SHE WANTED TO DENY IT, BUT SHE COULDN’T. SHE TURNED FROM THE WINDOW, FROM THE BLINDING LIGHT OF THE SUNNY PARIS MORNING. “IF YOU WANTED ME TO BE HAPPY, YOU’D LET ME BE MYSELF. YOU WOULD ACCEPT ME FOR WHAT I AM. A MUSICIAN.”
“I ACCEPT YOU AS A MUSICIAN, CARESSA.”
UGH, HIS VOICE WAS SO STEADY, NOT SHAKY LIKE HERS. HE RESTED HIS HANDS ON HIS HIPS, STARING AT HER. SHE WANTED TO RUN TO HIM AND KNEEL AT HIS FEET, BUT SHE COULDN’T. SHE COULDN’T GIVE EVERYTHING UP. “LOOK, I’LL KEEP PAYING YOU FOR THE LAST TWO WEEKS,” SHE SAID. “IF THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT.”
HE MOVED THEN. HE MOVED SO FAST AND SO THREATENINGLY THAT SHE BACKED UP TO THE WALL TO GET AWAY FROM HIM.
“MONEY, CARESSA? YOU THINK I’M WORRIED ABOUT MONEY? YOU CAN HAVE EVERY FUCKING RED CENT OF THE MONEY YOU PAID ME. I DON’T WANT IT.” HE PINNED HER AGAINST THE WALL, WAVING A FINGER IN HER FACE. “YOU CAN SEND ME AWAY, AND I’LL GO, BUT LET’S BE CLEAR ABOUT TWO THINGS. NUMBER ONE, I WAS NEVER HERE FOR THE MONEY. NOT FROM THE MOMENT I HEARD YOU PLAY THAT FIRST TIME—”
“You see?” she cried out, pushing against his chest. “It’s the music! All I am is the music! Even you admit it. Would you even love me without it?”
“Number two,” he said, talking over her. “Number two, Caressa. I love you no matter what. Music or no music. So let’s just be clear about those two things before you send me on my way.”
SHE TURNED HER FACE TO THE WALL, DEFEATED. HE WAS LYING. LOVE? HE THREW THAT WORD AROUND AN AWFUL LOT. HE THOUGHT HE’D BEEN HOPELESSLY IN LOVE WITH THAT NELL GIRL. HE’D EVEN TATTOOED HER NAME ON HIS CHEST. “IT’S NOT LOVE,” SHE SAID TO THE WALL IN A FLAT MONOTONE. “IT’S JUST MORE BULLET- WOUND-HERO-BULLSHIT.”
THAT DID IT. HE SLAMMED HIS HANDS AGAINST THE WALL ON EITHER SIDE OF HER HEAD, AND THEN HE LEFT.
* * * * *
“CARESSA?” AUNT DENISE STUCK HER HEAD IN THE DOOR OF HER ROOM. “HADN’T YOU BETTER PRACTICE? WE HAVE A PHOTO SHOOT FOR THE BIG BERLIN WRITE-UP AT TWO TODAY.”
OH YEAH, THEY WERE IN BERLIN NOW. CARESSA COULDN’T KEEP TRACK. SHE HATED EUROPE. HOPPING FROM CITY TO CITY ON DIRTY LITTLE FLIGHTS, LISTENING TO A BUNCH OF GIBBERISH LANGUAGES SHE DIDN’T UNDERSTAND. THE DAYS WERE DRAGGING AND THERE WAS STILL BUDAPEST AND ROME TO GO.
SHE DEFINITELY WAS GOING TO PRACTICE. PRACTICING WAS A GOOD THING. SHE LOOKED AGAIN AT THE PACKAGE ON THE DESK.
“HAVEN’T YOU OPENED IT YET?” HER AUNT ASKED.
“WHY DON’T YOU OPEN IT?”
Denise put her hands on her ample hips. “Why don’t you open it, since he sent it for you?”
Caressa tuned her out. She wasn’t up for fighting lately. She was vaguely aware of Denise taking up the package and opening it while Caressa played an aimless, sliding run of notes. She lifted her bow from the strings with a dissonant squeak. “Just give it to me.”
Her aunt shoved the box into her hands and stood waiting. Caressa glared at her. “Fine, Aunt Denise. I’ll open it. But you might want to leave first. It’s probably anthrax or something.”
Denise threw up her hands in exasperation and turned to go. Caressa considered the box on her lap. It had been sent from Paris ahead to this hotel. Where was he now? Probably back in New York, moving on with his life, hopefully. She was happy to be moving on with hers.
Actually, she was doing just fine on her own. Kyle had taught her a lot of useful skills in their time together. She was more organized then she’d ever been. Her suitcase was a vision of orderliness. He would have been amazed to see it. She was pretty damn proud of herself.
She was getting better at other things too. She hadn’t had a meltdown—not even a small one—since he’d left. That might have been because a lot of her spirit left with him. But it was for the best. She really believed that. She was doing her best work now that he was gone, playing flawless concerts. She was acting like a grown-up. She had to. He wasn’t there to break her falls anymore.
She snapped open the tape and lifted the manila wrapping from the rectangular item. If it was another book of train schedules, she’d fly to New York herself to shove it up his ass. She ripped off the bubble wrap to find it wasn’t a book at all, but a framed photograph.
She had to look at it a moment to figure it out. She recognized the grassy edge of the pond finally, and the line of trees among all the little pin dots of light.
There was a note she opened with shaking fingers. He hadn’t written much. Dear Caressa, it read. I hope you’re doing well. This is the gift I originally meant to give you for your birthday. Please…I don’t mean for this to make you mad. It’s just that you said you wished you had a picture, and I told you there wasn’t any way to take one, but I found someone who knew how to do it with some kind of prolonged exposure technique. So it can actually be done. I miss you. Kyle.
She put the photo and note back on the desk and picked up her cello. So it can actually be done. She knew exactly what he meant her to understand from those words, from his brief note.
He never gave up, she thought ruefully. The photo was pretty though, the blurry lights scattered around like fallen stars in the forest. Maybe if he’d given her that instead of the train schedule, he’d still be here with her today. Making her laugh, cleaning up her messes. Holding her and making her world so much bigger than the music, so much more than practice and concerts. If he was here, he’d be kissing her and pulling her to the floor. He always knew how to make moments like that. She plinked out a series of treble notes that reminded her of fireflies blinking. Her world was a bleak, dark forest without him.
SHE LOOKED DOWN AND SAW A PIECE OF PAPER ON THE FLOOR THAT MUST HAVE FALLEN OUT OF KYLE’S PACKAGE. SHE LEANED DOWN AND PICKED IT UP. IT WAS A CHECK FOR ALL THE MONEY SHE’D PAID HIM, DOWN TO THE PENNY, UNDOUBTEDLY. SHE TORE IT INTO TINY PIECES AND THEN WENT AND CRAWLED INTO BED.
* * * * *
KYLE HAD HOPED TO HEAR FROM HER AFTER HE SENT THE PHOTO. PERHAPS IT WAS TOO LITTLE, TOO LATE. HER CONCERTO—AND THE SORELY MISSED MUSIC OF HER VOICE—STILL ECHOED IN HIS MIND ALL THE TIME. HE WAS STILL IN EUROPE, STILL FOLLOWING HER AROUND. DID SHE THINK HE WOULDN’T? AND TONIGHT—THERE WAS NO WAY HE COULD HAVE MISSED THIS LAST PERFORMANCE. SHE WAS LEAVING A WAKE OF ADORING FANS BEHIND, CARESSA OF THE STRIKING GOWNS AND THE LOVELY SCARLET LIPS, AND THE CONSTELLATION OF WILD CURLS AROUND HER HEAD. HE WAS ONE OF THEM.
THERE HAD BEEN NO EVIDENCE OF A BLACK ELASTIC IN WEEKS NOW. SHE TRULY SEEMED TO HAVE COME INTO HER OWN. SHE WAS PLAYING WITH A GREATER, MORE SKILLED INTENSITY THAN SHE EVER HAD. THE FACT THAT THIS NEW, IMPROVED CARESSA HAD APPEARED ONLY AFTER HE LEFT SMARTED SOMEWHAT. PERHAPS SHE’D BEEN RIGHT ALL ALONG. PERHAPS HE HAD BEEN BAD FOR HER.
Still, he didn’t begrudge her her success. He was proud of her, and he’d always wanted what was best for her. He looked down at his watch, anxious for the concert to begin. It was past time. But then, this was Rome, where people often moved at their own maddening pace.
The longer the audience waited, the louder the murmuring grew. Kyle looked ahead at the heavy velvet curtain, and imagined he could hear the orchestra growing restless backstage. Then, over the swishing of the silk dress of the woman shifting beside him, beneath the rustle of programs opening and closing, he heard it like some haunting undertone.
His body was in motion before his mind had even decided to act. He unfolded his long legs from the cramped balcony seat and inched by the elderly couple beside him. He took the balcony stairs to the main level and then to the left aisle. Everyone watched him as he stalked toward the stage, mostly because there was nothing else to watch.
He said a few terse words to the usher, gesturing to make up for his lack of Italian. A moment later he was through the stage door and walking down the hall. He didn’t even know what he’d said to the usher. He wasn’t sure if he’d been granted egress because of his words, or because of the impetus behind them. The usher probably realized if he hadn’t let him through, Kyle would have simply pushed him aside.
He followed the sound of her screaming down the
white, sterile hallway until he reached the door with the “Caressa Gallo” sign. He pushed it open and took in the scene with the quick facility of someone who’d lived through it many times. He noted the impatient conductor, the mousy stagehand, the harried aunt, and two men in suits he assumed were theater personnel.
And behind them all, huddled in the back with her cello bow waving like a weapon, he saw Caressa herself. His wild girl, backed into a corner. He frowned as he noticed one of the suited-up men squeezing her forearm. Denise was wiping away frustrated tears, and Caressa was melting down in her own inimitable way.
“No. No!” she screamed. “I can’t do it. I won’t go out there until this is taken care of. This is my reputation as a musician—”
“Caressa, honey—” Her aunt begged.
“NO, IT’S NOT IN TUNE! I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD—”
THE CONDUCTOR SHOOK HIS HEAD. “IT IS IN TUNE. BE REASONABLE, MISS GALLO. I CHECKED IT.” HE SPOKE TO HER LOUDLY, TRYING TO CAPTURE HER ATTENTION, BUT SHE WASN’T LISTENING, WASN’T HEARING A WORD. KYLE RECOGNIZED THE LOOK ON HER FACE. HE HAD SEEN IT BEFORE. HE KNEW ALL SHE HEARD AT THE MOMENT WAS THE TERRIFYING POUNDING OF HER HEART AND THE SOUND OF THE EARTH OPENING TO SWALLOW HER WHOLE.
“I CAN’T! I WON’T PLAY! THE TONE IS OFF. HOW CAN YOU ASK ME TO DO THIS?”
THE CIRCLE AROUND HER CLOSED TIGHTER, SCOLDING, CAJOLING. THEY DIDN’T EVEN NOTICE KYLE UNTIL HE STARTED PUSHING THEM OUT OF THE WAY. THEN CARESSA WAS IN HIS ARMS, THE WARM, LIVING SHAPE OF HER. WITH ONE HAND HE PRIED THE SHREDDED BOW FROM HER FINGERS AND HANDED IT TO DENISE. CARESSA WENT SILENT AND STARED IN SHOCK AS HE PULLED HER CLOSE, TURNING HIS BODY TO BLOCK THE OTHERS FROM HER.
HE COULD FEEL HER SHAKING AGAINST HIM—PURE, WILD TERROR IN A SILK GOWN. SHE ONLY FOUGHT HIM A MOMENT BEFORE SHE SLUMPED AGAINST HIM. HE CRADLED HER HEAD AGAINST THE LAPEL OF HIS TUX, NOT CARING THAT HER TEARS WOULD PROBABLY RUIN IT.
“SHH. THAT’S MY GIRL,” HE SAID. HE PUT HIS HAND AGAINST HER CHEEK AND HELD HER TIGHTER, WHISPERING IN HER EAR. “I’M HERE NOW. CARESSA. SHH. BE A GOOD GIRL.” HE FELT HER SUCKING IN BREATH, AND HER HAND CLUTCHED SPASMODICALLY AT HIS ARM. HE MADE SOFT, SIBILANT SOUNDS AGAINST HER TEMPLE UNTIL HE FELT HER GASPING BREATHS SLOW.
HE PULLED AWAY TO LOOK AT HER. THE OTHERS—THE CONDUCTOR, AUNT DENISE, THE THEATER PEOPLE—HAD RETREATED TO THE OTHER SIDE OF THE ROOM. IT WAS JUST HIM AND HER, AND A THEATER OF WAITING PEOPLE. A LIFETIME OF ACCOMPLISHMENT—AND DEEP, PARALYZING FEAR.
“MISS GALLO, PLEASE,” THE CONDUCTOR PLEADED. “WE MUST KNOW IF YOU WILL FULFILL YOUR OBLIGATIONS. THE AUDIENCE—”
“SHE’LL PLAY,” KYLE SAID. “TELL THEM THERE’S BEEN A SHORT DELAY.”
AT KYLE’S LOOK, THE REST OF THEM LEFT. HE LOOKED DOWN AT CARESSA IN CONSTERNATION. “YOU WILL PLAY, WON’T YOU? YOU DIDN’T ENDURE THIS ENTIRE TOUR TO BLOW OFF THE LAST NIGHT.”
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” SHE ASKED IN A TREMBLING VOICE.
“LIKE ALL THESE OTHER PEOPLE, CARA, I CAME HERE TO SEE YOU FINISH THIS THING.”
SHE CLOSED HER EYES, LEANING AGAINST HIS CHEST AGAIN. “I CAN’T. YOU WERE RIGHT, KYLE. I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M DOING THIS. I JUST WANT TO BE LEFT ALONE. I JUST WANT THE MUSIC. THAT’S ALL.”
KYLE STROKED HER HAIR. “YOU HAVE THE MUSIC, CARESSA. YOU ARE THE MUSIC. THE REST OF THEM ARE JUST SPECTATORS. CARA, YOU’RE THOSE FIREFLIES AT BURGER’S POND. SOMETHING SPECIAL. SOMETHING AMAZING. YOU MAKE PEOPLE’S HEARTS BEAT FASTER, YOU MAKE THEIR MOUTHS DROP OPEN. YOU’RE THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN DO WHAT THEY’RE WAITING OUT THERE FOR YOU TO DO.”
“I don’t know…”
He squeezed her tighter, his cheek brushing against her ear. “You’re the only one, baby. It has to be you. If you don’t pull it together and walk out on that stage and play that concerto, it ceases to exist as only you can create it.”
“I cease to exist,” she whispered on a sob.
“No, that’s not true. You know that’s not true. You and I will still be here, no matter what.”
“You left me.”
“You sent me away, you maniacal diva.”
Caressa laughed softly, a wondrous sound to his ears. “Why did you come back?” she asked.
Kyle made an impatient noise. “I never left, and I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.” He cupped her chin and tipped her face up, pinning her with his gaze. “We have things to talk about, and plenty of time to talk about them. But right now, there are fifteen hundred people out there waiting for you to show them something they’ve never seen. Something unforgettable. One hundred thousand fireflies. You’re the only one who can do it.”
“I can’t do it.”
“That’s a lie.”
“I don’t want to do it,” she insisted. “I don’t.”
“If I believed that for one second, I would carry you out of here. But I don’t believe you. You need to do this. You need to finish this and have a place to stop, at least for a while. After this, you and I are going to take a vacation somewhere and we’re not bringing the cello. We’re going to go somewhere, just you and me, and the only person you’re going to need to please there is you. Caressa. Do you understand? You’ve done enough. You’ve satisfied everyone. It’s time to get some distance and find out what Caressa needs and what Caressa wants. The cello will be here when you get back. Okay?”
“Well…” She sniffled. “I guess. But what about pleasing you?”
He smirked at her, running a hand over the intricate embroidery of her dress. “You can do that too, if you choose. Let’s see how it goes.”
“Okay,” she said. She drew in a deep breath, and he saw her steel herself. “But…I guess I’ll need a new bow.”
A fellow musician produced a spare bow and there was a scramble to the wings. Kyle brushed back her hair and wiped the last of the sheen of tears from her face.
“I’m so proud of you,” he whispered. “Go out there and enjoy every second of this.”
She nodded, squeezing his hand in her cold fingers. The venue was in disorganization and the stagehand who was supposed to carry her cello onstage was nowhere to be found. In the end, it was Kyle who followed his lover onto the stage carrying her precious Peresson. As she arranged herself in her upholstered chair, Kyle looked out of the corner of his eye into the glare of lights and the sea of shining faces. Even for him, who had seen so much and done so much, the massive-scale scrutiny was daunting.
He looked away, focusing on his lover at his side. She reached for the cello and he passed it to her by its long, slender neck. Her hands shook just a little. Only his eyes could have detected those tiny tremors, but they moved him. She settled the instrument between her knees and looked up at him with a brave, conspiratorial smile. Oh, Caressa, my God. That I ever thought I could live apart from you. He had to leave her though, for this. The welcoming applause was dying out and his cello-carrying duties were discharged. On impulse he took her hand before he turned to go, bowing over it with what he hoped was a dashing kiss.
He received more than a few speculative stares as he started back to his balcony seat, but then Caressa began to play and all eyes were on her. If any of her fear or hysteria remained, she didn’t show it. Her playing was a victory, a triumph. A swan song? Perhaps. Or perhaps not. They would worry about that later.
FOR NOW, KYLE LET HIMSELF SINK DOWN INTO THE MELODIES, THOSE LOVELY MELODIES THAT WERE JUST ONE PART OF THE WONDERFUL WHOLE THAT WAS CARESSA. MY GOD, THOSE KNEES OF HERS. HE WANTED TO BE BETWEEN THEM, CLASPED BETWEEN THEM JUST LIKE HER CELLO. HE SHOULD HAVE BEEN THE ONE WITH THE STRINGS DRAWN VERTICALLY DOWN HIS CHEST, AND THE F-HOLES ON EITHER HIP. WELL, NO F-HOLES. BUT HE’D NEVER REALLY BEEN THE CONDUCTOR, ANY MORE THAN SHE’D EVER REALLY BEEN HIS TO PLAY.
* * * * *
There was a reception after the show to celebrate the last night of her tour, and Kyle made her go to it since the Italians had so graciously thrown it for her. But Caressa had wanted to celebrate something else, and in an entirely different way than wine and pasta. Kyle seemed to know exactly how eager
she was to be alone with him, but he insisted she fulfill her duties as the guest of honor before he would let her go.
There were music critics there she recognized, and notable music and cello patrons, all of them effusive in praising her accomplishments on the tour. Kyle stood beside her through all these conversations, silent eye candy. No one probably suspected how many times it almost all came tumbling down around her, or how instrumental the man standing at her side had been.
At last the crowds thinned and they made their escape, leaving Aunt Denise at the suite with hugs and reminders of the flight back to New York the following morning. Kyle switched his ticket in the cab on the way to his hotel so they could fly back together. Caressa watched his fingers on the phone, and the casual way he sat back and loosened his tie as they inched through city traffic. It was all she could do not to crawl into his lap, but she made herself sit still and quiet while he talked to a ticket agent in pretty good Italian.
He was so good at everything. She was good at one thing, but it didn’t make her happy. Not the way she was currently doing it anyway. She’d take a break, take time to think. Take time to enjoy life and then find out what place music was going to have in her life. But it couldn’t be everything. It couldn’t rule over her. Not anymore.
“Okay?” he asked when he was through, squeezing her hand and looking down at her.
“YEAH,” SHE SAID. “I THINK I’M OKAY.”
AS SOON AS THEY GOT TO KYLE’S HOTEL ROOM, THEY BOTH STRIPPED, BUT STOOD APART AS IF TO GATHER THEIR DEFENSES. CARESSA EYED HIM FROM ACROSS THE DARKENED HOTEL ROOM, GAWKING AT THE BEAUTY OF HIS MASCULINE VIRILITY. “SO,” SHE ASKED IN THE SILENCE, “WHERE ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE ME?”
KYLE CAST A LASCIVIOUS LOOK FROM THE TOP OF HER HEAD DOWN HER ENTIRE NUDE BODY TO HER FEET. “TONIGHT…OR LATER? I KNOW WHERE I’M TAKING YOU TONIGHT,” HE SAID IN A VOICE THAT THRILLED HER. “BUT THE OTHER… WE’LL TALK ABOUT IT SOME OTHER TIME WHEN I CAN THINK MORE CLEARLY.” HE SMILED AT HER. “COME HERE. YOU’VE BEEN AWAY FROM ME FOR TOO LONG.”
Caressa’s Knees Page 20
