Free Family Secrets by Rona Jaffe Page B

knew, and her place was in the world of the arts. She could perform and make people weep and applaud. Not everybody had to be an intellectual. Someday her own framed portrait would hang on one of Papa’s study walls, right beside Lavinia’s diploma—Melissa starring in a musical comedy, or perhaps even an operetta.
    “So, nu, Melissa?” Papa didn’t like to be interrupted when he was working in his study. But when else could one speak to him alone?
    “Papa, I’ve come to talk about my future,” Melissa said.
    “Good.” He didn’t seem to be taking any of this very seriously.
    “I would like to take singing and dancing lessons.”
    “All right,” he said pleasantly.
    “And acting lessons.”
    “Acting? For what, acting?”
    “I would like to go on the stage.”
    Suddenly he was taking her very seriously; he was angry. “Who has been putting such foolish ideas into your head?”
    “Nobody,” Melissa said. “It’s my idea. It’s what I’ve always wanted, all my life. I know I’m talented. I feel this is my vocation.”
    “Vocation? To go on the stage like a whore?”
    “The stage isn’t for whores, Papa. The stage is for talented people who work hard. You’re thinking of vaudeville. I mean the real stage. The theater .”
    “Whores,” Papa said. “All whores and bums and no-goodniks. I say no and that’s the end of it.”
    “Papa …” She had tears in her eyes, she knew he would never understand her.
    “You want to sing opera, you want to give concerts, recitals, that’s different. That I approve of. For opera I’ll give you lessons.”
    “I’m not good enough for opera,” Melissa said. “My voice isn’t strong enough.”
    “You’ll go to Juilliard, they’ll make it strong. That’s my final offer.”
    “Please, Papa. Please let me take acting lessons. Please.”
    “Don’t be silly. Go away.” He turned back to his work.
    “Papa!” She was almost shrieking now, this was her last and only chance and she knew it. “Papa, this is what I want to do with my life! What will I do?” It wasn’t coming out right at all. What she meant was: What will I do with all my dreams? But how could she say that? He would only laugh at her.
    “Do?” he said. “You’ll take singing lessons or you won’t. You don’t want singing lessons, you’ll do social work or you won’t. You don’t want to do social work, you’ll go around with your friends and have a nice time and then when you meet a nice boy you’ll marry him. That’s what you’ll do.” He went back to his work, and it was final.
    Melissa turned and left the study, closing the door quietly behind her. She knew she couldn’t fight him. It wasn’t in her. He had said no and closed off forever a part of her life, and there was nothing she could do about it. Could she leave home, support herself? No, because then she really would be a whore. She didn’t have the courage. It was one thing to be “a gentlewoman of modest means,” but to be an eighteen-year-old girl who ran away from home to go on the stage when she didn’t even know if they wanted her there—never. Without her Papa’s permission and support she was trapped. She felt her throat close. She was being smothered. She rushed upstairs to her room, screaming, and tore all her scarves to pieces, stamping on the ones she could not tear. Her nails were all broken and her toes were sore right through her shoes from kicking the furniture. No one paid the slightest attention or bothered to come up to see what was the matter—Melissa was having another one of her famous tantrums, that was all.
    Two weeks later Melissa enrolled in a music theory class at Hunter. It didn’t interest her, but it was better than staying at home doing nothing, and it gave her a chance to get out of the house. There was no one home during the day but Mama and Hazel and the maids; Mama spent most of the time in her room resting, and Hazel was driving Melissa crazy. Lavinia had a job teaching