by Kenya Wright
“Why do you say that?”
“Because you’re an amazing performer wasting your time here. You’re probably bad at business.”
“I explained why I’m here.”
“But the answer didn’t satisfy me.”
I grinned. “Then, why are you here?”
“In Belladonna?”
That’s a start.
I shrugged. “Sure, why are you in Belladonna?”
With a serious expression, he said, “I’m here to play god.”
I blinked. “And how is that going?”
“As it does, when men play god.”
“And why are you in the Candy Shop.”
“To listen to a beautiful woman play a very expensive violin.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You have a good eye. Did you used to play?”
The smile left his face. “Why do you ask?”
His hard expression made me stumble through my response. “You…looked like you knew the notes that I was playing.”
“How?”
“It looks like. . .well…you whisper the notes as I play. Your eyes focus on my finger placements. At times…you look like you’re moving my bow in your mind.”
The corners of his mouth curved. “You watch me a lot as you play.”
I swallowed. “You didn’t answer.”
“I used to play.”
“Violin?”
“Yes.”
Excitement hit me. “Do you still play?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Give me your hand.”
“What?”
“Give it to me.”
Quirking my eyebrows, I gave him my right hand.
As soon as he touched me, a connection came. I felt him more as if I was slipping next to his body. He hissed a little and pulled me an inch closer to him.
People continued to chatter around us, but I spotted Shalimar off in the corner watching us with a worried expression.
So much for following Aunt Celina’s no-talking-to-customers rule.
Holding my hand, Jean-Pierre turned it over and put my palm face up. “Every year, people break bones in their hands. And because we are so dependent on them, even a small loss of function can be a lifelong disability.”
With him holding my hand and that sexy French accent, I was close to melting in his hold. He slipped his finger along the lines of my palm, causing a lusty shiver through me. “The hand has twenty-seven bones, including the ones in the wrist.”
This is the best anatomy class ever!
I caught my breath and tried to remain calm. “So…you broke your hand?”
“Yes.”
I wanted to ask how, but him touching me was messing with my head.
He slid his hand along the bones forming the palm of my hand. “This is the metacarpals. Mine were shattered.”
Ouch.
I parted my lips in shock.
He let my hand go, and I wished he kept touching me.
“So, no I don’t play the violin anymore,” he said. “It was my left hand that was shattered. I can no longer execute finger placements like you do with such finesse.”
Blushing, I whispered, “Thank you, and I’m sorry for what happened.”
“That’s okay. It was bound to happen.”
Shalimar took that time to come over. “Eden, you should take your break. It’s slowly winding down.”
I nodded and gave Jean-Pierre a smile. “Thank you for the conversation, but I should go.”
“Good. I’ll talk to Shalimar about our deal.”
Shalimar rolled her eyes. “You better be prepared to spend a lot of money, Jean-Pierre.”
Heat filled his gaze on me. “I’m more than prepared.”
Damn it. Every time I talk to him, I have to change my panties.
I rushed to the bathroom, carrying my case and tip hat. Over and over, I whispered his name in my mind, so I wouldn’t forget it.
Jean-Pierre Fabron.
By the time I hit the bathroom, I pulled out my phone and looked him up.
A quick Google™ search showed up several results. Shalimar had been correct about him being a musician, and Jean-Pierre had been more than humble. She didn’t know that he’d been a celebrated French violinist decades ago. And his name was not Fabron. It had been Laurent.
Currently, Jean-Pierre Laurent was 35.
At 12, he’d been a celebrated violinist. A prodigy. A brilliant virtuoso. By 18, he’d recorded two CDs and won several awards and prizes in the contemporary classical music categories at the Yehudi Menuhin Competition. At the young age of twenty-one, he served as concertmaster with the Paris Symphony.
My mind blew from the news.
At this point, I shouldn’t have been playing for him. He should’ve been performing for me.
I checked more sites and glanced at the time every few seconds. Like a crazy person, I found his first album on Apple™ and bought it.
The album would take the rest of my break to download on my old phone.
So, why isn’t he playing now?
I found the answers in the rest of the results.
With each article, my heart broke.
At twenty-five, Jean-Pierre married his model girlfriend of ten years. There were pictures of a fabulous wedding full of celebrities. The bride had been from a wealthy French family. They had a huge wedding. I was envious of each glamourous picture of their perfect silhouettes within the sunset. His circle of powerful and influential friends included Micolas Cholie, who was elected France's president in 2000, as well as other kingpins of politics and finance.
Shit.
And then the headlines changed for Jean-Pierre right after he married his model girlfriend. Dated a week later other horrific headlines showed.
There’d been a violent dispute at the newlywed’s house. Jean-Pierre had caught his wife in bed with another man. There’d been a fight between the men which resulted in Jean-Pierre having several ribs and his left hand broken, while his wife’s lover had been taken to the hospital, went into a coma, and never woke up again.
Jean-Pierre’s defense team argued that he was pushed into committing a crime of passion that should warrant a maximum sentence of ten years in prison. The victim’s family contended that Jean-Pierre had simply murdered him.
He was given a life sentence. The cops discovered Jean-Pierre’s wife’s mangled body in a ditch later. Of course, he hadn’t done it since he was locked away in jail, but the newspapers wondered who had.
So, wait. How is he here, if he’s supposed to be in jail?
I searched around for him some more. One article kept coming up, but it was about a famous French mafia boss named Rafael Dubois, who had escaped jail with four others. Jean-Pierre had been a part of the list, and the break out of jail had been five years ago.
Okay. So…that’s a lot. I need to stay away from him.
After the article on the escape, there were no further reports on Jean-Pierre.
I shut off my phone. My mind was blown as I left the bathroom and headed back to the stage.
A guy stopped me before I stepped forward.
The scent of whiskey left his lips. “I would pay anything to touch you.”
I stepped to his side. “Sorry, but I’m not for sale.”
He stumbled closer to me and whispered. Spit flew out of his mouth. “Think about it, baby.”
“I have but thank you for the offer.” I tried to walk around him.
He got in my way. “I could play your body like you play that violin.”
Two massive men left Jean-Pierre’s table and stormed onto the stage. By the time they reached us, the smooth-talking drunk man had widened his eyes and appeared ready to shit his pants. He raised his arms in the air. “Hey, I know she’s off-limits, but I was only talking to her.”
“Mr. Fabron would like you to get some rest for the evening.” One of the guys opened his jacket and displayed the gun in his holster.
The man f
rowned. “I have to go home?”
The big guy nodded. “I believe that’s a fitting place for you to rest.”
The man didn’t disagree.
All three left the stage after that. Jean-Pierre’s men decided to escort him to the front door. And when I turned to Jean-Pierre, he nodded his head as if gesturing for me to play.
I scanned the room.
Shalimar was nowhere to be found.
I figured she would’ve at least had news about my playing for Jean-Pierre.
Now’s not the time. I’m supposed to be playing. That’s why everyone is staring at me.
I smoothed down my dress and went to my chair, doing all my typical motions and slipping into playing with a nervous energy. I didn’t even know what I ended up starting with. I remembered that it was a lot of sad songs.
I kept thinking about Jean-Pierre and him walking into his home to see his wife screwing another man. The more I thought of it, the more my bow strung hard against the strings, pushing out the vibration of sound harder.
And how bad was the fight where one died? In the end, they both lost their lives?
Every few notes, I gazed at Jean-Pierre and then turned away with a blush.
And what is he now? Famed violinist to. . .accountant for the French mafia.
The French had colonized this part of the U.S. long ago, which was why the city was named Belladonna. Many of the residents had French roots. So, talk of the Corsican mafia came up from time to time. It was the French Mob originating from the town of Corsica. My small understanding of them was that they were influential and operated in France, small parts of the US, and many French-speaking African countries.
The only other thing I knew was that they definitely killed people.
Shalimar is right. I should leave him alone.
But my body didn’t want to yet. It hadn’t gotten a taste of that sexy man. And hadn’t I deserved a tiny little morsel of Jean-Pierre?
Dude? What am I talking about? We’re in a brothel!
I decided to wait for Shalimar’s return and find out what deal they’d worked out. She knew him and his history at the brothel. I told myself that all I cared about was making more money. Deep down inside, I yearned to learn more about him.
My aunt had forbidden Jean-Pierre to come here.
Why?
It seemed like the more I learned, the more I needed to know. He continued to be a puzzle that I was unable to solve, and that too caused my body to ache for his touch.
Maybe, I should ask him more about broken hands? Although sad, I enjoyed the lesson.
Chapter 4
Breaking Bread
Eden
At the last hour, Jean-Pierre left. I felt a little hollow as I continued to play. Now that I knew his history, he was the only one I’d been playing for in the ballroom.
Once he left, I went into mechanical mode, performing the correct notes, but without emotion.
Where did he go? Stop. You shouldn’t even be thinking that.
At the end of my whole set, my arms ached, and fingers throbbed. If I had the extra money, I would’ve run straight to a masseuse. I didn’t know if I could keep doing this for two weeks straight, but I sure would try.
Tonight, my tip hat wasn’t as full as before, but it was definitely more than a typical day of work. I counted my blessings and put my violin up.
And Shalimar never showed up at the end of the performance.
I returned the next day, unsure of what would happen next, but excited for all the possibilities. The bouncers nodded and let me in without my saying a word. A few of the women waved hello, and a couple of men winked. In a small way, I felt like a celebrity and it was awesome to be appreciated.
Playing here had also started giving me a new respect for the women that worked here. While I hadn’t looked down on them for what they did, I hadn’t embraced their stories.
When I entered the room where I always played, my nerves flared. I stood by the empty stage.
No dancer?
Tonight, a good amount of people packed the room. Several men and women dressed in gowns and tuxedos. Masks covered all of their faces.
Alrighty. What’s going on? Is this a themed event?
There were no empty tables or chairs, but no one had to stand this time. Waiters poured champagne and filled the tables with trays of simmering meats and roasted vegetables. Other servers pushed carts stacked with various types of desserts.
My stomach dropped as I checked the front table. Another group of men sat there. I scanned the space and didn’t see Jean-Pierre or any of his men.
My spirits died a little. In the past two days, I’d been used to him watching me. Half the time, I’d been playing for him.
I guess we’ll just play for everyone else, Eros.
Mikey appeared. Relief came from his familiar face. “Shalimar is upstairs dealing with the triplets. She said you can start as soon as you arrive.”
“Oh, okay.” Following him, I stepped onto the stage. “There’s no dancer tonight?”
“No. The violin playing has drawn in the upper crust.” He wiped the sweat dripping down the side of his face. “The dining room was overbooked by lunch.”
It was the first time I’d realized I’d been playing in the Candy Shop’s dining room.
Mikey set the chair down and placed the microphone in front. “News has spread among the high society folk. A few came to listen. Some guys even brought their wives.”
A little giddiness came over me, I checked out the audience again. “With no symphony in the city, it would be harder to have dress up evenings of classical music and wine.”
“Which explains the masks.” Mikey stepped aside and wiped off more sweat. “The symphony crowd is slumming. That’s why I think they’re wearing the masks.”
“It’s not a theme for this evening?”
“No, they just showed up with masks on.” Mikey shrugged. “Shalimar says it’s your growing fan base and that masks should be a part of your brand from now on.”
“Uh.” I nodded. “That’s not a bad idea.”
Mikey clapped. “Either way, get that bow out and let’s make some money. They’re being provocative and sexy this evening. Which means lots of drinking and sex.” He wagged his brows. “Everyone’s expecting big money from this crowd. Play a lot of high society shit.”
I half-bowed. “I shall do my best.”
He left the stage. I sat down. People clapped. The reaction made me pause from taking out Eros. I nodded at the audience and they paused.
Wow. I might get used to this.
I pulled Eros out and made him sing the rest of the evening. And this was my sort of crowd. A standing ovation came at the end of every song. Most didn’t even talk. They watched. Love radiated from their eyes. It was the sort of adoration for music that all violinists loved.
I became high off of it. Just for a little while, I got a lost in the clapping and cheering. I let their smiles and expressions of enjoyment motivate me.
And the whole time they drank and ate. A few of the masked wives giggled with some of half-naked women. It was a sight to behold. At times, I grinned at the absurdity of it all. Somehow, I’d lured classical lovers to the Candy Shop.
I hope Aunt Celina makes a lot of money tonight.
Toward the end, a few couples even slipped into the back with one or two Candy Shop workers guiding the way. However, most exited at the end of my performance, filling my tip hat with business cards and bills.
It was almost my favorite night of the week. But Jean-Pierre had not been there. It was odd that I missed him watching me play.
On the stage, I shook the thought away and put Eros into his case.
Shalimar grabbed my attention at the stage. “You did good last night. Sorry I didn’t walk you out. I had a problem with a threesome.”
I snapped the case and rose. “What was the problem?”
“The guy paid a high amount for two women but could only last with one. Ther
efore, he thought he could get his money back. Unfortunately, the bouncers and I had to explain the Candy Shop’s nonexistence of a refund policy.”
“Yeah. I doubt Aunt Celina does refunds.”
“Not at this time. No.” She laughed as she stepped onto the stage. “I wanted to greet you as you came in, but then I had a problem with the triplets. Has your aunt ever talked about them?”
“No.”
“Well, they’re three disrespectful heifers that complain about everything. The only reason why your aunt keeps them is because they’re the only sickos that are okay with performing acts together.”
I didn’t want to further explore how the triplets performed together, so I asked, “Did you see the audience?”
“Yeah. The masks. That’s your brand.”
“Mikey told me your idea. I think that’s cool.”
“I majored in business and minored in marketing. You have something with the whole lace mask. It’s not like your identity is hidden, but it gives you an extra mystique.”
“Love it.” Laughing, I stretched my arms.
“But, anyway. Great job last night. I actually recognized some of the songs.” She guided me off the stage. “And you did excellent this evening.”
“But you weren’t in here. You didn’t hear me.”
“I did. Your music was being broadcasted in the other rooms.” She pointed to the walls where I spotted several microphones. “Guests can switch their room’s TV to the Candy Shop’s channel to hear it.”
“They can’t see me, right?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But it is a nice change.”
I twisted my wrists back and forth and wiggled my fingers.
She lowered her voice. “I canceled you for tomorrow night and explained it to Celina. I told her you were feeling sick and exhausted.”
“What?” I cracked my fingers. “Why?”
“I brokered the deal for Jean-Pierre and you. He wants you to play tomorrow night. And there’s no way you’ll make the money down here that you’ll make with him.”
“Down here?” My heart beat faster. “He wants me to play in his room? On the fourth level?”
“Don’t say it with so much fear. The fourth level is not that bad.”
“But there’s no cameras up there.”
“Not everyone wants to be watched.”
