Birth of Adam (Artificial Intelligence Book 2)

by Liza O'Connor

  He was about to tell Simon to begin when Anon ran off the stage.

  “Another notch for the grand lady. I hope you did not overeat this morning?” Jacque chided.

  “I have promised Jules I will not embarrass him,” she assured Jacque.

  Jacque glanced back at Sean. “Bastion, if this boy does not begin soon, Sean will eat my seat cushions.”

  Bastion asked Amanda if he could have her bottled water. She gave it to him, and he disappeared backstage. Two minutes later, Anon returned looking humbled but determined.

  When he finished singing his aria, Jacque asked her what she thought.

  “He sang it better last night, so you didn’t hear him at his best, but I believe he has the skill to master this song, and I know Bastion believes it, or he wouldn’t have suggested Anon. Bastion doesn’t want the song butchered any more than he wants it cut.”

  “How much better did he sing it last night?”

  She went through each major problem and assessed his performance of last night and today. “Perhaps you should have him sit here and fully wash his throat of the stomach acids and let him try again after I sing.”

  “And do you plan to ask the same favor for yourself?”

  “No, I’m going to sing my very best, so if you don’t like it, then you should send me home.”

  With that declaration, she and Andrew walked backstage, where he kept everyone away from her until she was onstage.

  She stared up at the endless seats, then laughed. “Jules is right. This is far more intimidating than my school’s recital hall. Whenever you’re ready, Professor Simon,” she said.

  She focused on Sean in the back row. He was so far away she couldn’t actually see his expression, and thus couldn’t be distracted by anything he might do. All she dared think about was the music and singing it perfectly.

  When she finished the piece, she smiled at her small but enthusiastic standing ovation. Even the people in the wings applauded her. Simon squeezed her hand and walked her offstage. Backstage, Andrew had a devil of a time keeping people from shaking her hand. By the time he had her into the auditorium, he complained she needed a whole team of security.

  Jules was the first to reach her, and removed her hat so he could cover her face in kisses. “You were perfect, utterly perfect!” He led her over to Jacque and left her to receive more hugs and kisses. She noticed Anon looked devastated.

  “Are you not going to hear Anon sing again?” she asked Jacque.

  “After hearing your perfection? Absolutely not!”

  “But he really is good enough to sing the song.”

  Jacque sighed and looked at Bastion. “Do you promise me he will not fall apart on opening night?”

  Bastion nodded. “Normally, he is quite steady.”

  “Then I’ll go with your advice, since you have brought me an angel who will guarantee my production to be a success.” With his arm around her, he called Jules and Anon over.

  “Amanda assures me you are better than you performed today, so I’m going to give you a try, but if I do not see vast improvement before opening night, I am cutting you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, thank you,” Anon said, then gave Amanda a cold glare.

  ***

  Jules and Bastion plotted every minute of Amanda’s and Anon’s lives for the next two weeks. Jacque wanted them on site the entire day, despite the fact that they were only needed for five minutes of performance time. Amanda now understood why these songs would rarely be included in Don’s opera.

  While the songs were beautiful, they required too much time investment for serious artists, and lesser artists could not sing them.

  “Could we perhaps sing in the chorus as well?” Amanda asked.

  Both men looked at her as if she were nuts. Finally, Jules replied, “I do not represent chorus singers.”

  “Well, what am I supposed to do all day waiting to sing my five minutes? Will we at least be given a quiet place where I can work on my composition? It’s due this Friday.”

  “This is the chance of a lifetime!” Jules exclaimed.

  Amanda sighed. “Only if I’m not poisoned, as poor Anon was today. And if you make me stay here all day, Andrew is going to have a heart attack trying to protect me.”

  “I was poisoned?” Anon asked.

  “I believe you were. You possess far too much confidence to be hit with stage fright. Did you accept any water or food when you were backstage?”

  “Water,” he declared, and glared at her. “How did you know?”

  “I didn’t know for certain, but I know this opera house has a reputation for making new singers sick, and I’ve endured enough freshman harassment to be wary of any food or water offered to me by the established herd.”

  Anon stared at Jules. “I was poisoned!” he declared with great satisfaction. “I didn’t lose my nerve. I was fine when I first stood on the stage. I became sick while waiting for the pianist, which is no doubt why he took so long. I want my blood tested!”

  Jules glared at Amanda for starting trouble and informed Anon that he did not want anything of the sort. “Even if you were purposely sickened, you held your own and have obtained the part. Thus, you have passed your trial by fire and will be safe now.”

  That seemed to satisfy Anon, and he leaned back. “I knew it was not stage fright. I do not get stage fright. Tomorrow I will show them how a true artist can sing.”

  “That is all very well for Anon, but I have yet to be poisoned, and frankly don’t wish to be. I would prefer going to class and simply arrive for the hour I am needed.”

  “You will do as I say!” Jules bellowed, so loudly that everyone grimaced in pain from the deafening noise.

  Bastion interceded. “I will talk to Jacque and tell him they both need further training. He need only call and I can have them here in fifteen minutes.” He smiled at Amanda. “And as long as you continue to sing the song without flaw, you may attend your classes.” He frowned at Anon. “We will continue your training. I was most displeased with your performance today.”

  “Yes, but I was poisoned!” Anon reminded him.

  “Well, you are no longer so,” he declared. “And you will master this piece by the end of this week or I will pull you from the opera.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Amanda had missed her first class and was late to her second, but since Pinchot was late as well, she received no scolding. However, when he told the class why they were late, she did receive some deadly glares. She was glad Beth no longer attended the class. Her good news would have sent the unstable girl into a murderous rage.

  To her surprise, a few of the European students actually extended their congratulations and seemed to be reconsidering their contemptuous dislike of her. One asked how she’d received the opportunity to audition, given she was not a member of the French Opera Guild.

  “There are exceptions for students of this school,” Pinchot replied.

  “Why weren’t others allowed to audition?” Amy asked.

  “Because there are no other vocalists capable of singing the song,” he replied. “Certainly not you.”

  “How would you know? I was never given the opportunity.”

  Pinchot pulled out the sheet music and handed it to her. “Do you think you can sing this?”

  Her frown deepened the farther along she went in the music. By page three, she stopped. “Not without practicing.”

  “Not even then,” he countered, and pulled the sheet music away from her and handed it to another student. “Study it for a moment and pass it on. This beautiful aria is the crowning jewel of Don Carlos’ opera, soon to open at the French Opera house. Sadly, the aria was about to be cut when Monsieur Bastion intervened and provided a student capable of singing it. Don Carlos purposely wrote the piece to highlight a finely skilled vocalist. There is no acting required. The age of the character is nondescript. All the lady need have is a four-octave range, perfect pitch and incredible vocal flexibility. This h
ighly skilled singer is then expected to sit on the sidelines for two hours, sing one four-minute aria just before the close of act two, then sit on the sidelines again for another hour waiting for a curtain call in which she is presented after the chorus for one bow.”

  He sighed and sat on the edge of his desk. “As brilliant as Don Carlos was, he was very foolish in the creation of this aria. Can someone other than Amanda tell me why?”

  The Frenchman who had observed she was not a French guild member raised his hand. “I was going to say he should have written the part for a bigger role, so a prima donna would consider it worth her time. However, upon reviewing the sheet music, I see another problem. He has severely limited the number of vocalists capable of singing the piece, which means had he made this aria part of an important role it would be harder to cut...and honestly, I doubt anyone will ever be able to do this song justice.”

  “Very few, and you bring up an excellent point. Had he written it for the lead, let us say, then the vocalists with the talent to perform the role would never be more than one or two in a generation.”

  “Or none,” someone else observed. “When you take in the requirements for acting and dancing.”

  “But let us say that such a broadly talented singer exists, certainly not the one currently cast...”

  Amanda had to object. “I thought the lead quite good,” she protested.

  Pinchot smiled at her. “Then let us say Madame LaRue manages to do this aria partial justice and performs the remainder of the opera beautifully. How will the critics respond?”

  “They will start by noting her slaughter of the aria,” someone said.

  “So let us say the director, wishing to protect Madame LaRue from such a fate, cuts the aria out entirely. Now what will the critics say?”

  “They will complain the most beautiful aria had to be cut because Madam LaRue lacked the skill to sing it.”

  “Given these certainties, if you were Madam LaRue, would you take this role?”

  Everyone agreed they would not.

  “Thus, Bresnan is correct. There is no leading lady who can, will, or should take the part if the aria belongs to her. Yet we have already concluded that the piece on its own will not entice a skilled singer. So why did Don Carlos even write this aria?”

  “He forgot the realities and imperfections of real life?” Amanda suggested.

  Pinchot smiled. “Don knew all too well the imperfections of life. He wrote these arias as a challenge to his dear friend Monsieur Bastion to create and showcase new talent. However, he knew under most conditions the arias could not be sung, and thus made them easily removable from his opera.”

  “Arias...is there more than one?” a student asked.

  “There is an aria for a tenor as well. That is being sung by Anon du Bon.”

  Most of the European students had heard of him and nodded their approval.

  “So let us get to the crux of the matter. Should Don Carlos have written these arias at all?”

  The general opinion was that he should not have done so, or that he should have watered them down, making them easier to sing. Only Amanda disagreed.

  “I cannot wish for anything so beautiful not to exist. I am sorry, but if Don Carlos had the ability to write something so perfect, then he had no choice but to compose it. Even if it’s only sung once, or never sung at all, he still had to write it, just because he could.”

  Pinchot playfully struck her on the head with rolled sheet music. “Fortunately, the class does not agree with you, and thus may have learned a valuable lesson in composition. Just as you do not ask a flute to fill your bass line, do not ask a vocalist to do the impossible.”

  “But it is not impossible!” Amanda insisted.

  “Until recently I was convinced it was, and that makes it damn near impossible, which, for all practical purposes, is the same. Compose to your instruments. Do not stretch their ranges. Do not challenge the physics of the tempo at which they can be played. However, if you must do so in the quest for perfection, make certain it is done in a piece that can be removed without damaging the whole.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Fifteen minutes into a quiet meal with Andrew, Martin and Sondra, someone banged on the front door. Martin rose, put on his velvet jacket and opened the door. Jules barged past with Anon in tow.

  “Are we expected at the opera now?” Amanda asked, surprised they would be working so late.

  “No, we are here for dinner,” Jules replied. “Thank you for waiting.” His sarcastic tone left no doubt of his outrage.

  Amanda laughed at his response. “Jules, if you wish me to hold up everybody’s dinner so you can join us, then you need to let me know. And if you’re going to bring home hungry guests, then you certainly need to let Sondra know. This is most unfair. And if there isn’t enough food to go around, it is entirely your fault.”

  Before Jules could reply, she asked Sondra if there was sufficient food to serve two additional people.

  Sondra laughed. “I always cook for extra now,” she assured her.

  Amanda helped her with the settings. Once she returned to her seat, she ignored her two rude guests and described the opera house to Sondra and Martin.

  When Amanda finished the last bite of her chicken, Jules grabbed her arm and escorted her upstairs to her room. She wasn’t concerned that he had romantic intentions. His anger was quite palpable.

  “You will drop the attitude right this minute, miss, or I will pull you from this opera before you can call your meddling friend.”

  “This isn’t a hotel, Jules. You can’t yell at me because I didn’t hold up dinner for you and an uninvited guest. While I do question your right to make me go hungry at your whim, I am quite certain you have no right to expect Andrew and his family to go hungry while waiting for you. And inviting a person to dinner without telling me or Sondra is just plain rude. Nor are you ever to call Adam meddlesome. He is simply taking care of me, and in that area, you could learn from him. Why did you not warn Anon he was going to be poisoned? Surely you must be aware of the childish trick?”

  “I was not, nor am I now,” Jules replied. “And how would your friend know?”

  “He performed a statistical analysis of new performers who get sick. It’s much higher at the French Opera than at other equally impressive opera houses.”

  “And he told you to avoid any food or drink?”

  She nodded.

  “So why did you not tell me or Anon?”

  “Well, I figured you would. Besides, Anon holds me in contempt. If I told him not to drink the water, he’d probably drink twice as much out of spite.”

  “Do you actually believe I would have sent him up there had I known he was going to become sick and ruin his audition?”

  She paused. In retrospect, that didn’t seem likely.

  “No, you wouldn’t have,” she admitted. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

  “As am I!” he snapped. “I would never allow any of my talent to be harmed. Which is why we are eating here instead of at the school. Anon was never a popular student...”

  “Really?” she said with clear sarcasm.

  “He isn’t nearly as unpopular as you are, but I fear he could incur some childish retribution if he remains in the dorm.”

  Amanda didn’t like the sound of “if he remains in the dorm”. Where else would he be staying? She sighed with dismay at the obvious answer. “You want him to stay here?”

  “I do, but you will obey me this time and not become involved with Anon!”

  “I believe I can safely promise that,” she assured him.

  “You said the same with Mark.”

  “Yes, but Mark turned out to be an orange—unpleasant on the outside, but one layer down, very sweet. I am certain Anon is an onion, which means no matter how many layers I pull back, all I will find is an unpleasant onion.”

  “Well I don’t want you peeling back any layers to find out!” Jules snapped.

  “I
f I let Anon remain here, there will be no peeling, or even speaking to him for that matter.”

  “If?”

  “I have not yet determined whether he can stay.”

  “Do you think I dare leave him in the dorms?” Jules exclaimed.

  “No, but that doesn’t mean he has to stay here. There are places in Paris called hotels.”

  “Anon doesn’t have money for hotels! Unlike you, miss, most students are chronically short on cash.”

  “I am aware of the difficulties of poverty. I was not born wealthy. But let me be clear. Just because I live in a beautiful home does not mean I’m obliged to care for and feed every person you bring to my door. We can refer to my contract if you wish, but what you’re asking is outside my professional obligations to you. Thus, you are asking me to do this because we are friends, and I prefer my friends not to yell at me. It makes me cranky.”

  “I have a firm policy not to be friends with my talent,” he declared, but then sighed in defeat. “But in this case, perhaps I will acknowledge a slight friendship.”

  “You’d better, because otherwise you need to find a new home for Anon,” she warned him.

  His hands caressed her arms. “So will my friend Amanda do this for me?”

  “If there’s a room available and if he agrees to my rules.”

  “What rules?”

  “He will be respectful to me, Andrew, Sondra and Martin. This is not a hotel and they are not servants.”

  “Then why does Andrew open the door and drive the car?”

  “Because he likes to. I’m serious, Jules. You were very rude tonight, but I still set a place for you at the table. If Anon behaves as you did tonight, I will toss him out into the street. I will not have Andrew and his family treated disrespectfully!”

  “I will make certain he follows your rules,” Jules promised.

  “Then let us determine if there’s another bedroom on this floor.”

  “There are more bedrooms upstairs,” he reminded her.