by Anna Adams
“This is the thanks I’m getting! Kids these days are nothing but ungrateful brats with—”
“Come on, sensei, let’s have ourselves a French snack,” she interrupted as she pushed the door open. Matt dug his heels in the ground, but Maude’s enthusiasm beat his reluctance.
“Bongiorno!” Chef Antonio greeted in Italian, arms open wide as the two singers entered the empty bakery. His eyes gradually widened as he recognized the two singers.
“My, my! What have we here? Two celebrities! French, too. Maude Laurent, it’s such a pleasure, an honor. Matt, what an honor to have you both here in my humble bakery!”
Matt snorted, before Maude elbowed him in the ribs. Humble was too pale a shade to describe the bakery’s squalor.
“Thank you so much for having us here. I’m in desperate need of something French, and this is just the place!”
As they took a seat, Chef Antonio Scaramuccio detailed his menu, a menu containing the best of “French delicacies” with all ingredients imported straight from France.
“As if French flour tasted so much different from American flour,” Matt whispered to an enthralled Maude who preferred to ignore what she called Parisian arrogance. The Italian chef busied behind the counter whistling a tune sounding like a remixed version of ‘La Donna e mobile’ from Verdi’s Rigoletto.
“Parisian arrogance!” Matt’s indignant tones resonated in the empty bakery.
“You heard me correctly Monsieur Beauchamp. I don’t judge a bakery by its storefront. I’m from Carvin and enjoy the simple things.”
“I’ve noticed,” Matt toyed with his plastic menu, but his tone was serious.
She asked what he meant.
“It means you grasp so hard at the ordinary you refuse to enjoy the ride your success has put you on.” He, on the other hand, didn’t have the same problem. Ever since he’d released his first album, he’d taken a bite out of each cake life offered him.
“That’s untrue. I enjoy it, but I can’t say yes to everything it entails. I can agree to walk in stilettos. Of course I look ridiculous in those.”
“You don’t. Or rather you won’t before long.”
“But I hate what Alan is trying to turn me into. Some sort of dazzling product.” Maude avoided mentioning Thomas, but his name was in capital letters in her mind.
“I disagree with Alan on many things.” Namely Thomas Bradfield, and his poor taste in music, and his promotional techniques, Matt thought but didn’t say. “But I think you’re also afraid of letting go of the ordinary. Why don’t you enjoy all the perks of an extraordinary life?”
“What you call ordinary is extraordinary for me. Having friends, a family, people who care about my well-being, creating music, music I enjoy, eating croissants in a run-down boulangerie with you . . . ” Maude’s voice trailed off. “I don’t need to be on Karrie’s Korner every evening to be happy.”
“Then I guess the NAM Awards mean nothing to you,” Matt chided.
“I dream of it each night. Why do you think I’m learning to walk in stilettos?”
“Wouldn’t want to have to catch you while I give you award for Artist of the Year.”
“Won’t you admit that the best part of your teaching experience was catching me before I fell just to show me you’ve nothing to envy Jason Taylor?” Maude asked, a sly smile spreading across her face.
Matt’s ardent denial was drowned by Chef Antonio Scaramuccio’s boisterous arrival. Croissants and baguettes and hot chocolate on the house if they agreed to take a picture with him.
To Maude’s delight, the croissants tasted delicious. To Matt they were okay, an improvement from the taste he’d presumed they would have, and he attributed Maude’s sheer delight to her having spent too much time craving for her something French. He’d bring her to Benoit’s Boulangerie. He didn’t consider himself as one prone to ludicrous hyperbolism, but he swore she’d die of enchantment.
When it was time to leave, Maude took a picture with an enthusiastic Chef Antonio Scaramuccio and thanked him for ‘bringing France to her lips.”
But when she stepped outside with her stilettos, she stopped instantly, frowning.
“This isn’t happening.” She sat down on the pavement, rubbing her feet.
“Come on, we’re not too far from the subway. Let’s go.”
“I positively can’t,” she whined.
Matt had an idea but wasn’t sure how she’d react.
“I could carry you to the subway if you want.”
Maude burst out laughing. Here he was, acting chivalric, a true French gentleman.
“Matt, do I look like a damsel in distress to you?” she asked while she massaged her throbbing feet.
He thought she did but knew better than to say so to Victoria’s stubborn niece.
“I’ve another solution for you if you’re man enough to walk beside me while I do.”
She took off her stilettos and jumped up to her feet, wriggling her toes.
“You’re going to walk barefoot? Are you out your mind?” As he questioned her sanity, he questioned his for admiring her spunk instead of regarding it with shame. The old Matt would never have appeared in public with a barefoot female companion. New Matt only thought how fun it would be to witness Maude step in dog poop by inadvertence. “Shards of glass, dog poop, and the list goes on! Of course, after being spit on by a homeless teen, I’m sure nothing disgusts you.”
Maude paused momentarily at the memory and shoved him playfully with her free hand.
“Your chivalry’s waning by the second.” She inspected the sidewalk before taking her first bold step. “Hey, why don’t we go say hi to Maria and Eduardo if we’re not too far away?”
Maria and Eduardo owned the first Mexican restaurant Maude had tried, and she was eager to say hi to the kind couple who treated Matt like their son.
“Why not? You could work on your musical improvisation. You kind of sucked last time,” Matt joked.
“We don’t seem to be recalling the same improvisation. I remember one where I left you begging for mercy.”
When Matt didn’t respond, Maude gazed at him expecting another of his playful remarks. His eyes were fixed on a spot, a small deli a couple of feet away.
“Matt, what’s going on?” she asked.
“Wait here,” he ordered. He dashed into the shop, while Maude wondered what new chivalric bee had stung him. A loud crash reverberated to her ear, and just as she decided to walk into the store, Matt emerged, arm extended toward her with a digital camera held in the palm of his hand.
She understood. A paparazzi had been following them for some time. Since they’d quitted Soulville Tower according to the pictures. Her and Matt in the subway, in the street, in the bakery, laughing, munching. Had he published her pictures with Matt? She shuddered to think about the rest. Her cover with Thomas questioned, the whole world discovering how big a liar she was.
She wanted to thank him, but something in his face kept her from formulating her gratitude. Did he blame her for this state of affairs? She was a liar, she knew. That the idea hadn’t been hers in no way erased the fact she’d participated in the scam.
“You should be heading back,” he finally declared. “I’ll call a cab a little further.”
“I thought we were going to Las Fajitas.” She stuck out her lower lip to lighten the mood, but all trace of laughter had left Matt’s face.
“That’s not a smart idea. I don’t think we should be seen together. Adrianna wouldn’t be too happy if she knew.”
“Are you coming back to Soulville with me?”
“I’ll swing by later.”
So much for strutting through Brooklyn barefoot, Maude thought with a stab of regret as she forced her stilettos back unto her reluctant feet. Pain shot through her toes but it was nothing compared to the disappointment she felt each time she glanced at Matt’s locked jaw.
*****
When Maude returned to Soulville, she sauntered into Matt’s creation r
oom, found her comfortable flats and heaved a sigh of relief. It was a good thing stilettos were kept for exceptional occasions.
Maude’s respite didn’t last long and was crudely interrupted by a most disagreeable appearance.
“Hello, Maude,” Lindsey Linton greeted in her pretentious drawl that made it seem like she spent hours lounging around basking in the sun.
Maude stopped what she was doing and greeted her unwelcome guest with a slight nod. She hadn’t spoken to her in months and wouldn’t have minded if their cold war had continued indefinitely. She’d never understood why Lindsey had taken an instant dislike to her, but friendship was out of the question now with the girl who’d stolen her song and gladly smashed her relationship with Matt to pieces of nothingness.
“Matt’s not here, if he’s the reason you came.”
“I’m not here for Matt.”
“Don’t you have another relationship to destroy, Lindsey?”
Lindsey entered the creation room and closed the door behind her. The assurance Lindsey possessed would’ve made Maude wonder at her coldness. She owned the world, owned it with each step she took in stilettos that would’ve made Maude faint, owned it with every word, every gesture. Yet she dared stoop to frivolous cattiness every time their paths crossed.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I never thought you’d be one to evade questions. That wasn’t your way when Lexie asked you about Matt and me and yourself. You said something like ‘I stole your man,’ if my memory serves me correctly, as I’m sure it does.”
“I didn’t ruin anything, Maude. If Matt and you had really wanted to be together, that scandal, as embarrassing as it was, wouldn’t have kept you apart. But then, nothing surprises me from Matt. He’s one to stay away from girls with a tendency to carry their heart on their sleeves. Nothing scares him more than a committed relationship.”
Maude arranged a pair of stilettos, knowing she should take the high road. But taking the high road when she’d worn stilettos all afternoon was anything if not impossible.
“Maybe that’s what he felt regarding you, Lindsey. But in the present instance, I’m the one who said no. I’m not like you, Lindsey, I don’t thrive on the taste of a bitter scandal.”
Lindsey thought her heels would snap under the weight of disbelief, yet she maintained an impassive front. She wondered how well Maude knew Matt. If she had, if she knew what he’d been and what he was offering her now, she would never have attempted to turn off his feelings like a light-switch, for the promise of what? A peaceful, scandal-free life. That didn’t exist in Lindsey’s world. She didn’t thrive on scandal like Maude had put it, but her career did. Ever since she’d decided to break from her first contract with America as her country’s sweetheart. And it worked.
“Maude, I’ve always thought you were a lot of things I won’t dare repeat out loud while you’re handling those stilettos. My acuity needs a real dust-off because I never would’ve thought you were a coward.”
“Being called a coward by someone who stoops so low as to steal one of my songs is like being called hideous by the Incredible Hulk. I don’t care what you think of me in the least, Lindsey.”
“Right, I forgot. You’re blissfully happy with Thomas Bradfield. Strange though, I’ve never seen you two do much more than hold hands. Are you sure everything’s fine between the two of you. Is Thomas really fine being second choice? Are you still pining for Matt, or is he really up for grabs? You did say on Karrie’s Korner that I could have him for all you cared.”
Was her relationship with Thomas seeped in such fallacy that even Lindsey could see right through it? The last thing she wanted was for her to release a new scandal, one based on a lie only she’d told this time around.
“I maintain what I said on Karrie’s Korner.” Matt would never go out with Lindsey, she knew. Or did she? She’d never given a second thought about who Matt would date when she’d decided to break things off. Of course, he was at leisure to choose anyone, and she didn’t expect him to stand by her side while she strolled around New York with Thomas.
But not Lindsey, Maude hoped in her heart of hearts, ashamed how this line of thinking made her spirit sink.
“I’m glad. You won’t be jealous when I kiss him while receiving my award for Artist of the Year?”
Maude pushed the image away and answered Lindsey’s question with another question.
“What makes you think you’ll win?”
“I know what I’m worth. But if you’re so sure I’ll lose to you, I suggest we spice things up.”
“And how do you offer to spice things up. You want to spike our drinks at the awards?” Lindsey never knew when to stop, but Maude wouldn’t be the one to teach her.
“A harmless dare. If I win, I choose your dare. If you win, you get my drift.”
If she won, she could dare Lindsey to tell the truth about the scandal, that Matt and her never were a couple and that Maude hadn’t stolen anyone’s ‘man’. She could break up with Thomas be with Matt. But if she lost. She shuddered to think of it. Refusing a challenge expressed through Lindsey Linton’s taunting lips was more than her pride could take.
“Fine,” Maude agreed. “You better pray you win, or I’ll make you wipe these stilettos clean with your tongue.”
Lindsey ignored her and walked to the door. Her job was done, but not quite.
“One more thing, I’m here with James Baldwin. Did I tell you how awesome it’s been working with him? No wonder you didn’t want to let him go.”
Maude’s ears pricked with keen interest she fought to hide, lest she gave Lindsey the satisfaction of knowing the revelation disturbed her. “Why is my uncle here?”
“Right, I almost forgot, Glitter and Soulville want you and I to collaborate on a single,” Lindsey announced with undisguised pleasure. Maude would be less than thrilled by the news, thus making it an enjoyable task to befall Lindsey. “Won’t we have such fun together? You’ll be in the background of course, so don’t worry. I’ll be doing all the heavy lifting.”
With that being said, Lindsey strutted out of Matt’s creation room leaving Maude to swim in silent bewilderment.
*****
Cynthia knew things.
She knew her father was at Soulville at that instant and that she couldn’t see him.
She knew he thought she was interning part-time in a law firm, not in the building he’d erected.
So when Daniel asked her to bring a file to the fourteenth floor, she knew waging a war against her boss would be easier than waging one with her parents once they found out what she was up to.
“I will not bring this file, Mr. Siwel. Not now, not ever again. I’m an intern, not a busboy, which I know you don’t bother distinguishing. However if I have to photocopy one more of your gigantic files, I will have a fit. I threw away your cigarette, you wanted to teach me a lesson. Lesson learned. I will never, ever, touch one of your cigarettes again even though I won’t hesitate to throw a look of deep disapproval every time you walk out of this dingy office to ‘have a smoke.’ Please give me a file, not to copy, or to give someone else. Give me some real work or . . . ”
Daniel lifted his eyes to her.
Or what, he asked.
Cynthia had forgotten rule number one in an uneven negotiation: never impose an ultimatum. Her eyes strayed around the room in despair. A wooden closet with boxes, a photocopy machine, stacks of legal documents on his desk, including detailed minutes of board meetings, an unopened pack of cigarettes. An unopened pack of cigarettes! She grabbed it and held her arm in the air as if she held a grenade. So much for never touching his cigarettes again.
“I was thinking of quitting anyway,” was his only response.
“Then I’ll smoke the whole pack, become addicted, smoke two packs a day, contract lung cancer, die of lung cancer in atrocious sufferings and will come haunt you and all your loved ones with wails all the more hoarser that I’d have smoked my voice away during
my lifetime.”
“All right, Ms. Carlisle. No need for dramatics. Take this file, pore over it, and tell me what you think.”
“Thank you, Mr. Siwel.”
“And, Ms. Carlisle?”
“Yes?”
“Please throw away my cigarettes on your way out.”
*****
“Amneris doesn’t hate Aida outright,”
Ms. Tragent leaned against her Bösendorfer piano and gazed at her performers, telling the story with her eyes rather than her lips. Amneris had always been her favorite character in this tragic tale. Aida, the sacrificial lamb everyone loved, paled in comparison to Amneris’ ultimately self-destructive passion.
“Ms. Laurent, have you studied the score as I asked?”
“I have,” Maude answered. She’d studied it for days with the help of her faithful piano. Her score was presently recognizable only to her, with giant check marks where she needed to watch her breathing, dots were darkened where she would punctuate her staccato, lines where drawn where she’d gradually go from mezzo forte to an unabashed forte.
Standing between Rebecca and Nathan, she refused to appear the amateur they thought she was.
“Amneris has two main themes. Her leitmotifs are love and jealousy. Each theme has specific rhythm and notes. Her love theme is mellow and soft with long notes while the jealous theme culminates in the last act and is characterized with a sharp staccato rhythm, notes of shorter duration, and an angry forte dynamic.”
Nathan whispered something to one of his friends with a smirk which Maude pretended not to see but heard two distinct words topple out of his mouth like an insult: pop music.
“Very well,” Ms. Tragent answered. “We’ll start with love, Amneris’ first theme. Maude, Nathan, you may start.”
Rebecca stepped away from Maude and Nathan, but she kept her eyes glued to Rebecca. If improvement was her aim, her determination must stem from singing with artists she admired.
Breathing technique and control was crucial to hold the length, but love was a candle, one which Maude, as Amneris, could hold without fear of being burnt, and she did so. In clear tones of affection, she sang of Radamès’ courage and the nobility refining his features. Nathan as Radamès, however, kept a distance from Maude, one which she couldn’t attribute to his response to Amneris.
