Falling Stars (Shooting Stars 5)

I did so.

He placed the case open at my feet and stepped back.

"Begin your piece," he commanded.

"Here?"

"Exactly." he said. "Play."

I lifted the violin and began. The music carried over the street. People who had paused gathered in a small crowd, and others began to join them. The air was cool, crisp, with just a slight breeze that seemed to lift my melody higher and higher. Before long, there was a sizeable crowd collected. I closed my eyes and I let the music carry me off as well. When I finished the piece, the people in the street all applauded, most throwing coins and dollars into my open case.

I looked at Mr. Bergman.

"There." he said. "You've played for an audience in New York. It's out of your system. Now think only of the music, and if you develop that trembling again, come down here and play again on the sidewalk, if you like, but get yourself out of that box that is suffocating you. Understand?"

"Yes," I said. "Thank you."

"Very well. We'll return to our studio," he said, and we headed back to the house. I saw a curtain move in a window on the third floor and imagined Madame Senetslw had been watching the whole time, but when we returned to the studio. I saw her in her posh office making phone calls.

Later. I told everyone what Mr. Bergman had done. "I actually made seven dollars!"

Steven said he would have a hard time wheeling the piano down and then up the driveway, otherwise he would do it. too.

"You don't have her problem," Howard told him, "You have the opposite problem."

"Oh, yeah, and what's my problem, oh mighty master of the stage?"

"You could care less about the audience."

Howard meant it as a criticism, but Steven thought a moment and then nodded.

"You're right." he admitted. "It's me and my piano and everyone else can go to hell."

"Whatever works for you, works for you. It doesn't necessarily work for the rest of us," Rose told him in a very angry tone of voice, which was so out of character for her it raised everyone's eyebrows.

Actually. Rose had been unusually quiet since she had met her mother for lunch. She didn't tell us much about it until early Friday evening. Ms. Fairchild, as usual, dictated our weekend schedule to us at dinner. At eight o'clock we were going to attend a lecture on the theater that was being given at the New York Public Library. On Saturday we would go to a matinee of a play that had just been brought over from London and Saturday night we would attend a performance of Madame Butterfly at the Metropolitan Opera. Sunday was finally free.

Rose had made arrangements to meet her boyfriend Barry. Since Chandler was coming the following weekend. I couldn't ask him to come Sunday. Rose proposed that Barry bring along three of his new college buddies. Cinnamon thought it might be a good idea. She suggested we all go to the zoo in Central Park.

"It's supposed to be a very nice late fall day. What do you think. Rose?" she asked.

"Why not?" Rose replied. "We're all in our little cages. We might as well look at some fellow sufferers."

Her bitterness and depression was finally too much.

"What's wrong with you. girl?" Ice snapped. "You been saving ugly things ever since you met your mama."

Rose just stared at the floor. "Well?" Ice pursued.

We were all in my room, relaxing before we dressed for the lecture.

"My mother is getting remarried," Rose revealed. "She's fallen head over heels in love with a man five years younger than she is. He's a salesman working for a company out of California. He sells air time on radio and independent television stations."

"Did you meet him. too?" Cinnamon asked.

"No and yes."

"Huh?" Ice said. "How can it be no and yes? Either you did or didn't. right?"