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Parallel
Dreams
by Jack
Schorr
Hmm.
Three over ‘x’ plus one-half equals one and
one-fourth...ahh! I’m
gonna miss the concert!!
Adrienne frowned at her homework sheet, trying to
remember what Ms. Borkowski was talking about in math class.
One-half is how
many fourths now...?
“Adrienne!”
called her mother, Norah, down in the living room.
“It’s starting!
Are you finished your homework yet?!”
The
twelve-year-old looked at the clock on her desk.
7:01 pm. She
looked at the problem one more time and shrugged her
shoulders. “Whatever,”
she said, and wrote “x = 6” as the answer without
thinking. She
quickly got up and ran through the open doorway from her
bedroom and flew down the stairs.
“I
want to see your work first, dear,” Norah said, stopping
Adrienne in her tracks.
“Errrr…”
Adrienne growled as she made an about face and ran back up the
stairs. Seconds
later, she was back with a small stack of papers and
notebooks. “You
know, Mom, if I was Carlotta, I would have my own tutors and
stuff—and I wouldn’t have to go to school and do homework
like this,” she said.
Norah
sighed. “Well,
I bet Carlotta also gets good grades and works hard.
And she probably does do her homework, too.”
She leafed through Adrienne’s work thoughtfully.
“Hmm…this math homework looks rushed.
‘x = 6?’”
Adrienne
leaned over and took a look.
“Well, isn’t it?”
Norah
smiled down at her daughter.
“Uh…no, dear,” she said.
“But that’s okay.
You can fix it later.”
“Great!”
Adrienne said with a grin as she quickly sat down on the couch
in the living room in front of the television.
Her father, Owen, was seated on a recliner off to the
side, dozing off with an open newspaper wrapped around his
chest. On the
television, a young teenage girl with long, light brown hair
and wearing a glittery pink sleeveless dress stepped up on a
dais that held a pair of microphones amid thundering applause.
She was carrying a piece of paper. “Wow!
Thank you everyone!” the girl said with a
distinct and melodious Welsh lilt.
“Well, since
this is a live
televised concert, I don’t want to mess up anyone’s names,
so...” She
began to read from the piece of paper.
Adrienne
turned to her mother. “Did
you talk to your friend again at Strobe Classics?”
Norah
sighed. “Well,
hon, his answer was the same,” she said sadly.
“They’re not looking for anyone right now like
that. I kept
insisting that with some formal training you have potential,
but they seemed to be looking for someone who can make an
immediate impact.”
Adrienne
winced. “But I
sound just like Carlotta!
I don’t need lessons!” she protested.
“All they have to do is give me an audition.
Just one.” She
turned back to the television, where Carlotta Gilwyn was ready
to begin her first song.
Light
music began to swell from the orchestra that surrounded
Carlotta as she stared out into the audience, trying to
suppress a bright, toothy smile that had formed on her face.
The spotlight gave her an angelic glow against the dark
backdrop of the dimly lit orchestra and the back wall of the
stage. As if on
cue, the young soprano began to sing in Latin from Andrew
Lloyd Webber’s Requiem.
“Pie
Jesu! Pie Jesu!...Qui
tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem...!”
The
sound of Carlotta’s rousing soprano jolted Owen from his
nap. He groggily
fumbled around, looking for his glasses, with the newspaper
rustling loudly. Adrienne
barely noticed, her eyes transfixed at Carlotta’s image and
her senses absorbing the music.
Before she knew it, she was singing along with the
television, acting as Carlotta’s duet partner as her parents
looked on.
“Agnus
Dei! Agnus
Dei!...Qui tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem...!”
But
as the song reached its conclusion, Adrienne’s voice cracked
on a high note, causing her parents to shudder.
“Oops,” she said with a sheepish grin.
“I’m still having trouble with that.”
She returned her gaze to the television as the concert
audience gave Carlotta a rousing applause.
Carlotta smiled brightly, nodding and saying barely
audible thank-yous. That’ll
be me someday, Adrienne thought.
The
concert ended approximately two hours later, as Carlotta
answered cries for an encore with not one, but two additional
selections that were not part of the oriNorahl program.
Later on, as Adrienne drifted off to sleep she
envisioned herself as Carlotta Gilwyn.
She began to whisper a prayer.
“God, if you can hear me, please, oh please give me a
chance to be famous like Carlotta.
I know I can do it.
All I need is a break.”
Adrienne
awoke from her night’s sleep still hearing Carlotta’s
voice in her mind. She
got up, dressed, had breakfast, and was out the door to go to
school in a blur. As
she walked over to the street corner to the bus stop, she
could see Carlotta singing in the concert hall.
She began singing quietly, not noticing the rugged
sidewalk ahead. Her
toe caught a large divot, and Adrienne tumbled onto the
adjoining lawn, her knee barely missing the loose, broken
cement pavement, and her backpack busting open, spilling its
contents on the ground.
“Errr…”
Adrienne growled as she stumbled back to her feet.
She had gathered up the last book when she noticed a
strange object lying under a bush.
She reached over and picked it up.
It was a small, pewter-encased pocket mirror with
unusual markings etched into the frame.
Around the frame of the mirror were the engraved words
“Touch the face of the dreamer, and find your heart’s
desire.” Hmm,
she thought. Wonder
what that means.
She looked at the image of her face in the mirror and
touched the glass to wipe away the thin layer of dust that had
gathered on it. As
her fingers felt the glass, the frame began to glow softly,
and Adrienne suddenly felt a gentle warm breeze blowing across
her face. When
she looked up, she was hit by a sense of disorientation.
Huh?
I thought I was…
“C’mon,
Adrienne, get going!” Norah yelled from behind.
“We’re gonna be late again!”
She
was not outside near the bus stop, but in a hotel room,
crouching by a suitcase filled with clothes.
Her clothes.
Dressed in a black, sleeveless long gown.
“Huh?” she asked.
Norah
hurriedly put an earring on and straightened her dress in
front of a full-length mirror.
“This is no time for games, dear,” she snapped.
“We don’t want to keep Carlotta waiting now.”
Adrienne
recoiled a bit. “Carlotta?
Carlotta Gilwyn?”
She looked over at dresser and noticed a piece of paper
with fancy writing. It
was a concert program, with the billing “Carlotta Gilwyn –
Live in Concert.” In
smaller words underneath were the words “With Special Guest
Adrienne MacKenzie.” Huh?
That’s me! She
scanned the program further.
“Carnegie Hall,” she whispered.
Oh, my God.
I’m in New York?
How did I get here?
Her mind racing, she looked around for the pewter
mirror, but it was gone.
She went over to the window and took a look outside.
It was New York, all right.
She could see the Empire State Building several blocks
down the street. Six
stories below her, the street was bustling with people and
vehicles, mostly yellow taxicabs and buses, snarled in rush
hour traffic. She
could hear the sounds of automobile horns honking almost
continuously.
Adrienne
turned to the program once again and opened it.
Inside was a short biography and picture of Carlotta
Gilwyn, followed by a few short sentences about the orchestra,
conductor, and guest musicians—including Adrienne MacKenzie:
“Young
soprano Adrienne MacKenzie, 12, of Bristol, Pennsylvania, got
her big break when her mother, Norah, referred her to a friend
at Strobe Records, who set up a private audition for her in
Philadelphia. Strobe
USA President Richelle Thomason was so moved by her
performance that she signed her to a lucrative multi-album
deal on the spot. Miss
MacKenzie’s first album, Parallel Dreams,
went platinum within three months of its release this past
November. A
second album, as yet untitled, is tentatively due for release
next December.”
“Whoa,”
Adrienne said softly. I
don’t remember that, she thought.
She knew
that her mother’s friend at Strobe nixed the idea of an
audition on the spot. Maybe
I’m dreaming this, she thought.
Norah
burst back into the room from the bathroom and furiously
tapped Adrienne’s arm.
“Are you listening to me?” her mother snapped.
“Your father is already waiting at the limo
outside!”
Adrienne,
still confused, recoiled.
A corner of the program rubbed against her left index
finger, drawing blood. “Ow!”
she yelled, dropping the program on the floor.
Norah
quickly took a look at Adrienne’s hand.
“It’s just a paper cut,” she said, reaching for a
tissue. She
dabbed Adrienne’s finger until the bleeding stopped, then
found a bandage from a first-aid kit.
Adrienne unwrapped the bandage and placed it over the
small cut.
“Okay,
okay, I’m ready now,” Adrienne said, picking up the
concert program and laying it back on the dresser.
“I just need my shoes…” she said, scanning the
floor.
“Those?”
Norah said, pointing to a pair of high-heeled black sandals
near the door.
“Yeah,
that’s them.”
Before
she knew it, they were out the door and in the limo, on their
way to Carnegie Hall under a small police escort.
The
limo pulled in front of the concert hall about twenty minutes
early, despite Norah’s desire to rush out the door.
There were about three dozen people waiting outside the
main doors, safely behind velvet rope and guarded closely by
half a dozen uniformed New York police officers.
Quite a few of the fans were young girls, but as a
whole it was an eclectic mix of young and old, male and
female, white and non-white.
The driver walked over and opened Adrienne’s door,
and as she gingerly stepped out of the car, the throng began
to buzz excitedly, cameras flashing.
Norah
leaned over and whispered into her daughter’s ear, “You
can go ahead and meet some of them.
We have a few minutes.”
Adrienne
turned to her mother and smiled, then walked over to the rope.
A man, wearing a baseball cap turned backwards and a
black leather jacket, called out to her, “Hey, Adrienne,
over here!” He
was holding a compact disc copy of Parallel Dreams and
a rolled-up promotional poster.
She walked over to where he was standing.
“Hi,
how are you?” she said brightly.
“What’s your name?”
“Brian
Donnelly,” he said excitedly, offering his hand.
“But my friends call me ‘BD.’”
Adrienne
smiled broadly. “Well,
BD, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, shaking his
hand. “You want
me to sign this?”
BD
pulled a black felt-tipped pen out of his jacket.
“Do you mind?” he said.
Adrienne
took the pen and CD. Wow,
he wants my autograph! This
is just too cool! “Not
at all,” she exclaimed, and began writing.
“‘To BD, love Adrienne,’” she said as she
scrawled quickly on the insert.
BD then thrust the poster in her direction, and she
signed it as well. She
then turned to BD, who was excitedly whooping it up with a
friend. “I take
it you want a picture with me now,” she said with a wry
smile.
“Of
course!” he said. She
leaned over the rope beside him as BD’s friend snapped their
picture. “Thanks
a lot, Adrienne!” he exclaimed as she withdrew.
“Hey,
it was my pleasure,” Adrienne said as she walked up the rope
a bit.
At
that point, a Hall employee burst through the doors.
“They want you backstage now, Miss MacKenzie,” he
said breathlessly. The
fans nearby groaned in disappointment as Adrienne, her parents
and several others followed him into the concert hall.
Backstage
in a dressing room, Adrienne sat down in front of a lighted
mirror while her mother applied makeup and put some finishing
touches in her hairstyle.
“Mom,” she began.
“This may sound weird, but I thought your friend at
Strobe turned me down originally.”
Norah
continued to apply makeup.
“Well, he did, but I was able to talk him into it,”
she said. She
looked into the mirror and noticed that Adrienne seemed a bit
tense. “What’s
wrong, honey?”
Adrienne
turned to face her mother.
“Well…I…guess I’m a little nervous.
I feel like I’ve never done this before.”
Norah
smiled. “Well,
this is your first
live televised appearance.”
Huh?
Adrienne thought. Wasn’t
Carlotta Gilwyn – Live at Carnegie Hall
on last night?
She continued to fumble with her thoughts, trying to
make sense of everything.
“Honey,”
Norah said, gently bringing Adrienne back to reality.
“You’ll be fine.
You sounded great in rehearsal yesterday.
And Carlotta was genuinely impressed.”
The
backstage door opened and Carlotta walked through, holding a
small half-filled water bottle and dressed in the glittery
pink sleeveless dress that Adrienne had seen on television
what had seemed to be the night before.
“Hi, Adrienne, Mrs. MacKenzie,” Carlotta said
pleasantly with a bright smile.
“Are you ready?” she asked, turning to Adrienne.
Adrienne
stared at Carlotta, speechless.
Carlotta had evidently seen her before, but to
Adrienne, this was their first meeting, something she had
dreamed about ever since she had first heard Carlotta’s
debut CD. Oh…my…God,
her mind raced. This
is really happening, right?
“Uh…yeah…, Carlotta,” she stammered.
Carlotta’s
smile became a toothy, dimpled grin.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine,” she said.
“You were great in your Parallel
Dreams concert video.
Just pretend like this is another concert, only with
live TV cameras.”
Adrienne
forced a smile. “Yeah…okay,”
she said haltingly.
“Okay,
we have to go onstage now.” Carlotta said, turning toward
the door. “Come
on!” she lilted excitedly with a wave of her hand.
She opened the door, and Adrienne could hear the
orchestra playing a prelude.
Adrienne looked back at her mother, who was sitting on
a stool.
“I’ll
be in the audience, as usual, with your father,” Norah said.
“Break a leg, you two!”
Adrienne
smiled sheepishly at Norah as she disappeared through the
doorway.
Behind
the curtain, Carlotta and Adrienne could hear the orchestra
wrapping up a prelude. A
male stagehand greeted the two young singers.
“Okay, same as rehearsal,” he said quickly.
“Miss Gilwyn goes out first, and then wait for my
cue, Miss MacKenzie.” He
turned and disappeared behind the main curtain leading to the
stage.
Adrienne
closed her eyes in thought.
Okay, this is
what you’ve been dreaming of for years: a chance to perform
and be famous. Suddenly
she shuddered. “Uh,
Carlotta? What…am
I supposed to sing again?” she stammered.
Carlotta
gave her a puzzled look.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Uh,
no. Please tell
me.”
“‘Pie
Jesu.’ You’re
accompanying me.”
Adrienne
shuddered again. Uh-oh.
I still don’t have the hang of this song, she
said. “I
can’t do this, Carlotta,” she said softly, looking down.
“You’re
on, Miss Gilwyn!” called the stagehand from the curtain.
Carlotta
turned and scampered quickly up the steps leading to the
stage. “Yes,
you can, Adrienne! Don’t
be nervous! I’ll
be there! Just
like yesterday!” She
disappeared behind the curtain amid thundering applause that
shook the stage. Approximately
twenty seconds later, the applause died down, and Adrienne
could hear Carlotta speaking to the audience, though she could
not make out the words.
“Okay,
Miss MacKenzie, you’re about to go on!” the stagehand
called.
Adrienne
slowly climbed up the steps, her legs turning to lead weights.
She closed her eyes to summon inner strength.
Okay, I can do
this. I can do
this. I can do
this, she
said over and over in her mind.
The stagehand gave his final cue, and she walked out
from behind the curtain to meet Carlotta on stage.
The
orchestra was seated in a broken semicircle around the dais
where the two young singers would be performing.
A spotlight came on and followed Adrienne from the
curtain to the dais, where two tall microphones were set up.
The applause rang in her ears.
The light blinded her temporarily, and as she took her
place next to Carlotta, she could barely make out human
figures in the audience.
“Hello,
Adrienne!” Carlotta lilted, turning to her duet partner.
Adrienne
stepped up to the microphone on her side, smiling nervously.
“Hi, Carlotta,” she said weakly.
Carlotta,
running the show, turned quickly back to the audience.
“So here is ‘Pie Jesu.’”
She gave a glance to the maestro, who ordered his
orchestra to begin. Seconds
later, Carlotta began to sing.
“Pie
Jesu! Pie Jesu!
Pie Jesu! Pie
Jesu…!”
As
Carlotta’s powerful, melodious soprano filled the hall,
Adrienne could do nothing but stare, not quite hearing the
music from the orchestra.
As Carlotta finished singing the first part of the
song, she looked toward Adrienne, ready to hand off the next
section of the song.
Adrienne
visibly jolted in surprise, started singing.
“Pie
Jesu! Pie Jesu!
Pie Jesu! Pie
Jesu! Qui tollis…uh,
pe—”
The
last note was noticeably and painfully off-key.
Adrienne’s voice trailed off as the song lyrics
escaped her. The
music continued unabated, but Adrienne began to feel the
audience staring, wondering what was going on.
Terrified and unable to move or open her mouth,
Adrienne looked at the ground, fumbling with the lyrics in her
mind. However,
her efforts were in vain.
Tears began to well up in her eyes, and as Carlotta
began singing her second part, Adrienne quickly bolted, nearly
knocking the conductor down, and disappeared behind the
curtain. The
music continued without skipping a beat.
Safely
backstage again, Adrienne ran over and crouched in a corner
and began sobbing uncontrollably.
She felt totally alone and mortified, unable to think,
unable to feel anything but the stares of the hall and
television audience and the orchestra and Carlotta.
“Adrienne,”
said someone behind her.
It was Carlotta. She
walked over and put a hand on her shoulder.
Between
sobs, Adrienne tried to find some words.
“Aren’t…you…supposed to be…out on…stage?”
Carlotta
smiled slightly. “I
told Maestro to play something,” she said.
“I just wanted to find out what happened and to see
how you were doing.”
At
that point, Owen and Norah came running into the backstage
area. “Adrienne!”
Norah called out. “Are
you all right, honey?”
They gathered around Adrienne, and the girl fell into
her mother’s arms in a tight embrace as Carlotta stepped
back a bit and looked on.
“It’s okay, dear.
Everything will be all right,” said Norah as they
rocked back and forth.
Adrienne
released her grip on her mother and wiped away the tears with
the back of her hand. “I
want to go home now,” she said, sniffling.
“We
will, we will,” Norah said quietly.
“We just have to get a couple of things squared away
with Strobe before we go, okay?”
Adrienne
nodded. She
looked over at Carlotta, who was wiping a tear herself.
“I’m sorry I ruined your concert, Carlotta,” she
said.
Carlotta
smiled gently. “You
didn’t, and don’t ever think you did.
Not everyone can get up on that stage, you know.
And sometimes, even the best of us gets stage
fright.”
Adrienne
choked back more tears. “I
don’t belong here,” she sobbed, her head bowed slightly.
“I just don’t have what it takes.”
Carlotta
shook her head. “That’s
not true, Adrienne. You’re
definitely stage
material. You’ve
already done shows before.”
Adrienne
quickly turned away from the others.
“No, you just don’t get it!” she snapped.
“I’m a fake! This
isn’t my life! I
want my real life back!”
Owen
and Norah turned to Carlotta.
“We’ll be fine, really,” Norah said.
“You should probably go back onstage and finish the
concert.” Carlotta
nodded, sniffling a bit, not quite knowing what to say.
“Thank you, dear, for giving Adrienne a chance to
sing with you,” Norah said.
Carlotta nodded and smiled back, then turned back
toward the stage.
As
the family turned to leave, Carlotta said quickly, “Oh, I
almost forgot. Adrienne,
I think you dropped this on your way back here from stage,”
she said, holding something in her right hand.
In the poor light of the room, Adrienne could not make
out what it was that Carlotta was holding.
But as she approached Carlotta, the object began to
glow lightly.
It
was the odd pewter-framed mirror.
Adrienne
gasped slightly and gently took it from Carlotta’s hand.
Silently, flipped it over and saw the tear-stained
reflection of her face on the glass.
She slowly reached with her other hand and touched her
image. A gentle
warm breeze blew against her face, and when she looked up…
“Adrienne!”
her mother called from downstairs.
“It’s starting!
Are you finished with your homework yet?!”
The
mirror was gone, replaced by a pencil.
Adrienne was back in her bedroom.
She looked down and found algebra problems.
Her face was completely dry and sans makeup, and
her hair was up in a ponytail.
The bandage on her finger was also gone, along with the
paper cut. What’s
going on, she wondered.
Did what just
happened really
happen?
“Adrienne!
You awake?!” Norah called again.
“Be
there in a second!” Adrienne called back.
True to her word, she was downstairs with a stack of
papers and notebooks.
On
the television, Carlotta had walked onstage and was prattling
about her first song. Adrienne
stared at the television, transfixed, not really hearing the
words. She
recalled what she herself had experienced, wondering if it was
a dream. Then
something Carlotta said got her attention.
“…Since
this was the song that got me started, I would like to
dedicate this performance to all of the young girls and boys
who have dreams of their own.
They can come true as long as you continue to believe
that they will.” She
seemed to be looking directly at Adrienne through the
television. At
that point, Adrienne thought that maybe, just maybe, it did
happen.
“Mom?”
she asked.
“Yes,
hon?” Norah said, continuing to look over Adrienne’s
homework.
“Are
you proud of me, even though I’m not famous?”
Norah
looked over at her daughter, put the papers down on the sofa
and gave her a hug. “Oh,
come on, dear. I’ll
always be proud of you, no matter what happens, no matter what
you end up doing. It’s
a promise.” She
let go of Adrienne, then pointed down at her math homework.
“You skipped one, by the way.”
Three
over ‘x’ plus one-half equals one and one-fourth.
Adrienne
giggled a bit. “Oh,
that’s easy! ‘X
equals four,’” she said, writing it in with her pencil.
She handed the pencil to her mother, who smiled and
nodded.
On
the television, Carlotta looked over to the conductor, who
ordered the orchestra to begin.
Seconds later, Carlotta started singing.
“Pie
Jesu! Pie Jesu…!”
Adrienne
withdrew from her mother and smiled, then stood up and began
to sing along, flawlessly in a crystal-clear soprano.
“Qui
tollis peccata mundi, dona eis requiem!
Dona e-e-e-is requiem!”
05-03-2001
Copyright
2001 Jack Schorr
DISCLAIMER:
The events and persons depicted in this story are fictitious,
but certain characters are based upon real persons, living
and/or deceased. The author has no intention at this time of
financial gain through the distribution of this story, and any
such endeavors by other individuals are not
authorized and are hereby disclaimed by the author. This
disclaimer shall not
be revoked unless through a properly authenticated writing
signed by the author.
Lyrics
of “Pie Jesu” from Requiem by Andrew Lloyd
Webber
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