When the Music Stops (5 page)

When she called on a seamstress ad, the job had been taken. But a soft-spoken woman didn’t slam that door. “I’ll keep your name and number in case work shows up,” she said.

Tonight’s dinner, beef stroganoff, simmered in the oven and fresh bread lay sliced on a plate. Marta hummed the melodies of
Swan Lake
, swaying through the steps, realizing that the diet pills had created the spark she needed and kept the music playing inside her head. One day soon she’d need to stop taking the pills, but not quite yet.

She plopped down in the kitchen nook to play solitaire. Like usual, she lost before she ran out of cards. She watched the neighbor children across the road swinging on the lowest apple tree branch. Back and forth, back and forth. In past years their laughter lightened her soul; today their carefree laughter reminded her of how she empty she felt listening to Lynne talk about her busy life.

As she cleared away the cards and got up to stir the pot, the phone rang and startled her.

“Robert bought last-minute symphony tickets,” her mom said. “I won’t be home until late, so go ahead and eat without me.”

“Okay. See you in the morning.” Marta clenched her jaw as she replaced the receiver, turned off the oven, and set the pot on thick hot pads next to the refrigerator. Now what? She had to get out of the house. Do something, anything. A walk would help even though it caused her ankle to swell and throb. As she slipped on her shoes and grabbed a sweater, the phone rang. She ignored it and walked out the back door.

No destination sprang to mind. She missed The Rims of Billings, her chance to scan a vast plain and enjoy the mountains to the south and west. Here acres of evergreens surrounded her unless she traveled the three miles to stand near the downtown post office or drove to Kitsap Lake or Port Orchard to get a mountain view. Her mom had the car, so a neighborhood walk would have to do.

Callow Avenue, a main thoroughfare, began two blocks west of her home. Small businesses stretched out along the west side of the street; homes occupied the east side. Adults worked in their yards weeding, mowing, and watering, while the children rode bikes with playing cards flapping on their spokes, just like they did in Billings.

Marta took a side trip looping to Montgomery, past the dance studio where she’d taken lessons and where her mom worked. No visible changes over the last nine months. She should have gone to the recital and to see Miss Holland, but she didn’t feel strong enough yet. This late, no one occupied the studio, so she walked back to Callow Drugs to purchase a pack of Chiclets gum, tooth powder, plus two packets of diet pills. She’d wean herself off the pills once she got back on track, probably next week.

As shadows grew long, parents called in their children and turned on lamps to make the day last a bit longer. A chill arrived. Back in Billings it would be too warm for a sweater, maybe too warm to be out walking. Was it the evening temperature or her isolation from her life in Billings that disturbed her? What was Mrs. B. doing? Who helped in the kitchen? Was her old room rented out?

What about Steve? Did he miss her as much as he told her in his letters? He began their relationship when he’d purposely interviewed her for a newspaper article. She had resisted his advances, but over time he’d become her tour guide and later her first and only love. She wished he walked beside her now as she turned toward home.

Mr. Dunbar, the elderly neighbor on Montgomery, sat on his white-washed porch swing. Pots of red geraniums marched up the edges of his front steps. She stopped, watching him rock back and forth. “Hello, Mr. Dunbar. How are you?”

“Oh, it’s the little dancer isn’t it? All grown up I see.”

“Yes, I guess I am.”

“Good.” He removed his newspaper from the swing and motioned to Marta. “Sit with me.”

She walked up the steps and slipped into the swing beside him.

“I thought you were dancing somewhere in Montana.”

Marta swallowed hard. “I was until I broke my ankle. It was a fragile break, too severe to allow me to dance
en pointe
. So, here I am.”

Mr. Dunbar shook his head. “I’m so sorry, but I’m glad to have your company.” He shifted to face Marta. “Do you remember our berry contests when you were a little girl?”

“I do. My strawberries only ripened before your raspberries one time. You looked so surprised when I knocked at your door.”

Mr. Dunbar laughed. “I was. My wife told me there’d be a time when you’d win. I always hoped she was right.”

They talked about the neighborhood, then sat and rocked in the twilight. When he scooted forward and reached for his cane, Marta stood and steadied the swing.

“Thanks for joining me, young lady. I’ll see you again real soon.” He waved as he stepped inside his house and closed the door.

Marta trudged down the steps feeling a heaviness. Were the diet pills wearing off, or did her lack of direction tug at her? Something needed to change and soon.

Back home she stretched out on her bed thinking about the similarity of Mr. Dunbar and her mother. Both lived simple lives in simple homes. Both lost their spouses yet found ways to stay happy. Both believed in her. But did she believe in herself? She didn’t know any more. Tomorrow she’d consider making a change, maybe.

3

T
he kitchen phone jangled, waking Marta. She stretched, listening to the rhythm of her mom’s voice and decided to surprise her mom and get dressed instead of drifting back to sleep.

Her mom glanced up from her morning coffee, checked the clock, and looked back at Marta. A smile brightened her face, “Good morning! You’re up earlier today. Feeling more like your old self this morning?”

“I guess,” Marta said. “It’s time to do
something
. I can’t take another hour of Sean chasing Maggie and calling his wife Sue as if he’s on a business trip when all along he’s fathered Maggie’s son and together they are stealing designs from his wife’s clothing company. The soap is called
One Loving Life
, but it certainly sounds like more than one life getting messed up.”

“You
have
been watching way too much daytime TV.”

“Seems that way. I’m going to hunt for a job, any job. Got any ideas?”

“The local theatre group needs a seamstress and help with sets. Want me to call Hal, see if he’s found anyone?”

“Sure.” Marta paused. “No, let me call. Oh, who called you so early this morning?”

“Robert. He’s going out of town for a few days and wanted to say good bye again.”

Marta chuckled. Robert and Mom. Their relationship looked serious if he needed to say good bye again after seeing her last night.

The music of
Sleeping Beauty
pushed through Marta’s head as she bathed and dressed in clean clothes for the first time this week. With her hair brushed back and gathered into a short ponytail, the music faded away before she captured it long enough to walk through the wedding scene choreography.

She added barrettes to her hair to keep it away from her face, then turned her head side to side. Why she’d hacked it off in the spring made less and less sense. Although she felt at odds with herself these days, she’d not dipped to the sadness she’d felt while wearing a cast earlier in the year.

h

Marta called the community theatre and set up an appointment to meet the director, Hal Ryan, that afternoon. She took the bus to town and entered the old movie house they’d converted into a community theatre. She sat in the front of the auditorium waiting for Hal to arrive, letting her imagination create a ballet suitable for the small stage.

Hurried footsteps approached. “You must be Marta Selbryth,” said a tall, middle-aged man as he approached the aisle where she sat.

Marta stood and offered him her hand. “I am.”

“Thanks for meeting me here,” he said as they shook hands. “Sorry for the informality. We’re a low budget operation with only four or five performances a year. But you probably know that.” He sat down next to her. So, Marta, let’s talk about your theatre experience.”

“I’m a ballet dancer, and I have no theatre experience.”

“I see,” he said. “Why am I talking with you if you have no art background or experience?”

Marta felt the sting of his comment but pressed on. “I sew,” she said as she shook out two handmade costumes she’d brought with her. “I made these a few years ago. Sewing is a bit of a passion in our family.”

He turned the samples over and checked the seams. “Very nice. And what about sets? Got any tucked in your bag?”

She laughed. “No, but I watched the ballet set team create backdrops. If someone shows me the basics, I’d like to learn.”

He checked his watch and stood. “Give me a few days. We might need your sewing talents. If no qualified set person applies, I’ll call you about that job as well.” He headed backstage, leaving Marta alone in the auditorium.

“Thanks, Mr. Ryan. You’re welcome, Marta.” she said to the empty auditorium.

She sat in the dusky light and stared at the stage. Had he dismissed her? Was there any chance she’d get the jobs? She tucked the costumes back into her bag and exited the building.

The sunshine momentarily blinded her as she stood under the community theatre marquee and pawed through her purse for sunglasses. Oh well, she’d made an attempt. Next stop, the drug store across the street. She spent most of her last three dollars on diet pills, then took the bus home. Back to the afternoon soap operas,
One Loving Life
,
As The World Turns
and
General Hospital
.

h

The call came four days later. Marta took the call from Mr. Ryan while dressed in her robe seated in the kitchen playing solitaire.

“Miss Selbryth,” he said. “If you’re still available, I’d like to hire you to sew costumes for our summer children’s theatre. Our six actors are students from the local junior highs. We’re doing an original children’s play called
Come Out and Play,
written by a friend of mine. The storyline calls for the animals to plan a surprise party. Our costume shop has a few items that need repairs, plus we want several animal costumes sewn. Does that interest you?”

Marta sat up. “Yes, it does. Thank you for remembering me. When do you want me to start?”

Mr. Ryan laughed. “We need the costumes yesterday. They must be flexible so the characters can dance as well as run around. Sound doable?”

“Sure. I’ll come by this afternoon and see what you have and what you need. Who’s teaching them the animal dances?”

“The Holland Dance Studio. Do you know the place?”

“Very well. I took my training there. Miss Holland prepared me to become a professional dancer.”

“Really? Would you want to teach our teenage actors a few steps?”

Marta twisted the phone cord around her finger. “I’d love to, but let me contact Miss Holland. She may already have someone in mind.”

“Great. Let me know when you stop in this afternoon. The kids will be here as well. Thanks, Marta.”

Marta felt a flutter of anticipation in her stomach when she dialed the dance studio.

“Holland Dance Studio. This is Elle.”

“Hi, Mom. Is Miss Holland busy?”

Hi, honey. She’s standing beside me. Just a minute.”

“Marta?” Miss Holland said. “How are you? How’s the ankle?”

“I’m fine and my ankle is coming along. I’m sorry I haven’t stopped by the studio yet.”

“Are you coming in today? I’d love to see you.“

“No, not today.” Marta explained about the community theatre.

“If you’re up to teaching them, I’d be grateful. The girl I had in mind is away. Hal will be lucky to have you helping him. Just don’t overdo it. I’ll call Hal and let him know. Wait.... Your mom sends her best. Now that I’ve got you on the phone, when will you stop in so we can talk?”

Trapped. She knew Miss Holland was bound to ask. “I’ll call you once I’ve figured out my hours with Mr. Ryan.”

“Good. I’m anxious to see you and hear all about your experiences. Call me when you’re ready.”

h

Bathing in the small bath tub forced Marta’s knees to touch her chin. She missed the showers back in her Billings boarding house, but being home mattered more than having a shower. Her mom had remained patient about her moping around, but now she had a job. Good fortune or at least a change offered her a distraction. She walked to the drug store on Callow and bought postcards, vowing to send them to Lynne and Steve later in the day. From there she caught a bus downtown to the community theatre.

The play’s costume list hung on the bulletin board in the prop room. She’d investigated the raggedy costumes and decided she could repair, clean, and embellish a few, but four new costumes needed to be sewn. She closed her eyes and visualized a plan for sewing them: chenille with rag mop accents and feather-light wings. After all, they’d created the play for children; their imaginations created vivid costumes out of flour sacks or brown paper bags.