Bathing the Lion Read Online Free PDF Page A

most of the talking. Only late in the conversation did it come out she had been a successful club singer in New York and had even released a CD. After another round of drinks and some more talk, Jane asked if Vanessa would consider performing here a few nights each week. The pay wouldn’t be as good as in New York but Jane would improve it if business picked up.
    Vanessa looked at Dean. Smiling, he touched her hand and said, “It’s your decision, sweetheart.”
    She continued looking at him, her questioning eyes examining his whole face as if she were looking for any telltale traces there that betrayed what he’d just said to her. When she was convinced he really meant it, she turned to Jane. “I get scared. It’s one of the reasons why I stopped singing and we moved here.”
    Dean began to speak but Vanessa shook her head to stop him. She wanted to talk; she wanted to tell Jane this information. “It started a couple of years ago for no reason and then got a lot worse. I never even knew what a panic attack was but suddenly I began having them regularly, but only when I’d perform. I’d be singing along fine when BAM—everything inside me froze and my hands started shaking so badly I couldn’t play. Why? I don’t know. It was terrifying.”
    Jane looked away in embarrassment, but she also admired this stranger for being so frank. Looking again, she saw Vanessa was staring at her drink, trying to keep control.
    “I love to sing; I love it more than anything in the world. You know why, Jane? Because there is all of this incredible music out there which to me is like the most delicious variety of ingredients imaginable for a recipe—and I get to cook it . My suppliers are The Beatles and Gershwin and Noël Coward and a hundred other geniuses. They give me all their best … and I get to prepare it my way and then serve it to the world.” Vanessa paused, took a sip of her drink, and squeezed her husband’s hand. “So when this fear started happening every time I performed, I went to an analyst; two, in fact. They gave me pills … I took them and had things pretty much under control physically. But whenever I sang there was always a very good chance I’d freeze up again and that ruined it for me. I used to love to perform but now I was afraid.”
    Jane was confused. “But you sounded great out there just now—so strong and confident.”
    “Sure, because it was a onetime spontaneous thing. There was no pressure. On the spur of the moment I sat down at a piano and played. It felt wonderful—like old times. I loved it—I love to sing! It used to be my life.”
    “It still is!” Dean protested.
    Vanessa smiled ruefully at him. “I hope so. I hope this is just a phase; my scaredy-cat phase.” She stood up and walked toward the toilet. Jane and Dean watched her go. Halfway there, a woman stopped her to congratulate Vanessa on her performance.
    When she was gone, Jane said, “Jeez, what a rotten thing to happen: your own ghosts scare away the thing you love.”
    Dean played with a cufflink and nodded. “She was on her way to the top. Everyone who heard her perform said she was going to make it big and I believe it. She kept getting better and better. Audiences love her because she’s so friendly and at ease with them. You saw it.”
    “I did. What does she do in the meantime, since you moved here?”
    “Fixed up our house after we bought it. She’s an excellent cook, although it doesn’t interest her; it’s just another one of her natural talents. She reads, plays the piano for herself…” His voice trailed off, defeated. “To make things worse, after she started having those panic attacks we were robbed a second time. It was brutal and really traumatized her; three junkies with a hunting knife held us up on the street near our apartment in Brooklyn. It just broke her. It was a bad time for both of us and we definitely needed a big change. I suggested we try living up here in Vermont because we