Eva looked at her hands, they were growing sweaty with nerves. She chided herself. There was nothing to be nervous about, she wasn’t even singing.
“Eva St. Marie?” A woman in rolled jeans and bright red clogs stood in front of her. Despite her causal apparel she was an incredibly fashionable older woman. Her hair was swept into a messy but perfect looking chignon, red lipstick presided over her face as her one concession to formality.
“Luciano is looking forward to meeting you,” the woman looked back at Eva and Eva smiled. “He’s heard such good things about you from Ambrose.”
Eva smiled.
“We’re just over here,” the woman turned down another corridor and there in another doorway stood Ambrose, face-to-face, and lip-to-lip with another woman.
The woman in the red clogs coughed to alert the kissing couple that they were not alone.
“Oh excuse me,” the blonde who had just been kissing Ambrose said quickly when she saw Eva and the other woman, “I’ll just get back to rehearsal.” The woman was blonde, stick thin, and tall. Eva felt herself go white. That woman was the complete opposite of Eva, her dark curly hair, and her ample backside.
A wave of jealousy, that Eva had never experienced before, washed over her. She looked away from Ambrose who turned to look at the two women who now stood in front of him.
“Ah you made it.” He walked to Eva and kissed both her cheeks though she didn’t bother making any kissing motions back to him.
“Yes, I made it,” her voice was crisp and clear. The tension in her throat and around her vocal chords was gone but Eva was so unhappy about the circumstances in which she’d found Ambrose that she hardly recognized the difference.
“Good,” he looked over her face then winked. Eva felt her face grow crimson. After she’d just seen him tongue in mouth with another woman… and not just another woman…a woman who looked like a lingerie model. Unforgivable.
“You look gorgeous, as usual.” Ambrose hardly looked at her while he said it and Eva felt a stream of free-floating resentment shoot through her.
She wanted to snap back at him, say something snarky… but instead she smiled tightly, “Thank you.”
The blow probably wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t been daydreaming about him for the past five days. She’d imagined herself showing up to his performances in the front row, where he would throw her kisses when he took his bows. She’d imagined them in his dressing room, legs spread, helping him warm-up. She’d imagined showing up to some of her alumni events with Ambrose Leroy on her arm.
None of that mattered now. She inwardly scolded herself for being so stupid, stupid enough to let the daydreams go on in the first place.
Eva’s thick, dark hair cascaded down the back of her purple silk blouse.
The woman guiding Eva turned away from Ambrose to an adjacent door and opened it, holding it for Eva and then Ambrose to walk through.
“Luciano it is my great pleasure to introduce you to the voice of the decade, perhaps even the century,…” Ambrose lifted a confident hand in Eva’s direction, “this is Eva St. Marie.”
“If only I had a permanent escort to give me such introductions everywhere I went.” Luciano Costantini was a handsome older man with thick black eyebrows and silver hair. “But alas, I am not as lovely as you.”
Luciano Costantini took Eva’s hand and kissed it and Eva actually blushed.
“Thank you, Mr. Costantini,” she couldn’t help but smile.
“Call me Luc,” he winked at her a bit like Ambrose had, “I knew your parents, they were amazing people—the great talents of their time.”
Eva felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the man standing in front of her. She happily ignored Ambrose and focused her gaze on the warm and charming face of the older man. He might be nearing sixty but the man had charisma.
“It’s nice of you to say so,” Eva’s voice issued out like the sweet tinkling of a bell.
“Nice, nothing—I never say anything I don’t mean, something not everyone thanks me for,” he lowered his eyes and voice.
“Now,” he clapped his hands together and turned back to a table he’d been sitting at with sheets of hand written musical notation in front of him. “I believe you are planning to sing something for me today?”
Eva inhaled as deeply as she could. Her voice sounded and felt fine when only moments ago she’d sounded like a throaty victim of laryngitis. It made absolutely no sense. She looked uneasily at Ambrose then to Luciano trying to decide what she should do. If she was to sing, then she should at least warn them of the problems her voice was having, shouldn’t she?
“I was thinking of singing The Nightingale,” Eva said, throwing caution to the wind. This was where she was meant to be, this was what she was meant to be doing. If she didn’t risk it now, then, when would she?
The woman who had guided Eva through the back rooms of the Metropolitan Opera moved to the piano and sat down. This casually stylish woman was Luciano’s wife! Of course she’d heard that his wife always worked closely with him in transposing music, Eva just hadn’t put it together. His wife was rumored to be a great pianist in her own right, someone who might have had an excellent career on the stage had she not dedicated herself to her husband’s work.
Eva walked her sheet music over to the other woman who took it with an outstretched hand and a smile.
“Any preference in tempo?”
“Just as is,” Eva hummed a bit of the song, more for her own sake then the other woman’s. Her voice felt and sounded like she’d been warming up all morning.
“Ok then.” The woman spread the music out in front of her and practiced a few chords as Eva walked back to the middle of the room.
As the music began Eva was conscious of Luciano’s seasoned eyes. Those eyes had witnessed, not only the greats of his time, but her parents as well. She felt the intent gaze of Ambrose and the knowledge of it spread a silky warmth through her body.
She looked over the heads of both men and let her voice lift and move with the steady rhythm of the music. The song was something she’d only worked on away from school, with so many exquisite Italian arias to choose from, picking a Russian song was a bit of a risk when singing in front of an Italian composer. But that was why she’d chosen it, she was certain that he’d heard those arias thousands of times and she wanted to bring something different to the table. Something fresh.
A little niggling sense of apprehension signaled in the back of her mind. The music was about to change and any loss of her voice would ruin the rest of the song. The piano took over and as she was about to plunge back in she let go of any residual apprehensions. This was no time to hold back. If she failed, then she would fail big and she would fail trying.
The build of the music and her voice came through strong and solid. She inhaled and as her voice filled the room everything in her body felt right. Her heart felt right.
She trilled and warbled well enough to beat out any real nightingale.
When the song finished, her attention came back to the room. The energy was pulsing around her but she couldn’t completely tell if it was a good energy. Luciano stared at her with an impenetrable gaze.
Her voice had been good, better than good, it had been perfect. She’d sung the song better than she’d sung anything before, but she didn’t know Luciano.
She stood silently before him for what felt like years, waiting for any sign of a response.
“That…” he hesitated as he looked for words. His eyes fell to the table in front of him and Eva began to lose heart. “I think I’d like to hear something else.”
“Oh,” Eva was thrown. It wasn’t what she’d expected to hear.
“Is that a problem?” Luciano looked up at her and Eva felt almost knocked over by the look. Everything that was charm and gaiety in him before was all business now.
“Not in the least,” Eva smiled broadly. She could do this. She was made for it.
“Good,” he sm
iled at last and Eva took a breath. “I have just the thing I’d like to hear,” he lifted the pages in front of him.
Eva worked through the dips, valleys, and peaks of the central aria for Luciano’s new opera with the help of his wife, who Eva was finally introduced to. Glenda understood the human voice, seemingly, just as well as her husband. She guided Eva through the structure and sounds that Luciano was intent on hearing while Luciano and Ambrose talked over the first act of the new opera.
When Eva finally gave a trial run at singing it, Luciano did not smile, or clap, but gave her six specific notes then had her do it again. And again. And again.
Eva was beginning to have a vague understanding of what it was that made the man a great in his field.
“Yes,” Luciano placed his hands loudly on the table in front of him and looked at Eva thoughtfully. “There is something there,” he moved a knowing finger in front of her. “You will have to work very hard, harder than you’ve ever worked before, but… if you promise to do this, then the role of Lucretia is yours.”
Luciano waited for Eva’s response though he must have known it. Eva wanted to run and throw her arms around his neck and kiss his cheeks, but she thought this would not be the best way to deal with this particular man when it concerned his work.
Eva smiled. She opened her mouth and for a brief moment she thought about coming clean. But then, shouldn’t she have told Luciano about her vocal problems before she’d even begun? She would, after all, have an understudy in the worst-case scenario. Eva’s mind and heart tugged back and forth on her mouth.
“I will work harder than anyone you’ve ever worked with,” Eva said solemnly as if taking vows in a holy order.
As she left the room, seven hours after she’d first entered it, Ambrose walked with her.
“I’ll buy you a drink,” he said with a smile, “to celebrate.”
Eva was tempted, he was so extraordinarily good looking and his voice could probably make a room full of women take off their clothes for him, but that was just the problem. Eva realized that if they were going to work together then she had better get her heart out of the way.
“No,” she sighed using all her willpower. The night air was bracing as they walked into it. “I need to rest this,” she tapped a hand to her throat, “I should be getting home.”
“Is this because of Tessa?” Ambrose tilted his head.
“Who?” Eva pretended not to understand though she knew exactly who he was talking about.
“The girl—in the hall—the one I was kissing?” Ambrose smiled wider the longer Eva pretended not to understand.
Eva dropped the pretense, “Fine. Yes, it is.”
Ambrose nodded knowingly.
“I guess that makes me some sort of prude or something but I don’t care… I would rather not get attached to someone who is not attached to me.” Eva straightened her spine though she felt anything but dignified.
“That’s fair enough, I guess.” He walked forward with both hands in the pockets of his trousers. “I’m just disappointed.”
Eva gave him a long glance. “I’m sure it won’t last long,” she said before breaking away into the night.
Chapter Five
As soon as Eva returned to the East Side and to her apartment, her voice began to leave her again. There was something strange going on and she had to find out what it was.
Thinking it over Eva first decided to take the subway straight back to the Metropolitan Opera House. Standing outside of the building she waited. Nothing happened. She supposed it was possible that the charm only worked on her voice once she was inside the building.
Eva paced outside trying to think of the exact circumstances of her voice returning. The only thing that seemed perfectly plain was that Ambrose seemed to be part of the charm. She’d had her voice in his apartment, she had her voice in the opera house the night he’d performed, and she’d had her voice during her audition where he was present and accounted for.
How was that possible? It had to be some sort of psychological phenomenon, didn’t it?
Eva walked slowly back to her apartment, her mind moving far too fast to be shut into a subway car.
That night Eva couldn’t sleep. Her mind was all over the place. Ambrose was finishing his run as Don Juan and rehearsals for the new show wouldn’t begin for three weeks. Eva knew she had to find out exactly what was going on with her voice long before the beginning of the show.
Eva sat up in her apartment with La Bohème playing softly on her record player. She sipped at a mug of hot chamomile tea and tried to think about something besides her strange problems with her voice and what Ambrose could possibly have to do with it.
She was still sitting wide awake when the sun rose the next morning. Eva went straight to her shower, cleaned off, changed, and left her apartment. She knew she would have no problem finding Ambrose’s building again. Everything from that night was etched so distinctly in her mind.
When she arrived on the fourth floor Eva got out of the elevator and took a deep breath. She stared at Ambrose’s door.
Immediately she hesitated, this probably wasn’t a good idea.
Maybe, if she just stood outside of his door her voice would do something?
Eva imagined Ambrose walking out of his apartment to see her staring at his door and humming Puccini. No, she would just think of an excuse.
She couldn’t find her… her earring, and she thought she left here… she could say it was a family heirloom, something that would warrant an early morning apartment search. Not a great pretext for the early morning visit but not terrible either.
Pushing her hands against her hips she moved forward and knocked on Ambrose’s door.
She heard nothing from within so she knocked again with more severity.
There was a long minute of waiting and Eva was just about to leave when the door opened and Ambrose filled the frame. He was shirtless, just like the first time she’d met him face-to-face. She tried not to look at his strong torso, muscles gleaming in the half-light of the hall.
“To what do I owe this honor?” Ambrose looked happy enough to see her and his smile made Eva weak. She felt an impulse to fall into his arms, to rip off her clothes and take him right there in the hall.
“I lost an earring… an important family heirloom.” Her falsified story rushed back to her but saying it out loud made the whole thing sound preposterous. But her voice—though her words might sound preposterous, the voice that said them was clear as a bell. Eva wondered at it. Here he was and there was her voice, greeting him in perfect clear tones.
“You would like to look on the floor?” he asked. Eva nodded and Ambrose opened the door to her.
Just as she walked in a woman walked through the hall. Dressed only in an oversized shirt, her hair askew, Eva understood at once that the woman had spent the night. The woman looked Eva over without much interest and continued on her way.
Eva turned back to the front door.
“But your earring?” Ambrose asked and Eva knew that her false story had not fooled him. Feeling a burst of indignation at being called out on her fake errand Eva dug in.
She moved briskly into the music room. She looked briefly at the statue, the music books, the piano, and the ever memorable Persian rug. Her skin glowed hot. She got on her knees and looked around the rug, feeling with her hands, determined that she should not let Ambrose call her out on her ruse.
“What does it look like?” Ambrose asked as he watched Eva search, he did not offer assistance or try to look himself.
“A little pearl, a family heirloom,” she repeated the word. Perhaps it was the word heirloom that made her sound false. Eva described an earring that did actually exist but was now safely in her jewelry box at home.
“Hmm, I haven’t seen anything like that,” he said, as if he found random earrings on his floors all the time. This inflamed Eva all the more. Of course he found stray earrings, and stray panties, hair clips, lipsticks, and probably
stray women as well!
Ambrose sat on a nearby chair. “In fact, I don’t remember you wearing any earrings at all when you were here.”
Eva felt her face grow pink, “Well I don’t see it.”
“Perhaps you want to look in the library?”
Ambrose had just made it to his feet when the woman walked into the room. She was fully dressed now and Eva wondered at her making such quick work of it.
“I’m meeting some friends for breakfast.” The woman didn’t look at Eva. She was French with an accent that probably made men go wild. Her bronze hair was cropped tight to her head, and her thin frame was not unlike that of the infamous Tessa.
Ambrose walked the woman to the door and Eva heard a few murmurs then the sound of lips meeting skin. Then the door was closed and Ambrose was back.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” Eva felt sick.
“Don’t I?” Ambrose asked easily.
“What happened to Tessa?” Eva had been turning the name over all night since Ambrose had said it.
“Cecile is visiting from Paris for a few days on business,” Ambrose said as explanation. Eva waited for more but Ambrose said nothing else about it.
“You really are…” Eva wanted to put Ambrose in his place but she could tell by the expression on his face that nothing she said would perturb him and would only invigorate her own wrath.
Eva walked back to the library and again went about her search. This time she really did feel like she was searching for something but she couldn’t say what it was.
“Would you like some coffee?”
Eva turned, she really would have liked some but she could not bear to give him the satisfaction. “No,” she snapped the word then pursed her lips together.
“I don’t suppose you would mind if I had some?” He turned and left the library and Eva, against her better judgment, followed him.
“The other night, when those men approached us, you…you…” Eva felt like a little dog yipping at the heels of the postman.
“I saved your life? You’re grateful? You want to thank me?” Ambrose said without turning around.
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