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GRACE HAD NOT ATTENDED class for the past two days. It was strange, Maude had dropped her off and picked her up each time at the school.
Yet, she’d received a call from the principal. She knew Mrs. Mary would not tolerate this.
Maude did not enjoy failing. But she had to admit that she was the worst mentor a girl could hope for.
Grace had not improved in vocal technique, she had not improved as a student, and she certainly had not improved as a human being.
Maude had decided to get to the root of the problem.
The root of the problem lived in a lovely townhouse in Brooklyn.
When Maude rang the doorbell, a petite woman with curly, blonde hair, polished fingernails and slippers shaped like two fluffy rabbits opened the door.
“How may I help you?” she asked.
“I’m here to talk about Grace Heaton,” Maude said, in lieu of a greeting.
“I’m sorry. I know no one of that name.” The perplexed expression on her face might have fooled Maude had Mrs. Mary not informed her that Grace’s mother had severed all ties with her daughter.
“I know she’s your daughter, Mrs. Heaton. Mrs. Mary told me so. Please, let me speak with you.”
“You’re that French singer, Maude Laurent,” Mrs. Heaton said. Her face relaxed and she stepped aside, opening the door wide. “Why, of course. Please come in.”
Maude followed her into the living room. Pictures of cats were perched on every piece of furniture, yet no tangible evidence revealed the existence of a real one in the house.
Mrs. Heaton moved around like a mouse, making little noise.
The living room was spacious and the house was well-furnished with the warmth of a loving homemaker.
“Would you like something to drink?” Mrs. Heaton asked.
“No, thank you.” To soften her refusal, Maude put her hand to her throat. “I’m not thirsty.”
“How did you get to know that ... Grace.”
“I visited Children’s Haven. That’s when I heard your daughter’s voice. It’s lovely. She must take after you.”
“No. She doesn’t,” Mrs. Heaton said curtly. She sat on a fluffy pillow, but remained erect and stiff.
“I’m training your daughter,” Maude explained. “She’s got an audition coming up soon and she needs to prepare.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“She’s uncooperative. She fears she won’t succeed. That’s why she’s not giving it her all.”
“I don’t know what I can do for you.”
“You’re her ...” Maude stopped to recollect her thoughts. “She needs someone close to her to tell her that she can succeed.”
“We’re not close. I haven’t seen her in two years.”
Maude did not wish to antagonize her, but she feared the woman did not feel the slightest discomfort. She noticed the hard lines around her mouth. Grief had slashed her face like a sharp stylus on a clay tablet.
“May I ask why?”
“I ...” The woman burst into tears. “I can’t do it. Don’t ask me to take her back.”
“No, no, I’m not asking that. She’s with me for now.”
“I can’t do it. I can’t take care of her.”
“Nobody’s asking that of you.”
“She’s a horrible child. She-she talks back all the time. She looks at you with such arrogance. Her father, he understood her. But he’s gone now and it’s her fault. I can’t handle her. She’s mean and selfish. It’s her fault George’s gone. Gone forever.”
Maude’s heart tightened as Mrs. Heaton cried profusely, her wails interrupted only by violent hiccups.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Maude said calmly but doubt seeped into her heart. Had Grace destroyed her family?
“You think you know Grace, but you haven’t seen anything. She hates people for no reason. She hates me, and I her.”
“She probably does hate me, but not you.”
“She hates you?”
“She barely tolerates me.”
“Is she mean to you? Deliberately mean.”
“She’s not always kind,” Maude said mildly, out of a sense of loyalty. “But she’s trying, somehow. I just don’t know how to get through to her.”
“There’s no way. I tried everything. I tried bribing and threatening. She just doesn’t listen, she doesn’t care. And when she answers, her tongue is like a serpent’s.”
“Grace is hurting,” Maude said, fighting to keep her cool. She squeezed one of Mrs. Heaton’s cushions, before placing it gently on her knees. “She needs you.”
“You think I don’t hurt? That I don’t need help? No, nobody warns you of these things, I tell you. I used to think babies were cute. Never thought mine would turn out to be such a monster.”
Maude put her hand to her heart. “You don’t mean what you say.”
“Don’t judge me. I’m sure you don’t have any of your own.”
“I’m not judging,” Maude replied, though she knew the opposite to be true.
“I gave up. Stopped taking care of her. Until she complained to her school and social services came and took her away. I can finally breathe again and I don’t want her in this house ever again. Since she left, my house has been clean and quiet. God, the quiet, how I missed it! Never was quiet with her. She would put on that awful music. Those musicals. She couldn’t stop.”
“She liked musicals back then?”
“Exasperated me to no end. Made so much noise.”
“I think what Grace needs is for you to give her permission to sing. By telling her to stop singing back then, she stopped, and now she can’t do it again. Please, give her a call and encourage her just once more.”
“I can’t.”
Maude had saved one last argument in her plea. It was one that no parent or guardian was insensitive to: promises of success. This simple argument preyed on human vanity. Everyone wanted to say that they were responsible for someone else’s recognition. In a world where celebrities were royalty, facilitating a person’s fame was the next best thing.
“Mrs. Heaton, you don’t understand. Your daughter could become famous.”
Mrs. Heaton’s face grew red with interest.
“When she becomes famous, she’ll remember that you encouraged her. If you don’t do it now, you might regret it sooner than you think.”
“She’s really got a shot at getting that part?”
“Grace is on the verge of great things.”
“I suppose that’s why you’re interested in her. You see only your gain.”
Maude remained silent and let Mrs. Heaton project her own ambitions on her, waiting before adding, “That’s true. But you’re her mother. I know you want only what’s best for Grace.”
“That’s why I put her in that home. And she never would’ve met you if I hadn’t put her there.”
“She’ll be grateful.”
“That she should. What do you want me to say?”
Maude gave her the phone number to the Baldwin landline and told her.
“Don’t rattle her. Just tell her you’re proud,” Maude said as she left.
Once the door closed behind her, Maude shivered from Mrs. Heaton’s handshake and hoped that, with this meeting, she had not made matters worse.