“For now. But who knows what the future will bring, and I’m telling you, this place isn’t big enough for both our voices.”
Bianca and Alaina had been competing with each other ever since their Julliard days. She’d always claimed Alaina had bought her way into the school, while Bianca was there on scholarship. Maybe Alaina’s parents had the money to send her there, but that didn’t take away from the fact she was just as talented. You can buy a grand piano, but you couldn’t buy a world-class voice.
Right now, Alaina wished Bianca could buy some tact. “They’ll have to expand the stage, because I’m not going anywhere.”
She pushed by Bianca and slipped backstage.
Lance sat in a chair resting his hand in his hand, exhaustion clear in his slumped shoulders. Maybe he had a long day at work? Who knew all the numbers he had to crunch and all the graphs he had to interpret? Math always made her head spin, and she had no interest in the stock market, but she couldn’t deny her attraction to him.
Alaina took the seat beside him. “Long day?”
He glanced up and blinked in surprise. “You could say that.”
“I know what that’s like. I was supposed to be soaking in my bubble bath right about now.”
His eyes flicked over her dress as if he imagined her in the tub.
Alaina smiled and crossed her legs. She wished they were both there right now.
“Thanks, by the way.” His gaze delved deep into her eyes, making her blush.
“For what?”
“For saving my butt back there.”
Butt? For a New York stockbroker, he talked like an ordinary guy. He was so laid back. Alaina was always wound up, and his natural calm soothed her. “How?”
“From that woman in pink.”
Wow. He just shot up from hot to perfect in her eyes. Alaina played coy. “You mean you don’t like her?”
“She’s beautiful, don’t get me wrong. And I’m sure she’s great company. But, I didn’t want to listen to her asking about stock portfolios all night.”
Alaina laughed. Seems like Bianca tried too hard. “Well, you’re in luck, because I have absolutely no interest whatsoever in the stock market.”
He breathed with relief. “Then, I think we’re going to have a great time.”
Alaina shook her head, not knowing what to make of him. He was such a contradiction, wealthy yet modest, confident yet hesitant, sexy yet boyishly cute. Unlike most men, she couldn’t read what was on his mind, although she suspected she was in there, somewhere.
“So, when is this date going to be?” She used her conversational, ambivalent tone, trying not to sound too eager.
He shrugged. “Whenever you want. My shifts usually end around seven.”
“Shifts?”
“I mean, sometimes I work late at the…office.”
“Oh.” She hoped he wasn’t a workaholic. Gotta have time for those bubble baths.
He drummed his finger on the armrest of his chair. “So when are you free?”
“Let me see…” She was supposed to volunteer at Heart House tomorrow until three, and rehearsals didn’t start until the following night. “How about tomorrow night?”
“Sounds good.”
“How dressy should I be?”
He gave her a suggestive smile. “What you’re wearing now is nice.”
Boy did she like this guy. Alaina teased him with a little slap on the arm. “I can’t wear the same outfit two days in a row!”
His dark eyes sparkled. “I don’t mind.”
“I’ll find something similar.” Her mind went through every outfit she’d ever owned. Better raid the closet when she got home. “And where are we going?”
He raised both eyebrows. “That’s a secret.”
Alaina nodded. “Of course. You like keeping secrets?”
His face darkened. “No. As a matter of fact I don’t. But, this has to be special. You paid twenty thousand dollars after all.”
Good. Because she’d been burned by secrets before- like when her roommate on her Italian tour stole her guy. She’d brought herself to forgive her, but still, secrets were never good. “I’m sure you’ll make it worthwhile.”
“I’ll certainly try.”
“So you’ll pick me up?”
“Eight o’clock. I can pick you up here, or at your place. It’s up to you.
She figured he was safe. He was Mrs. DeBarr’s son after all. Everyone in the entire fundraiser knew they were going out. “My place. Paramount Tower – 240 East 39th Street. I’ll be in the lobby.”
His gaze widened as though he was impressed. Sure it was a nice place to live, but she bet he had her beat. Not that she liked him for his money. She was so well off, Alaina didn’t need a guy with money. The last guy she fell for was an Italian tour guide. And she could guess how much he made.
What mattered was their chemistry, and with this guy, they were way off the charts.
***
Brett collapsed onto the orange plaid couch he’d found by the garbage dumpster. He wished he had something with access to the internet. Where the hell was he going to take someone who’d just paid for a twenty thousand dollar date?
Mrs. DeBarr gave him a limitless credit card and told him he could buy whatever it took, but she didn’t give him any advice on what to buy. Sure, he could take Alaina to some fancy restaurant downtown, but he wanted to show her a little of who he was and what he liked. Only then would he be able to discern if it was worth sticking around and telling her the truth.
If he decided to pursue a relationship, then ultimately he would have to tell her. And not just about his vocation. He’d have to tell her about the fire, open up like he hadn’t been able to do in the past.
Brett walked to the fridge and opened a beer. He was getting ahead of himself. He had to play it one day at a time. She may not even like the same things he did. Heck, she was an opera star and he was a logger from Maine. What could they possibly have in common?
For now, all he had to worry about was which restaurant to choose and getting to bed on time for an early shift tomorrow. He couldn’t be caught snoozing on a fancy china plate at dinner.
He took a sip, trying to calm himself. He had the whole day tomorrow to come up with something. Maybe some of the guys had an idea.
He thought of Phil’s comment about the flagpole up her ass.
Now I know I’m getting tired.
Phil would probably tell him to go out for beer and chicken wings.
Which wasn’t far from what he was used to. But, he had to find some middle ground. No caviar. But also, sadly, no chicken wings.
Up in Maine, he used to go to a family owned steakhouse. It was a nice sit-down restaurant renovated from an old train station. The old wooden pillars gave the dining room a rugged, rustic feel of Maine. He loved it.
Maybe he could find something like that here in New York?
Brett threw his bottle in the recycling bin.
Tomorrow he’d get Phil to go on his fancy iPhone and do a search. He’d find a nice restaurant which also challenged her cultural perceptions. Her reaction would give him the information he needed. She might hate it and he might crash and burn. But, he wasn’t willing to open his heart to just any woman. Failure was worth the price for the truth.
CHAPTER FOUR
Opera Witch
The alarm blared in Alaina’s ears. She stuffed her head under her pillow and moaned. How could anyone get up at this ungodly hour?
Most of the world did. Teachers, nurses, TV anchors, bakers, businessmen like Lance. If they could do it, she could.
Slamming her hand on the alarm, she pulled herself out of bed. If she wanted that role, then she’d better get her butt in gear. Alaina threw herself in a scalding hot shower to wake herself up. The last time she’d gotten up this early was back in her Julliard days for music theory, and she hadn’t always made it on time. Or at all.
Now more than a grade rested on the line.
She sl
ipped on a pair of navy pants and a blouse and twisted her hair in a bun, to make her best teacher impression. At least she looked the part.
So maybe she’d never taught anyone in her life, or talked with high school kids. She could act like no tomorrow, and act she would.
She hailed a cab and rode to the crummy part of the Bronx, where she wouldn’t be caught dead walking alone at night. Or more like, she would be dead if she did. She paid the cab driver extra to pull up right to the door, then grabbed her purse and entered the building feeling like it was her first day of school all over again.
An older, worn out looking woman in the office told her she’d be subbing for a teacher on maternity leave and directed her to room three fifteen.
Her heels clicked on the linoleum as she paced quickly to the room. Her school had polished floors, brand new lockers, and reproductions of Monet’s works hanging on the wall. This school had scuffed floors, beaten in lockers with graffiti scrawled in all manner of curses, and bare walls. Her heat raced, and her throat constricted. If she’d tried to sing anything, it would have come out as a cracked whisper.
When she opened the door, a girl with purple hair sat on her desk picking at holes in her racy stockings, while a guy dressed in black with black eyeliner played Candy Crush on his phone. Three other hoodlums with saggy pants and baseball hats pulled sideways over greasy hair wrote profanities on the chalkboard. None of them even looked up at her entrance.
Alaina clutched her purse tightly to her chest and walked to the front of class. “Good morning students. My name is Alaina Amaldi, and I’ll be taking the place of your teacher today.”
They didn’t look impressed. Alaina was used to getting standing ovations, and these students barely stayed awake or made eye contact. She had an urge to tell them just who the hell she was, but somehow she didn’t think that would impress them either.
“Take your seats and shut off your phones.” She gave the goth guy a steady glare. The previous teacher had left her a book on the desk, and she opened it to a page with a substitute lesson plan on Bach.
Thank god. She’d sung enough Bach to teach a whole semester.
“Take out your books and turn to page twenty seven.”
Three kids dug into grimy backpacks, while the rest of them just sat there.
“I said, take out your books.”
A gangly boy hiding half his face under his hood raised his hand. “I don’t have a book.” The rest of the class laughed.
Alaina started erasing the profanity on the chalkboard. “Share with someone next to you.”
When she turned around, half the class still didn’t have a book. She glanced at the girl with the purple hair. “And where’s your book?”
The girl gave her an I-don’t-give-a-shit kind of look. “I left mind at home.”
“O-kay.” Alaina resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “No matter. I’ll read the chapter out loud.” She cleared her voice. “Bach was a German composer, organist, harpsichordist, violist and violinist of the Baroque Period.” She glanced up. “Now, who can tell me when the Baroque period was?”
Purple hair raised her hand. “Can’t we study some great music legend of today, like Justin Bieber?”
The whole class burst out laughing. Alaina closed the book. Looks like the traditional method wasn’t working. At all. “I happen to like Bach. I’ve sung many of his cantatas and oratorios. They are beautiful staples of vocal literature.”
“What are you, some kind of opera witch?” A boy grumbled while writing on his desk.
Again, raucous laughter erupted.
Alaina fought a rising wave of panic. She wanted to run from the room and back to her safe apartment on the east side where people had manners. How dare they talk to her like this?
But, if she gave up, she’d be reinforcing exactly what the president of the board thought of her- a pampered rich socialite who wasn’t capable of holding down a volunteer job, never mind expressing compassion or unrequited love.
She was stronger and smarter than that.
Maybe it was time to broaden her image. She couldn’t let these little bullies defeat her. She needed them on her side. She needed to show them opera wasn’t some stuffed up snobby thing of the past. It could actually be a lot of fun.
Think, Alaina think. “Opera witch” reminded her of Bianca and her role as the Queen of the Night. Then, an idea sparked in her mind.
As the laughter settled down, she straightened up, crossed her arms and addressed the student. “As a matter of fact, sometimes I am.”
The students quieted. Some of the ones who’d been on their phones the whole time glanced up. She had their attention.
Alaina paced the front of the classroom, drumming her fingers on her elbows. “Opera is made up of stories. Sometimes you play the sweet heroine, and other times you play the evil villain.” She raised an eyebrow. “Anyone know who Carmen is?”
Silence, then one hand went up. “You mean Carmen Electra?”
A few of them giggled.
Alaina shook her head. “Approximately one hundred and forty years before Carmen Electra, there was the original Carmen in an opera by Bizet. She was a seductress who enchanted a young soldier with exotic dances. His unbridled passion for her drove him to forsake his duty and the woman his mother wants him to marry. But Carmen is not a one type of guy kind of gal. She tires of the soldier and falls in love with another man. In the end, the soldier pleads for her to return to him. When she refuses, he stabs her, killing her on the spot.”
“Or take Puccini’s Turandot- a daughter of a Chinese empire who is looking for a husband. She asks each suitor three questions. If they answer correctly, she marries them, but if they fail…” She chopped her hand down on the front desk and the boy who sat in it jerked up.
Alaina smiled wickedly. “They lose their heads.”
She took a tissue from the box on her desk and covered the bottom half of her face. “I’ve also studied the infamous Salome who enchants the head of the palace with her dance of the seven veils. He agrees to give her her heart’s desire. But, little does he know her heart’s desire is the head of a man who’d rejected her advances…on a plate.”
“Ouch. Tough luck for him, huh?” Purple hair actually leaned forward across her desk, engaged with what she was saying.
“Maybe you’ll think twice about scorning any admirers.” Alaina winked. “Anyway, when Salome gets the head on the plate, what do you think she does with it?”
“She kicks it.” Purple hair crossed her arms. “That’s what I would do.”
“No, I bet she sticks it on a pole to show everyone what happens when they piss her off.” The boy without the book didn’t raise his hand, but she let his comment go. At least he was involved in the conversation.
“Not quite.” Alaina gave them a mysterious smile. “She kissed it.”
“Ewwww.” Purple hair scrunched up her pretty little nose pierced by several nose rings.
Alaina went on to tell them stories of all the characters she’d played or studied in the past. Before she knew it, the bell rang, and they students stood from their seats.
“Wait a second!” Alaina held them in their places by the commanding tone of her voice. She’d grown more and more confident as the class went on. “For your homework, I want you to start writing your very own opera.”
“What? We can’t do that.” Goth guy whined like a baby.
“Yes you can. You’re all students here at this arts school. You’ve all taken theory and writing classes. You have a mind- an imagination.”
Goth boy opened his mouth to complain again and she cut him off by raising her hand. “Don’t worry I’ll help you through it, step by step. Tonight I want you to think of a setting for your story. That’s all. Just a place.”
As the students filed out, Purple hair approached her desk. “See you tomorrow, right?”
“That’s right.” Alaina sipped from her water bottle, expecting the student to walk away. But she did
n’t move. “Is there something else?”
“No. I’m Jackie, by the way.” She stuck her hands in her pockets.
Alaina nodded and made a mental note to remember her name. She didn’t know any of their names and if she was in this for the long haul, then she should learn them. “Nice to meet you.”
“I sing, too. I don’t have a teacher or anything, but I like to harmonize to songs on the radio.”
Alaina blinked in surprise. “I’ll have to hear you sing sometime.”
“I’d like that.” Jackie picked up her backpack and left.
Alaina watched the girl turn the corner. At the beginning of class, she could have cared less about Alaina, and now here she was staying late to tell her she sang, too. Alaina smiled to herself as she packed up her purse.
There was hope after all. For both of them.
***
“Why do you want me to look up a fancy restaurant?” Phil stuffed the rest of his tuna sandwich in his mouth.
Brett threw the other half of his ham sandwich back in the bag. The bread was stale and he wasn’t hungry anyway.
“Well?” Phil took out his phone and turned it on. “We only have five more minutes of break.”
Brett crumpled the bag and stuffed it under his feet. He wasn’t going to get his friend’s help unless he told him the truth. “Because I have a date.”
“A date?” Phil widened his eyes. “Looks like it didn’t take you long to get over that red head from yesterday.”
Brett ran his hand over his face. Was asking Phil a mistake? “It is the red head from yesterday.”
He spit out his soda. “What? How’d you manage that?”
“It’s a long story. Now, can you help me or not?”
Phil wiped his mouth on his sleeve and pulled out his iPhone. “Sure. What exactly do you want me to look up?”
“I want to take her to someplace nice, but also someplace that reflects who I am. I don’t want her believing me to be someone I’m not.” Brett ran his hands though his hair.
A little too late for that, isn’t it?
Phil nodded. “I get ya. Sarah was always trying to dress me up and get me to go to all these weird art exhibits. It all just looked like splattered paint to me.”
A Diva in Manhattan Page 3
