Voice Training

The Message

It was a gray afternoon, that hour just after schools let out and just before dinner preparations began. Usually, this was her low energy time, but not today. Becca pulled the little piece of paper with the telephone number on it our of her pocket. “Sing with Van,” it said, with the number. She pulled the portable phone off the receiver, then sat and placed the number on the table before her as a child might place a bug she’s just captured and wants to examine. Taking a deep breath, she dialed, then sprang around and went out to the front hall. She paced through two rings, snarled at her face in the hall mirror on the the next two, and then finally plopped herself down on the stairs. 

“Hello, you’ve reached Van’s answering machine. You are very important to me so please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can. Until then, let singing bring you peace.”

“Oh geez,” Becca said to the ceiling. “This is so stupid..”

Beep!

“Oh, hi—um—yes—um—My name is Karen—no, it’s Becca really—I was going to give you a fake name—well I don’t know why I was going to do that—I guess I’m just nervous—anyway—oh gosh—I hate answering machines—but too late now, I guess, ha, ha, because this is all recording—anyway—oh shit—oh sorry! I’m calling about singing lessons. Thank you. Good-bye.” She pressed the hang up button before she realized she didn’t leave her number. Pressing redial, she mumbled to herself, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Beep!

“Hi, this is Becca, the bumbling idiot who just left a message with out leaving my number. It’s 387-4221. Thanks again,” and she hung up. 

The Call

It was about 9 o’clock, and Becca had already settled into bed to watch a ‘Made for TV’ movie. She didn’t particularly like them, but thought the melodrama might humor her out of her own misery. The argument with Jay at dinner wiped her out. He lay next to her on his back with the day’s crossword puzzle.

“What are you watching?” he asked.

“I don’t know. One of those mother who killed her husband‘s lover to save her children stories. Who knows. I thought I could get some pointers for our relationship.”

“Ha, ha,” he said, and squirmed around to get more comfortable in his own space on his side of the queen size bed.

Just then, the phone rang. “Who could that be?” Becca said. “Are you expecting any calls?”

“No.”

She put the TV on mute and crawled on top of Jay to pick up the phone that was left on the floor . “Hello?” she said and a sing-song voice, still lying on top of Jay, who then pulled his arms out from under her and continued his crossword.

“Oh hi!” she said, and quickly crawled off off of him and sat on the edge with her back to Jay. He stopped his crossword and looked at her as she continued her conversation with animation that he hadn’t seen her use in a long time.

“Yes, thank you for understanding. I was nervous.”

“Nervous about what? Who is that?” Jay asked. Becca waved her hand at him to hush.

“Well, a little bit. Well, actually, I do it a lot in the shower or in the car—“

“Do what in the shower and the car? Who are you talking to?”

Becca put her finger in one ear and crouched deeper into the phone. “Oh, you’re a car person too?” A pause while she listened.

Jay sat up. Becca was smiling! And blushing!

“Yes! I do that sometimes, but I’m always afraid someone will catch me in the act, so I don’t do it as much as I like.” Another pause. Becca was twirling the cord between her fingers as she listened intently to the speaker.

“Well, my schedule is very free lately, so I’m flexible.”

“Two kids in college and she quits her job and now her schedule is free!” Jay mumbled.

Without a beat, she went on. “Tomorrow? Well, sure. I wasn’t expecting so soon, but sure, why not?” She listened for directions. “Fine. Eleven o’clock. I’ll see you then. Thank you for calling and thanks again for being so forgiving about that crazy message I left . “

She placed the phone in the cradle as softly as one places an egg. Then she stood and began walking toward the door. It was like a little game she played: how far could she get away, before Jay stopped her. She didn’t get two steps this time.

“So who was that?” he asked.

“Oh,” she said, coming back to her side of the bed. “That was a Van. He’s a voice trainer. I’m going to take singing lessons.” She adjusted her pillows and reached for the remote control. “Oh damn, I probably missed the opening murder scene”

“Singing lessons? What gave you the idea to take singing lessons?’

“I saw a flyer at the library and I thought it might be fun. I mean after all, I sing in the car all the time and in the shower, I might as well get good at it.”

“Ahh,” Jay said, realizing the car and shower connection. “But what will you do with them?” he asked.

“What do you mean, do with them?”

“I mean is that what you hope to do for your next job—singing? I mean, you are planning on getting another job aren’t you? You have to, you know.”

“Jay, I don’t wanna get into this now—“

“Get into what? I’m just asking —“

“Jay. Stop. Please. Just let me watch my movie.”

“How much do these singing lessons cost?”

“I don’t know. I forgot to ask.”

What to Wear?

“What does one wear when going to singing lessons?”

That was the first thought Becca had when she sat up in bed the next morning. As usual, she stayed in bed for an extra 45 minutes, waiting to hear Jay go out the front door for his morning run. She hated to be up with him in the morning. She”d try to drink her coffee and read the paper in the quiet rays of the sun, while he’d be banging away at emptying the dishwasher. Or, he'd start dictating a list of things he wanted her to do for him that day. Then, he would quiz her on her job hunt progress (which was of course zilch) and then, firmly remind her that they have two boys in college (as if this was supposed to be shockingly new information each time). “If he would only listen,” she said out loud to no one. 

She heard the door close and sat up. What does one wear? She slid open the closet doors, turned on the light, and thumbed through outfits on hangers, like she used to comb through files at work. Nothing. She went to the full length mirror on the back of the bedroom door and stared at herself. Her straggly hair touched the shoulders of her white T-shirt with pansies on the chest. It hung just above her knees.

"What do you want to wear?" she asked herself, moving her body like a model, posing in different forms, trying to make sexy faces. "Yeah, right.” She held her fist to her mouth like a microphone and started singing a Carole King song. "I feel the Earth move under my feet." She watched her legs move at the command of her hips. In the darkness of the morning, the veins on her pale white legs were invisible, and she was quite pleased, that for a brief moment, her high school knockout legs were back in town. They still had their shape, after all.

Stretch, pants! She leapt like a ballerina over to the closet, talking to herself while climbing on a stool and fumbling through a shelf. "I think I have a pair in here somewhere that mom gave me a couple of birthdays ago. I never thought the day would come when I'd pull them out—they’re so tight and revealing. Oh, yes! Here they are. Navy blue, of course! Oh mom, you know me so well."

She slipped them on, and ran back to the mirror. “Oh, you're too sexy for your pants" she sang, imitating a lipstick commercial. She made her fisted microphone again and began another Carole King song. ”You make me feel like a natural woman,” she emphasized natural with a circular motion in her hips. "Woo!" she shrilled, and skip-hopped to Jay’s side of the closet, where she pulled a pink man-tailored shirt off the hanger, spun it around like a scarf back to the mirror and held it up to check out how it would look. ”Perfect!” 

She took off the pants and lay them with the shirt carefully on the bed. All this excitement before coffee! She ran down to the kitchen to get half a cup, but skipped to the newspaper. She'd read it later. She wanted to get showered and dressed and out before Jay got back from his run. The note she left him on the counter said, “Have a good day. Had to leave early. See you later! Love me,”with a little heart drawn under “me”. 

She went to Friendly's. She was too nervous to eat, but thought singing on an empty stomach might be dangerous, and so she ordered a cup of coffee and an English muffin, dry. Sitting in a booth for four, facing the door, Becca absentmindedly circled the rim of her coffee cup with her finger, as crowds of waitresses, men in business suits, and old women with canes and white sweaters buzzed around her. A newspaper lay on the table in front of her, forgotten. She gazed out the window alongside her booth.