by Kelli Walker
They were all entranced. Staring like their lives depended on it.
I drew the dagger from the prince’s side and thrust it into my stomach. Everyone on stage gasped and people from the audience started to cry. The high notes stopped as I hit my knees, tears streaming down my makeup as I fell to the stage. I let out all of the breath in my lungs as the stage bustled around me, the orchestra striking up its dissonant notes to proclaim my character’s death to the audience.
Then I stood backstage and watched the last of the performance.
Music had always been my escape. Through the years spent with my adoptive parents and through the stressful moments of my college career. Growing up on a farm left little to no time for hobbies, so I always worked with earbuds in my ears. Whenever my parents fought, I’d put them in and allow myself to drift away. Whenever they turned their anger onto me, I’d close my eyes and sing to myself in my head.
Anything to get away.
Anything to block out the anger-laced memories of my childhood.
Music had been there to cushion my fall. When I was sobbing into my pillow wishing I’d stayed at the orphanage, music was there to pick me up again. Every time my adoptive father called me useless or my adoptive mother called me a mistake, music was there to remind me that I wasn’t.
And throwing myself into the whole of my performances was my way of giving back all of what it had given me.
The opera ended and the audience rose to their feet. Their roars and thunderous applause rattled my rib cage as Libby motioned for me to come out on stage. The woman playing the princess looked over at me, her eyes motioning for me to come stand beside her.
But when I emerged from backstage, nothing could have prepared me for the sound that filled the auditorium.
People were whooping and hollering in their gowns and their tailored suits. People in the balconies were beating on the backs of the seats in front of them. A chant started in the far right hand corner and permeated throughout the audience. A chant that shocked me to my core and brought a fresh round of tears to my eyes.
My name.
The audience was chanting my name.
I saw someone rushing the stage as he barrelled up the steps. He came into view with a massive smile on his face and handed me the biggest bouquet of roses I’d ever seen. He kissed me on both of my cheeks, then squeezed my shoulders to congratulate me on a job well done.
And everyone’s eyes were as big as the moon.
I waved to the audience and the curtain fell. My heart was beating so rapidly I thought it would give out. I stood there until the curtain fully dropped to the floor, then I felt someone hug me so hard they almost tackled me to the ground.
“What the-?”
“Do you know who that was!?” Lacey asked.
“Who?” I asked.
“The man who gave you those flowers. Do you have any idea who he was?” she asked.
“I-I-I couldn’t really see him. There were tears and lights and the audience and… he kissed my cheeks and these flowers are massive and-”
“That was Blackstone,” she said with a smile. “The man who gave you those flowers was Critic Blackstone.”
My jaw hit the floor as Lacey pulled me off-stage. We made our way back to my dressing room as shock rolled over my system. Oh my gosh. The most important critic in all of New York had given me flowers on the stage of The Met. Traditionally, flowers were given to the leading lady. And even though my character had a pivotal role in the opera, I was not the leading lady. The princess was.
But he had given me the flowers.
“Oh, you’re going to be getting a fabulous review in the paper,” Lacey said. “Here, let me take those from you. You need to get changed.”
“Changed?” I asked.
“Yes, changed. For your backstage visits.”
“My what?” I asked.
“The backstage visits. Come on, Barry was supposed to tell you about those.”
“The only thing Barry told me about was the critic in the audience. Who has apparently given me a dozen-”
“Two dozen,” she said.
“Two dozen roses,” I said breathlessly. “You think that means he’s going to give me a good review?”
“I think that means he’s going to give you a great fucking review. Now come on. No one wants to meet the person behind the name they were chanting wearing what you are.”
“It’s my costume,” I said. “I was a slave girl.”
“Get into that corseted dress you have.”
“I’m not putting that thing on. It’s uncomfortable and I hate it. I don’t even know why I still have it.”
“You have it in case you need it. And now, you need it. None of the dresses you have back here will work with the bra you’re wearing, and you don’t want to look trashy meeting your new fans. So stop arguing and put the damn thing on, Joanna.”
I watched Lacey put the roses into some water as I quickly changed. I had to have Lacey help me fasten it in the back before I settled the dress around my legs. I felt like I was going to pass out from the adrenaline rush as the first knock came at my door.
“You ready?” Lacey asked.
“Sure,” I said. “I think. What should I do? I’ve never done this-”
She opened the door and I glared at her as she hid behind it. People filed in one by one, shaking my hand and doting on how well I had done. Children and adults alike came back and wanted pictures. They shook my hand and a few wanted autographs, and I was stunned at the amount of people wanted to get backstage to meet with me. I plucked one of the roses from my vase and handed it to a shy little girl, who then threw her arms around me and told me I was the prettiest princess she’d ever seen.
I held onto her tightly, my eyes welling with tears.
Each person had a story to tell and I listened as intently as I could. I listened to stories of why Turandot was their favorite opera and I listened to stories of people celebrating their anniversaries with us. There was a woman who was in the audience, mourning the loss of her husband. I wrapped her in my arms and thanked her for coming and the two of us shared a very emotional moment. She admitted to me that Turandot was the first opera she had ever seen with him, and she thanked me profusely for a job well done.
My cheeks had never hurt so badly from smiling and crying at the same time.
After almost an hour of meeting people, they all trickled off. Lacey popped out from behind the door, her eyes red from her own tears.
“You were born to do this, Joanna,” she said. “Make no mistake of that.”
“You’re coming to Europe with me,” I said, giggling. “I’m not going without you.”
“You want me to help you out of that dress?”
“I actually want some time alone, if you don’t mind. I feeling a little… overwhelmed.”
“I can only imagine why,” she said with a wink. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you by the back door. Figured this type of performance called for some late night comfort food.”
“You know the way to my heart,” I said.
Lacey walked out of the room and shut the door. I sank to the couch and caught my breath, panting as my body repaired itself from the bombardment of emotions I’d experienced. Performing always took it out of me. The emotional roller coaster ride as well as the physical endurance needed always left me ready to sleep an entire day away. My head fell back onto the cushions and I closed my eyes, relishing the silence of the room.
But it was interrupted by a knock at the door.
“Lacey?” I asked. “That you?”
But all I was met with was another knock.
Figuring it was simply another guest wanting to talk, I got up and opened the door. But when I looked up into the eyes of the man standing in front of me, I felt my breath hitch in my throat.
There was a very striking man standing at my doorway.
And he was alone.
His eyes were a steel gray. Piercing, like the sharp edge o
f a blade. His raven black hair was slicked back, shining in the fluorescent lighting of my dressing room. He stood there grinning, his hands in the pockets of a suit that was cut wonderfully against his body. His broad shoulders filled out the coat before it tapered into his slim waist. I couldn’t help myself. There was something about him that made me want to stare. His legs were long and strong behind his tailored paints.
But it was his voice that tugged at the hairs on the back of my neck.
“Hello, Miss Leone. I’m Robert Cargill.”
The richness of his voice and the deep undertones that girded it made my legs weaken. I looked up into his eyes, allowing him to draw me in as I stood there. Silent. Unable to respond for fear that I might ruin the moment. His grin slowly slid into a coy little smile. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me. Knew the reaction his voice had on me.
I’d never been in the presence of a man that disarmed me the way he did. And I had no idea if it was a good or bad thing.
“Hello,” I said. “I’m Joanna. Though you, um… already seem to know that.”
“That I do,” he said.
His eyes sparkled with a flame I was familiar with. It was reminiscent of the fire I felt flooding my veins throughout my entire two and half hour performance. His voice felt like velvet against my ears and the undertones draped along my skin. It was like dark chocolate being poured from a double boiler to be cooled so it could be eaten.
I wanted him to speak again. To say anything so I could commit his voice to memory. But more than that, I wanted him to come in. For whatever reason-- and more than any other person that had visited me-- I wanted him to come into my dressing room.
And instead of pushing away that desire, I decided to run with it.
Robert
I watched Joanna open the door and her reaction shot electricity through my veins. The way her shimmering blue eyes widened at my presence was something I was used to. Women were always stunned when they saw me at their door. But it was something I would never get used to. I kept my hands in my pockets, trying to come off as unassuming as possible. It took me a very hefty donation to The Met in order to get back here to see her without a backstage pass. But the moment was worth it.
Every cent of my money was worth it for those pouty lips parted in shock for me.
“Hello, Miss Leone. I’m Robert Cargill.”
I heard her draw in the slightest breath and it sent my world tumbling. She was speechless in my presence as I hovered over her. But it only made me want her more. Silencing that powerful voice only made me want to command her more. My want for her had been growing. Mounting during the duration of the opera. Her notes had filled the caverns of my ears and the intensity of her performance had tugged at a part of my soul I thought had been destroyed years ago. I couldn’t take my eyes off her the entire time, and now I wanted my hands to have that same chance.
That same opportunity to stay connected to her.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m Joanna. Though you, um… already seem to know that.”
“That I do.”
I took stock of her new outfit, my eyes traveling down her body. She was in this beautiful corseted dress that shoved her tits up into voluptuous peaks. I knew of the body she had underneath the rags, but seeing it on display for my eyes only made my cock stiffen even more. My balls were hanging low with want, aching behind my pants as Joanna’s eyes dropped to my chest.
I could see her chest flushing. Beckoning to my lips with its salacious mating call.
“Your performance was phenomenal,” I said. “I’ve never heard anything like it.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Thank you. Your kindness means a great deal to me.”
I grinned down at her as her eyes glanced off to the side. I followed her vision and saw the roses sitting on her vanity. I counted almost two dozen there. Two dozen red roses sitting in a massive vase full of water.
A spark of jealousy ignited in my chest.
Had someone else been back here to see her? Had someone else touched her? My eyes flickered along her soft curves, looking for any signs that someone else had put their lips on her. I didn’t understand the flaring of jealousy. I hardly knew this woman. Hell, I didn’t fucking know her at all. But I felt like I did. It felt like she was mine. The confident demeanor of the woman on stage had been stripped down to the timid, gentle I saw before me, and all I could think about was how she needed to be cloaked. Protected. Cared for.
And the idea of another man using that to his advantage burned my core.
“Would you like to come in and talk?” Joanna asked.
My eyes panned back to hers as a smile crossed my cheeks.
“I would love to talk to the lady of the evening,” I said.
She ushered me into her room and shut the door behind me. Her dressing room was small, but I could tell she was proud of it. I removed my hands from my pockets and turned around, watching as Joanna pressed herself into the closed door.
She was fighting herself. I could see the battle raging in her eyes.
“How long have you been performing?” I asked.
“This is my first tour, actually,” Joanna said.
“Your first tour, yes. But I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve performed.”
“I’ve been… on a stage since the beginning of my college career. So… I guess about nine years?”
“Are you sure?” I asked with a grin.
She giggled and shook her head as I took a step towards her.
“Have you ever seen Turandot before?” Joanna asked.
“Opera isn’t really my thing,” I said.
“So this is your first one?”
I took another step towards her and watched as she rolled her shoulders back.
“It is, yes,” I said.
“What brought you out tonight?”
“A good friend of mine and I are celebrating.”
“What are you celebrating?” she asked.
“He and his wife are expecting a child. The two of them are very happy about it.”
I reached out and tucked a strand of loose hair behind Joanna’s ear. Her eyes lit up and her breathing escalated as my thumb lingered on her cheek. I could tell she wanted me. I could see it in her eyes. Her movements were tentative and her stance was rigid, but everything about her was betraying her. The way her pupils dilated and the way her breathing sped up. The way her lopsided grin crinkled the sides of her eyes and how her body mindlessly leaned into my form.
I watched her nuzzle into my touch before I pulled my hand away, her eyes shutting for only a moment.
“What a wonderful thing it is, to be able to have a child,” Joanna said. “Your friend and his wife are very lucky.”
“I’m sure most people would think they are, yes,” I said.
“You don’t think they are?”
“Children, and family in general, come with varying emotional attachments. Those have a tendency to make a man weak”
“Weak?” she asked. “You think having children makes someone weak?”
“I do. And in my line of work, weakness is something that’s preyed upon.”
“What do you do for work?”
For such a timid girl, her voice sure was confident as she talked.
“I own and operate a technological company here in New York,” I said.
“What’s it called?” Joanna asked.
“Horizon Technologies.”
“You own Horizon Technologies,” she said. “No you don’t.”
“Yes I do,” I said with a grin. “Robert Cargill, owner and CEO.”
She kept giggling and shook her head and I found the entire thing… endearing.
Another feeling I hadn’t admitted to in ages.
“So, what does a successful man like you have against the opera and children?” Joanna asked.
“I find the opera boring,” I said.
“Oh, you wound me, Mr. Cargill.”
My cock twitched at m
y name falling from her lips.
“But children are a hassle. An unnecessary thing men and women convince themselves they need to be happy.”
“You think children are an inconvenience,” she said.
“I think having children with someone only expands what someone can lose if that family is ripped away from them.”
“So you’d rather rob yourself of the love and joy that comes with it because of the threat of some perceived slight you might feel if you lose them?” she asked.
“I promise you, the slight isn’t perceived,” I said.
I could see her eyes budding with a want to fight. I liked that. I enjoyed seeing that fire in her eyes. This curvy little body of hers held more than I thought it would. More surprises than I’d bargained for in my quest to have her. I enjoyed watching her trying to tame her demeanor with me. Trying not to insult me in case I was becoming a fan.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her as I closed the distance between us.
I could feel her chest rising and falling against my body. Her hands were planted into the door and she made no move to shove me away. I brought my hand up to cup her cheek, my thumb running along her lower lip. Her cheeks blushed with a tint that tugged at my cock. So much so that I could feel it pressing into the fabric of her dress.
“What was your favorite part of the performance?” Joanna asked.
Her soft voice pierced my thoughts as my eyes focused on her. I slid my leg between hers, spreading them wide for me as her eyes fluttered closed. Oh, she was desperate. Wanton. With silent prayers rattling around in her head. My heart was slamming against my chest as my lips traveled to hers, my gaze studying her face as she kept her eyes closed.
I could feel her breath pulsing against my lips. Hot and dripping, with only a hint of tentativeness.
“You, Miss Leone.”
Her eyes shot open at my voice as I grinned at her shocked expression.
“You were my favorite part of the performance.”
