Free Falling Stars by V. C. Andrews Page A

anyone else's attention. Howard looked directly at me when Edmond described Rose's dance performance for Mr. Demetrius, using superlative after superlative. Then Howard looked at Cinnamon, who was glaring not daggers but spikes back at him. He quickly turned
away.
The dinner itself was as elegant and rich as any
I had ever seen or read about, much less experienced.
We did have the roast duck we saw Mrs. Churchwell
preparing earlier, but it was nothing like any duck
Mommy had made back on the farm; it had an orange
flavor. We were served wine, which started a
discussion about the quality of California wines
compared with French and Italian. From the
comments Mr. Littleton made, it appeared he had
tasted wine all over the world. I had no idea if what I
was drinking was good ; great, or otherwise. Wine was
still just wine to me. I was familiar only with
Mommy's elderberry.
In fact. I was eating things I had never seen
before. but I was afraid to ask what they were. The
vegetables looked and tasted different from any I had
eaten, and between courses, we were served sherbet! I
thought it was odd to have dessert before the meal
ended, but soon learned it was served as a device to clear the palate, so we could fully enjoy what was yet to come. There was so much to learn above and beyond my music. I really wondered if it was possible
to do so in so short a time.
Was Steven right? Would any of these things
matter if I could play exceedingly well? How were
people judged in the world after all?
Madame Senetsky's dining room help were
efficient to perfection, moving in and out, between us
and over us without so much as creating enough of a
breeze to move a single strand of anyone's hair. And
they were so quiet, too. It was as though they were
ghosts and not real people. I saw how Madame
Senetsky's eyes moved from one to the other when
they served, cleared away a dish, or replenished
something. It was almost as if she was waiting for
something to drip, something to bump so she could
pounce.
Finally, just before dessert was served, she
turned her attention to us.
"Well, gentlemen, what do you think of my
new stable of horses?" she asked.
All of our teachers looked at us as if they were
actually going to make life-changing decisions that
very moment and tell one or more of us to leave the table, go upstairs, pack, and be gone. I found I was
actually holding my breath.
"I think you have a charming group, Madame
Senetsky," Brock Marlowe began. "Frankly, I can't
wait to begin working with them."
There was a silence we all expected to be filled
by one of the other instructors, but all we saw were
some nods and then eyes turned to Madame Senetsky. "Charm is something to be nurtured," she
began. "but it is in no way a substitute for hard,
dedicated work. These gentlemen will quickly
determine if you are all making such an effort, and
they will report to me on a regular basis. I have placed
great faith in your natural abilities. Don't disappoint
me."
"Or me," Edmond piped up, looking toward
Rose in particular.
"It will be a while before you get your greedy
hands on these prodigies and gobble up your ten
percent. Edmond," Madame Senetsky said. Our teachers laughed. Howard joining them as
if he was an old, experienced thespian already. "I can see my son is already counting his
commissions." she continued.
"Mother," Edmond said. "you know I'm in this
for the love of it and not the profit."
"Spoken like a true agent," Alfred Littleton
declared. When he laughed, he laughed in silence, his
heavy body bouncing, his jowls trembling.
There was more laughter, and then the
discussion took a remarkable turn away from us and
centered on the current New York theater and music
scene. Except for Howard, who really did keep up
with it, the rest of us could only be fascinated
listeners.
"I'd like them to attend the new production of
Madame Butterfly at City Opera." Mr. Littleton said. "Puccini is not real opera," Mr. Bergman
remarked. "Why don't you take them to