Success is not final, failure is not fatal; it is the courage to continue that counts. (Winston Churchill)
“I want to sing again!”
Those had been her first words to the new voice coach. After nearly twenty years away from the limelight Diana hadn't been certain she would be allowed a comeback. Her voice had suffered. Her body had suffered. She had suffered. It all made for fascinating reading but did little to help her recover some remnant of the past.
Now she sat nervously in the reception area of her former manager's office, surprised he would want to see her after all this time. But why not, a little voice asked? She had once been his meal ticket, the star that catapulted him into the big time alongside her. Surely that meant something.
The door to the office opened and Max greeted her with his trademark grin. There was no denying the affection in his eyes but she wasn't able to read anything further in his expression. Still, she couldn't help the breathless little laugh and hello as she was swept up into a great bear hug.
“Diana! How the hell are ya, honey?”
She had to wait for the hug to ease before she could respond. “Hangin' tough, Max, same as always.”
“Well, come on in. Gina, hold my calls.”
Diana barely had time to register the secretary's response before he shut the door and ushered her into his inner sanctum. Gold and platinum records hung on the walls reflecting the success his clients had garnered over the years. More than a few were her own. A massive desk overflowed with a virtual mountain of files and papers and other paraphernalia inherent to a mogul in the entertainment industry. Max never had been the tidiest of men yet she knew that he knew what and where every single item on that desk was.
Bypassing the desk and accompanying office chairs, he led her to a small sitting area near a bank of shelving holding books, photos, and numerous awards, and motioned her into an overstuffed arm chair.
“Would you care for something to drink? I have a little of everything. Water, maybe?”
She started to decline then decided that a bottle of water might be just what she needed to settle the butterflies duking it out in her belly. At least it would give her something to hold on to.
“Water, please.” She looked around the office with real admiration. “You've been a busy, busy man, Max.”
“And I've the ulcers to prove it,” he responded, handing her a bottle before taking a seat in the opposite chair with one of his own. “It's been a long time.”
“Yes. Too long.”
“What'cha been up to?”
“Writing mostly. Not much else.”
“Ah yes. The successful novelist. Too bad no one knows who is really writing those bestsellers.”
“That's the way I like it. I needed my writing to stand on its own. Not be bought and judged on the basis of who I was. Or rather who I once had been.”
He eyed her for a moment.
“You've done very well for yourself. I've read a few of those books. It's been all I could do to keep your secret at times.”
Diana smiled, her gratitude genuine. “I appreciate that.”
He paused, taking a sip of his own water.
“So how long has it been since we've seen each other?”
“Years. Too long, really. And I'm sorry about that.”
He waved away her apology.
“No need for that. I understood. It was a rough time for you and you needed to get out. By then I'd found my own niche and so my panic at your departure was minimal.” He smiled to soften his words. “I'm glad you're okay.”
Tears welled up before she could stop them but she battled them back. Now was not the time to get emotional.
“So why are you here? I can't imagine its just to drop by and shoot the breeze.”
And there it was, the whole reason she was there. The butterflies tried to leap into her throat but she settled them with a quick couple of sips of water before blurting it out in a rush.
“I want to come back.”
There was a long, pregnant pause, during which Diana tried not to hold her breath. She had never felt so much fear in her life. If Max turned her away it would kill her.
“Do you now?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
A tough question with an easy answer.
“I miss it, and its time to put the past to rest.”
Another long pause.
“What do you miss?”
“Singing. The touching of hearts with my voice.”
“What about the fame?”
“I was comfortable with it.”
“But would you still be? You won't even give interviews as a famous writer. How could you face a crowd of concert goers now?”
Diana gave him an honest answer.
“With difficulty, at first. We're not even certain anyone would show up, though.”
He grunted, “Oh, they'd show up alright. And the press with all their intrusive questions about the attack and your disappearance into obscurity right along with them.”
“Yes, I know.” Secretly she was feeling the slightest relief. He hadn't rejected her outright. “The truth is, Max, that I do miss it, a lot, but more, I'm tired of denying who I am first. I'm a successful novelist now but I was, and am, a singer before I'm anything else. I lost my way for a while.” Her blue eyes suddenly blazed. “I let someone take that from me and, frankly, I'm damned tired of hiding from him.”
Max wasn't surprised by the intensity of her words or the fury in her eyes, but he was relieved to see the passion that he thought had died that night long ago. He waited a bit before shifting into business mode.
“And how's the voice? It's been twenty years. Have you done anything with it in that time?”
“Not for a long time, I'm afraid. But about six months ago I found a coach who agreed to work with me in confidence. She says I'm ready.”
“Do you have a demo?”
“Yes.” She set aside the water and rummaged in her tote-sized purse until she found the recording and handed it to him. He looked at it for a moment, poker faced, before standing to cross the office to a state of the art system behind his desk. Moments later the first notes from a piano whispered out from the speakers followed by a voice he hadn't heard in a long, long time. Sultry, bluesy, downright sexy. Oh yeah. It was back.
“It's aged some,” he commented, noting the slight huskiness to her voice that hadn't been there before, “But the song loves it. Something you wrote?”
“Yes.”
“Been writing a lot of music lately?”
She smiled wryly, “I never stopped.”
“So what did you do with it?”
“Locked it away in a cabinet behind my piano.” She shrugged. “I guess it became my guilty secret.”
He listened until the song ended then listened to the next, a more upbeat piece. Catchy, but with plenty to say.
“I like it.” He returned to sit again in his chair before leaning forward with real concern in his sharp brown eyes. “Are you sure about this, honey? I can't afford to have you freak out on me again. My old heart couldn't take it.”
She remembered the exact moment he was talking about. She'd never made it to the stage for her first performance after the assault. A panic attack in the dressing room had rendered her nearly catatonic, necessitating a fast ride to the ER and the cancellation of a sold out international tour. She hadn't been near a stage since.
Suddenly, she felt the old surge of power.
“Yes, Max,” She looked him dead in the eyes, “I am.”
And with that the ball started rolling.
Months later she found herself giving her first interview in two decades and wasn't surprised by the blunt questions that followed a bit of idle welcome back chit chat. The set was silent as she spoke of the rape, calling it what it was with no sign of anxiousness, and explaining the devastating effect it had had on her. She smiled sadly as she acknowledged how she had disappointed her fans who had trusted her to give them the experience of their lifetime, a night with Diana Cumberland. When the reporter asked what she had been up to since then she merely responded, “writing,” and let them assume she was speaking of the original music she was recording for her new album. The truth would come out eventually but for now she preferred to concentrate on the comeback.
Very little was needed in the way of hype to build the excitement as the night of her concert approached. As Max had predicted “they” were coming. The concert was sold out, her calendar before then filled with rehearsals, costume fittings, and more endless interviews. After a few initial jitters she had, indeed, found her footing and was managing it all with her old aplomb. The time in the studio bolstered her confidence in her singing, the workouts at a private gym her confidence in her appearance, and the rehearsals had given her back the stage as her natural home. She was, indeed, ready.
Two hours before the show was to begin, she sat in the chair allowing the make-up artist to work her magic. Diana let her praise for her beautiful skin, gorgeous eyes, and fabulous hair wash over her. She knew what she looked like in the morning after a rough night.
Max entered for what must have been the fiftieth time, asking if there was anything she needed. Before she could respond a stage hand brought in yet another lavish bouquet of flowers and she motioned them “over there somewhere” before returning her attention to Max.
“I'm fine, Max. Really. How are things out there?”
“Nuts, but expected nuts.” He paced around the room, stopping every now and then to glance at a card on a bouquet or pick over the tray of fruit and cheese that sat on the low table in front of the couch or finger one of the many costumes she would be wearing that night. Diana had the feeling that something was still bothering him but she waited until the stylist was done and gone, leaving them alone, before asking what it was. He was slow in responding.
“There's someone here that wants to see you. Someone I'm not sure you would want to see.”
Diana felt a stone drop into her stomach. “Who?” But she knew.
“Daniel.”
At the sound of the name, her eyes closed as the stone gained weight. Oh God! She took a deep breath and opened them again to find Max watching her closely. After a moment she took another deep breath and sat up straight in her chair. She should have known she would see him at some point but for some reason it had failed to occur to her. Or maybe it had, somewhere deep inside, but she had pushed it away.
“Where?”
“Out front.”
Daniel had been the center of her world, along with her career. Her lover, her friend, and the first person to find her after the rapist had fled. She remembered the rage in his eyes as he had tried to lift her and the hurt when she had cringed away from him in terror. In the days that followed he had remained close at her side, protecting her even as he struggled to know how to help her. In the end, she had deserted him without a word, along with everything else in her life. She should have known he'd be here.
Rising from the chair, she tightened the belt on her robe as she worked to settle the emotions that were seething through her. Finally, she faced Max with a small, forced smile.
“Then I guess I better get it over with.”
He waited a beat before giving her cheek a gentle pat then left the room. For the next five minutes Diana paced, tightening and retightening her belt. The smell of the flowers seemed overwhelming and the food on the table somehow obscene. She never ate before a concert. Why had they always insisted on feeding her when it was a well known fact she couldn't eat before a show?
A soft knock jerked her attention to the door. She gave the belt one last tug, lifted her head and invited him in.
Twenty years had been kind to him. Always a handsome man, he wore those years distinguishingly with slightly graying hair and fine laugh lines radiating from the corners of his eyes. Daniel had always been a man of good and gentle humor, something that had drawn her from the first.
“Hi.” His voice was low and rich, just as she remembered it.
“Hi.” Hers was shaky but she smiled, suddenly glad to see him, “Come in.”
He entered the room, closing the door softly behind him, then turned back to her.
“Please, have a seat,” she motioned to the couch, “Help yourself to some food.”
“Still can't eat before a show, huh?”
“No.”
He sat on one end of the couch while she took a seat on the opposite end. There was along moment of silence, then they both spoke at once, asking the same question.
“How are you?”
They chuckled and some of the tension melted away.
“You first,” she urged him with a gentle motion of her hand.
“I'm well, and you?”
“Hangin' tough, as always.”
His smile broadened. “And still beautiful.”
She was surprised to feel a real blush beneath her makeup, “Thank you. And you're as handsome as ever.”
“Thank you.”
There was a long moment of silence before Diana sighed and leaned back on the couch.
“It's been too long, Daniel. I'm so sorry for, for...”
“It's okay,” he assured her. “I understand.”
She believed him.
“I'm glad, because I sure as hell didn't.”
They sat in silence for a moment before she asked him what he'd been up to since she'd seen him last. Was he still with the same company? Did he still live in LA? Had he ever married?
“No to all of them.” He also relaxed against the couch, at ease in his jeans and jacket. “I relocated to Minneapolis and started my own publishing company.”
“Publishing company?”
He nodded, “We publish independent authors. There's a lot of good talent out there that don't get their chance so we help them get it.”
“Any success stories?”
“Yes. One author just sold her manuscript to a production company here in LA for a sweet price.” He smiled. “She's a nice lady. I like knowing I gave her the opportunity to pursue her passion so far.”
“That's wonderful, Daniel.”
“So what have you been doing? I understand you never stopped writing music.”
“No, I didn't. I couldn't leave it all behind and the songs gave me an outlet. I don't think I'd be here now if I hadn't kept writing.”
“What else have you been up to?”
She watched him for a moment before leaning forward, mischief glinting in her blue eyes.
“I'll tell you but you can't tell anyone. It's a secret. Only Max knows.”
He raised one eyebrow inquiringly.
“I'm Maggie McNeil.”
“Get out!”
She laughed. It felt good to share her secret with him.
“No! It's true !”
He laughed along with her, “I didn't know you wrote stories.”
“I didn't either. That is, until one day as I was writing a song I thought it would make a great novel. So I turned it into one. I sent it to no fewer than nine publishers before one finally accepted it and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“My God, Maggie McNeil. I'm in the presence of greatness!”
She chuckled, feeling the blush beneath the makeup again, “Hardly, but thank you.”
They watched one another for a long moment until he leaned forward, his eyes gentling along with his smile.
“It's so good to see you, Diana.”
“And to see you, too, Daniel.”
There was a knock on the door before a male voice announced, “One hour, Ms Cumberland!”
“Well, I guess I better get out of here so you can finish getting ready.”
“Where are you sitting? I assume you're staying for the show?”
“You couldn't keep me away.”
“Will you come back afterward? I'd love to talk some more, get reacquainted.”
“As I said, you couldn't keep me away.”
She watched him leave with a glad heart, then turned back to the business at hand.
An hour later it was obvious the place was packed as Diana made her way with Max and their small entourage to the stage wings. Her brilliantly sequined blue gown sparkled even in the darkness of backstage as she carefully stepped over and around the various workings of stage equipment in ridiculously high heels. The orchestra had already tuned up and the members of her back up band were waiting with their instruments behind the curtain. Everyone was waiting for her.
“I told you they'd come,” Max reminded her, “Listen to that crowd!”
As the lights started to come down, the curtain opened and the back up band and orchestra began to play. Max gave her one last kiss on the cheek then gave her a gentle shove toward the stage.
“Break a leg, honey.”
And the crowd roared as she appeared, once again owning the stage as if she'd never left. She never looked back.
I sense a bit of autobiography and a lot of wishful dreaming in this wonderful story of redemption from despair with woman ending up with two successful careers, separated only by pseudonym.
My aunt suffered a rape in her high 80s in her apartment. She left that apartment for another, but her daughter tells me that it didn't seem to affect her psychologically. I also have a close friend who was gang raped and suffered other mistreatment like being imprisoned for killing her rapist. She has survived to be a loving and caring person. Happily married for the third time.
Imogene, a country-bred girl, longs to make a life for herself in New York City. She joins forces with her former college roommate to start a movie production company in the big city.
“I want to sing again!”
