Chapter 3: 3. Carlotta

I was now part of Pippa’s inner circle. It wasn’t very large. It mostly consisted of me, the newly branded Pink, her cousin Sabrina or Sierra or whatever, and a few hangers-on. The hangers-on changed with the prevailing wind; the prevailing wind being Pippa.

Pippa liked what she liked and liked people who liked what she liked. She didn’t like most modern music or newer films. She loved the Beatles and went through an Elvis phase apparently before he died. That was part of her backstory before coming to my school. Elvis had died that summer before grade eleven. She told me bits and pieces about it once later on. She had belonged to some mail group called the Brides of Elvis and contributed to their monthly newsletter. That all stopped when Elvis died. Less than a month later she was at a new school. The correlation between the King’s death and her attending a new school were not directly connected but it was part of that backstory I would learn later on.

I could relate to Pippa. I wasn’t big on modern music and I loved classic films. The hangers-on drifted off when it came to things like that. The inner circle was still at its core the three of us although her cousin didn’t really trust me enough to fully accept me as being in Pippa’s orbit.

Pippa was indifferent to me at first. I think it pleased her to have a male friend who was just a friend and who she could call Pink. I should have objected to that name early on when hearing some of the hangers-on use it on me but if I wanted to stay close to Pippa, I had to allow it. It really wasn’t too big of a deal back then. I just wanted to be close to Pippa and it was a small price to pay.

Later in the year Pippa and I were in a film studies class. One of the films was Alfred Hitchcock’s ‘Vertigo.’ She became fascinated with the film and the historical character of Carlotta Valdez.  

“I wish I was named Carlotta,’ she said one day. “If I ever have a daughter, I’m going to call her Carlotta.”

“What if you have a son?” I thought to offer.

“Well, I won’t call him Pink if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It would make a nice middle name.”

“Carlotta Pink Bailey,” Pippa mused. “I like it. I’ll take it into consideration.”

We both laughed at that. There was something odd in the statement. It pegged us both to an unknown future. Did she ever think of a possible future of the two of us together? I know I did. I didn’t mind being in the friend zone but I wanted so much more. I loved her the first time I saw her. I couldn’t get past that. She didn’t seem to notice.

Sometimes she would catch me in the hall and hook her arm in mine if we were going in the same direction. It stirred something in me every time but it was all so platonic with her.

“Where are you heading, Pink?”

“What did you think of that class, Pink?

“What are you doing this weekend, Pink?”

I had to stay focused on what she was asking. Her arm linked in mine sent my head reeling and my body tingling. I had to stay focused on the conversation so I wouldn’t betray my feelings.

It was in that film studies class that Pippa almost got me killed. Being me, I would do anything she asked. Besides studying film, we had to make our own super 8mm film. A cartridge of film would equate to about three minutes. Mr. Bird who taught the class suggested we do it in pairs. Pippa elected me as her partner.

I’m not sure what input I gave to the production of the film. I know the story idea was Pippa’s and she was in charge of filming and directing. Her plot was simple. She wanted to film a simple bank robbery with a twist. The twist was that the bank robber, being me, would make his daring escape on a city bus.

Pippa had it all planned out. Around the corner from our school was a bank and across the street from the bank was a bus stop. She knew the bus schedule and when it would stop there and somehow she convinced the bank to let us film me entering the bank with a mask and gun. It was planned in the hour before the bank opened. I would enter the bank, wait a few minutes until I saw the bus coming and then dash across the street and board the bus. We would later go back and film our scene inside the bank and match it up in editing. What could go wrong?

The day of the shoot was perfect. The bank was ready for us and one of the employees would unlock the door when they saw me coming. Masked up with gun in hand, I entered on cue. I had only had to wait a few minutes inside the bank before I saw the bus coming and then I started out towards the bus stop. The problem was that although we had permission from the bank, no one had notified the police that it was just a student film project. I stepped out of the bank to police officers who also had guns drawn. Someone in one of the apartments across from the bank had seen a robber, me, enter the bank with a weapon and alerted the police. I was told to drop my weapon and get on the ground. It was a no-brainer. I dropped my toy gun and dropped to the ground. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the bus pull up across the street and then speed on.  
Pippa never stopped filming. She loved the realism. Luckily one of the bank employees hearing the commotion came to my rescue. Then came the lectures. There was the police lecture and the lecture from Mr. Bird and the one from my parents. Pippa had finally had to come forward with her camera to show the police it was just a film. The whole story made local and national news. I’m not sure what happened with the bank when their corporate headquarters heard they allowed us to stage a bank robbery. All I know is that Pippa and I were not allowed back to finish shooting our interior scene.

Pippa edited together what we had and we received an ‘incomplete’ mark. Pippa argued it up to a C. I think she could have argued it up to an A but I told her not to push her luck.

Getting back to ‘Vertigo’, Pippa’s obsession with the character of Carlotta Valdez started to get a little intense. In the movie, the husband of the female lead believes his wife is possessed by the deceased Carlotta. The character’s mood would change and it would seem at times she was possessed. That’s the way I was starting to believe it was with Pippa. Pippa was always generally cheerful and I don’t think, up until then, I had seen her angry or sad or generally put out by anything. I’d almost believed she wasn’t capable of it.  

“You know Pink, I’m like that character in ‘Vertigo, I think there’s a Carlotta somewhere inside me.” Pippa had caught up to me in the hall at the end of a school day and the linking of arms began.

“That’s just a movie, I don’t think any of us can really be possessed,” I replied. Of course, I hadn’t seen the movie “The Exorcist” but I know that was the premise of that movie. As an aside, that was the last movie that my parents had seen in a theatre. They had gone with my aunt and uncle. My Father had thought it was a comedy.

“No, not like I’m possessed,” she continued. “It’s more like something that’s inside me that comes out. Sometimes the sun is shining inside me and other times there’s a storm just below the surface. There are dark parts of my past, Pink. I’m not ready to talk about those.”

I realized I was moving into the confidant role. It made me feel closer to her but her description of ‘a storm just below the surface’ was off-putting. I didn’t know what to make of it.

“We all have histories, Pippa,” I offered.

“Maybe I’ll tell you mine someday, Pink.” She unhooked herself from my arm and skipped off down the hall to her locker.

“You better be careful,” said a voice behind me.

I turned to find her cousin.
 
“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Her history has pitfalls. Be careful you don’t fall in.” Her cousin could be just as mysterious as Pippa. I’d already fallen. I had fallen in love with Pippa the first time I saw her. Was that one of the pitfalls her cousin mentioned?

“I’m just a friend, nothing more,” I barked back. “She doesn’t owe me an explanation.” I moved off down the hall.

“You just keep telling yourself that,” she shouted after me.  

Pippa’s Carlotta continued to rear its head. I deliberately chose not to bring up the subject but there were times when I could sense that storm inside of her. Something would trigger her in conversation and she’d become silent and stare off into space or some other time.

Then there were The Carlottas. There was a school talent showcase and Pippa had entered with a couple of other people. I had no talent so I resigned myself to spectator.  

I had suspected something but Pippa had played her cards close. It wasn’t until the day of the show and the student, who was acting as the announcer of acts, came out before the curtain and announced “our next act is a musical trio. Give it up for The Carlottas.”

There she was. Pippa and one other person were on guitar and her cousin was on flute. They were dressed in dark clothing and sang an original song about loss and sorrow and love. The lyrics were clearly inspired by what Pippa had described as her Carlotta experience.

Underneath my skin 
the storms begin,
You don’t know me at all.
Things from my past
Are there to last
And I’m drifting towards a fall.

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There are dark skies
Behind my eyes
You can’t love a ghost.
What I’ve been
And the things I’ve seen
Are what define me the most.

The song went on from there but the general gist was what Pippa described to me as her Carlotta. The singing and the instrument playing weren’t bad and the applause from the other students and the teachers was favourable. There were no prizes in the talent showcase but I don’t think anyone forgot about The Carlottas for a while after that.

“I liked it,” I replied to Pippa when she questioned me after the showcase.

“You don’t think it was too daring?” she asked.

“No, I think it was very brave of you to get up there and sing.”
 
“Not daring that way, Pink. I mean the song lyrics. Do you think it was too much?”

“Too much of you?” I asked. I regretted it as soon as I’d said it.

“Thanks a lot, Pink! I put myself out there and you give me this bullshit?” She stormed off.

“Wait!” I yelled after her. I ran up beside her and showed my daring by linking my arm in hers. She tried to pull away but I held firm. “That’s not what I meant, Pippa,” I lied, “I thought you were asking me if you thought it was too personal, you know, in the song lyrics. That’s all I meant.” I hoped she would at least sense my sincerity.

She spun me around until I was facing her and she put her hands on my shoulders and stared directly into my eyes. I thought she was going to throttle me.

 “My god, Pink, you’re a bad liar. I’m sorry. I’m still a little raw from the performance. I told you there was a Carlotta inside me. I wanted you to know that.” She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. My knees almost buckled.

“I know that now,” I stammered. I almost added that the whole school knew that now but that would have sent her storming off again.

She gave me a big hug and whispered in my ear “give me time, Pink.” She linked with my arm again and we strolled off down the hall with her commenting on the other acts in the talent showcase. My heart was in my throat or on my sleeve or wherever it’s supposed to be after someone kisses you and hugs you and asks you for time. I should have sensed that this was one of those pitfalls her cousin had warned me about.

The rest of that school year had been a series of moments with Pippa. At some point, I became the only true person in her inner circle. She sought me in the halls and in the cafeteria and outside of the school. We talked for a few minutes at the end of the day and she would go one way and I the other. I didn’t know where she lived.

Most days were her sunny disposition and she’d talk about classes or music or anything that wasn’t too serious. Some days she would drop a bit of information I’d hold onto in my effort to get to know her better.

“Did you know I was a Bride of Elvis, Pink?” she asked casually one Friday afternoon as we were exiting the school. This was the first time she ever mentioned Elvis to me in any intimate way. I knew she was a fan but I also knew she liked the Beatles so I didn’t give much thought to her musical interests.

“A Bride of Elvis? What’s that?” I inquired. It couldn’t be what I imagined. I knew enough that Elvis had only been married once but this type of Bride of Elvis conjured up something cult-like out of an old horror movie. I remember a late-night movie called “The Brides of Dracula.” I hoped it wasn’t that weird. I would choose one of her Carlotta moods over something like that.

“Oh, it was just a group I belonged to. It was a fan-mail club. We were devotees of Elvis and I helped contribute to a monthly newspaper.” That sounded normal at least.

“But you’re not anymore?” I asked.

“Not in a big way. There’s no newsletter anymore since he died but sometimes someone will send out a group letter to all of the members. The last one was a weird conspiracy thing about Elvis faking his death. I’m not into that kind of nonsense.”

That was good because being a Bride of someone who was dead or possibly not dead or was undead was starting to sound a lot like “The Brides of Dracula” again.

“I was in love with him once. I have most of his records and I still have some of his photos. I had a lot more but I had to scale back after we moved.” She stopped suddenly and didn’t speak for a moment. This was the first time she had said anything about moving. I knew she had attended a different school but I didn’t know she had moved as well.

“That was a rough time for me,” she continued. “Elvis’ death came on top of everything else.” She stopped again. I wasn’t sure if she was trying to tell me something and was building up the nerve. I thought I had better throw her a lifeline.

“Elvis, hunh, he’s pretty good. I’ve seen a few of his movies. What’s that one where he’s like a hillbilly and there are two younger brothers and this thing about how they tried to break a chocolate bar evenly?” I hoped that would make it easier on her.

Her face lit up. “You mean ‘Follow That Dream’, that’s my favourite, Pink. Some call his movies fluff but I like them. I really thought I would marry him someday…so did all of the other Brides of Elvis.” Now, I understood the term.

“Elvis had his demons, too, you know,” she went on.

“Not like a Carlotta, I’ll bet.” I wasn’t sure if I should have said that.

“Nothing like that.” She didn’t seem to be disturbed by the comment. “Drugs and alcohol mostly from what I’ve heard. He was a tragic soul. Maybe he had his own Carlotta inside of him. I never thought of that. He might have…” she trailed off and stared off at nothing. Her own Carlotta was taking hold again.

“Follow That Dream, you said? I’ll have to remember that. What’s your favourite Elvis song?” I was trying to bring her back into the moment.

She blinked and turned to me. “Hunh?” was all she could say.

“I was asking about your favourite Elvis song.”

“Oh Pink, I don’t want to talk about Elvis anymore,” she said somewhat sadly. “Elvis was there for me when I needed him but now he’s gone. Who have I got now?”

“You’ve got me.” It was brave but I thought I’d put it out there.

“That’s sweet of you, Pink. Do me a favour and don’t ever change.” She leaned in and hugged me. “Don’t leave me Pink. I’ve lost too much already.” She began to sob lightly.

“I won’t,” I said. I’m here for the long haul. Maybe I’m a Groom of Pippa.”

She pulled away quickly and I thought I had ruined everything. But she began to laugh and said “maybe you are, Pink, maybe you are.” The sun was out inside her again.  

“See you Monday,” she chirped as she waved and went off in her own direction.

I stood there looking after her for a while. She had shown me another vulnerable side and had dropped some clues about her past. I knew I had to follow the breadcrumb trail to whatever secrets were lying at the end. I had to; I told her I was there for the long haul.

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