress if we don’t work on your breathing? How do you expect to hold a note? And if we don’t work on elocution, nobody will ever understand what you’re singing.”

  “I sound worse, not better!” Grace gritted her teeth. Her face was blanched with rage. Her blue eyes threw lightning as she added, “You’re not teaching me to sing. You’re teaching me how not to sing.”

  “That’s how you’ll feel at first. But believe me, there’s a difference between just sounding pretty and actually sounding beautiful, thanks to the correct singing methods.”

  “I prefer how I used to sing,” Grace replied staunchly. “I want a professional.” She marched across the stage.

  “This is our first lesson!”

  “How am I supposed to trust you? You disappeared for weeks!”

  Maude, taken aback by the accusation, observed her student. Grace was panicked. She had no parents to take care of her. It was natural that she had felt abandoned while Maude was away.

  “I was touring,” Maude argued patiently. “And I sent you plenty of emails and articles to help you prepare for our first lesson, but you never answered.”

  “What could I have possibly answered to The Voice and its Organs. Really, such interesting literature you sent me to read during summer break. It’s obvious you’ve never even had another student before I came along.”

  Doubt seeped into Maude’s spirit. The fear that inhabited her resurfaced. Could she be a good teacher?

  Ms. Tragent had not only taught her, she had helped her become a better person.

  It seemed that all she was succeeding in doing with Grace was making her angry and withdrawn.

  “I may not be an experienced teacher, but I’ve been a student for a long time. Ms. Tragent taught me all of this.” Maude went to the Bösendorfer piano and sat on the stool her teacher had a fondness for.

  “When I arrived, I had little technique, and Cordelia took me under her wing. If you don’t trust me, trust her.”

  Grace shook her head. Her stringy, blonde hair fell loose from her worn rubber band.

  “I’m going back home.”

  Realizing she would make no headway with Grace that day, Maude got up, weary.

  “I have to come with you. Mrs. Mary agreed to our lessons only if I brought you back to Children’s Haven straight after class.”

  “As if I need a chaperone,” she huffed.

  In the taxi, Grace propped her elbow against the window, turning her back on Maude, implying that the outside world held a greater appeal than the thoughtful passenger sitting next to her.

  Maude’s disappointment increased.

  She’d wanted everything to be perfect and had dreamed of her student’s triumph and success. In her imagination, Grace would become a sensation and thank her with tears in her eyes the day she debuted on Broadway.

  How rapidly Maude’s illusions had shattered.

  None of the many books she’d read had a proper remedy on how to deal with the realization that one was unsuited for the task of becoming a mentor. The only feeling she inspired within her student was negativity.

  There was nothing she could do if Grace didn’t give her a chance.

  When they arrived at the youth home, Maude sighed. Chipped paint, a crooked fence, and the missing shingles on the roof proved the house had not aged gracefully. Yet, she acknowledged how dedicated Mrs. Mary was to her girls.

  Grace jumped over the small stoop and rushed inside, not bothering to bid Maude goodbye.

  “Don’t forget our lesson in two days!” Maude cried.

  The front door slammed with no indication that the student had heard or agreed to the lesson.

  “No one ever warns you of these things,” Maude muttered as she went up the stoop. “You try and try. You give it your all, but it’s never enough. How do parents handle this daily, I wonder.”

  Once she’d entered, the smell of cheap sanitary chemicals assaulted her nostrils.

  Grace’s voice drifted from the kitchen to the entrance. Maude followed her angry accents, until she heard her words distinctly. Flattening against the wall, Maude hid and listened.

  “I’m not going back,” Grace was saying.

  “I told you it wasn’t going to work out,” another voice answered. Maude recognized the voice as Grace’s roommate, Effie.

  Effie had shown from the start that she dreamed of little other than becoming a star. The sixteen-year-old pestered Maude with gossip each time she visited and gave her demos of covers that only proved she lacked talent.

  Maude was certain the girl would encourage Grace’s ambitions. If not for her roommate then at least in an attempt to get closer to Maude.

  “Getting out of this dump once you’re in is way too hard. That’s what Desiree says, too,” Effie continued. “They won’t give you the part anyway. They’ll go with someone who’s worked her whole life in that Broadway showbiz. Someone who’s got parents in the business. A person who doesn’t stand out, you know, because of her education. I heard Ira Tempest is up for the part.”

  Outside the kitchen, Maude balled her fists with rage. How dare Effie discourage her student! She took a step toward the kitchen, before halting. She could not let the girls know she had eavesdropped.

  Back against the wall, figuratively as well as literally, she listened some more.

  Grace sighed. “You’re right, Effie. I’d rather quit now than be disappointed. I couldn’t stand it. If I fail, Maude will never let me live it down. She’ll go ‘look at all that time I invested in that stupid girl. Should’ve left her in that ugly home.’”

  “I would never say that!” Maude mouthed silently, disgruntled.

  Moving away from the kitchen, she went into the empty living room. Dust darkened the piano’s white keys and, after Maude slid her fingers across the keyboard, specks flew into the air before settling back upon the instrument.

  Mrs. Mary marched into the room, dragging a vacuum cleaner behind with her left hand.

  “These kids never wear their slippers inside ... arrgh, footprints all over ... why can’t they just do as I say?” she mumbled. “Oh, hi Maude,” she greeted, once she realized the walls were not the only witnesses to her soliloquy.

  “How are ... how was your lesson?” Mrs. Mary asked.

  “It didn’t go quite as planned.”

  Maude sat on the piano bench, propped her elbows on her knees, and raised her doleful eyes at the matronly Mrs. Mary.

  “Grace is a handful, isn’t she?” Mrs. Mary plugged in the vacuum cleaner.

  “It’s not just that. Though I can’t say she’s a walk in the park.” Maude’s hesitation was plain. She rose from the bench and walked around the room to gather her thoughts. “I fear she’s afraid of disappointment. And instead of working hard, she’d rather give up. It’s like a self-fulfilling prophecy: she’ll fail because she believes she will.”

  Mrs. Mary’s wince was not caused because of Maude’s statements. She dragged the vacuum cleaner to where Maude’s footsteps left prints and turned it on.

  “These kids don’t get much encouragement from their relatives or friends!” she yelled. “But I can assure you, I encourage them as much as I can!” She turned the vacuum off with her fist. “I’m tired of people saying I don’t do enough for them. I
work hard and I fight for them all the time. And I vacuum this living room twice a day!”

  “I know that you care for Grace,” Maude replied, ignoring the glares directed at her shoes. “I love how you were thrilled when you heard of this opportunity for her. But I need another favor.”

  “I can’t handle another task,” Mrs. Mary moaned. “I’m tired as it is. You do realize I also have needs. Does anyone ask me what I need? Who gives me any favors?”

  “Last one, I promise.” Bending over, Maude hopped on one foot as she took off her right shoe. “Won’t you allow Grace to live with me while I prepare her for the audition? And hopefully for the musical.”

  “I can’t do that. I’m responsible for Grace.”

  “But don’t you see? The other girls here will discourage her.”

  Mrs. Mary dropped the vacuum handle.

  “Are you saying she’s being bullied? Who’s doing the bullying? I’m sure it’s Desiree. Always the quiet ones.”

  “There’s no bullying!” Maude blurted. “Don’t get me wrong, I do think that the other girls are discouraging her, but I’m not even sure they realize it themselves. It might be envy, but it might also just be plain disillusionment on their part. Whatever it is, it’s not helping Grace.”

  “There are rules, Ms. Laurent. You do realize that? Who will make sure she goes to school, that she eats well?”

  “I will do all that. I mean, I lack cooking skills when it comes to Mexican cuisine, but for everything else, I’m a decent cook. I’ll make Grace eat her vegetables.”

  Mrs. Mary looked at her with circumspection. Her gaze detailed Maude’s thin frame, her hopeful eagerness, her hair tied into a neat afro.

  “You’re too soft. Not sure you have what it takes.”

  “I’m not soft,” Maude flung the word with disgust. Rolling up the sleeves of her blouse, she stated, “I raised two awful twin brothers until they were eight. I cleaned, cooked, and ran an entire household on top of studying for tests. Believe me, I vacuumed way more than just twice a day during the weekends.”

  Mrs. Mary peered at Maude without animosity, intent on determining if what she said was true.

  “Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. But now you’re a star. Not sure you’ve done much discipline since then.”

  “I may not be Mary Poppins,” Maude admitted, “but I can do this. You have no idea how effective this change could be. If Uncle James had not removed me from my home in Carvin, I’d never have become the person I am today. Don’t you want that for Grace?”

  Mrs. Mary could picture it. Grace’s fame, her thanking Mrs. Mary on a podium with an imaginary prize oddly resembling a vacuum cleaner.

  “You can take her for one night this evening. If she likes it, we can find an arrangement. You’ll have to abide to strict rules if you’re to become her foster mother. But I’ll help the process go faster. You’re lucky you’re a celebrity.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Mary.”

  Maude hugged her, picked up her shoes from the filthy floor, and ran to the kitchen.

  Effie and Grace were taking turns unscrewing the resisting lid on a jar of pickles. They’d tried with a knife, with a cloth, had run it under water and Grace was ready to smash the jar when Maude happened on them.

  “What are you ...?” Her gaze went from Grace to the jar held high over her head. “Never mind. Pack an overnight bag. You’re spending the evening with me.”

  BENJAMIN BALDWIN WAS in the habit of seeing people come in and out of his home.

  Friends, artists, women from his mother’s shelter invited to sleep over when it was full: the Baldwin house was home to all.

  Jazmine’s band regularly met in her room to discuss concerts and future gigs. These days, they met more often than before.

  Apart from Matt, who had come and gone way before she had moved in, Maude had never brought anyone inside the family circle.

  Until Grace Heaton walked into their home.

  Anyone who slept over instantly became family. It was the Baldwin way to include strangers into their intimate circle. This approach often met with success, the most notable being Matt and Maude.

  That’s why when Ben found Grace sitting in the guest room on Maude’s former bed, shoulders slumped and her bleached, stringy, blonde hair falling over her face, he immediately sought to help what he saw as a new sister.

  At sixteen, Benjamin’s heart was wide and the space for newcomers was endless.

  “You hiding out here?” Ben asked from the doorway.

  Grace raised her head, revealing a pallid, pudgy face. Her smile upon seeing Ben consisted mostly in her revealing her front teeth. The occurrence of a smile from Grace was as rare as seeing northern lights in an Islandic summer sky.

  He took it as an encouragement and entered the room further.

  “I’m avoiding . . .” Grace stopped, abashed. She played with a ring on her right hand. “I shouldn’t say who I’m avoiding. You probably like her.”

  “Let me see if I can guess who you’re talking about? She’s tall, has a famous boyfriend, and sings classical as well as pop. She’s also our teacher.”

  Grace clicked her tongue. “Maude’s your teacher, too?”

  “She had to practice on someone. Several someones.”

  “Was she any good?”

  “I play the erhu, but I’m not much of a singer. Still, I can sing a whole lot better now.” He sat at the edge of the bed. “Maude made me practice through FaceTime while she was on tour.”

  “She’s crazy.”

  “She believes in you.”

  “Do you think I should do it? Move in here with you guys?”

  Expecting a positive response, Grace jerked her face up in surprise as soon as Ben said, “Don’t.”

  “That’s encouraging.”

  “I’m just warning you. If you move in here, you won’t ever get a late morning’s sleep. There’s always someone playing an instrument in this house. Or singing.”

  “Seriously?”

  The statement provoked only mock displeasure, no thundering outrage. Confident that reverse psychology had worked, Ben continued, “Plus, my dad cooks some mean pancakes, so you’ll get fat.”

  “The food is good?”

  “Look at my muffin top right here. Ain’t that proof?” He tapped his flat stomach with affection.

  “There’s nothing there,” Grace laughed and pinched his stomach. “You’ve got zero fat, you lucky dog.”

  Ben joined in with her laughter. “That’s because Mom makes us exercise. You’re a girl, so you’ll have to take self-defense classes. Mom’s rules.”

  “I could live with that. If it means I get to kick your butt.”

  “First, you’ll have to go on a gazillion shopping sprees with my sisters. Every time there’s a new sister here, that’s what they do.”

  “I don’t know about that. A Heaton never takes charity.”

  “Do you accept gifts? People are always getting gifts around here. Except for motorcycles. I never got that. Only a plain old bicycle.”

  “Spoiled brat. What else you got?”

  “One of the worst things from where I stand. You sure you wanna hear it?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Ben leaned closer until his head was inches away from Grace’s face.

  “Man, dunno if should tell you this. Might come back and bite me in the you-know-what. But since you insist. Okay. Truth is, this house is full of women. Us guys, me and Dad, we don’t matter. At all.”

  Grace exploded into hearty laughter. “That is very sad. Tragic.”

  “Finally, a girl who gets it!” Ben cried out. “It’s best you didn’t move in. It would be four women against two helpless men!”

  “Two men? I’d say one man and a half.”

  “Don’t make fun of my dad. Not his fault he looks small next to all of this.” He gestured to his torso, only succeeding in increasing Grace’s laughter.

  “We got a break once Cynthia got married and moved out. But n
ow! Another girl? Please don’t move in.”

  “Not even if I promise to take your side from time to time?” Grace asked.

  Ben’s eyes brightened with amusement.

  “You say that now, but once you get used to always being right, you’ll never want it to change.”

  “What if I promise to side with you on the most important things?”

  “Like what?”

  “Hmm, how about,” Grace patted her chin, “your absolute right to pee standing up!”

  “What about leaving the lid up?”

  “Never!”

  “You see, you’re already one of them.”

  Grace’s eyes twinkled.

  “You sure it won’t be a hassle for your parents if I move in?”

  “A new girl to force-feed. I think they’ll get over it.”

  “What about Maude? Will she be annoying?”

  “She raised hellish twins in France and she had to deal with me and my video games obsession. She knows what she’s doing.”

  “You like video games?”

  “They’re life.”

  “You’ll want to die once I crush you. Fool.”

  “You’re good?”

  “I’m the best.”

  “Next weekend, we’re having a Tekken marathon.”

  “You’re on.”

  “Guess you’ll be living here after all.”

  Ben jumped off the bed and did not see Grace’s surprised but pleased expression as he headed for the door.

  Just like that, without even noticing it herself, Grace had agreed to extend her stay in the Baldwin household.

  Chapter 4

  EVER SINCE CYNTHIA Baldwin had come back to New York, she’d felt a growing dissatisfaction with her existence.

  Life was less crazy than it had been on the road. She’d enjoyed having adventures and discovering exciting things each day: feeding baby elephants in Sri Lanka, swimming with dolphins in Hawaii, exploring the pyramids of Egypt, learning the history of the Massai tribes in Kenya. New languages, stories, traditions and customs; weddings, religious ceremonies, feasts.

  All that was now over.

  She was back, had succeeded the New York Bar Exam, and yet she felt empty. This emptiness was not merely a void. Like a radioactive cloud spreading inside her, her discontent suffocated her vital organs until it withered the joy she’d once known.