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Chapter One
How Tanya Found Her Song
There should have been some warning, some way of preparing for what
was about to happen when I climbed out of bed that day, but there wasn't,
so I simply stared out the window at the skeleton of a new building
going up across the street. Rob, my lover of about two years, slept quietly
behind me. Even the thought of him made me feel irritated; he was
a medical machine, no heart. But we were planning to get married. Everybody
thought it was time for me to settle down.
It had been an awful night. We had tried to make love, even though
neither of us was very interested, so it was flat, dry. Of course we didn't
talk about it; we rarely talked about anything. Yet we looked like a successful
couple. Here I was, just on the edge of thirty, the music student
with a great contralto voice who would someday be an opera star but
who temporarily worked as a waitress. Meanwhile Rob, the newly graduated
dermatologist, was a good doctor and on his way to making a lot of
money.
As the sun rose, the hard hats began scampering over the girders.
The one who wore a red neckerchief attracted me because he moved
with such abandon even though burdened by heavy tools. I wasn't able
to watch him for long because Rob woke up and began to get ready for
work, so I withdrew to the kitchen. He appeared a half hour later dressed
in his customary sport jacket and tie, and without so much as a nod of
recognition, he poured himself a cup of coffee and left. The muscles in
my neck loosened as he walked out the door.
Returning to the window, I caught another glimpse of the man in the
red neckerchief and imagined I was up there with him, straddling a girder,
legs dangling in space, hard hat securely on. Inspired, I put on the most
beautiful dress in my closet and studied myself in the mirror. I must
admit to liking the way the tight bodice enhanced the swelling of my
breasts and the folds of sky blue silk exposed my sandaled feet. Placing
a
wide-brimmed straw hat on top of my long, dark brown hair, I blew a
kiss toward the mirror and left the apartment.
I hope you won't judge me reckless, but the truth is, I walked ever so
slowly in front of that construction site and relished the whistles and
catcalls showering down upon me. I liked breaking the rules of proper
behavior my mother had insisted on. It was my father who was the earthy
one. I understood myself enough to know that I was caught between the
two; I spent years dressing for my mother but behaving like my father.
Walking down the street by the construction site on that day, I liked
the
attention I got, though I thought I shouldn't.
Looking up, I saw the man in the red neckerchief. He was watching
me, so I waved up at him whimsically and then walked directly over to
a
local diner for breakfast. Sure enough, by the time I was seated, he arrived.
That wasn't really surprising-I knew I could attract men. His
name was Chuck, and he came on with that Marlboro Man kind of energy.
I allowed a small smile to play over my lips. By the time breakfast
was over we had a date to see each other the next night.
Much to my surprise, this game of mine became serious-and at a
speed that left us breathless. True, when we kissed I felt guilty about
being disloyal to Rob. And when I daydreamed about Chuck, my mother's
disapproval boomed in my head. But every time I looked into his bottomless
brown eyes or caught his muscles rippling underneath his shirt,
I surrendered.
"Let's go for a spin on the motorcycle," he said one day. Of
course I
said yes. I knew it would be a blast. Careening around curves, we went
at
a speed that deserved to be illegal but felt like pure freedom. We both
liked the special thrill we got by taking the risk of being caught. So
we
stole kisses on busy city streets and made love in the shadows of buildings
late at night.
Neither of us was satisfied with the other parts of our lives. Chuck had
broken up with his long-term lover, Sarah, two years before but still
felt
guilty about it and burdened by her constant demands. I desperately wanted
to leave the music school I'd been going to for years; operatic singing
was my mother's dream, not mine. Besides, Chuck and I hated city life;
it
was the natural world we wanted, a place where we could be ourselves.
Meanwhile, my relationship with Rob fell apart. Not that he fought
for me; that wasn't his style. He didn't even ask where I spent my nights
now that I wasn't sleeping at home. My family, however, was furious.
"Why can't you be satisfied with Rob?" my twin sister, Dawn,
asked
more than once. "Don't you know you're throwing your life away by
hooking up with Chuck?"
Even my father disapproved. "What's the matter with you? Don't
you know there's a difference between playing around and real life? Play
with Chuck all you want, but marry Rob."
My mother stopped talking to me.
"Let's go to Canada," Chuck suggested soon after the day I moved
into
my own apartment. "This is our chance to make a new life. With my
skills, I can get a job anywhere. And between us we have enough to put
a down payment on a house somewhere in the mountains."
It was a great idea. We imagined ourselves horseback riding out in
the wilderness. We thought about buying some chickens and a goat or
two. And I always wanted to grow my own vegetables. Besides, I wouldn't
have to set foot in that music school ever again.
Chuck wrote to a friend who was a construction worker in Vancouver,
asking if he knew of any jobs in his part of the country. "Yes,"
came the
answer booming through the mail. "Come on out! The pay is good."
We
decided to move on the one-year anniversary of our first meeting, which
gave us four months to pack up and say good-bye.
My family was upset about the move and complained loudly. But
Sarah, Chuck's former lover, was devastated. It meant he would never return
to her. I could hear her scream hysterically when they tried to talk on
the
phone. "You can't do this to me," she cried. "You promised
to move back
home this summer. Please, I need you. Your mother needs you. Don't do
it."
As the moving date approached, we gave notice at our jobs, sold
whatever furniture we had, and bought a camper with a rack on the back
for Chuck's motorcycle. I packed up my city clothes and stored them in
my sister's attic. Friends gave us a great farewell party. Life couldn't
have
been better.
And then, two days before we were to leave, Sarah called in the middle
of the night to say that her mother had just had a heart attack and was
at
death's door. She pleaded with Chuck to visit once more before her mother
died.
"Please don't go," I cried. "That woman will do anything
to get you
back, even say that her mother's deathly ill."
"Don't worry," Chuck insisted. "Remember, Sarah doesn't
mean anything
to me anymore. It's you I love. We're going to spend the rest of our
lives together. Anyway, I owe it to Sarah's mother to say good-bye before
she dies. No matter what I think about Sarah, her mother was always good
to me. Besides, my friend Dave just came back into town, so I'll be able
to
see him before we leave. I'll drive up early this afternoon and be back
tomorrow morning."
Still, I pleaded with him to stay away from Sarah. "I don't trust
her.
Promise me you won't go over to her house or ask for anything you left
behind, not even the guitar."
"I promise, I promise," he said repeatedly as he prepared to
leave, but
I knew he didn't mean it. When Chuck had the impulse to do something,
he did it. He was being drawn to Sarah like a moth to a flame.
I was still asleep very early the next morning when the phone rang. It
was
Dave. There were tears in his voice: "I hate to be the one who has
to tell
you this, but somebody has to. Please forgive me. Don't blame me."
Choking on his words, he finally blurted out his awful message:
"Tanya, Chuck's dead. Sarah killed him."
"What? What did you say?" I thought I hadn't heard right.
