Dreamland(13)

“The people,” she said, her answer almost automatic. “That’s where I met Stacy, Maria, and Holly. Others, too.”

“What did you end up studying?”

“Can’t you guess?” she asked. “What’s the last thing I said to you on the beach?”

I love your voice. But still unsure what that had to do with her choice of a major, I gave her a quizzical look.

“I majored in vocal performance.”





When we reached the Don CeSar, she directed me to the hotel parking lot. Morgan flashed her room key card to the lot’s security guard, and after parking I fished my guitar from behind the driver’s seat and we started toward the hotel. Entering through the lower-level doors, we walked the wide carpeted hallways that zigged and zagged past high-end boutiques and an ice-cream-and-candy shop. I felt underdressed, but Morgan didn’t seem to notice.

We exited near the perfectly landscaped pool area. Off to the right was a restaurant with additional outdoor seating near the beach; ahead and to the left were two pools surrounded by dozens of lounge chairs and the ever-popular bar. The restaurant, likely closed by then, still had two or three couples relaxing at their tables, enjoying the balmy breezes.

“This is the fanciest hotel I’ve ever seen,” I said, trying not to gape at my surroundings.

“It’s been around a long time. In the thirties it drew guests from up and down the East Coast, and during World War II it was leased by the military to treat servicemen struggling with PTSD. Of course, they didn’t call it PTSD back then. I guess it went downhill for a while after that, and then new owners bought it and spruced it up, returning it to its former glory.”

“You know a lot about it.”

She elbowed me, smirking. “There’s a history exhibit hanging in the hallway we just walked through.”

Pleasantly surprised by the physical contact, I merely smiled. Threading between the two pools, we walked past the bar onto a wooden deck near the low-slung sand dunes. As we reached the sand, she stopped to pull out her phone.

“I’m going to let my friends know where I am,” she explained, and a few seconds later, her phone dinged. “They’re getting ready to leave, so they’ll be here in a little while.”

She suddenly reached out, holding on to my shoulder. “Stay still so I can take off my boots,” she instructed, standing on one foot. “I don’t want them to get ruined. But don’t let me forget them, okay?”

“I’m pretty sure you’d remember the moment you realized you were barefoot.”

“Probably,” she said with a mischievous grin. “But this way I’ll also find out whether you’re reliable. You ready?”

“After you.”

We stepped onto the sand, walking side by side but not quite close enough to touch. Stars spanned the nighttime sky and the moon hovered high and bright. The sea struck me as both peaceful and ominous at exactly the same time. I noticed a couple walking near the water’s edge, their features hidden in shadow, and heard voices drifting from tables near the bar. Beside me, Morgan almost seemed to be gliding, her long hair fluttering behind her in the salt-scented breeze.

Just beyond the glow of hotel lights, there were a couple of lounge chairs that either hadn’t been put away or someone had recently dragged out to the beach. Morgan gestured at them.

“They must have been expecting us.”

We sat across from each other, and Morgan turned toward the water, poised and serene in the moonlight.

“It looks so different at night,” she remarked. “In the day it’s inviting, but at night, all I can think is that there are giant sharks just lying in wait for me.”

“No midnight swim, then?”

“Not a chance,” she said, before turning toward me. I saw the flash of her smile.

“Can I ask a question?” I ventured, leaning forward. “What did you mean when you said you majored in vocal performance?”

“That’s what the major is called.”

“You mean, like…singing?”

“You have to be accepted into the program, but yes.”

“How do you get accepted?”

“Well, in addition to the taped and/or live audition, there’s a keyboard requirement, so you have to know how to play the piano. And then the usual—transcripts, history of musical studies or training, performances, awards…all that.”

“Are there actual classes, or do you just get to sing?”

“Of course there are classes—general ed, music theory, ear training, music history, just to start—but as you can probably imagine, what we do outside of class is super important, too. There are choir ensembles, rehearsals, piano practice, recitals, and concerts. The school has one of the best opera programs in the country.”

“You want to be an opera singer?”

“No, but when you think about people like Mariah Carey or Beyoncé or Adele, their vocal control—their precision, range, and power—really sets them apart. Opera training can help with all those things. That’s why I wanted to study it.”

“But I thought you loved to dance.”

“You can love both, can’t you?” she asked. “But anyway, singing was my first love, no doubt. I grew up singing all the time—in the bathroom, in my bedroom, in my backyard, wherever, like a lot of girls do. When I had to start wearing the back brace—before I started dancing—it wasn’t easy for me, and not just because of my parents or the surgeries. I wasn’t allowed to play sports or run around with friends from the neighborhood, and my mom had to carry my backpack to school, and I needed a special chair in the classroom…and…kids can be pretty mean sometimes. So I started singing even more, because it made me feel…normal and free, if that makes any sense.”