Singin' and Swingin' and Gettin' Merry Like Christmas - Maya Angelou [51]
And, of course, Martha Flowers, a great soprano and at that time a Bess understudy. Martha said, “My dear, you stand like an African queen holding off a horde of marauders. All alone.” She was short, but as she talked and gestured, body erect, she grew tall before my eyes. I told them how their singing had affected me, and when the opportunity arose, I asked about the dancer.
Martha said, “Leesa Foster, Elizabeth Foster. She is also a soprano and I hear she is going to be one of our Besses.” They promised to bring her to the club the next evening.
Martha bettered her promise by bringing not only Leesa Foster but even more people the next night. The voice teacher, Frederick Wilkerson, and two or three other cast members sat with the original group at two tables pushed together. Again they all said they enjoyed my singing again I demurred, saying that I was really a dancer. Leesa was instantly interested and we spoke of dance schools, teachers and styles. Again we went to Pete's for breakfast. Wilkie, as the voice teacher was called, leaned forward and boomed, “You are singing totally wrong. Totally wrong. If you keep it up you'll lose your voice in five years.” He leaned back in his chair and added, “Maybe three years, yes, yes. Maybe three.”
His pronouncement pinched my budding confidence. I looked around the table, but no one seemed perturbed by his warning. I asked him what I could do to prevent disaster. He nodded and said in sonorous tones, “You are intelligent, yes I see that. You are intelligent. Get to a voice teacher, a good voice teacher. And study very hard. Apply yourself. That's all.” He smacked his lips as if he had just tasted a favorite sweet.
“How can I find a good teacher?”
The singers were as curious about his answer as I. They looked at him.
“Now that's another intelligent question,” his voice boomed. “As a matter of fact, I plan to leave Porgy and Bess and relocate myself in San Francisco. I am willing to take you as a student if, and only if, you work hard and listen to me. I don't have time for any more students; however, I want to help you. If you don't get help, you not only won't be able to sing, you'll hardly be able to talk.”
Robert Breen, Porgy and Bess's good-looking and balding producer, came to the Purple Onion the next evening accompanied by his wife, Wilva, a pleasant little blond woman; the business manager, Robert Dustin; and an attractive, well-built woman who was introduced to me as Ella Gerber, company drama coach. When we shook hands, her dark-lashed eyes studied me.
Breen said he had heard I was a professional dancer. I admitted that.
“We may have an opening soon for a dancer who sings. Would you come to the theater and audition for us?”
I thought about my contract. I would not be free to take the job for nearly three months. Should I tell them? It would be honest and fair to leave the job open for another dancer. I told myself that I loved honesty and openness, not so much for its own sake but for its simplicity—I would be free from apologies, recriminations and accusations. Then I thought of Leesa Foster dancing to the sound of great voices, tossing herself into music and movement as if within that marriage lay all human bliss.
“Would I have to audition to a record or could I work with the company?”
Breen turned his pink, baby-skinned face to Dustin.
“We have a full rehearsal scheduled,” Dustin said, “and if you want Maya to try out, that could be arranged.”
They looked at me, Ella Gerber's eyes computing the length of my legs, the size of my brain and the amount of my talent.
Breen suggested a date and I agreed. We drank a cold white wine to the audition and they left.
I went to the bar