by Kailin Gow
She suddenly pouted. “I know it sounds dreadful, Eric, but Rupert has done so much to deserve such a horrible end. Hasn’t he hurt you enough? Hasn’t he been insensitive to your plight?”
Filled with the power of her beauty, Kristine got to her knees and pushed Eric onto his back. She straddled him and brushed her body against his. “This will be the greatest role I’ve ever played. My only regret is that you won’t be there to see it. Oh,” she said, her eyes glistening with joyful tears, “when they return with his body, I will scream in horror, will pull my hair out in despair and will rack my body with tears. I’ll be distraught for days.”
“There must be another way.”
Her gleeful smile disappeared and was replaced with a grim and determined line. “This is the only and best way. Have I ever misled you, Eric? Have I not been there for you? Do I not love you more than any other woman could ever love you?”
She shrugged out of her shift and let it fall to her waist. Her breasts exposed, she watched the hunger take over the doubt in his eyes. He would do anything for her; anything to have her; of that she had no doubt.
“He’ll have put his hands on my, Eric.” She reached for his hand and brought it to her breast. “He will have touched my skin.”
Eric’s face shifted under the light of jealousy. Kristine knew of his capacity for anger; knew of his temper. The mere thought of her in someone else’s arms was enough to drive him insane.
“My breasts will have filled his hands.” She leaned forward, pressing her breasts to his flesh. “He’ll have taken what’s yours, Eric.”
Rage filled Eric’s eyes. He wrapped his hands around her tiny waist, threw her onto her back. With one quick motion he tore her shift off and devoured her.
Chapter 10
December 1st, 2009
Dear Diary,
Though the night started out warm and filled with foreign sensations that thrilled my body, I awoke cold and alone. I sought Eric’s arms to warm me, but all I found were the crumpled sheets of my bed. In disbelief, I spread my hand out across the width of my bed, not daring to open my eyes.
I wanted to be in his home, in his room and to find him nearby, perhaps preparing a sumptuous breakfast. But I could smell where I was before I took a look around. There was my dresser, my chipped mirror, the curtains that barely kept the sun out and the potted plant who’d had the misfortune of being bought by a negligent housekeeper like myself.
Home. I was home. I’m not really sure what that meant. Had I dreamt my time with Eric? It seemed so real; so deliciously real. I could still smell his skin, his breath. And the sensation of his arms around me.
Darn it! How could I wake up home alone?
Well, I have no time to dwell on it. Today’s my first rehearsal!
After quickly getting dressed I headed out the door and rushed to cross the street to get to the Met. The morning was cold and I was thankful for the short walk that took me from home to work.
Chace, however, wasn’t so lucky. Waiting for me at the door, he seemed frozen from his walk from several blocks away.
“Chace, what are you doing out here?”
“I brought you a coffee,” he said as he pushed opened the door to let me in.
I happily took the warm paper cup. “Hmm, perfect. I didn’t have time to make any this morning.”
With his hand to my shoulder, he stopped me before I could head to the rehearsal hall. “Annette, I wanted to make sure you were okay… after last night.”
“Sure, Chace. I’m fine.” Shrugging it off as no big deal, I turned to be on my way.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry I let myself get carried away.” He kept up with me and seemed so agitated. “I care so much for you, Annette and I don’t want you to think that… well, that what I did last night is all I want.”
He was so flustered and adorable. Even though I was in a rush, I turned to put my hand to his cheek. “You’re so sweet, Chace. Don’t worry about last night. I wasn’t scared of what you were doing to me. I was scared of how I wanted you to do that to me.”
I was surprised by the blush the quickly reddened his face.
“I tried to call you after you left. I was worried. You seemed so angry and I wanted to be sure you got home alright, and I thought you might be mad and…”
It was my turn to blush, but not from embarrassment, from guilt. While Chace was at home worried sick about me, I was driving around through deep, dark tunnels with Eric and cuddling up in his arms.
Hold on. No I wasn’t. That was a dream. I had nothing to be guilty about.
I smiled at Chace, refusing to feel ashamed of a dream. “I’m perfectly fine. I gotta go.”
He followed along. “How about dinner tonight?”
“Hmm, sure Chace. But I don’t know what time I’m going to get out of here.”
“Whenever you’re ready.”
He left to join the orchestra while I headed to wardrobe.
“Annette,” Roberta chanted. “I’m so happy for you, dear. I had no idea you were so talented.”
“Thanks. I guess I didn’t either.”
She smothered me in a huge hug only my mother could surpass. “I’m going to lose my little girl.”
“You’re sweet, Roberta. But I won’t be far.” I mumbled into her bosom.
“Yeah, yeah. Not far, but not the same circle.” She released me and led me to the array of costumes I would be wearing.
While I’d seen a few during my weeks as seamstress, I had no idea there were so many; and so exquisite and regal.
“Don’t be silly.” My hands fluttered over one gown after another.
“You’re the star, Annette. Not just an extra or a second player.”
“Now, don’t you start fussing with me.” I fingered the fine fabrics and could almost feel the star within me rise. I would be wearing these.
“I’ll enjoy fussing over you, dear. Of course, I will have to scramble to find a replacement for you. Many of your costumes will have to be taken in. You’re tiny, honey.”
“Don’t worry. I can still lend a hand here.”
“Now that’s absurd. Rehearsals are going to take just about every minute of your day. Don’t think you’ll have much time to do anything else, young lady.”
I refused to believe her.
“Go behind there and put this on.” She pointed to a small partition.
She handed me one of the simpler gowns and I quickly stripped off my street clothes and struggled to get into the complicated garment. If this was one of the simpler gowns, how was I going to manage the more elaborate ones? I stepped out from behind the partition feeling clumsy and weighed down.
“I never realized how heavy these things were.”
“Wait until I bind you in. You’ll have to learn a whole new way to breathe.” She twisted me around and got to work.
I heard a distinct harrumph from Roberta and glanced back. “What is it?”
“How’s your breathing?”
“Fine. Great.”
“Well, it would be. I’ve pulled the laces as far as they’ll go and you’re still floating in this thing.”
“Really?” I looked down to see the waistline fluttering about me.
“This is going to be a lot more work than I’d anticipated.”
I turned to her, determined to make her understand. “Roberta, please let me help you. I can even take the garments home at night and work on them.”
“You’re underestimating what’s coming for you, Annette. These rehearsals will wear you out before you know it and once the show gets started, you won’t have much time to yourself. You’ll be the talk of New York. Every young buck, big shot and high brow is going to want to get closer to you.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“You think so?” Roberta said with a laugh. She turned me to the side and began pinning up the side of the dress. “Come back and see me when every wealthy patron is bringing you out to dinner and every young well-to-d
o is sneaking a peek backstage.”
“I’ll be back here, all right. But it’ll only be to tell you how mistaken you are.”
She laughed through the pins that were clamped between her teeth and pinched the fabric together before sticking a pin in. With every pin she added, my breath became more difficult to attain. By the time she finally stopped, I thought I was going to suffocate.
“That ought to do it for this one,” Roberta said. “Get out of this and head downstairs where they’re waiting for you.”
When I reached the rehearsal hall the cast eyed me with part recognition, part suspicion and a frightening dose of palpable envy.
“We’ll run through your solo first, then the ballad you share with Rose, Beth and Mildred,” the musical director said.
With every song I sang, my nerves calmed, my voice took assurance and I slowly developed the character within the song. I pulled myself into the skin of Adelle and felt all the emotions she would have felt. I gave my heart to those songs and when we’d run through the last one, I could hear the comments circulating the stage.
I was happy to hear they were all favorable.
The director, however, remained businesslike and unmoved. “That’ll do for today. Be here again at the same time tomorrow.”
After a quick nod, I headed to stage right to gather my things and was pleased by the comments and compliments I received.
“You’ve really capture the soul of Adelle,” one said.
Another came to pat me on the back. “I can’t believe they actually found someone who sings better than Marie.”
One of the young extras gazed at me in admiration and I winked.
With a start I turned to the piercing sound of a distant hiss. I gazed up at the balcony from where the sound seemed to come from, but no one was there.
“You okay?” a young actress asked.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
Still staring up at the balcony, I waved the actress away. Perhaps all the music had left a buzzing in my ears. Taking in a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and prepared to gather my things when the hissing sound came again, this time from right over my shoulder.
I spun around to find no one there. Panicked little breaths replaced the deep breaths I’d been forcing myself to take. My steeled nerves melted away and a strange sense of foreboding enveloped me. The air was suddenly dense and moist, with a pungent odor that left me feeling nauseous.
With my coat bundled up in my arms, I ran out, knowing I looked foolish, but not caring. I had to get out of there. In my haste, I rounded the corner to the lobby and promptly ran into a young man.
Finely dressed, handsomely styled and with a distinguished air that made him seem much older than his face indicated, he calmly steadied me and smiled. It was a pleasant, if not well-practiced smile that left me a tad uneasy.
And when I realized that I had spilled his coffee all over his fine Italian camel hair coat, my unease became downright mortification.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. Look at what I did to your…” Though logic told me it was useless, my hands nonetheless set to wiping the stain away.
“My dry cleaner enjoys a challenge. Don’t worry about it,” he said. His voice was gentle and melodious, and his smile brought a mischievous and boyish twinkle to his eyes. His sandy hair was stylishly streaked with gold and I wondered if it was the natural effects of the sun or his vain intent.
“This is beyond cleaning. I’ve ruined your coat. If you step outside like this people will think you’re a bum. We could go to wardrobe and I’ll get a coat for you.”
He chuckled. “I hardly think walking around the streets of New York in an 18th century coat would be appropriate, though I think the meeting I’m heading off to would probably be more interesting. I could be the aristocratic lord who desperately needs his peasants to pay up.”
“Of course. How silly of me.” I smiled and my nerves slowly stopped jumping about. He was amusing and I could almost say I instantly liked him. Though his clothes and manner of speaking gave him an air of such distinction that I never would have thought myself capable of conversing with him, he had a charming way about him that made me want to stay close.
“We have a coffee machine. I could get you a new coffee.”
“Thanks, but I don’t really have much more time. I just stopped by on the way to my meeting to see who the new singer was. I’d heard a replacement had finally been found. And apparently she is quite a beauty to behold.”
I blushed and didn’t know what to say. He was so handsome, so debonair, so out of my league. “I’m the new Adelle.”
He leaned in close, looked me straight in the eye and said, “I know.”
The turmoil in my belly was almost too much to bear. I could smell his cologne, expensive and intoxicating.
“You have a voice to bring men to their knees. Wherever have you been hiding such a talent?”
“New Orleans.”
“Ah, yes. That most certainly explains the bewitching effect you have on men. The mystery and carnal heat of the bayou runs through your veins.”
He smiled and I had the impression he was mocking me. When he extended his hand out to me, I simply stared at it and tried to understand what he was about.
“I’m Aaron Aragon, by the way, and I’m thrilled to make your acquaintance Miss Annette.”
As I put my hand in his, I quickly reviewed our brief conversation in search of when I’d given him my name. I felt certain I hadn’t, but the first few moments were such a blur, I couldn’t be sure.
The pressure of his hand around mine was firm and insistent and he seemed to have no intention of letting me go. His eyes held a determined gaze on my face and I knew I was once again blushing. Whenever was I going to rid myself of such an adolescent reaction to men?
“I believe I may have a few moments to spare for that coffee after all,” he said as he gazed at his watch and gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “However, the coffee here leaves much to be desired. There’s an excellent coffee house not too far away.”
“I… I really don’t think… I…”
His amusement rumbled in his chest and he moved in closer. I pulled back, but his grip on my hand tightened and his free hand found its way to the small of my back. My lips parted in hunger while my heart thundered in fear.
With the self assurance of a man accustomed to getting his way, he brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “I’m harmless; all my friends tell me so.”
I tried to smile, but my lips were frozen in place. He was so close I could feel the warmth of every breath and I see the golden specks in his hazel eyes.
“I have a lifelong fascination for the theatre, the arts and, more specifically, the opera. I’d be forever grateful to hear your view on this new, or should I say old piece of operatic genius.”
My mind ran from one excuse to another, looking for a way to tell this dreamy stranger that I couldn’t just walk out of here with someone I didn’t at all know.
“I’ve had a long day,” I finally managed to utter; though in a voice so weak and unconvincing, I knew he’d easily see through the lameness of the excuse.
“Perhaps if I state the true nature of this little meeting I’d like to have with you, you’d feel more at ease.” He pulled away and released my hand, leaving it cold and longing to return to his grasp.
Intrigued, I simply stared at him, wondering what he could possibly have to say that would convince me to leave with him.
“You see, I’m the great-grandson of Rupert Aragon.”
He looked at me expectantly.
After a seemingly endless moment, I finally had to prompt, “And?”
Both amused and surprised, he cocked a brow and spread his arms out around him. “Rupert Aragon established one of the first opera houses of New York back in mid 1800s. His son, Bastien, went on to build the old opera house uptown, which unfortunately was brought to the ground by a rather suspicious fire, and then had
this grand opera house built. For years it was run by Gaston, my father.”
I gasped and was more flustered than I could ever remember being. I’d spilled coffee on the owner of the opera house and had virtually insulted him with my refusal to have a mere coffee with him. How gauche. How un-southern. How completely and utterly stupid of me not to know who he was.
“Don’t kick yourself,” he said as he took in my distraught gaze. “Few people know.”
“But you…”
“Yes, I own this opera house.”
His smile remained warm, but something in his eyes had changed, had darkened. His gaze seemed to say that his ownership of the opera house extended to me. He owned me.
The little princess in me thrilled at the thought, while the mature young woman I’d become was appalled.
Without saying more, he put a tender hand to my elbow and guided me out like a true gentleman. He walked with the ease of a man who knew he could own the world, and when we entered the small coffee house, he made me feel as though we’d just entered his private home.
I was captivated. Though he appeared to be only in his mid-twenties, he carried himself with the grace and dignity of a man far older.
With a simple little cup of espresso before him and a huge bowl of café au lait for me, he prodded me with questions.
“So how does a girl from New Orleans manage to find her way to the New York Met?”
“My mother is the childhood friend of one of the women in the wardrobe department. Perhaps you know her; Roberta Henley?”
He shook his head.
“Well, Roberta and my mom met when they were little girls. They both grew up in the same orphanage in Europe.”
“My, that’s fascinating.”
“It wasn’t as bad as you sometimes see in the movies, but it wasn’t very pleasant either.”
“I’m sure.”
“Mom had a pretty independent streak even back then. She was five years younger than Roberta, but she’s the one who kind of protected her. She’d sneak food from the kitchen to make sure Roberta always had plenty to eat.”
