November 28th 2022
Chapter 332
Our Pride For Inspiration
The good news was that, as they were drawing nearer and nearer to the premiere of their local Les Mis, Marianne was no longer going around the house several times a day singing out her own song. Instead, by now, she was singing all the songs, from top to bottom, so that each day – depending on how long she was at home or in the minivan with her parents – she could be giving them and her sisters and aunts a full solo performance of the musical. It was definitely a better alternative than having the same song on repeat the whole time, not that this would have been their first time being made to put anything on repeat for the enjoyment of any of their small girls.
The bonus, on top of everything, was that it was funnier than Marianne might have guessed. How else to describe a sweet-faced seven-year-old girl going around and not just singing but performing all these songs in proper character? Just how much she understood about what she was singing in certain parts, for one reason or another, was anyone's guess, but they kind of didn't want to tell her yet, didn't want to break her out of this phase. Her little sisters found it hilarious, and the dogs were intrigued… They had to put their limit on her climbing on furniture and attempting to climb up anything from a banister to a tree, but other than that, Marianne was left to her own musical devices.
"Do you know what? As excited as I am to see you up there when the show premieres, this right here is kind of amazing, too," Maya told her daughter, reaching up to fix the hat she'd stuck on her head. It hadn't taken her very long to introduce costume and accessory pieces to her home performances. They knew, when they saw this hat or that scarf, which character she was going to portray next. They didn't have the same costumes as at the theater, but this was pretty good, too. According to Marianne, she was doing all this not just because she'd been at rehearsals with the rest of the cast, seeing what they did and loving it, but primarily because it felt right to know not just her part but all of theirs, too.
"What am I going to do when it's over?" Marianne asked, looking genuinely concerned. She was getting to realize now that, the nearer they were getting to the start, the nearer they were also getting to the end. She didn't want it to end.
"Well…" Maya reached out to lightly nudge a few fringes away from Marianne's face before she could cup it in her hands. "You know there is no one in this house who's going to suggest that you stop singing just because you're not rehearsing anymore," she pointed out with a smirk that made Marianne smile, too. "There are tons of other musicals out there you could look into if you wanted to learn those songs. Or it doesn't have to be musicals, it can be any kind of music. If there's anything you want to try, we will do all we can to help you do it, yeah?" Yes, she knew. "How about we get through the musical first, and then we'll see what you feel like doing next?"
That sounded reasonable. Within minutes, Marianne was back in the living room, with a new accessory, performing for her little sisters. She usually did the songs in the order that they were done in the show, but she could be convinced to switch it up, especially when she knew which songs were people's favorites. Maya and Lucas both heard a load of giggling and squealing from out of the living room to prove it. Some days more than others, it was near impossible to resist just dropping everything to go and watch.
Today, Maya couldn't afford to let herself get pulled in, much as she would like to, and she turned to Lucas, the only other person in the world who would know exactly her level of feelings on the matter. He smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and Maya squinted at him like he was mocking her, which made him chuckle.
"You're lucky I don't have time for a snappy reply, but just know it's coming," she whispered. "Just when you'll least expect it…" she dramatically 'warned,' backing away toward the kitchen door.
"I'll brace myself," he nodded.
"Yeah, you do that, Huckleberry. You do that."
"Don't you have somewhere to…"
"Going, going, see?" she opened the door and closed it behind herself, giving him one last 'I've got my eyes on you' smirk before making her way to the Hex.
After a month of waiting, in which she had been assured that the message had been delivered, Maya had finally received a message from one Portia Keller. Even as little more than an e-mail, a single paragraph of a handful of lines, Maya could sense the girl's shaking hands as she had composed and finally sent it on its way to her. Did she still want to speak with her, like her grandfather had said she did? If she didn't, or if she didn't have the time, Portia swore that she would understand, and she wouldn't write her again. Maya had responded to her about as soon as she'd seen and read the message: yes, she still very much wanted to speak with her. She let her know when she might be available and allowed her to choose the time that would be most convenient to her, too. So, the appointment was set and, if she didn't get too scared to go through with it, Portia should be calling her at any minute.
Maya had time to get settled in the studio, check that her connection was good, move to pick up a few toys they had misplaced in here… She was late, no call coming in yet. Maya closed her eyes, tried to imagine the girl out there in Colorado and wished her all the optimism and drive that she could. Whether that was what did it or not, finally, the call came through, and Maya smiled. She answered, and a young face appeared on her screen.
There was no hiding the shock on the newly fifteen-year-old's face. It suggested that, even up until she'd actually answered, this might still all have been a fanciful dream. Then again, it could still be. She looked like she'd lost the ability to speak. She looked younger than she was, likely would be one as blessed as she was cursed with this baby face even as she grew into adulthood. Brown hair, in waves that stretched beyond where Maya would have been able to see its end, and blue eyes that were a near match to her grandfather's. Maybe it was the supreme shyness, but it called up images of Stella Buckley at just this age, when she'd first met her.
"Hello, Portia," Maya broke the silence before it could stretch on too long and risk making the girl feel that much worse. Hearing her name spoken out by the woman she had been said to idolize, that was a shock enough to get her talking again, if ever there was one. "It's really good to finally meet you," Maya went on, and Portia looked ready to ask her how that could ever be possible, but she managed to hold on to the words without releasing them. It was still difficult for her to come up with anything to say, but she tried. She tripped over herself just a bit, but finally came around to speak…
"You, too." Maya mouthed the word 'breathe,' made an encouraging motion along with it and smiled. It seemed to help and relax her a little.
"Can I tell you something? When I met your grandfather, I could barely keep it together. On the inside, I just wanted to shout," she confessed, and this, too, worked to break through Portia's initial response. It made her laugh, revealing two rows of slightly crooked teeth that sort of managed to fit with her whole vibe so far. They suited her. "It's true! Even when I was younger than you are now, I knew who he was, and he felt like a giant."
"Wow…" Portia still laughed. In her mind, clearly, he was and could only ever be her grandfather, so anything else…
"He told me that he was either going to be the best or the most embarrassing grandfather for telling me about you and asking if I would work with you. I'm hoping it was the first part?" Maya asked, smiling.
"Yeah, he is," Portia nodded, though Maya could guess there had very much been a period of mortification right at the beginning, explaining the delay before she'd actually made contact. Just as possible, he had still teetered on the edge right up until Portia had gotten to start speaking with her and been shown that all was well.
"By the way, you can call me Maya, alright? No Mrs. anything, just Maya," she told her, and there was still a bit of a tremor in her, but Portia nodded. "Good, okay, well… Tell me about yourself, tell me about your music. Whatever you feel comfortable with."
She felt like she wanted to be holding her hand the whole time, reminding her that everything was fine, and she didn't have to be scared, but there was that distance getting in the way, wasn't there? The best she could do then was to show herself attentive and interested, which wasn't difficult. Portia did remind her of Stella in a lot of ways, and maybe some of that went as much to her demeanor as it did to that certain quality that seemed to come with growing up surrounded by family members in the spotlight, whether it was her grandfather the Tony Award winner or her father the Olympian. But they were their own kind of girl, their own kind of artist. Stella's was all about paper, and canvas… Portia was a musician, through and through.
She had grown up learning instruments with an ease that defied age. She recognized that she was fortunate in that her parents were able not only to acquire whatever instrument struck her fancy next but put her in touch with the instructor she'd need to really excel at it. As to her voice, well, she practiced it, too, whether she realized it or not, because she always liked to come up with words to follow the melodies she'd piece together. For years she had tried to hide it, for fear of being forced to the stage because of it. She didn't want that, never did, and didn't see herself ever changing her mind. She just wanted to write songs, and maybe someday have people singing her songs, like they sang Maya's songs.
"Can I hear one of them?" Maya asked. "If you don't want to sing, you don't have to, okay?" Portia looked nervous, like she'd known the request would come and she still hadn't known, up to that moment, whether she'd say yes or no.
"Is it okay if it's a recording?"
"Of course, whatever works for you."
So, the recording was sent, and again she checked with Portia first, asked if she would prefer that she only listen to it later. She didn't mind her listening to it now, so she opened the file, and soon the music flowed through the Hex. Maya sat back in her chair, let herself listen properly, first to the music alone and then, when they came, to the lyrics. Portia sounded nothing like her grandfather, his voice strong and impressive, hers subtle and enchanting, but it still felt like she could just see the connective thread between them, and it made her smile. She could understand why he'd reached out to her in New York. He knew his stuff, and he also knew his granddaughter. He would never have done something just to indulge. He genuinely believed in her talent, and now Maya could only agree with him.
But she didn't want to go on stage, didn't want to put her voice out there, and Maya wasn't about to force her. So, what if we flipped things around? She smiled again, brighter now, brightened by her idea. What if she was the singer and Portia the writer? She'd have to hear more, but she was confident, even if she kept her idea to herself. What if we did an album, the two of us?
TO BE CONTINUED
See you tomorrow! - mooners
