by Janice Sims
“I’d better go,” she said quickly and just as rapidly reached for the door’s handle and got out of the car, firmly shutting the door behind her. Just like that. Dominic didn’t have a chance to suggest walking her to her door. When she was gone, he leaned back on the seat, his head against the headrest.
Racked with self-recrimination, he sat there a moment, wondering why circumstances had conspired to bring a woman like Elle into his life now. Most people fell in love when they were still wet behind the ears. Then, when they made fools of themselves it was understandable. He felt like a pitiful fool.
“Uno sciocco pietoso!” he said aloud.
Chapter 7
“Elle, wake up!” her mother’s insistent voice called.
Elle sat bolt upright in her bed in the hotel room. It had only been a dream. She glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was 7:00 a.m. She’d set the clock for seven-thirty.
She didn’t know why her dreaming brain would sometimes awaken her the way her mother used to wake her up for school. But if she had a pressing appointment that day, it sometimes happened. The dream would awaken her a few minutes before her alarm clock sounded.
“Weird,” she murmured as she moved the covers aside and sat on the side of the bed.
Today was Monday and she didn’t want to be late for the auditions.
Last night, Dominic had phoned to say she would be riding with him to the theater in the morning. He hadn’t asked, he’d simply stated a fact. Elle hadn’t liked his making decisions for her, however small, and had told him she would get there under her own steam. She would be living in Milan for a while and needed to be able to get around the city on her own.
She didn’t think he was too pleased with her declining his offer. He’d sighed and said, “Very well, if that’s what you want. We’ll be starting at nine.”
“A domani, Signor Corelli,” she had assured him.
“A domani,” he’d replied and then abruptly hung up.
Later that night, for the first few minutes after getting in bed Elle had tossed and turned, wondering if she had displeased him for no good reason. He’d called as a courtesy, after all. There was no rule stating that the director of the opera had to be available to offer his lead singer a lift to the theater.
However, after a while she decided that she had done the right thing. She didn’t want to become dependent on him. And she certainly didn’t want him thinking she was too naïve to look out for herself in this city of 1.4 million. This was small potatoes compared to NYC.
She showered and dressed and stopped at a café for a quick breakfast of a roll and a cup of coffee, then walked to the theater. She was glad that when she, Belana and Patrice had planned their visit to Milan they’d chosen a hotel in the middle of all of the most interesting sites. La Scala was only a few blocks from her hotel.
She was greeted by the doorman and told him she was here to see Signor Corelli. The short, stout, middle-aged gentleman smiled warmly while gesturing to the stairs. “He’s in the uppermost balcony, in the first box, sitting in the dark, more than likely.” He teasingly pointed to his head and twirled his finger in the universal sign that the person he was speaking of was crazy.
Elle laughed softly and said, “Grazie.”
She found Dominic exactly where the doorman had said he would be, although the room wasn’t dark. “Buon giorno,” she called as she entered.
Dominic was standing at the balcony, looking down onto the stage. Below, Roberto was explaining to thirty or so tenors how the day would progress. They each had four minutes to sing a song of their choosing, and there would be no piano accompaniment. Some grumbling was heard after that announcement.
Dominic turned toward Elle at that moment and didn’t see how Roberto had handled the grumblers. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of her. Once again he was confronted by the fact that she was singularly more beautiful than his image of her in his head.
She was wearing an off-white pantsuit and the dark caramel shell underneath matched her pumps. Her hair was upswept in that style he liked so much, and she was carrying what looked like a backpack she might have used during her college days.
Elle saw him looking at her backpack. “Comfortable shoes and casual clothing, just in case I had overdressed.” She remembered that the first time she had seen him, which was after her audition, he was wearing a suit. She thought she would dress similarly. Smart move, she thought, he’s dressed for success again today.
“You look perfect,” he said and meant it.
Elle smiled at him and walked farther into the room. “Thank you. You look great, too.” She put her backpack on a chair and went to join him at the balcony. Peering down at the assemblage below, she observed, “They don’t sound pleased.”
“Roberto told them there would be no piano accompaniment today and some of them weren’t happy about it,” he said softly, his eyes on her instead of the tenors downstairs.
She laughed shortly. “They’re bigger divas than the divas were.”
Dominic smiled. He had to agree. The sopranos had been real troupers. According to Roberto they had been gracious to a fault, and Dominic remembered their reaction to Elle’s performance. They had been generous and noncompetitive.
“You’re right. I hope they remember to behave professionally today. Mi scusi.”
He dialed Roberto’s number. After Roberto answered, he said, “Signorina Jones has arrived. You can begin as soon as you like.”
“Okay, Dominic,” Roberto said.
Dominic put his phone away and gestured to one of the red upholstered chairs. “Have a seat,” he told Elle.
Elle, unaccustomed to his routine, said, “You won’t be able to see the performances from way back here.”
Dominic explained his method. “This way I’m not tempted to give the audience eye candy instead of a quality voice.”
“I see,” Elle said. She sat down.
Dominic walked over to a coffee service set on a nearby table. “Coffee?”
“Yes, thanks, cream and sugar.”
“I remember,” he said and began preparing two cups of coffee.
Shortly after he sat down next to her, handing her a china cup on a saucer with a tiny spoon on the side, the first tenor raised his voice in song.
Elle and Dominic sipped their coffee as they listened intently. Elle listened with her ears, but her eyes kept drifting back to the man at her side. How did he manage to look so pulled-together from head to toe and yet maintain such a masculine persona? Among her friends in the United States jokes were routinely made about any guy who paid too much attention to his appearance. If he dressed too well, had manicures and pedicures and made sure his hair was just so, he was said to be a metrosexual. Other males joked that it was only one step from being not truly male at all, but some freakish cross between a male and a female.
Dominic was very well groomed and no one could call him anything but masculine.
The first singer finished and she noticed Dominic taking notes. He turned and met her eyes. “What did you think of him?”
Elle was hesitant to say how she really felt. She didn’t want to insult anyone. She didn’t even know the tenor’s name. Perhaps he was a national hero or something.
“He was…enjoyable,” she said.
“Uno fiasco,” Dominic stated flatly.
Elle cringed and nodded in agreement. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”
Dominic laughed. “There is no one in here except the two of us. Don’t hold back. Be brutally honest. I want your real opinion.”
“Okay,” Elle promised.
Of the next tenor’s performance, she said, “I didn’t feel anything when he sang. He has the technique down, but not the passion.”
Dominic was impressed. He looked down at the two-word note he’d made on that particular singer: No passion.
Two hours later they were nearing the end of the line. Elle had not been moved by any of the singers. Dominic had found two of them
adequate but had not been excited enough about either of them to get up from his seat and glance at them. He had recognized a few of the voices without having seen the singers. He had a good memory for voices and he was sure he had worked with at least three of the tenors who had auditioned that morning.
Then a voice rose up from below and blew both of them away with its passion.
They looked at each other and smiled. Neither of them spoke, though, until the singer had completed Puccini’s “Nessun Dorma.” Then they got up and went to see who had just performed such a wonderful rendition of the song that in recent years had been made universally loved by the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti.
Weak applause could be heard from the remaining tenors in the auditorium. Elle smiled. They weren’t as generous as the sopranos had been to her. They didn’t want to admit they had just heard the best audition of the morning.
The tenor standing on the stage behaved as though he were being given a standing ovation. He bowed, and then spread his arms in delight, basking in the adoration due him, even though it wasn’t forthcoming from his disgruntled audience.
“Gracias,” he said.
“That’s Jaime Montoya,” Dominic said, none too happy.
Elle beamed at him. “He’s wonderful!”
The tall, classically handsome Spaniard walked off the stage. Roberto, standing down the steps waiting for him, pulled him aside and said something into his ear and he took a seat in the front row. Seeing this, Dominic wondered what Roberto was doing. He hadn’t phoned him and told him to ask the tenor to stay.
“Mi scusi,” he said to Elle and turned away to quickly dial Roberto’s number on his cell phone.
“Sì, Dominic?”
“Why is Montoya staying?” he asked in low tones, not wanting Elle to hear.
“He’s the last one to audition and he was the best,” explained Roberto. “I thought you might want a word with him.”
Dominic started to order Roberto to tell Jaime Montoya to be on his way. However, he realized just in time that the only reason he’d reacted the way he had toward Montoya was because of Elle’s presence.
Last night she had said that she thought Montoya would make the perfect Cristiano. Today’s auditions had proven her right. If she hadn’t sighed and declared that Jaime Montoya was wonderful, Dominic would have phoned down and told Roberto to ask him to stay.
“Dominic, are you still there?” asked Roberto.
“Sì, sì, you did the right thing, Roberto. Bring him up after you dismiss the others.”
Roberto breathed a sigh of relief. “Okay, we’ll be right up.”
Dominic hung up the phone and turned back to Elle, who was still standing at the balcony looking down on the stage. “Roberto’s bringing him up. You get to meet your Cristiano. That is, if our terms are to his liking. Montoya is known for being…difficult.”
“Because he knows he’s good,” Elle said. “Of course, that doesn’t excuse rude behavior.”
“No,” agreed Dominic, “it doesn’t.” He hoped that Elle’s presence would prevent him from being rude to the Spaniard this afternoon, because he didn’t suffer fools gladly.
Five minutes later, Roberto ushered Jaime Montoya into the room. Elle stood back and allowed Dominic to shake the tenor’s hand in greeting. Then Dominic gestured to her and she stepped forward, a welcoming smile on her lips.
“Jaime Montoya, this is Elle Jones. If we end up working together, she’ll be your leading lady.”
Jaime Montoya was five eleven and fit. His skin was deeply tanned, and his thick, wavy black hair was combed back from his forehead. He was as handsome as any movie idol and Elle saw from the covetous gleam in his eye that he was well aware of his attractiveness to women. Full lips curled back from perfect white teeth as he assessed her. “Then sign me up, Maestro,” he told Dominic.
Taking Elle’s hand in his, he kissed it in the old-fashioned European way. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Jones.”
“Likewise, Mr. Montoya,” Elle said pleasantly. “You’re very talented.”
“Thank you!” he said. Effusive was the only word she could think of that adequately described his grand gestures. His eyes were lit by humor. Confidence oozed from every pore. He exuded charm and style as if they were as natural to him as breathing.
Yet, she didn’t find herself attracted to him. That was reserved for Dominic Corelli.
Dominic led them over to a table where three chairs were waiting for them. They all sat down and he began: “Jaime, we haven’t negotiated your contract yet, but I will take your verbal agreement to be our lead tenor for now and we will proceed.”
He looked back at Roberto, who quickly joined them at the table and removed two thick packets from the briefcase that he kept with him at all times. He gave one to Elle and one to Jaime Montoya.
“Just so you know,” Dominic said, “there is a non-disclosure clause in your contracts. You cannot divulge the contents of those scores. Do we understand each other? The basic premise was given to the media when I announced open auditions, but nothing more. I want the audience to be surprised on opening night.”
“I understand,” Elle said. She was excited.
“Of course,” Jaime said solemnly.
“All right,” Dominic said, “first things first. Jaime, rehearsals start a week from today. Will that be a problem for you?”
“No,” Jaime said, “I’m at your service.”
Dominic didn’t ask the question of Elle. He already knew she was on board. “Very well, then. Let me tell you a little about the story. It’s set in present-day Milan. Satan is bored and he’s moving among humans in the guise of a handsome young Milanese by the name of Cristiano. One night he goes to a club and hears this young woman sing. She’s an aspiring opera singer moonlighting at a blues club. In all the centuries of his existence, he has never heard a voice so lovely. He follows her home and finds out she’s very poor. All the girl has are her dreams of one day becoming a famous opera singer. So because he wants her, Satan disguises himself as a music manager, Cristiano. Satan knows that if he can get her to profess her love for Cristiano then her soul is his, and if her soul becomes his he can drag her back down to hell with him and set her up as his queen. But the thing is, he falls in love with her and love is not something Satan has ever experienced. She becomes his weakness. He discloses his true identity to her and now it becomes Adama’s choice. Will she continue to love him, accept his hand in marriage and spend eternity in hell? Or will she reject him and possibly face his wrath? What she doesn’t know is that there is an angel watching over her, an angel who loves her. He won’t allow Satan to take her to hell.”
“Well, what does she decide?” Elle asked, her eyes wide with excitement.
“Read the score,” Dominic said with a smile.
“It sounds very modern,” said Jaime. “How many solos do I have?”
Dominic laughed. “Enough. You both are given the chance to shine.” He rose and removed a business card from his inside pocket. Giving it to Jaime, he said, “Have your agent phone this number at his earliest convenience.”
“No problem,” Jaime said, eagerly taking the card. “My agent is standing by to hear from me.”
He rose, too, and he and Dominic shook hands again. “Thank you, Maestro,” he said.
“I’m looking forward to working with you, Mr. Montoya,” said Dominic.
After he let go of Jaime’s hand he reached for Elle’s. “Ms. Jones, may I see you home?”
Observing this, Jaime’s brows rose with interest. So that was how it was. The director was already playing favorites. His eyes swept over Elle once more as he backed from the room. Not that he could blame Dominic Corelli. She was ripe for the picking. A body that even Botticelli could not have dreamed up. She had a lovely face, too, and when it came to sensuality she reminded him of a young, voluptuous Sophia Loren.
“Ciao,” he called from the doorway.
Dominic reluctantly drew his eyes away f
rom Elle. “Ciao!”
Finally alone with Elle, Dominic put her arm through his and, smiling down at her, politely asked, “Would you let me buy you lunch in payment for all of your help this morning?”
Elle placed her hand on his arm. Looking deeply into his eyes, she asked, “Do you think it’s wise?”
Over the course of the last two hours she had decided it was useless to keep ignoring the attraction they both felt. She wasn’t a virgin. She knew when a man wanted her. She was also positive that he was aware she returned his feelings. After all, the pheromones were kickin’.
Dominic smiled. “Oh, are you referring to the fact that every time we get in close proximity to each other, we both wind up hot and bothered?”
“That would be it, yes,” Elle said, smiling up at him. “Do you have any suggestions for how we’re going to handle this? We’re going to be working together on a nearly daily basis, and you’re the director and I’m the singer and never the twain shall meet.” She cocked her head to the side, awaiting his answer.
Dominic loved the way she was giving him attitude. “A lot of cold showers?” he said helpfully.
“I don’t think that’s funny,” Elle said. “I need to know your rules for this situation, Signor Corelli. You have rules for everything else. So, let me have them.”
Dominic cleared his throat. “All right, I make it a rule never to get romantically involved with anyone I’m working with. In my opinion it adds an unwanted level of stress to the workplace.”
He turned and bent low to whisper in her ear, “But in your case I’m willing to make an exception.”
Elle went weak in the knees, not to mention her feminine center instantly started throbbing. She grew wet between her legs and a soft sigh escaped from between her slightly parted lips.
Dominic’s mouth descended upon hers and she instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Their mouths hungrily devoured each other, easing the ache that both of them had been suffering through for the past two and a half hours.
Never in his wildest dreams had Dominic thought a kiss could be this powerful. He considered himself somewhat of an expert on the subject. But of course his kisses in the past had been with women he had not deeply cared for. His goal then had been physical satisfaction alone. This kiss was on a different level.
