The Cat That Caught The Canary

By Antoinette Corvo

From Antoinette Corvo, author of Dirges in the Dark and The Ivory Tower, comes The Cat That Caught The Canary – a hard-hitting drama. When an unloved child loses her only friend, she finds the courage to leave home and reinvent herself as Pearl Lancaster. Innocent and naïve, Pearl's quest to become a theatre star puts her at the mercy of abusive teachers and predatory cult members. This is the story of one girl's rise to fame and the desperate lengths she will go to in order to stay in the spotlight. Blood will be shed, tears will fall, but the show must go on.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Cape Publishing
• Release date: Mar 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201469504

Book preview

The Cat That Caught The Canary

Antoinette Corvo

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real persons or events is purely coincidental.

2nd Edition Copyright © 2020 Red Cape Publishing

All rights reserved.

For my Alphas: Mom and Dad

ONE

Do you smell that? Angela smelled fear and didn’t know it.

A single bead of sweat dropped from the girl’s armpit and met her cotton white shirt as Angela asked Salvatore, What’s that smell? They started to sniff the air like a couple of hounds. Salvatore confirmed it. Something smelled funky. The mousy girl in their class, who sat across from Salvatore, believed she was the source of that odor. A sudden flush of heat flustered the girl. More beads of sweat soaked the white shirt of her school uniform. Now, she couldn’t lift her arms. Damp patches of sweat would be a giveaway. Her heart rapidly palpitated. In her mind, any second now Angela and Salvatore were going match that odor to the girl. Any second. The girl trembled at her desk - arms tightly folded. Fortune shone down on her. The bell rang, and class was dismissed. The last class of the day. But what about tomorrow? And the day after? And so on? If only she had taken off from school that day. Being struck with a fever would have been better for the girl. She believed she reeked even though she didn’t; it was a trick of the brain. This wretched day marked the beginning of the girl’s downward spiral. It never used to be this way.

She was given a pink tutu on her fifth birthday. It was captured on a home video. She excelled as a ballet student and never once missed a rehearsal. She reveled in dance and eventually moved on to its other many forms, though remaining an effervescent ballerina. The girl couldn’t hide the overwhelming joy when throwing on that tutu in the video. You could never really hide anything at five. It didn’t help that every little girl somehow gets hypnotized by the color pink. The camera never lies. Her older brother, Paul, had given it to her. The little girl quickly put the tutu on, spun around in circles until she became dizzy, and fell on her little bottom. She was so much a ham, you could glaze her and stick pineapples on her. But that was all in the past.

Now, as a young lady, she remained a student of dance. She was bone thin but not by choice. Things were becoming more and more difficult and challenges ceased to escape her. Constant stress at school caused a lack of appetite. Eventually, her Catholic school’s student body labeled her as anorexic - among other titles. That single hellish day, she thought she’d be able to calm down since there were none of her classmates around and she had worn a sweater to cover her pits as she walked home. Butterflies swarmed and fluttered in her stomach. Today was no ordinary day. It was the day, in more ways than one. The first part of her day was shitty, but she had a tiny bit of hope for the rest of it. She arrived home and happily removed her grey and white school uniform in her bedroom. Her knee-high socks were soaked with sweat. She still felt damp and nervous and found it difficult to unwind. Her mind kept racing. What if I can’t do it? What if they don’t like me? Each doubt added another knot to her stomach and shortened her breath. Her chest wouldn’t expand as far as she felt she needed it to, and her vision began to blur slightly. She quickly slipped into something presentable.

The opportunity of a lifetime had come her way, a life-changing opportunity in the form of an audition. A make or break moment. Her dance instructor recommended the girl to an agency in Manhattan. The agency was well known for turning little girls into award-winning superstars on the silver screen and, greatest of all, illustrious Broadway. The girl was too green to understand how the business could be nothing more than a circus where the children were like little animals performing amusing tricks until they weren’t cute anymore. That’s when they were put to pasture. Paul drove his little sister there. He was the only family member who supported her dreams and the only person willing to drive her from Brooklyn to Manhattan. Paul was always there for his sister. He didn’t fail to notice how unusual she had been behaving lately. She was different from the rest of the family, that was for sure. It seemed she had problems coping with the family dynamics that he was used to. He would shrug his shoulders and move on whenever anything went wrong at home. Paul didn’t take his family so seriously. He had thick skin. Upon arrival, they took a seat in the tight office-building corridor. The air was thick with tension but there were no other girls in the waiting room. The pair remained silent. The young girl focused and rehearsed her first impression in her mind. Just beyond a door were the people that could make every wish she ever dreamed come true. Her high hopes would soon deteriorate. It didn’t take the agent long to call her name. Prompt. The almighty one, the judge, jury and executioner, slowly opened the door and welcomed her. Paul wished her well, and she stepped through the door.

Two women occupied the office-looking room. One remained on the phone while sifting thought bundles of headshots. Paper was scattered everywhere. The young girl thought she had made an excellent first impression with a friendly, How do you do? until she extended her hand to shake the woman’s - those blasted hands of hers were cold and sweaty, the same way they were cold and clammy in school earlier that day. Oh no, she thought. That accursed phantom odor must have followed her to the audition. If only she didn’t have to sweat like this when she was nervous. She could have handled butterflies but not this obvious giveaway of her anxiety. It was cyclic - the more she sweat, the more self-aware she became, and the more she’d sweat some more. The agent looked through her amateur résumé and didn’t seem impressed. The girl had won only a handful of trophies from school talent shows and leads in school plays. Nothing that impressive. A surplus of framed photos of the little girls they’d turned into superstars rested on the walls like awards.

The little girl was given a sheet to read.

She breezed through the paper. It appeared to be a commercial for some burger joint. The agent behind the desk said, I’ll give you a few minutes to read it. Take your time. The girl smiled quite chipper and nodded. She carefully read the paper under the gaze of those little girls, the eyes of the framed trophies. She felt as if they were scrutinizing her. They intimidated her. The girl used to be a big fish in a little bowl back home. Now, she was dealing with the big time. The pressure swarmed over her as she vacantly stared at the paper which shook in her trembling hands. The girl started to sweat again, this time profusely, and she became fixated on the notion that they saw her sweat.

She started to read the script aloud for them.

When she was finished, she looked at the agent, smiled crookedly and swallowed whatever saliva she could gulp from her dry mouth. Sweetie…, the agent said. She held herself as if using the word sweetie made her a pro at dealing with impressionable children. Even at the tender age of thirteen she was still impressionable, living in a bubble back home in Brooklyn and ill-prepared for the wide world.

Fail.

The girl placed the paper on the agent’s desk. Her hands were colder and clammier than ever before. It hadn’t dawned on the dimwitted agent that the girl simply choked and was nervous. Rather than apply that common sense, the agent said the unexpected, something the girl never heard of. You stuttered a lot. I believe you have a speech impediment and I suggest you get a speech therapist, otherwise I don’t think it’s possible for you to work with us successfully.

The child had no idea what a speech impediment was. Why? Because she didn’t have one. She barely understood a word the woman said. Y-y-y-you don’t want me? I don’t have to speak. I am a dancer…I can d-d-d-dance for you, the girl stuttered again.

No, the agent said coldly, we don’t. You aren’t starlet material, and you don’t have…the ‘it’ for Broadway, especially with that speech problem of yours. You should think about doing something else with your life. Thanks for your interest. The agent stood up, opened the door for the young lady and coldly said the cliché cordial, Good luck. Goodbye. The door slammed behind the broken girl. Tears swelled the child’s eyes as she ran to her brother.

What’s wrong? he asked her as he hunched on one knee and held her in his arms, collecting her tears in his shirt. Paul was startled. A pit the size of a rock forced its way deep down in the core of his stomach. Big protective brother syndrome. What in the world could warrant such a reaction? His little sister was so damned talented; how could this happen? I have a speech impeedment, she sniffled.

A what?

They said I have a speech impeedment, she hoarsely conveyed.

Impediment? The girl nodded into his shoulder. No, you don’t. What the hell are they talking about? Paul didn’t know how to make things right. He didn’t know how to stand up for her this time. She cried endlessly into his shoulder. The girl wiped the gooey snot dripping onto her