“I am determined to present the performance of my life.”
“Perhaps you are not as different from Prince Alejandro as you think, my dear.” Lady Elaina's face displayed a knowing smile.
“Whatever can you mean, Grandmamma?”
“You give your all,” Lady Elaina shrugged and took another bite of toast. “simply because someone else needs it.
“I give of myself so that someone else might live, if only for a single moment in time.”
36
Love that I never knew
“Love that I never knew rises within me,
All of my darkness turns into day!”
- The Barber of Seville by Gioachino Rossini
Nicolette was overcome with joy—and she knew this was the reason for her being. There could be nothing else: power, glory, adoration? It was a circular endeavor which would never be realized. But to be in joy was an end unto itself. It was love and hope and life all wrapped into a gift from the Creator.
A gift she freely gave to her audience.
The moment I’ve been waiting for is finally here.
Alejandro felt excitement and alarm all at once: what if his expectations were never realized?
Then he would go on exactly as he had been.
That is what worries me.
I fear success at the same time I dread a world without dreams.
But if he were right: it would be as if the Christ laid his hands on him. It would be a miracle.
Alejandro chided himself for his apprehension as he paced the foyer of his private rooms. His eye caught the moon illuminating the Eiffel tower and he slowed his pace.
I have always faced every situation in my life with courage, even when my heart was breaking.
So why was he filled with uneasiness in anticipating a small private concert?
Because he sensed this would be an experience like no other, that he would never again be the same after tonight.
I hope I will never be the same.
And he sensed it would be very difficult.
But he didn’t fear the pain. His greatest fear was that it wasn't going to happen tonight.
And never would.
Closing his eyes momentarily, Alejandro resolved to control himself. Try as he might to keep himself from overshooting his expectations, he sensed he had been waiting for this night all of his life.
The crown prince turned to survey the room. All was in order: it looked almost magical, meeting his expectations. The champagne was chilling. Every manner of h'or d'oevres and chocolates were laid out. White roses were everywhere along with glittering crystals hanging from the ceiling in the form of chandeliers and crystal ornaments. The candles were lit, mimicking a winter wonderland although it was the middle of summer.
His staff had done a superb job. He had commanded that they keep to their rooms for the evening upon threat of dismissal: he and Nicolette must be undisturbed. A body guard would be stationed at the front door, but he had insisted upon complete privacy. She would fulfill her part of the bargain and come alone; he must set the stage.
He heard the doorbell chimes and moved to stand in the center of the room. His body guard opened the door.
Alejandro released his breath slowly with his first glimpse of her. Nicolette walked into the Belle Etoile penthouse suite on the seventh floor of Le Meurice without speaking. She carried a large, beaded white bag.
Oh, she is gorgeous. She made the elaborate Charles X décor with its heavy drapery, intricate wood paneling with gilt edges, chandeliers and murals look gaudy by comparison. Next to her, the most elegant of surroundings was an overdressed, painted lady of the night attempting to hide a lack of beauty with ornamentation.
I must force these thoughts out of my mind. I must not let my desire ruin this resplendent moment.
“Would you care for champagne, Lady Nicolette? Or a small refreshment?”
She stood at the entry way and looked about her, a spiral staircase straight ahead, an art gallery to her left, the living area to her right connected by French doors to the patio. The Belle Etoile had a three-thousand square foot deck with a 360 degree view of Paris: Sacre Couer, the Louvre, Napoleon’s tomb, Notre Dame, and the Eiffel Tower.
And none of it took his breath away the way Nicolette did.
“Is all this for us?” She giggled while glancing at the assortment of cheeses, fruits, meats, and pastries. Her hand reached out and caressed the petals of a white rose.
“Yes.” He bowed slightly.
She stood against the olive, light blue, and cream tapestries and silks. White and black marble, white roses and crystals surrounded her. Strikingly displayed against this setting, she wore a high-necked white silk wrapper and was angelic in appearance, her black hair and startling turquoise eyes adding to the illusion rather than detracting from it. Her hair was pulled back neatly into an elongated bun at the nape of her neck, and white rose buds were in her hair along with strategically placed diamonds.
Something is very wrong. He clenched his fists held stiffly at his side.
Everything must be exactly as it was. The only remnant from that performance were the gold bangles at her ears, which only served to mock him.
“You are not dressed to perform Carmen, Senorita Nicolette. I was very precise regarding our arrangement.”
Alejandro felt his heart fall in his chest. He had never truly expected this dream to be realized. She was determined to undermine him from the beginning.
“Indeed you were, your highness.”
Her revenge is complete. He felt a deep disappointment, more than he wished to admit, in realizing Nicolette did not intend to fulfill her part of the bargain.
“And yet, you have chosen to disregard my wishes.”
“You will not be dissatisfied. I know how to give the audience even what they do not know they require.” She smiled, and her eyes sparkled with promise.
“Trust me on this,” she added.
He forced himself to nod, his hope returning in small measure. Nicolette had certain disreputable qualities, but she was, he reminded himself, a performer above all else.
Damnation, what is wrong with me? His emotions were escalating in a deplorable fashion. Alejandro was not accustomed to feeling anything, much less this ridiculous carnival ride.
I am acting like a fool.
And yet, she might intend to give an authentic performance, but unless all the conditions were met, it may not work…
“I apologize, Senorita Nicolette, for my lack of faith. It has been my companion these many years.”
Alejandro was not entirely convinced she would fulfill her promise, but it was inelegant to say so. He started to reach for her hand but thought the better of it and simply bowed, adding stiffly, “Where would you like to perform?”
“I will stand in the middle of the room, in front of this beautiful marble fireplace. You will sit over there.” She pointed to a large comfortable chair some eight feet from her designated stage. She motioned to her bag which she let fall to the ground. “And I will change when the time comes.”
“Where should you like to change?” He motioned with his hand. “The toilette room is there.”
“I shall manage it.” Following the line of her lovely hand, one of Degrain's paintings caught her attention. She moved towards it with interest, moving into the art gallery a few steps away. “Ah, Don Quixote?” Her eyes sparkled as she asked the question.
He nodded, moving to stand beside her. “Sancho and Don Quixote discussing their windmill adventure on a lonely stretch of road, it appears.”
“Still hopeful,” she murmured.
“Not knowing at this point their dreams will never be fulfilled,” he added softly as he studied the painting.
“Prince Alejandro…” She turned to face him, her voice was gentle, and her persona was transformed in an instant. Her eyes opened wide, sparkling, and his soul was captured within their jeweled green depths. He felt his heart beating more quickly and step
ped back involuntarily.
“Yes, Senorita Nicolette?”
“There is something I wish you to contemplate before I begin my performance.”
“For one night. Just one.” He let his breath out slowly. “I beg you will address me by my name.” He didn't know where the words had come from. He watched her closely, anxious for her response, his eyes taking in porcelain skin framing red, full lips.
She nodded in agreement. “And I have a wish as well, Alejandro.”
“Anything.”
“I wish you to open your heart to yourself.”
“I will certainly attempt it.” He moved to the table containing the beverages and chilling champagne, seeking to put distance between them. “Senorita Nicolette, may I offer you champagne? A cordial? Strawberries dipped in chocolate? I seem to recall you are partial to petit fours.”
“Most certainly you may—after my musical rendition. For now, I wish you to focus on your needs. This is your time Alejandro. It is only for you. Please, pour yourself a cognac and be seated. You must relax in order to receive the full benefit.”
He followed her edict and poured himself a cognac. He set the drink down on the table beside his chair.
She is intoxication enough.
“How can you experience insight—or God or love or anything of importance—until you first have access to the instrument?” She touched his hand which resulted in an instantaneous surge through his body.
“My…instrument? I beg your pardon?” He sat up somewhat abruptly.
“I am a singer. I do not play a flute or a piano, I do not carry a sword, everything I utilize—everything—is within myself. In my profession, my body is truly my instrument, so I am very aware of this fact.”
Damnation, he wished those beautiful red lips would cease forming words without vocals.
“My dreams have come true. I sing in the opera. Everyone told me this was an impossibility. How did all the people come into my life to make this a reality? The roll of the dice?”
“You did it all, as you will inform me, Lady Nicolette.”
“No. I pray,” she replied simply.
The diva prayed? A wave of shock washed over him. Alejandro was truly astonished, and he had to fight the curiosity which began to infiltrate his thought processes. He dare not encourage her, or she would never sing. But she had ignited his curiosity. Among other things.
“Senorita Nicolette, are you telling me you bend on your knees and bow down to Someone?” Other than your own reflection?
“I will never pray, 'God, give me this or that', because it removes me from the equation.”
“Naturally. This could never be acceptable to you.”
“I pray, 'Creator God, please change me however I need to be changed. It opens me up to receive from the most powerful energy in the universe and strengthens my connection with the Creator.”
Ah, yes. And Nicolette remains center stage. No doubt a requirement. “So you suggest I should pray, 'Mother Mary, please change me however I need to be changed so my people are no longer starving, so the literacy rate rises, so industry is introduced into Espána, so my country no longer suffers from the aftermath of the war with America, so the extreme political factions of the left and right will stop fighting each other, destroying my country.”
“I notice none of the concerns of your heart are for you, Alejandro. All are for Spain.”
“Let me try again, then. Mother Mary, please change me however I need to be changed so Nicolette will begin to sing.”
She frowned, but he observed resolve in her eyes. He closed his eyes momentarily.
Nothing happened. He heard no sound. She continued staring through the French doors onto the terrace.
“Senorita Nicolette?”
“There is so much moonlight, the night sky is lit, it is a warm night, shall I sing on the terrace?”
Alejandro glanced onto the terrace, the evening glorious. Candles strategically placed added to the effect.
In truth, the Belle Etoile’s terrace was completely private: no one could see them as they were on the top floor. Her beautiful rendition might be heard from a distance, of course, but it would not detract from his experience.
He nodded his agreement, procuring his glass and following her through the door. She placed her bag behind a wooden screen on the terrace.
She moved into full view, lit by the moonlight, almost luminescent, the Eiffel Tower behind her. Her white silk jacket billowed about her, almost blindingly bright against the darkness. The diamonds she wore in her hair sparkled like stars.
She looked somehow wilder, even with her prim hairstyle.
Alejandro seated himself, quite comfortable in the wooden furniture. He set his cognac beside him.
“First, I will sing a piece from Verdi's Rigoletto.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
“Senorita Nicolette, the agreement was that I should hear the Habanera.” He sat up abruptly.
“And you will, your high…Alejandro.” Her eyes flew open, but he saw none of the anger he might have expected. “I am here because you believe in my abilities, am I not? Trust me, then, and allow me to make magic. And if you don't believe in me, have faith in mystery.”
Alejandro was surprised to realize he did trust her, despite his earlier lapse and despite her mischievous streak with which he was on more than familiar terms.
She moved to stand in front of him, not eight feet away, the lit city of Paris her backdrop.
The temptress certainly knows how to set the stage. As he had always known.
He ran his hands along the smooth walnut of the chair. She was already casting her spell, and he did not wish to say anything further to destroy the illusion.
And then she began to sing.
“Gualtier Maldé, Caro nome” she sang in Italian. Her voice started out low and soft before riding upon runs and trills, light and lilting, reminiscent of the sound of a mockingbird.
“…the name of him I love so much, be engraved on my loving heart.”
Within seconds, he felt they were the only two people in the world, the Parisian night sky highlighting her every movement. He heard the words, but it was the amazing acrobatics of her voice and her delicate rendition which stunned him. Alejandro was completely in the moment as he listened and watched her.
“Dear name which first made my heart beat.”
“You must always remind me of the delights of love! With my thoughts my desire will always fly to you.” As she sang, the two of them alone together on a seventh floor terrace in Paris, it became shockingly easy to believe she truly was singing to him and only to him.
As he had known in his heart it would be. Her eyes captured his, her voice that of an angel's—surely no sound in Paradise was more heavenly—reaching to him, seeking him.
“Dear name which first made my heart beat. And until my dying breath, dear name, it shall be yours.”
I must be crazy. He would have sworn she meant every word.
The love she embodied surrounded him. His heart grew full and he felt cherished. He knew it was a planned production, and yet…
As the contrast between the feeling and his own life collided, the emptiness of his existence, the lack of being visible to his family, became starkly vivid. A tear rolled down his cheek.
Alejandro had not cried since that day. Not once. He thought the anguish might burst forth from him.
I don’t give a damn. That was why he was here, to finally release his demons. He was well beyond ready to do this.
The despair overtook him, the sense of loss, the unfairness. He beheld the child who would never know normal development through all the stages of childhood and adulthood. The child who would never know anything but a mother and father—an entire family—who were perfectly happy to live separately from him. Who chose to do so.
Alejandro was a grown man now and this…this was all delusion.
What was I thinking? The pain was released, let out of its cage, when he should h
ave left it imprisoned.
I have nothing to replace the pain with. He had nothing but burdens to carry. Alejandro buried his face in his hands.
Was there a point where a man could accept no more sorrow in his life? It seemed the only emotion bottled up inside him was despair.
Nicolette was still singing, as if he weren't crouched in his chair, covering his face with shaking hands. He curled his fingers like claws, the fingernails digging into his forehead.
She continued singing as if this were perfectly normal behavior. As she sang, her hand descended and rested lightly on his bowed head, gently stroking his hair.
A violent tremor ran through him. Alejandro lifted his head, and as he did so, Nicolette ran her fingers along his chin, his lips, followed by an elegant sweep to her heart. Slowly she ran her finger along his lips, as if she were memorizing them.
She stepped back but her song wrapped around him like a warm blanket.
No, her music was like armor, strong, invincible, challenging his pain and terror, inviting it to come out and do its worst.
To bathe it in the light.
He allowed the emotions to release and he was suddenly blinded. The song was unbearable.
My life is unbearable.
37
The Dream
“Oh! Lovely girl!
Oh sweet face
Bathed in the soft moonlight
I see in you the dream
I'd dream forever!”
- La bohème by Giacomo Puccini
She is the seductress in full bloom.
He didn't know when she had ceased singing because he heard the music still. When Alejandro’s vision returned, she had taken off her white silk rapper, now hanging over the wooden screen. She wore the form-fitting black raw silk dress, her milky white breasts almost bare in the moonlight. A black velvet choker containing a gold cross hung from her neck, and a black lace shawl was draped strategically over her shoulders.
She shook her head and loose hair flew about her, an invitation to wildness, even as the gold bangles coming from her ears caught the light. A red rose had been placed it between her beautiful breasts.
The Serenade: The Prince and the Siren Page 29
