Birth of Adam (Artificial Intelligence Book 2)

by Liza O'Connor

“It gets easier,” he promised her. “After a few weeks of hell, the teachers will suddenly discover some talent beneath all the rubbish we possess. By then, even the slightest nod of approval will send you to the heavens.”

  “Well, no offense, but there are better ways to inspire and teach music,” she muttered.

  ***

  As the weeks continued, Amanda didn’t see much improvement in the teachers, the other students were horrible, and the mold in the old school constantly threatened her voice. She soon questioned why she had come to France. She also regretted signing a contract with Jules, since it prohibited her from quitting school and taking up knitting as her occupation.

  Nothing was going her way. After a couple of weeks of spectacular sex, even Mark was abandoning her. And Monsieur Bastion, whom she had liked so much, had turned out to be such a Jekyll and Hyde that she was sorry she’d ever invited him to her house for a drink. He excused his abusive nature with the explanation that because he liked her, he had to be especially hard on her.

  Today he had caused her to cry in front of the whole class, which had included a smirking Beth. Then after class, Mark made no attempt to comfort her. Instead, he remained talking to Joey, and when Beth placed her arm around his waist, he made no effort to remove it.

  She could barely concentrate during her classes, and if Adam hadn’t rescued her by giving her answers to questions, she would have angered every one of her instructors before the day was over. When she returned home, Sondra and Andrew tried to cheer her up with her favorite foods, but only Martin’s cello could ease her anguish.

  She fell asleep listening to his playing. When she awoke, she was being placed into bed. She opened her eyes to Mark. He looked as if the world had ended.

  She instantly forgot her anger toward him. “What’s wrong?” she asked, and stroked his face.

  Instead of answering, he pulled her into his arms and cried.

  She waited patiently for him to calm enough to speak.

  Finally, he wiped his eyes and got control of his emotions. “I desperately want to make love to you.”

  She tried to kiss him, but he stopped her. “I have to tell you something first, and once I do, you will rightfully kick me out of your house.”

  “He’s leaving you, Amanda,” Adam warned. “It is not what his heart wants, but it is best for his career. He could be a lifelong friend if he leaves this night without believing you blame him for his decision.”

  “Talk to me,” she said.

  He pulled her into his arms. “I adore you. And I envy you because you have so many powerful people willing to help you succeed. If I had that, then I wouldn’t have to do this.”

  He cried so hard his body trembled.

  “It’s all right. I know your music comes first. It’s the same with me. It’s what we are meant to do, and at times it requires us to do things we wouldn’t otherwise do.”

  He covered her face with kisses. “Never doubt I love you,” he pleaded.

  “I won’t,” she replied, unable to hold back her tears any longer.

  They clung to each other and allowed their grief to run its course. She covered his face with kisses to comfort him and to love him. This time, he didn’t resist when the kisses turned to passion, and they made love filled with both anguish and adoration. They left no portion of skin untouched with kisses, no opportunity to express love unexplored. On occasion, the sweet perfection would cause Amanda to burst into tears, knowing they would never experience this again. Each time Mark pulled her back into the moment. Eventually, the inevitable climax and ending of their lovemaking occurred, and they remained tangled in each other’s arms, unwilling to let go.

  “I know I have to give you up, but I need to know why,” Amanda whispered.

  “I wish you never had to know why. You’ll hate me, and I can’t bear it!”

  “I will never hate you,” she promised.

  He tightened his embrace. “Beth wants me back.”

  His words stunned her. “Do you love her?” she asked, trying hard to keep the betrayal and pain from her voice.

  “No! At this moment, I hate her. However, Jules has negotiated a recording deal with her father. Jules says he will drop me if this deal falls through. He specifically told me not to become involved with you. He declared himself most angry. While he knows I lack a heart to be broken, you do possess a heart, and this could destroy you.”

  Mark was crying again, and she held him tight, covering his face with kisses.

  “Jules is wrong. You have a very fine heart. And I’m worried about your pain as much as mine. Nevertheless, we will survive this. You will have your record deal and we will always be friends.”

  “That’s not enough. I have to know that you won’t allow this to cause even the slightest stumble in your career.”

  “Neither of us will stumble. We are musicians first.”

  ***

  When Amanda woke in the morning, Mark was gone. Clasped in her hand was the gold chain he always wore. She placed it around her neck and cried. She was still upset when Andrew entered with breakfast.

  She managed to quiet her sobs as she explained Mark wouldn’t be living with them anymore, then she burst into tears again. Andrew set down her breakfast and left. A few minutes later, Sondra arrived and joined her on the bed as Amanda explained between crying outbursts what had happened.

  Sondra held and rocked her as she advised patience. “If you did not break in anger, then you are not truly broken. You are simply separated for a time. No one knows the future. I was separated from my first love and married to another. I was in such pain I wished to die rather than marry the man my father had chosen. However, my mother advised me to think of love in a different perspective: to see love as a grand gift which once given is yours to keep. Just because the giver must go away for a time doesn’t mean the gift is destroyed or less wonderful.”

  Amanda took in a deep breath and calmed. “Your mother had useful advice.”

  She considered Mark’s departure from this new perspective. Mark had not taken his love back—he had left it with her. His gift remained, even though he was gone.

  “Yes, she did.”

  “Did you follow it?”

  “Fortunately, yes. The man I married was a good man, and because of her advice, I did not hate him for stealing my gift, for my gift remained in my heart, and over time I made room for a new gift. And now I had two loves, and then my son was born and I made room for a third gift, and I discovered my heart could hold them all quite comfortably.”

  “So Andrew was...”

  “The good man my father married me to, and while we have lived through dangerous and difficult situations, I have never regretted being his wife and I love him dearly.”

  “What happened to your first love?”

  “He was a revolutionist, which was why Father forbid me to marry him. Yet when Andrew and I decided to leave our country, Tomas risked his life to see us to safety.” Tears now welled in Sondra’s eyes. “He was captured soon after and spent many years being tortured in prison. He died this spring.”

  Now it was Amanda comforting Sondra.

  Andrew returned and asked Amanda if he should send Martin with a note for Monsieur Bastion that she was sick and would not be attending classes today.

  “No,” she replied, remembering her promise to Mark not to stumble. “Sickness is not an acceptable excuse to miss class,” she explained. Looking at her watch, she decided to forego breakfast and a shower, and headed to her dressing room.

  “Wear the blue dress with the yellow scarf,” Adam recommended.

  She returned the black dress she had selected to its hanger and put on Adam’s selection. Grabbing a piece of toast, she ran to school, and slid into her chair as the last bell sounded. By arriving just before the bell, she was spared having to hear any hateful comments from her fellow students, because Professor L’Hommedieu was already in the classroom.

  His right eyebrow rose as he gave her a stern
look for cutting it so close to the bell, but thankfully he did not scold her. He called on her several times during the class, evidently sensing she was distracted. Twice she answered correctly on her own, and once Adam had to provide the answer.

  After class, she decided to brave cutting through the mazes of the fourth floor rather than going downstairs with the other students. With Adam’s help, she located the secret-door hidden behind a wall carpet and hurried through the dusty unused rooms. One room had massive glass windows, providing a spectacular view of the city. Someone had placed two well-worn chairs facing out toward the view. They lacked cobwebs, so she suspected the chairs were regularly used.

  Due to her shortcut, she arrived at composition class before the other students. She took the opportunity to sharpen her pencils. When she tried to return to her desk, a pack of mean-spirited jackals blocked her way. She found comfort in the fact that she held five sharpened pencils in her hand.

  She knew they were looking for tears or a hint of weakness to attack. “Excuse me,” she said, and pushed her way through the middle of them and returned to her seat, ignoring the names they called her.

  “Silence,” Professor Pinchot ordered as he entered the room. “I should send the lot of you to Monsieur Bastion.”

  “She started it,” Beth insisted.

  “You sound like children! Now sit down and retrieve your compositions.”

  Amanda opened her notebook and stared at the empty page in momentary confusion. Where were her music sheets?

  Pinchot stood before her, waiting to receive her homework.

  “I’m sorry, Professor, but I believe one of these enfants terrible has stolen my composition.”

  Amanda’s accusation resulted in an outburst of fury, and Pinchot ordered everyone to be quiet.

  “That is a serious accusation,” he warned Amanda.

  “Yes, but sadly not an unreasonable one for a group who would pile dead fish on a bed.” She knew all the professors were aware of their foolish prank. The school still stank of rotten fish.

  Pinchot demanded all pockets, books, and notebooks to emptied and opened for inspection.

  Beth possessed two compositions. “They are both mine. I wrote one and then thought it insufficient and thus wrote a better one.”

  “Let me see the better one,” he demanded.

  Beth handed him the longer composition, and he returned to his desk and studied it. “This is quite excellent work, Hamilton. Why did you choose a cymbal crash at the end of the first movement?”

  “For dramatic effect,” she replied.

  “Carrington, if this were your composition, why would you have used a cymbal crash at the end of the first movement?”

  “If there is a cymbal crash, then it is not my composition. Mine had a flute solo.”

  “Then this must be your missing piece,” he said to Amanda. “Hamilton, you will leave my classroom now.”

  “Do you know who I am?” Beth demanded.

  “You are a thief, a liar, and a mediocre musician who should not have been allowed into this program. You are also disruptive to my class, and I want you to leave now.”

  “I will not!”

  He looked at Amanda. “From the cobwebs in your hair, may I assume you know how to traverse the fourth-floor maze?”

  She nodded.

  “Then please go to Monsieur Bastion’s office and tell him to come and remove this undisciplined brat from my room.”

  Amanda left the room in good humor and remained so up to the point when she relayed the message. Her enjoyment of the situation disappeared as Bastion ranted and cursed. Finally, he turned to Amanda. “Enough of this! You must send Hammer back to the dorms and speak to him no more. Do you understand?”

  She considered telling him Mark had already returned, but in the end she simply nodded in agreement.

  He stopped yelling when he realized she had agreed. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. “I am sorry, Amanda. I know you are not to blame, but we must all endure the horrid creature. I know this will not be easy, but the she-devil will calm once she has what she wants.”

  “I think she wants me to leave,” Amanda warned him.

  “Then she will not have what she wants. You have the finest voice I have ever trained.”

  Amanda remembered Mark telling her how wonderful a compliment would feel after the weeks of insults and degradation. And this wasn’t just a small hint of a compliment. This was the granddaddy of them all. The finest voice he had ever trained.

  “I thought you hated my voice.” She looked up at him and smiled from ear to ear.

  Bastion placed his hands on her cheeks and stared at her as if she were mad. “Why would you think that?”

  “Because you’re always yelling at me.”

  “Because I care,” he explained, then gently kissed her lips. His thumbs stroked her cheeks as he studied her eyes intently. For a moment he reminded her of the nice man she had invited to dinner her first night in France. Then his face hardened into his perpetual scowl and he took her a longer way through the maze that did not require finding passages behind wall carpets.

  He entered the classroom and asked to speak to Pinchot outside. Amanda returned to her seat and cringed as Pinchot declared he’d quit first. She hoped that wouldn’t happen. He was an excellent teacher and was the only one who was regularly pleased with her work.

  A few minutes later, Pinchot and Bastion entered.

  “Miss Hamilton, please come with me,” Bastion requested.

  “No.” Beth snapped and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Miss Hamilton, Professor Pinchot refuses to teach you, and thus you will leave this room. We will make other arrangements for your composition study.”

  Beth smirked and gathered her books. “Well, hopefully my new instructor will be better. Pinchot has neither taste in music nor skill in teaching.” With that declaration, she proudly left the room.

  Pinchot sat down and stared at his desk for several minutes in silence.

  “Aren’t you supposed to teach us something?” Joey asked.

  His head popped up. “Do you really believe Mr. Hamilton will pull his grant if I have you sent home?”

  Joey swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, sir. My comment was completely out of line.”

  “I am not pleased the no-talent is being allowed to remain at this school. It is a misfortune, just like your decision to follow her about like second-class jackals when each of you has the potential to be a first-class musician. However, since you have chosen to align yourself with this no-talent, then I shall judge you by the company you keep. Therefore, Hamilton’s score of zero becomes that of all the Americans in this class, except for Carrington, who clearly is not a jackal of any pack. She focuses on one thing only—to improve her art. And until I see similar dedication in each of you, you will be in danger of going home.”

  After tearing up their compositions, he spent the entire class reviewing Amanda’s work. First, he sang it to them, calling out the various instruments as he sang in perfect key. He then asked who liked it. Amanda wasn’t surprised to discover she was the only one who liked her work.

  He systematically went down the row asking for reasons why they didn’t like it. He rejected answers that contained non-specific content and forced the responder to provide specific reasons for their dislike.

  When pushed to find precise fault, several hit upon real problems that Amanda wrote down so she could fix them. When he finally reached Amanda, he kept his stern face. “You were the only one who liked the piece. Upon hearing your peers’ comments, do you wish to change that declaration?”

  “I do like the piece. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t have turned it in. However, there were several good points made, and I’d like to resubmit the composition with some changes.”

  He glared at the class. “Who believes Carrington should not have raised her hand to begin with?”

  Half the class agreed.

  “Who believes C
arrington should have altered her opinion of her work after the critique?”

  Everyone raised their hand.

  “Who believes she should bother trying to improve this piece?”

  Two raised their hands.

  Pinchot returned to his desk. “The only one of you with a chance of becoming a successful composer is Carrington. She wrote a passionate modern composition that could easily appeal to the masses.”

  “Are we training to appease the masses?” Amy asked.

  “Shut up! The next person who interrupts me during my lecture will be sent out. However, to answer your impertinent question: No, we do not train to appease the masses, because there is no way to train for such a thing. The masses are by definition untrained, uneducated people who respond to music emotionally rather than intellectually. We train to perfect our art. However, some artists have the gift of writing beautiful music that appeals not only to the intellectual listener but to the emotional masses as well. This piece has such potential. Technically, it is very strong, but with some flaws, which after great probing were uncovered.

  “Jones, Blackson, Davis—your comments were excellent. If you continue with your current attitudes, you have the making of very fine music critics for the New York Times. And when you rip apart these other jackals’ early attempts, they will drop their tails and run off. Only Carrington will listen to your critique and improve her work. She knows there is a ten percent penalty for resubmitting an assignment, but she’d rather have it right than have a higher score. She has pride and confidence in her work, yet she is willing to accept criticism and she is willing to do whatever it takes to make her art better. With that attitude, she will succeed while all of you will fail.”

  Amanda was glad he thought so well of her future, but she doubted this was improving her popularity with the other students.

  “Well, maybe when I’m her age, I’ll have such a mature attitude,” Amy grumbled.

  “Out!” Pinchot ordered.

  “I was just explaining why she seems more mature. She’s, like, forty years old.”

  “Out.”

  Amy glared at Amanda, evidently holding her at fault for her expulsion. She gathered her books and left the room.