The Torch Singer

Lisa already knew Paul when I met him; if she'd had any kind of an edge, you'd think they'd have already gotten together. But she was dating Gary, a creepy little bastard if ever there was one -- but damned good-looking for all that. Looks are too important when you're 18. Gary couldn't hold a doobie to Paul, though -- he was the best-looking boy I'd ever seen. At 18, he was already 6'4" tall, with hair so black it looked purple in the sunlight, and eyes like onyx drops.

He was the sweetest guy I'd ever met, too. Nice to everybody, even Torri, the dwarf girl who'd worked for the faire since she was about 8, they said. Torri had a terrible crush on Paul, and Gary made fun of her. But Paul was too nice to make fun of her; he never attacked an unarmed target.

Paul and Gary hated one another. Paul thought Gary was a slime weasel, and in most ways, he was. Gary thought Paul flaunted his money and big-time job as a male model. But he didn't. I never knew about Paul's job until i'd been dating him for a couple of months.

Yeah, I landed 'im. A combination of waist-length naturally blond hair, impressive cleavage (which shows to true advantage in a Ren Faire costume) and acid tongue. Paul loved an acid tongue more than anything.

Lisa, Gary and I were starting at San Francisco State in the fall. I was majoring in Journalism, Gary and Lisa in Theatre Arts. We all had a minor in Broadcast Communications. But Paul was going to the Art Institute; he was a terrific illustrator, with very little training so far. Yeah, he had it all.

Actually, everybody though I had it all, too. I'd started working as a professional journalist at the age of 16, thanks to my cousin Diana. Diana worked for Bill Graham Presents as a P.R. assistant; she was ten years older than me. She let me go to all the concerts as long as I didn't drink, take drugs, or let any of the musicians get me alone.

They thought it was funny to let a pretty little girl with a woman's body interview them. They never thought anything would come of it. My first book, The San Francisco Rock Experience, was sold when I was 17 and published the summer I met Paul. If he was impressed, he didn't show it. He agreed to model for some photographs for my second book, which was then in-progress.

Lisa didn't give up on Paul just because I was dating him. She and Gary split up, and that was a good thing -- what self-respecting girl would date a guy who was bisexual, anyway? All kinds of diseases just waiting out there to gobble us up, in this post-modern world.

OK, the book didn't have a lot of distribution, and I wasn't destined to make any money on it. Didn't get an advance, either, since it was a small publishing company, but it did get me notoriety. Not all good, of course -- a lot of people in the music industry thought I was an 'uppity little bitch' in the words of one man who worked for Bill Graham Presents. Cousin Diana left the company and went to Los Angeles to work for Paramount, which only infuriated them more, since they didn't have her around to torment over my uppityness.

It wasn't that I wanted Paul to be impressed by my accomplishments, particularly, but I expected him to realize we were soul mates, of a sort, since we were both early achievers. But he loved underdogs, and because I didn't take that into account, I lost 'im. To Lisa, of all people. It all started with the local television singing contest. Now, I may be accomplished, but singing wasn't in my repertoire.

It didn't seem all that important. I mean, nobody can do everything, right? Lisa was a pretty good singer, but not professional caliber. I wasn't even in the game, and figured I'd do as a spectator, just like Paul. But suddenly he was very interested in what Lisa was doing; she'd broken up with Gary and Paul volunteered to help her rehearse and listen to her sing, and all. Without inviting me. Now, we'd only been dating a few months, but I knew he was the one. Surely I wasn't going to lose him over a little singing contest?

If it hadn't been for the low self-esteem college kids suffer from, I wouldn't have lost him at all. But published author or not, I was just as un-selfconfident as everyone else.

I hadn't quite figured out what to do -- entering the contest myself would be the logical step, but you've never heard my voice, so you can't understand what a painful experience that would be -- for the audience, that is. So, I went over to Berkeley, to my favorite bookstore, Dark Carnival. I didn't buy much there, being on a college student's budget (Paul and Lisa were the only ones in our group with money, and Lisa's was because her dad was a famous composer), but I loved to see the changing window displays and look through the new books.

Lots of students went to Dark Carnival, but most of 'em were at Berkeley. I never had a burning desire to attend Berkeley, despite it's prestige. S.F. State had a better film program, and I just liked the atmosphere better. I was going into the store when I saw the business card in the window of the adjoining shop. The shop, which specialized in magic and the occult, had been there for about a year. I'd never been inside before; I'm a confirmed Atheist and anything to do with Wicca scares me almost as much as traditional religions.

But the card was beautiful; shiny black, like patent leather, with white flowing script. A name, Annalisa Solnikov, and a telephone number. And beneath that the words, 'I can grant your fondest desire'. Beside this slogan, a small red heart pierced by a lightening bolt.

Why did I go into that shop? I can't remember, after all these years. But there was a stack of the black cards on a counter near the register. I took one, and bought some incense and candles. Religious items I could do without.

I laughed, and tucked it into my tapestry bag. The group would get a kick out of it, if nothing else. We were too savvy to be taken in by a con like that, I thought.

But that Monday at school, I found out Paul was helping Lisa rehearse for the contest. In the evenings, at her parents' house. When he broke a date with me the following weekend and I wound up going to THE RAMONES concert without him, I decided enough was enough.

I took out the card and looked at it again. What if I could sing well enough, for just one night, to win that concert? I didn't want a career as a singer, or even to be a professional -- but for one night. Surely then, he'd forget about her. He hadn't even been out on a date with her yet, not really. I was wondering, though, if they'd done it...if, on one of those 'rehearsal' nights, the thing being rehearsed wasn't singing. Lisa had a rep for sleeping around.

Hell, all I'd done with 'im so far was make out -- I'd only slept with one boy before, and wasn't in any rush to do it again until the time was right. Had she jumped my game? Well, I'd show 'er I had a trick or two...or, if I was lucky, Annalisa Solnikov had.

***

"Let me see if I understand you." Annalisa sipped her lemon tea. "You want to be the greatest singer alive, but just for one night."

"Well, I guess it might have to be for more than one night...a few weeks...until the state finals of the contest are over."

"And when you win those finals?"

I hadn't thought of that. I took a gulp of my own tea. "Uh."

"Being eighteen, you haven't given it any thought. Look, Clarice, you can't ask for a gift like that just for a night. You want it or you don't."

I thought about that. What difference did it make, really, when I was planning to be a professional writer? "I want it. Uh...what do you charge? I'm just a student, you know."

"I don't have a set fee. When you have your heart's desire, send me what you think it's worth. There's no time limit -- I'll still be here."

That seemed a little strange, but I could go with it. "OK. How does it work?"

"I have no idea." I stared at her bemusedly, and she laughed. "Sign up for the contest, and when you're assigned a song, you'll sing it. As well as the best person who ever recorded it. After that, it's up to you how you use this gift."

Well, that seemed too easy. But as far as that part went, it was real enough. I signed up for the contest. That year's theme was 'Songs of the Big One' (Meaning World War II, not an earthquake).

Lisa was friends with someone on the contest committee, and when she found out I had registered to compete, she apparently decided to tweak the odds in her favor. That was a pretty nasty move, since as far as she knew, I couldn't sing anyway and she didn't need any help beating me cold. But she wasn't taking any chances, I guess, and I couldn't blame her for that...neither was I.

Paul spilled the beans to me. He took me out for pizza and a movie, and asked if it was true I'd entered the contest. I was very casual about the whole thing, and made it seem as if I'd done it for laughs. After all, everybody knew I couldn't sing, but it was fun to be part of things.

To my relief, he didn't question this. "Whew, Ice Queen...you're braver than I am. You've got buckets of self-confidence, all right."

The 'Ice Queen' part had to do with my name...Take off the first three letters of Clarice and you're left with Ice. He thought it was fabulous; of course, he could've called me 'Rice Queen', so I didn't complain.

I almost choked on my pizza. "Right, Lucifer." His nickname came from his diabolic good looks and devilish charm. After I started using it, Lisa picked up on it...like she picked up on him. "I understand you and Lisa are an item, now."

He stared at me in frank astonishment. "Huh? Where'd you get that idea? I thought we were...you tryin' to dump me?"

"Not necessarily. Have you slept with 'er?"

"'Course not! Where'd this come from?"

"You're spending an awful lot of time at her place."

"Just to help 'er rehearse. I mean..." He looked a little guilty, but not enough for the wild thing.

"Oh, I get it. She made a pass at you."

"Several. But she's a good sport about being turned down. I'll listen to you rehearse too, if you like."

Now, that was a dilemma. I hadn't covered all the bases, for sure. If he heard me sing now, he'd just try to talk me out of competing, then when I came up with a whole different voice for the contest..."I'll spare your ears, lover. I'm not gonna bother, anyway. I told you, it's just for laughs."

He seemed a little disturbed by this, but that night we really did become lovers. After that stellar occasion, I wasn't as worried. About Paul, at least.

When I got my assigned songs in the mail, I could see the fine hand of Lisa mucking up the works. "Chattanooga Choo Choo" and "Bugle Boy". How was I ever gonna sing those without bringing down the house in hilarity? My first round song was "Bugle Boy". Oh, well. I'd learn the words and try to keep a straight face.

The night of the contest finally arrived. It was being held at a nightclub called The On Broadway. Paul took me out to dinner first, and we discussed my songs.

"Good thing I'm not serious about this. My first assignment is "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company 2."

He grinned. "You know, though...that song has some great range in it. You could really soar. You should play it straight, the way they would've then. Your dress is perfect, by the way."

"Thanks, love. I thought it looked kind of period. I found it at a shop in Marin." The dress in question was actually made of lightweight shimmering jersey, in forest green. The straps and a band along the top of the bodice were edged in gold braid. The dress fell from his band in drapes, and clung down the body to the floor. It made the most of my assets, I was pleased to say. "You look very nice yourself."

"You told me that when I picked you up. Actually, you said I looked 'very pretty'. Lowering for the male ego, for a bloke to be told he's pretty."

"Yeah, right. People have been telling you you're beautiful since you were about ten, probably."

"Oh, long before that. But you're beautiful, I'm incredibly handsome."

"You're impossible, actually."

"How can you eat so calmly?" He asked. "I would've thought you'd be too nervous."

"I'm not nervous at all," I retorted, finishing my Caesar salad. And why should I be, I added mentally, since I won't be doing the singing. I wondered who would.

***

Lisa was on early in the program, which wasn't the best situation. She did a credible job with her assigned song, "Who's Sorry Now?" But that particular song had such a good melody and was easy to sing, so I wondered if the judges took that into consideration. The next few people didn't match her, and Paul leaned over and whispered to me, "Lisa's got 'em beat so far, I'll bet. That would really be a thrill for her."

I was sure of Paul, wasn't I? I thought so, and if I could've backed out right then I would have. But short of pleading laryngitis, which all my friends knew was a lie, I had to wait my turn. It never seemed to come. Lisa returned to our table, beaming in her surety of winning at least one of the top three positions, and other singers took the stage, and still they never called my name.

She was starting to get a little antsy, I could tell. The final place is the most coveted because the judges can compare a good performance with what came before -- of course, if a bad singer was placed last, it could work the other way.

When they announced, "And our final entry, Ms. Clarice Singleton."

Lisa sniggered, but subsided when Paul regarded her coldly. One of his looks could freeze fire. I rose liquidly, as I imagined a torch singer in an old cabaret might, and made my way up the stairs of the stage. I went to the microphone and nodded to the audience, then to the orchestra. The lighting in the place wasn't like a theatre, and I could see Lisa turn and give the signal to somebody behind her. Yep, she had something planned all right. I wondered what it was.

The buildup to the silly part of "Bugle Boy" is slow, and there was no response from the audience at first. Then, during the first chorus, I saw Gary and some of other guys take toy trumpets (at least, that's what they looked like) out of their jackets and hold them up. They were planning to play them during the chorus and make sure they ruined my song. I wondered why Lisa went to so much trouble when she knew I couldn't sing.

Make that couldn't sing before this night. I saw her face as I soared into the chorus. Everyone in the place was sitting open-mouthed. Gary frantically gave the signal to blow the little trumpets, but Paul was too fast for him. He had his hand around Gary's toy before a sound came out, and crushed it to plastic slivers. Then he turned furiously on the others, who dropped theirs to the table before he could reach them.

Lisa was beyond infuriated. My voice was obviously of professional caliber, but everyone knew I'd never sung before, not even taken lessons. As I finished..."He's the Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company Two!" My notes sailed up the scale and around the room, lingering like butterfly wings in the air.

Everyone in the club lurched to their feet, clapping, cheering, stamping. Paul whistled through his fingers and grinned up at me. But as I took my bow, Lisa burst into tears and ran from the room, with Paul behind her. That was when I had the first inkling of trouble.

Lisa and I were both chosen as finalists. This was when I had to sing "Chattanooga Choo Choo". There was obviously even more chance to mess up my act than there had been with "Bugle Boy", but when the audience filed back into the club after intermission, Gary was nowhere to be seen.

"Where the hell did Gary go?" Lisa muttered under her breath.

"What do you care?" I asked her. "You broke up with 'im, you said."

She glared at me. She'd been pumping me all through intermission to admit I'd sung professionally, which would disqualify me from the contest. Now Paul said, "I told the security guards about his little trick with the toy trumpets, and he and his friends were tossed. We don't want anymore jokes, do we? I mean, this is serious for you two, now."

Lisa looked as if she wanted to belt Paul one, but she just turned and walked away. "Don't let 'er get to you, babe," he advised me. "She's just upset. It means a lot to her to win, you know."

"I know how much it means to 'er. Enough to get Gary to pull his little tricks on me. And she did it before she even knew I could sing. What does that tell you about her, Paul?" I started towards the refreshment stand. He followed me.

"Honey, you don't know that. Gary's capable of anything, all on his own."

"Yeah, right -- like he'd have any reason."

"He doesn't need one. He's Gary."

I gave up. He never listened to anything negative about anyone except Gary anyway. But I knew the truth.

During the finals, I sang before Lisa. Gary and his friends were gone, so there wasn't anybody in the audience to taunt me after the chorus lines of "Chattanooga Choo Choo". I saw Lisa in the audience when I came onstage, obviously trying to get people to play another 'trick' on me, but when I started to sing she settled sullenly into a seat at a table away from Paul. Obviously no takers. I had more friends than she did.

The magic hadn't left me. From the first, low notes of "Pardon me boys, Is this the Chattanooga Choo Choo" to the end of the soaring chorus, I had them in my corner. When Lisa sang "Look For the Silver Lining" toward the end of the round, she already knew I'd won -- her performance was lackluster, to say the least. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and grinned to Paul, who grinned back and gave me a high five.

I won, of course. There wasn't ever any question of that, was there? But I hadn't bothered to find out what the prize was, or even if there was a prize, and that was what changed my life forever, drawing me further and further away from Paul.

The winner of the contest went on to the state finals. I tried to back out, but along with the trip went a prize of $5,000, and that would mean a whole semester with no student loan. So, I took it, and went to Sacramento for a weekend where I stayed in an overcrowded Holiday Inn with a lot of other hopefuls.

Paul couldn't come with me. He had an assignment that weekend that was too important to miss, a television commercial. He didn't have any lines; but he didn't consider himself an actor anyway, so that didn't bother him. He wore a tuxedo and stood in a doorway looking sultry while a woman sprayed herself with perfume.

I won the state finals and went on to win the nationals. By then I was behind in my classes and had to drop most of them. When I returned from the national finals in Washington, I discovered a lot of things had changed. Like Lisa's major -- it went from Theatre Arts to Broadcast Communications, and Paul seemed to blame me. Well, it probably was my fault, but how could he know that?

As fortune would have it, I was just in time to catch the 'nostalgia' bug sweeping the country. Offered a recording contract by Columbia, I cut an album of 'torch' songs that made platinum worldwide. That entailed touring, but I managed to finish college anyway, and I discovered that there were long periods of 'nothing' time in both touring and recording, and that was how I wrote my first novel, using one of the early models of what has now come to be known as a 'notebook'.

The magic Annalisa gave me didn't extend to publishing, but books by celebrities were another hot trend, and I had no trouble finding a taker for my novel. Even sold a few, but not enough to really qualify. The publisher turned down my second effort, and my writing career languished into the obscurity it never rose out of.

So, by the age of 30 I was a big star, and a millionaire. I decided to try again, and started writing a novel about a girl who wins a singing contest. But there was no happy ending to it; indeed, there was no ending at all, because the girl had lost the boy she loved.

Paul married Lisa when we were 28. I have to admit, that surprised me, though he had been out of my life for awhile by then. She went to work for a public broadcasting station in San Francisco, and he went on to take a second degree in Fashion Illustration from The Art Academy. After that, I lost track of them.

There were other men in my life of course, lots of 'em. But over the years, I realized marriage exacted a price from both women and men, and I avoided it. I'd never wanted children; they gave the government another excuse to interfere in people's lives and tied lovers together long after the love was gone. At 35 I looked back and realized I was happy, and had pretty much everything I wanted.

I sung a lot of film soundtracks, including one with Elton John that one a Grammy and an Oscar. That was a highlight, of course, and there were others. My second novel was a bestseller, the year I turned 37, and I returned to San Francisco (I had long since moved South, to Santa Barbara) to sing at a benefit.

Suddenly, entering the city from the airport, a wave of homesickness hit me. I always loved San Francisco, but had retreated from the possibility of seeing Paul or Lisa again. I knew they still lived there, somewhere. I didn't know she worked for KNFR, the non-profit television station, until I went in to be interviewed and discovered her name on the Rostrum, listed as Circulation Manager. Whew, sounded like a boring job.

I didn't look for her, or want to see her. I was ensconced in a recording cubicle with an interviewer, and we were soon underway. It wasn't until I left the station that I realized it had been her maiden name up there -- still, she might never have taken Paul's name. I wouldn't have, if I'd ever married him or anyone else.

That interview and all the rest made my life sound perfect, and in many ways it was. I had plenty of money, friends and fame. If there was a basic emptiness to it all, I couldn't have explained it if I wanted to, which I didn't. That emptiness involved Paul, my first and only true love, who was married to my ex-friend. I wondered if they had any children.

The benefit was held at Davies Hall, and included a buffet supper which cost patrons of the arts a bundle extra. That bundle included mingling with the performers; years of benefits had taught me how to do that and still enjoy myself. It wasn't hard; never having wanted to be a famous singer, I gladly talked to anyone who approached me. And if they'd also read my books, they had a friend for life. I mentioned earlier that I had a lot of friends, remember?

I always went all-out on my appearance at these functions, designer dress and makeup, etc. I enjoyed dressing up, but to me, this was part of my job. Fortunately, the night of this particular benefit I had a fabulous dress by Givenchy; I'd put on some weight over the years -- singers and authors, unlike actresses, can carry extra poundage and not be vilified for it in the press.

He was standing by the bar, alone. I would've recognized him in a crowd of hundreds, however. Still tall and slim, dressed in a tuxedo and sipping what was probably gin and tonic, if he still had the same taste. I watched him for a few moments, wondering if Lisa was with him and would join him. No one did, and I was shortly engulfed in a crowd of my fans. I didn't see him again before the benefit began.

One of my chosen songs for the night was 'Solitaire', written by Neil Sedaka and one of the lesser known originally sang by Karen Carpenter. It was particularly appropriate, and when I made my way to my assigned dressing-room after the show, I hoped Paul had known my performance was for him.

There were several bouquets of flowers waiting, and one was a dozen white roses. The card said simply, "From the Friend Who Knew You When...". I carried them out into the Green Room for the even-more-exclusive cast party -- only the richest (and most boring, in my opinion) of the patrons would be there.

Paul wasn't among them, but I hadn't expected him to be. I knew he wasn't rich, having kept track of him as best I could. The only reason I didn't know if he had children or was still married to Lisa was because I didn't care to find out.

Suddenly, I knew where he would be. If the District Attorney was disappointed when I swept past him and out the door, I wasn't particularly interested. Still holding the white roses and mingling with the crowds outside the hall, I started to walk down Van Ness. Past the opera house, my white velvet cape flaring out behind me, I stopped at Max's Opera Cafe.

People attempted to stop me, but for once I ignored them and plowed on through. Into the restaurant and to the bar, where he was standing facing the door as I came through. Smiling, he raised his glass to me in a toast.

"I wondered if you'd remember where to find me, or if you'd bother," he greeted me.

I came up beside him. "I wanted to thank you for the roses."

"Figured you'd know it was me, since they're white."

The bartender came my way. I'd had enough champagne that night, so I ordered a plain ginger ale. "Lisa isn't with you?"

He seemed confused by this. "I haven't seen Lisa in about five years. Do you usually date your exes?"

I accepted my ginger ale, laying the roses on the barstool he'd saved for me. "I didn't know you were divorced. Must be awkward, both of you working for the same company."

He grinned. "I see you know something about my life, uninteresting as it is."

"What's so bad about it?"

"Nothing, really. I just can't compare it to yours."

"Don't decide until you walk a mile in my moccasins."

"Oh, I realized a long time ago there was no room for me in your life." He held up his glass for the bartender to refill it.

I stared at him, nonplussed. I knew there were people in the restaurant who had recognized me, and were attempting to get my attention. They existed as the buzzing of gnats -- there was nothing but him. "What ever gave you such a daft idea?"

The vehemence in my voice must have taken him aback, because he dropped his fresh drink on the bar-top, and in the confusion of cleaning it up we both recovered our poise. "I don't know..." he replied. "It always seemed that way."

"I'm staying at The Carlton. The Emperor Norton Suite."

His mouth quirked. "That figures. Are you making an invitation?"

"Where's your car?"

"In the underground garage."

"Let's go." I took his arm and dragged him away from the bar. He just had time to throw down some money for a drink he'd never get to taste.

***

"So, where do we go from here?" We were sitting in my satin-clad bed in the Emperor Norton suite, eating breakfast.

I chewed a bite of a croissant and considered. "Did you notice I've gained weight?"

He choked on his coffee. "Huh? Oh...have you? I guess maybe you have...you still look great to me."

I beamed at him. "Got any vacation time coming?"

"Several weeks. Actually, I've been negotiating with The San Francisco Foundation for a grant to start my own clothing line. All the workers would be people with AIDS."

I stared at him, gulping down croissant. "They need jobs too," he pointed out calmly. When I didn't reply he said, "Don't worry, love...I'm not HIV positive. I've just seen a lot of suffering in this city."

"Oh, Goddess...I never thought that. You surprised me, that's all. So, you need a backer, do you? Tell me how much seed money you need, cupcake." Now I understood how the magic worked...