Chapter Thirty-Four
Point of View: Kayla
I have wanted to be a singer since I was four years old and I saw Madonna dance on stage at the MTV music awards in her famous "Like a Virgin" performance. I remember standing in the living room watching, my eyes wide, seeing the pretty lady dancing on the big giant cake in the magic white dress, and thinking how cool it would be to be just like her.
Ever since that day, I've worked at it. Sure, when I was young it was just fun. I mean I did stuff like dance on the bed in my underwear with a hair brush and sing into it, messing up my hair so I looked all rock star. But when I got into elementary school, the music teacher took note and I got into choir and in middle school I was always selected for lead of the school musicals. In high school, I was in chorus. Over the years, I took voice lessons and acting lessons and piano lessons and guitar lessons and dance lessons and all kinds of stuff trying to get better.
I was accepted into an internationally recognized arts school because of a demo tape that my old best friend, Gordy, sent in. And I was going to leave at the end of August of 1999.
But then my mom died.
The theater was relatively small and in a hole in the wall street that I probably wouldn't be comfortable walking alone on at night. Luckily, the rehearsals were during the day - even then, though, you can tell it's a kind of shady part of Los Angeles by the crap on the street in the gutter area. Everything from cigarette butts and bottle caps to condoms... used condoms. I always made sure the cab dropped me off as close as possible to the door.
It wasn't air conditioned inside, so we wore light clothing. I was in capri yoga pants and an exercise tank that bared my midriff, my hair pulled up into a tight bun that Aunt Zoe had helped me create using bobbie pins and enough hair spray to shellack a house.
"Kayla, nice," called one of the other guys in the play. I'd worked with him a couple times before a few years ago. His name was Mike. He was nice enough, just not my type, though he always seemed to try to hit on me anyway. He winked and gave me thumbs up as I dumped my bag in a chair in the front row and yanked my script out.
I climbed up on stage, and the other lead, Leon, helped me up with his strong hands. When I was up there, he put his hands on my hips. The lead also happened to be my boyfriend. He leaned close, his breath mixing with mine, and whispered, "You look good when you're hot." He kissed the side of my face and ran a hand down my back.
I smiled, appreciative of his affections. "You're looking pretty good, too," I whispered.
"Okay, lovey-dovey time's over," called the director, a plump guy named Hank, who was not at all what his name might bring to mind. (Trucker guy, right? Errnt. Try little-gay-guy on Sex and the City. Ding!) "Let's take it from the third scene, when Arnold first finds out Rebecca's secret." He clicked his fingers and the music started.
Within moments, I was singing and in my element, moving around the stage, quite lost within the character.
Chapter End Notes:
The Madonna performance Kayla referred to - for any who may not have seen it before: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ybbX2hkAMHk
Note: The year Kayla was supposed to leave for college was originally posted as 2003 and was edited soon after to 1999. She was 19 when her mother died, not 23. Just so everyone knows!
Note: The year Kayla was supposed to leave for college was originally posted as 2003 and was edited soon after to 1999. She was 19 when her mother died, not 23. Just so everyone knows!
