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.I tried to keep the hysteria out of my voice as I gave the woman my name and address so she could send me an application.I was ecstatic! At last, opportunity had come knocking at my door! And they say you can’t get rich and famous just staying at home in your room.I spent the next hour howling and squealing to my family, on the telephone to Rachel, and to just about everybody else I could think of to call.But then came the grim reality.None-of the songs I’d already written seemed good enough for this competition.I had to come up with something that was so terrific, so inspired, that it couldn’t lose.Not when the stakes were so high!At the risk of sounding like a temperamental, complaining artist, I found that the next few days were hell.Inspiration simply would not come.The only melodies that drifted into my mind were those that were already famous.I tried listening to all my old records.I tried sitting in complete silence.I even tried sitting in a room that was completely silent and pitch black.It just wouldn’t come, and I was rapidly becoming miserable.So when my friend Sharon Burke called to invite me to a party the following Friday night, I was relieved.It was a welcome interruption, since it meant that for at least a few hours, I could quit agonizing over chords and notes that simply refused to fit together in any interesting way.As is the case with just about everything that happens to me, I called Rachel right after Sharon’s phone call to see if she was going.“Rach? It’s me.Guess who just called.”“Don’t tell me.Sharon Burke.”“Are you psychic or something?”“No.You know how compulsive and organized Sharon is.I think she called all her friends in alphabetical order.”“You going?”“Nope.I can’t.Next weekend is a Jewish holiday.Yom Kippur.”I felt a slight twinge of panic.I’m so used to going everywhere with Rachel that sometimes I forget that I’m quite capable of handling social obligations on my own.Especially since Sharon is not exactly a close friend.We travel in different circles, and her parties are always full of people I don’t know.I can find that either challenging or intimidating, depending upon my mood.I must have been in a solitary mood, probably because I was turning into a wild, crazed songwriter who was tearing her hair out and never leaving her room and guitar except when forced to by parents or the New York State Board of Education.“I’ll miss you,” I said.“You usually provide me with moral support at Sharon’s parties.”“You can handle it,” Rachel assured me.“Trust me.”By Friday evening I was looking forward to the party.I enjoyed getting ready to go out.Jenny was hanging around, watching me enviously, which made me feel big sisterish and very important.She’s a good kid, even when she’s not feeding my ego by looking up to me.“Where are you going tonight?” She had wandered into my room and plopped down on the bed on her stomach, her chin resting in her hands.“Got a hot date?”“No.I’ve sworn off men, for a while.Remember?” That horrible afternoon with Dan Meyer left me with a lingering case of the heebie-jeebies.I stood in front of my closet, trying to decide which blouse to wear with my powder-blue corduroy jeans.I was really into corduroy that September.“So where are you going?”“To a party.”“Who’s giving it? Anyone I know?”“Jenny, do you like the blouse with the blue flowers, or this one with the little trucks?”“Trucks.Who’s giving it?”“Sharon.Do you know her?”She made a face.“Isn’t she the one with the squirrel cheeks?”“Jenny! Sharon happens to be pretty cool.”“Maybe, but she reminds me of a squirrel.” She was right.Sharon does look kind of like a Walt Disney character.“Are you sure about this shirt?” I asked her.“I think it has too much purple in it.”“Nope, it’s fine.You’re being too critical.Blue and purple look great together.Besides, you’re an artist, and you’re supposed to dress weird.Your fans will be disappointed if you don’t.”“Hah! Fans? I can’t even write one stupid song for that WROX contest.”“Still no luck, huh?” Jenny sighed.I appreciated her sympathy.For someone so young, she has a tremendous understanding of the trials and tribulations of pursuing art.“Maybe you need a partner.”“Surely you’re not offering.”“No, not me.You know I’m tone-deaf.I mean someone musical.”“Easier said than done.I’ve been through all this before.” I peered into the mirror to see if I’d put my tea rose blush on right.It needed more blending.“Should I wear combs tonight or go natural?”“Let me see.” Jenny considered both options as I presented each one to her.“With combs.The blue makes your eyes look greener.”That made no sense to me at all, but I didn’t argue.I really do trust Jenny’s judgment [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]