Roxie refused to go with me to the Raven that night, even after I said I would stay home if she wouldn’t come. Dad and Uncle Phil were supposed to go to a hospital dance, but Dad said he’d stay home too if Roxie wasn’t going with me. That bit of blackmail worked its magic, and she finally caved.
She came out of her room just before eight dressed in blue jeans and an emerald green T-shirt with gold letters that spelled “Superstar” across the front. She’d pulled her pink and red hair back into a ponytail and hadn’t bothered to put on the layers of mascara and eye shadow she usually wore.
“You look pretty, Roxie,” I said, and I meant it.
She gave me a lopsided grin. “You mean pretty bad, don’t you?”
Dad said, “No, I’m sure she means pretty as in good. You girls both look great. Have some fun, and I’ll see you back here around eleven thirty.”
I reached up and straightened Dad’s collar. He was wearing a blue denim shirt and tan pants. He smelled of spicy aftershave. “You have fun too, Dad.” We were telling each other to have a good time as though we’d all forgotten how.
Ambie waved us over. She’d saved us two seats at her table, which was directly in front of the stage. As we slid into our chairs, I looked up. A girl from my French class was belting out a song that sounded vaguely familiar. After a few seconds, I looked around. Rosemary and Cindy raised their hands in greeting and mouthed hello. I looked across at Roxie. She was watching the girl on stage intently. When she saw me staring at her, she leaned closer to me.
“A little flat on the high notes, but not a bad rendition overall,” she said. “Her timing’s a bit off on the chorus.”
Did Roxie know more about music than she’d let on?
After French-class girl finished singing, two guys from Grade Nine made mincemeat of an old Rolling Stones hit. I’m probably tone deaf to some degree, but their singing made even me wince several times.
Roxie lost interest in them quickly and started looking around the room. As the Rolling Stones duo finished their screeching, she tapped me on the arm. “Is that who I think it is?”
I followed the direction of her finger, but whoever she was pointing at was disappearing out the front door.
“Who, Roxie?” I asked.
Roxie shook her head as if she’d been dreaming. “No, it’s too crazy,” she said.
The next act on stage was Derek Taylor and the Cold Hands. They played rock songs for almost an hour and had a lot of kids up dancing, including Cindy and Rosemary. I was happy to just watch. We’d all ordered sodas, and I sipped on my ginger ale.
At the end of a song, Roxie leaned closer to me again. “They’re okay, but they’ll never be more than a local band,” she said. “The lead singer doesn’t have the talent to make it in the long haul.”
I looked at Derek, who was strutting around the stage like he was already a rock star. I bet Roxie’s assessment wouldn’t sit too well with him. He wouldn’t believe it anyway.
By eleven o’clock, the list of volunteer entertainers looked to have dried up, and people were getting up to leave.
Billy, the owner, leapt onto the stage and called into the microphone, “Do we have anyone else willing to show off their talent?” He cupped a hand over his eyes and scanned the crowd, which had gone silent. “Anybody?” he asked, waving the microphone at us in a wide arc.
I looked at Ambie. We both pointed at each other at the same time and started laughing. I stopped laughing when I glanced back and saw Roxie heading up onto the stage. “Oh no,” I groaned to myself. “What could she be thinking?”
Billy was waiting with a big grin on his face, and he patted Roxie on the back when she made it up next to him. “We have a brave one!” he said. “And your name is . . .?”
“Roxie Firestone.”
“And what will you be singing, Roxie Firestone?”
“ ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’,” Roxie said as she took the microphone from Billy.
She closed her eyes for a moment then began the first line. “When you’re down and out. Feeling sad . . .” I felt my jaw drop. As Roxie’s pure, achingly haunting voice wrapped itself around the words of the Simon and Garfunkel classic, those who’d been on their way out the door stopped and listened. The rest of us sat mesmerized. Roxie’s voice grew in strength and richness along with the song, sweeping us along to the end that came way too soon. It was all the more amazing because she didn’t have any musical accompaniment. Her voice had a husky quality that made us feel the sadness along with her, and tears began gathering in the corners of my eyes. I was so amazed and so proud of her that I couldn’t speak when the last notes died away. After a stunned kind of silence, we all started clapping wildly, and several people got to their feet.
Roxie gave a little bow, quickly jumped down the steps and came back to our table. She was wearing her usual lopsided grin. We gathered around her and couldn’t stop telling her how wonderful she’d been. She nodded a few times before reaching down to grab her jacket. “Let’s go,” she said. “I could use some air.” She pushed between Rosemary and Cindy and started for the exit. Ambie, Cindy, Rosemary and I all stood looking at each other for a second before grabbing our jackets and scrambling to catch up with her.
I sat with Dad at the kitchen table after Roxie had gone to bed. I’d just finished telling him about Roxie’s surprise performance at the Raven. I wrapped up by saying excitedly, “I can’t believe how much talent she has. Someone should seriously think about booking her professionally.”
Dad was silent for a second. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin and said, “We have to go slow here, Jen. Roxie has lots of things to sort out in her head, and we don’t want to do anything that will add to her confusion.”
“I know, Dad, but this talent gives her something that will make her feel special and good about herself.”
“Maybe. That’s the goal all right, but how that goal is realized is another story. I don’t want to see her exploited. It would be too easy.”
“How do you mean, exploited?”
“Think of all those child stars who end up famous then have adult lives from hell. People never look beyond their talent and money for what’s inside. Not to mention, too much money too young can be a bad thing.”
“I know what you’re saying, Dad,” I said, “but Roxie has a gift that shouldn’t be hidden. Just think about all the doors this could open for her.”
“Well, I’ll think about it,” Dad said, not sounding all that convinced. “Now you get yourself to bed while I lock up. I won’t be far behind you.”
I said a silent prayer and clicked open my e-mail. I scanned the list of names in my unopened mail. No message from Pete. My heart dropped back into place, and I suddenly felt very tired. I turned off the computer and crossed the floor to my bed, slipping under the covers and reaching for my old stuffed bear Benny. I had to try not to let Pete’s poor correspondence skills get me down. I had to accept that he was busy with schoolwork, and talking to me wasn’t a priority any more. The sooner I got used to the way things were, the better my life would be.