Ann-Marie MacDonald - Fall on Your Knees

But you know, he’s right, music does have colour but it shouldn’t matter who plays it. Does Brahms turn black when Rose plays him? If he does, then it looks good on him and he should be so lucky. Why should she play that mouldy old tripe anyhow, who cares? I care. I love Brahms. I love Verdi and Mozart, but I love the Rhythm Hounds and I love Sweet Jessie Hogan, she is the reigning diva of this city but the horse’s arses who run this bloated burg would never know it and don’t deserve to. This whole city stinks of music that the Kaiser has no idea about. I love it all. But I love Rose’s music best.

She doesn’t need any of them. I couldn’t find my voice today and the Kaiser let me go, saying of course it put me off my stride to be so rudely dealt with by an accompanist who’d been lucky to have the job. I wanted to go see Rose but I know she hates me and it’s my fault she quit. It’s my fault the Kaiser thinks those awful things about her, so who do I think I am to say she doesn’t need anything? She needed this job.

4 am — Just got home. Rode Giles’s bicycle all the way uptown. Sat in a doorway across from Rose’s building. What did I think she would do? Look out the window and invite me up for cinnamon toast?

There was phonograph music coming from the front room, scratchy ragtime, hot red and yellow lamps. The curtains were open. The windowpane was cloudy but I could see shadows of a man and woman dancing. They embraced. I heard laughter. Then they disappeared. Does Rose have a boyfriend? A husband?

wed — Aug 7 — I told the Kaiser I was quitting today. I thought he’d get mad at me but he didn’t. He was silent a moment, then asked me why. I told him I couldn’t continue without Rose. He asked me to sit down, he’s never done that before. I was beginning to think his furniture was all just stage props. I sat on a loveseat with pink and grey stripes and he told me quite calmly that I couldn’t fixate on an accompanist, that I would have to learn that people come and go, it’s part of the life I’ve chosen to lead. I have to realize that being a prima donna means being alone most of the time despite crowds of admirers. He makes it sound so horrible and romantic at the same time. Why should it mean being alone? He just said, “Do you want to sing?” I said it’s the only thing I want to do. And he said, “Then don’t ask any more of life, because you can either sing, or you can live.”

He’s trying to scare me but it won’t work. I will sing. And I will live too. I’ve already had a whole life without a friend, with nothing but my music, it’s not as though that’s a big diva mystery waiting to unfold for me — the sacrament of loneliness. So I told him what I thought he needed to hear: “I’m prepared to make those sacrifices, sir. But I am also prepared to demand the best. That is why I am studying with you. And that is why I will not continue my studies without Miss Lacroix.” I thought it all up at that moment and I said it just like that. He thought for a moment. And in that moment I wondered, just how far can I push him? I studied his black and navy cravat. He’s really quite a natty individual, I don’t know why I was so frightened of him. He said, “I’ll see what I can do.” And I wonder how much he can do, she’s that stubborn.

Thursday — She’s back. He must have bribed her good. But now I don’t know why I bothered. She won’t talk to me. Or look at me.

Sun. — I wrote Daddy and the girls a long letter. I told them all the good stuff. And there is mostly only good stuff. I don’t care about that piano-plunking lump. I told Daddy how excited I am about my audition in November. It’s coming up fast. It’s my chance to show what I can do and when I think of that, it wipes away all thoughts of ingrate exfriends.

Monday — I’ve been working harder than ever and I’ve never been happier. I feel like a new sheet of steel fresh from the coke oven in the Pier. The sun goes blind when it looks at me.

Tues. — The revenge of quanto affetto . Welcome back, Gilda. Kaiser is pleased, I can tell. The corner of his mouth gets a small spasm like he’s having a little seizure. And he adopts a manner that on most people would indicate anger, but with him it means he’s happy. The more he barks, the more jerky his movements, the more he says, “Nein, nein, nein, nein,” as though I were sticking pins in him, the happier I know he is. He doesn’t look like an albino lizard to me any more, he looks like an Afghan dog.

Thurs. — Kaiser asked me today what I would sing if Mr G-C asks me for another piece. He said it could be a piece of my choosing and he would help me prepare it. So I said I would prepare Cherubino’s love poem from Le Nozze . I looked at Rose but she pretended I hadn’t said anything. Kaiser nodded and said I had made a good choice, “Entirely appropriate.”

Today she was still at the streetcar stop when I passed by so I said, “Aren’t you going to tell me I’m making a mistake?” She looked at me from a great height and said, “How should I know?” “Well you know so much about music, you’re the authority on future stars or so I’m told.” “Well that wouldn’t apply to you, now would it?” That stung all right. But I couldn’t care less what she thinks about me, and anyhow I know she’s lying, it got to her that I didn’t choose Carmen, that’s all.

I knew I was digging my own grave, but I couldn’t help it, I can’t leave anything lie. “Why do you hate me?” I said. And she answered, cool as anything, “Girl, you ain’t worth hatin’.” “How come you have an accent all of a sudden, whatever happened to ‘I’d be delighted to come foh dinnah, Miss Pipah’?” And she said this: “Fuck you.”

I couldn’t say anything back because no one’s ever talked to me like that before, nor will they ever again, especially not some uppity dark brown girl in a borrowed dress.

Fri. — I could get her fired if I wanted to. I told her that today and she said, “I don’t give a shit.” And I said, “That’s your problem, you don’t give a shit about anything.” “You don’t know shit,” she said. And I thought, here I am having a conversation in which every sentence contains the word “shit,” if Holy Angels could hear me now! I can give as good as I get, she better look out, “I do so know shit,” I said, which was a stupid thing to say and… she laughed.

Not snorted, laughed. Then caught herself. So I said, “And I want my fucking hanky back.” At which she laughed some more. Fine, I’m hilarious, it’s better than being utterly dismissed by the likes of her. I said, “Did you hear me? I want it back.” And just as the streetcar pulled up she whispered to me, “I’ll give it back to you. Just as soon as I’ve wiped my black ass with it.” Then she was gone, puffed sleeves, ribbons, school-bag and all. Maybe she’s possessed by the Devil.

Saturday, August 17 — This morning my hanky was neatly pressed and folded with the monogram facing up, all prim and proper on the piano when I arrived. Rose was warming up and the Kaiser was already there. I picked up the hanky and when I knew Rose was looking at me out the corner of her eye, I raised it to my nose and sniffed it. It was incredibly rude of me and so juvenile. Rose couldn’t believe it. She forgot her policy of ignoring me, her chin dropped and she gawked straight at me and I grinned. She grinned back. And the Kaiser turned to us and said, “Miss Piper, shall we begin with a few deep breaths?” I got the giggles and Rose clapped her face into her hands. The Kaiser asked me what was wrong and that did it, I burst out laughing, which made Rose laugh which made me collapse onto his Persian rug. I could see the Kaiser’s shiny black shoes a few inches away and that made it worse because who’d’ve thought my nose would ever be that close to his dainty feet? I sobbed into the carpet, Rose was howling, I thought we were going to die, I couldn’t even remember what we were laughing at. The Kaiser gave up and I saw his fussy pant-legs swish out the door and that made me scream.