Voice Lessons

Rosie wasn't sure if it was the brilliant flash of lightening or the
hammer of thunder that woke her up, but she was awake all the same. Her
clock said that it was 2:30 in the morning, too late for anybody to be
up. She sighed and flicked on her bedside lamp, picking up a tattered
paper back as she rolled back over. The wind outside gusted, blowing
the curtains in her windows around in a wild swirl or cotton candy
chintz. Rain began to spatter the floor under the window, and blow in
through the French doors. She didn't want to get out of her bed though,
didn't want to move. But she did, knowing how displeased it would make
her father if the finish on the floor was ruined or if he had to buy
new curtains.

Setting the book down, she swumg her long legs out from under the sheet
and set her feet on the cold floor. The French doors, only a small step
away, were easily closed. The window in question, though, was on the
other side of the room. Thunder storms, in all honesty, bothered Rosie.
Unless she was tucked into bed reading her favorite book. But walking
across her bedroom was not in bed with her favorite book. She slammed
the window shut and raced back to her bed, jumping in it as fast as she
could. Now she was safe, she thought, as ridiculous as it sounded. Now
she was safe.

It used to be that there was another time when she even LIKED thunder
storms. Back when her best friend was around, they would always sit in
the library on stormy nights playing chess until the storms went away.
But he was gone to college now, so she had to rely on her book and her
bed to make her feel better.

She had only read ten pages before she couldn't read anymore. The storm
had picked up, and the wind was roaring as loud as the thunder. The
book was returned to its place on the rosewood nightstand just as the
telephone next to it rang. She eyed the cream colored device
suspiciously, as she had never before gotten a call at this hour. It
rang once, then twice, and then once more, three times. By then she had
decided that she would pick up. She snaked her shaky hand out from
under the covers to snatch it up.

"Yes?"

"Hey Kid!"

"Alek!" She replied enthusiastically, even though she really disliked
that nickname. She was just glad to hear his voice. Then she began to
wonder "Did you get arrested? Do you need help? Are you dead?"

"No, no, not at all Kid. I was watching the weather channel and I
thought you might be a little scared, so I called"

"I'm not scared, and don't call me Kid"

"You don't sound not scared. And you don't sound like I woke you up
wither"

"I think you know me too well."

"So, what's up?"

"Not too much. I'm trying out for a play next week, and I'm a little
nervous. Wish you could be here to help me with my monologue."

"Just act like you're talking to me. And if you forget your line, just
make up something that sounds right. That's what I do"

"You're awesome though I've never done this before."

"You're awesome too&;#8230;"

"What have you been up to lately, Aleksandr Dmitri Lepikov?"

"Nice, Kid, real nice. Not too much, been real busy with rehearsals
though, and a couple of the guys at work took off on vacation, so I've
had to help cover for them. But, it means a bigger paycheck"
"Sounds great. You complain, but I know you have fun at rehearsal."
Thunder crashed with a sound like a falling redwood. "Maybe I'm a
little scared" Rosie said after she picked up the phone from where she
had dropped it.

"Nothing wrong with that. Everybody's scared of something"

"Yeah, I know, and I have one word for you, Borscht!"

"Swear to god, Kid, swear to god, it moved on its own! I was not
imagining things!"

"What, no dramatic monologue describing the ordeal?"

"Nah, too early. It's only 5:30. Voice lessons this morning."

"It will take more than lessons to help your singing voice dear, it
would take a transplant!"

"Probably, but Lydia is convinced&;#8230;"

"Who's Lydia? Do you have a girlfriend you haven't told me
about?"

"She is the director Rosie. Nothing is going on. Promise. But what
about you?"

"Daddy has me set up for a date with one of his client's son's. Friday
night."

"Sounds fun" Alek replied, with more than a hint of sarcasm invading
his voice.

"I suppose. Hey! Wow! I think the storm is over. I should let you go,
get to your voice lesson" She laughed.

"Sleep tight, Kid, don't let the bedbugs bite"

"Bye bye Alek" And she hung up, smiling, and promptly went to
sleep.

&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;*&;

Rosie was exhausted the nest morning when Mr. Lepikov, or Poppa, as he
insisted she call him, knocked on her door to wake her for
school.

"Good morning, Poppa" She called, so he knew she was up. Using the same
motions she has the previous night, led nervously of course, she left
bed and crossed the room. Stopping for a moment in her bathroom, she
brushed her teeth and washed her face, then moved on to her dressing
room. The day was to be warm and very humid, in response to the night's
rain, so she pulled a lightweight white sheath dress from her closet,
and covered her shoulders with a silky green embroidered cardigan. She
selected her favorite pair of Cole Haan flat sandals and then sat down
at her vanity.

Quickly, she ran a comb through the hair that was still damp from her
shower the night before, then clipped her auburn curls back with a
couple of jeweled bobby pins. Sheer lilac shimmer was stroked across
her eyelids by way of Chanel eye pencil, the slight hint of color
making her pale grey-green eyes pop like emeralds in the snow. Her
floating pink diamond necklace was clasped about her neck as the
finishing touch, and she walked through a spritz of violet perfume on
her way downstairs to breakfast.

"Jacqueline-Rose, must you always use the back stairs like the help?"
Her father exclaimed as she entered the kitchen by the pantry.

"Daddy, I tell you every morning that they are closer to my room"

"And I tell you every morning that those stairs are not for your use.
But you never listen. Now sit down, we need to talk about your
debut."

She sat down at her usual place at the breakfast table just as Mira,
the cook, set down her grapefruit and apple juice. Rosie looked across
the table to her father as she dusted the top of her citrus fruit with
sugar. He was giving a major speech today, and he looked it. His eyes
were tired looking, his suit sharp and his hair neatly combed.

"I already told you what I want for my debut. I don't want one."

"But, Jacqueline, you must have one. How else will you meet appropriate
young men?"

"Why can't I meet them like normal people?"

"Because, that is not the way it works in this family. Let me put it
this way, darling, if you do NOT have a debut, you will completely
shatter family tradition, and your mother will roll over in her grave,
forever disgraced that you, her only daughter, would not become a
debutante just because she didn't feel like it, and wanted to be like
everybody else. Do you understand?"

"I suppose." She replied, holding back tears. "But if you are going to
force me to have a debutante ball, I would like it to be up in
Grindstone, in Forget-me-Not. And, I would like Alek to come."

"Forget-me-Not is the perfect place. But doesn't having Alek there
defeat the purpose of your meeting suitable gentlemen?"

"Daddy, there is nothing wrong with Alek."

"You say that all the time, darling, but what I really mean is that if
he is there, you will spend all your time with him and not any time
with anybody else. And that isn't fair to anybody, you know that"

"I will not have my ball if Alek can't be there!"

"Do not raise your voice to me, young lady!"

"Sorry, Daddy"