wished I could feel it as strongly about myself as
some of the others did about themselves. When would
I gain the confidence Howard Rockwell seemed to
have at birth? Was it just around the corner, waiting
for me, along with my wonderful future? Or was that
one of the fantasies Madame Senetsky would
eventually end?
The sound of Howard's laughter coming from
below surprised all of us. We paused when we turned
the corner of the stairway and saw him emerge from
the parlor beside a tall man with dark, wavy brown
hair and a smart mustache that curled gently toward
the corners of his mouth. He wore an earthy brown
corduroy jacket and a red ascot. I thought he was a
very handsome man, with a dark complexion and soft
blue eyes. He smiled at the sight of us.
"These are the others," Howard told him.
making 'others' sound a bit inferior. I thought. "Oh, how do you all do? I'm Brock Marlowe,
your drama coach," the man said, nodding toward us.
No one spoke. Finally. Cinnamon stepped forward. "Since you've already managed to meet Mr.
Marlowe. Howard, why don't you introduce
everyone? Properly," she added, sending an impish
glance back at me.
"Right. This is Cinnamon... Carlson, is it?" "So short a memory. Howard? How do you
manage to memorize your lines?" she shot back. Howard sucked in his breath and forced a small
smile, turning to the rest of us.
"Honey Forman. Rose Wallace. And Ice-- I'm
sorry. I really didn't get your last name," Howard said. "Goodman." she said quickly.
"Ice Goodman. And that's Steven Jesse trying
to hide behind them."