Winnipeg, Manitoba, March 18, 1965
Felicity walked out from the wings, across the gleaming wood of the stage. She stopped where she had been directed to stand, in the crook of the shiny black grand piano. She bowed her head and waited for the room to settle. The Salvation Baptist women had been moved to the sides of the auditorium where their immense hats would not block the vision of those behind them. The piano introduction dropped into the silence, stars appearing in the night sky. She took a breath, harnessing all her energy and power to become the character of Laurie, a small-town girl who, like Felicity, was soon to turn eighteen and embark upon her adult life.
Felicity had been invited to give a recital by the Winnipeg Ladies’ Musical Circle. “The youngest singer to ever be given that honour,” said her teacher, Miss Fisher. When Felicity shared her triumph with her mother, she had not been as enthused. “I told you, I don’t know about this business of singing for a career,” said Mom. “It’s most ungodly, the lifestyles those women live, going from city to city, hopping from bed to bed. Music should be for the church, for the glory of God. You can teach kindergarten, do singing with the little ones, or teach lessons and bring in a little more to help with what your husband’s earning.” The thought of such a small life made Felicity want to howl. Mom was even less excited when Miss Fisher insisted on taking Felicity to Vancouver on the train to audition for the Guildhall School in London.
But none of that mattered now, because Felicity had had a letter from the Guildhall that she had shoved in her purse unopened, sure it was a rejection, and Miss Fisher was mad at her. Miss Fisher wanted Felicity to start her recital with Handel or Purcell, and Felicity had insisted on “Laurie’s Song,” from the opera The Tender Land by Aaron Copland. She had discovered it the previous summer when Salvation Baptist Church took up a collection to send her to a music camp in Minneapolis. “This is a new opera,” the music director told Felicity. “Opera doesn’t have to be kings and queens and fat ladies squawking. It can be about your life, and mine.” Felicity wanted the audience to see that, too.
“Well, if that’s your decision, I wash my hands of it,” Miss Fisher had proclaimed, smacking her palms against each other to make the point. Felicity had moved on to Miss Fisher when Mrs. Hammond said she had nothing more to teach her, but Miss Fisher was not in awe of Felicity’s talent. Miss Fisher had sung at the Metropolitan Opera in New York, and she said Felicity had a lot of work to do if she wanted to do the same. Now, Felicity sang the opening verse of her chosen aria that described a little girl, shorter than the fence in her backyard, feeling time creep until it started to run.
Felicity remembered playing with Josiah in a time before she thought about men or sex or dead fathers or the colour of her skin. Those days were gone now, never to return. She and Mom had moved away from Aunt Rose and Josiah into their own house when Mom got a job as a teacher, and Felicity had fallen in love with Brian Campbell.
She fought the urge to choke up and forced herself to focus on the words. There was a new hardness at her core. She had been frantic to have sex for the first time before the recital. Laurie’s character was innocent, and the moment captured by “Laurie’s Song” underlined the moment that she would start walking towards knowledge. Felicity wanted to cross that line herself so she would know how it felt to be on either side of it.
She had been dating Brian since Christmas. It had been too good an opportunity to pass up — the quarterback of her high school football team, who had big eyes, blue as the summer sky, and soft, golden hair, asking her if she wanted to go steady. They had necked a few times but hadn’t gone all the way, and so she had hinted and suggested until she learned that the night before her recital, his parents were going out for dinner, leaving the house empty.
Brian’s house was immense, with a long, curving driveway and marble pillars flanking the front door. When they reached his bedroom, Felicity pushed him inside and onto the bed. She looked around for a few seconds, noting the posters of the Beatles, the Rolling Stones, and of Mickey Mantle. Then she threw herself on top of Brian and began to kiss him all over his face. When he came up for air, he asked, “What are you doing, Felicity?”
“I need you now, Brian. I’ve waited so long.”
“But, Felicity, what if —”
“If I get pregnant? It’s okay, Brian. I counted the days since I last had my period and I’m about to get it again, so that means it’s too late to fertilize my egg.” That much she had learned in biology.
Brian turned red and fixed his eyes at a point past Felicity’s head. “But your mom —”
“Who cares about her? I want you,” Felicity whispered, and she reached down and cupped a hand over Brian’s crotch. The hardness she felt there thrilled her. She began undoing his belt. Brian offered no resistance.
She pulled Brian down onto the bed and pulled off her own sweater and bra. Brian’s eyes bulged when he saw her soft brown breasts spill across her chest. He reached out with his forefinger and touched one of them. Felicity took his hand in hers and traced the outline of her nipple.
Brian gulped. “I’ve never gone all the way before,” he said.
“Neither have I,” Felicity said. “That’s why it’s special.” She shivered as she reached out. She peeled off her girdle and threw it to the floor to join the rest of her clothing. Then she wriggled until she had positioned her pelvis under him, both of them squeezed onto the single bed. Brian’s mouth twitched as he slid down over Felicity and began fumbling.
“Where does it go?”
Felicity directed him to the place where she was warm and slippery. With panting and fidgeting, he slid inside. Felicity closed her eyes and breathed in the feeling. Despite the spears of pain, she thought she felt a warm ripple of contentment. Brian flopped sweaty onto the pillow beside Felicity. She turned to look at him, and his face gleamed silver in the moonlight streaming through the window. There was a rawness between her thighs and her body felt hot, but she couldn’t figure out if her mind was any different.
Brian sat up. “You should get dressed,” he said. “My parents will be home soon.” He was already stepping into his briefs.
Felicity scanned the audience as she sang. Brian had promised to come to her recital, and he wasn’t here. She had given herself to him. Was this how he repaid her love? She wondered what the audience saw — a young innocent girl in a black dress, poised on the stage, or someone who had foolishly given herself away to a boy she could never have, now pouring her all into a recital because it was all she had left.
Felicity reached the end of the aria and sang:
The time has grown so short, the world so wide.
She sent the last high G arcing to the back of the hall and kept the tone spinning and pure for as long as she could. When finally all sound had dissipated, she still stood, fixing her gaze on an imaginary horizon that at that moment seemed more real to her than the stage beneath her feet. The audience was silent until she allowed her gaze to drop. Then the applause began. Slowly, uncertainly at first, like the tires of a lone car turning onto a quiet street, but then the great rush and roar of a mass of traffic with honking horns and sirens; all that sound and energy just for her. She was a goddess, and this stage was her altar.
Aunt Rose had come over that afternoon to press Felicity’s hair, flattening into submission the clouds of reddish-brown curls that spiralled off her forehead. Then she helped Felicity into her sleek black gown and did up the zipper. Felicity put on her black gloves and looked down at herself, bothered, as always, by the square, solid body she must have inherited from her father rather than her mother’s willowy frame. Her unknown father was in her face, from its round shape to the prominent nose. He had also diluted her mother’s skin to create Felicity’s warm, light brown colour. Her eyes, big and wide set, could not be said to have any particular colour. All her life, people had commented how they shone green, brown, silver, or gold, different every time they caught the light. Brian called them her “rainbow eyes.”
“You’re beautiful, flower,” said Aunt Rose. Felicity didn’t feel beautiful. She was still dissatisfied after the recital when she went out to greet the audience. Someone said her name, and she turned to see Jack Mueller from school, lolling in his seat. “You look fantastic,” he said. Before she could respond, he indicated the stout woman beside him, her blond hair twisted around her head in two braids. “Felicity, this is my mother. Muti, this is my friend Felicity.”
The woman smiled and reached over Jack to clasp both Felicity’s hands between hers. “Felicity, I’ve heard so much about you,” she said. “In Germany, I sang in a radio choir. I really love music.” She pronounced her Rs with a scrape at the back of her throat and her vowels were flatter, more squeezed, than in English. “But you didn’t sing anything in German.”
“I have trouble with German,” Felicity said. She didn’t add that she found the language spiky and unmelodious.
“Come and see me. I will fix that.”
Felicity looked up and saw Brian with five other people. Sheila McLean, and what looked like both Sheila’s and Brian’s parents. Brian’s eyes widened when he saw Felicity, then fluttered worriedly to the rest of the group. He said, “Hello, Felicity. You look nice.” It was as if last night had never happened.
“Mom, Dad, this is Felicity from school,” he said.
As Felicity looked at Brian, so handsome in his blue shirt, that matched the colour of his eyes, she could feel her heart turn to water with longing for him. But he wasn’t looking at her.
“Oh, you must know Sheila, Felicity,” said Brian’s mother to Felicity. “She sings too. Her teacher is Mrs. Hammond, one of the best, you know.”
“I used to study with Mrs. Hammond,” said Felicity. “She said I needed someone more advanced, so she passed me on to Miss Fisher.”
“Not Gloria Fisher!” said Brian’s mother. “But she’s —” She stopped and squinted at Felicity. “Tell me, how is a girl still in high school singing this music? Isn’t that rather ambitious of you? I mean, opera isn’t even your people’s music.”
“Felicity is exceptional,” said Jack from behind Felicity. Her bones bent with relief. “She isn’t a high school singer. She has a gift.” He put an arm around Felicity’s shoulder, and Felicity leaned against him, watching Brian’s face grow white and pinched.
“It’s Jack Mueller, isn’t it?” said his mother. “The German boy?”
“Canadian,” said Jack.
“Your mother allows you to wear your hair like that?” Brian’s mother pointed to Jack’s long, wavy ponytail. “Like one of those good-for-nothing beatniks?”
“My mother doesn’t treat me like a baby.” Jack pulled Felicity a few feet away. “Want to get out of here?”
Felicity was overjoyed at the idea of not going home alone. “What about your mom?”
“My dad will pick her up.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. This is your big night. Someone’s gotta make it a celebration.”
Felicity’s mother was talking with her church friends. When Felicity asked if she could go out with friends, Mom said, “Curfew is midnight.”
“It’s already almost ten,” Felicity protested.
“Then one o’clock. No later. There’s church tomorrow morning.”
After a few minutes of driving in silence, Felicity asked, “Why was Brian —”
“Ssh,” Jack said, “don’t make me mad when I’m driving.”
“You’re mad at him?”
“I’m fucking furious at him. I want to bash his fucking face in,” said Jack. No boy had ever said that word, fuck, in front of Felicity. She rolled it in her mouth, liking its sharp, succinct feel.
Felicity nestled closer to Jack. She was Brian’s girlfriend, but Brian had just rejected her. Jack wanted to spend time with her. He put his hand on her knee. “I’ve known Brian since elementary school,” he said. “He was always a shit. I went to his birthday party, and his mom wouldn’t let up about me being German. She kept asking if my dad fought in the war — he did, but only because he was forced — and bragging that Brian’s dad got a medal for his service. Brian never said a word, even though he was always calling me his best friend. Some friend.”
They entered Jack’s house through a side entrance, and Jack directed Felicity down a flight of stairs into a slightly chilly, wood-panelled room. “Welcome to my lair.”He sat down on the sagging green couch and patted the spot next to him. “Want a beer?”
Felicity had never had one, but she said “Sure,” and Jack pressed a bottle into her hand, clinking it against his. It was bitter, but she continued to sip. Her insides felt warm. Her head spun a little. Jack said, “I need a smoke.” But instead of lighting a cigarette, he went to a drawer, pulled out a bag of what looked like dried oregano, and began rolling a pinch of it in a small square of white paper.
“What are you doing?”
“Having some weed. You want to try?” He licked a finger to stick the ends of the paper together.
“Uh, sure.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
Her first drag led to a coughing fit, but she persisted, eventually getting a taste of the smooth, spicy smoke.
“Like it?”
“Mmm, yeah.” Her mind was beautifully fogged. She turned to Jack, pressed her lips to his, and began kissing him. She pressed her body against his. He responded hungrily and they fell onto the carpet. Felicity reached for his crotch.
Jack put his hand over hers. “Are you sure?”
“I’ve never been so sure,” she said, unzipping his fly. Jack peeled off her dress, unhooked her bra, and sat back to behold her. “What a body,” he said.
Felicity pulled him to her. She caressed his hardness. “You’ve done this before?” Jack asked, and she nodded. He made a face of surprise. “Brian?” he said. “Didn’t think he had it in him.” He paused. “What about birth control?”
“I’m getting my period, so it’s fine.” Seemingly satisfied, Jack began kissing her all over her naked body and she shivered, overwhelmed by the sensations. When he entered her, her world erupted. She screamed and writhed on the carpet. Sex hadn’t felt anything like this with Brian.
“Felicity, you are something else,” Jack said when it was over. “I need another joint.” Naked, they passed it back and forth.
“I feel fizzy,” she said.
“Fizzy,” said Jack. “That’s a good nickname for you.” He picked up his guitar and strummed. Felicity recognized “A Hard Day’s Night” and “Please Please Me.” The Beatles, she thought, and thinking of the Beatles made her think of England, and the envelope in her purse.
“Jack, I got a letter from the Guildhall!” she said. “You know, the music school I auditioned for in London.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t open it.”
“Well, let’s see.” He put the guitar down.
Balanced between hope and fear, she handed the envelope to him. “Can you, Jack?”
He used his thumbnail to slit the top of the envelope. Felicity struggled to breathe. Jack put an arm around her as he continued to pull out the letter. He scanned it and said, “Well, Felicity, the answer is —” Her chest began to seize. She fisted her hands against it. “Hell, I don’t want you to die on me. You got in, you idiot. Full scholarship.”
Felicity screeched and threw her arms around Jack so hard he fell backward. “I’m so grateful. I would thank God, but I don’t think I believe in him, or it, or whatever God is.”
“You go to church?” asked Jack.
“Only because my mother makes me.”
“She’s pretty strict?”
“The main thing for her is that I must not have sex. I cannot get pregnant. That would be displeasing to God and embarrassing to her. And she’s scared that if I go to London, I’ll be out of her sight and I’ll live a life of immorality with the theatre people.”
Jack laughed. “You’ve already started on that.”
“That’s why I need to get away,” Felicity said. “I can’t hide what I’m doing from her forever. I can’t stand listening to her talk about the Bible anymore. I’m interested in people, not God. I think about love, and pain, and so many things, Jack. But not God.”
“I think about God. A lot,” Jack said. He picked his guitar up again and struck a chord. The Beach Boys this time. “I Get Around.” Jack bent his head over the instrument. “My parents don’t go to church. We’re Lutherans, but they lost their faith because of the war. It killed them inside, man.”
Felicity lay on the couch listening to the chords he strummed. The sex and the beer and the marijuana collided pleasantly in her brain and traced a path down her spine.