Chapter 4
Four
Champagne flutes tinkled. The chandelier glazed the windows with gold. Beautiful people wandered from the steamy conservatory to the formal gardens and back. Cadenza had never heard of a black-tie garden party, but Canon’s backer pulled it off with style.
Canon circled her through the party, introducing her to everyone.
“I can’t believe your smile isn’t tired yet,” she said after the first hour. She was ready for Netflix and turtle chocolates.
Canon laughed. “We’re not done yet. My lead benefactor—my mentor, really—is out in the garden, I want you to meet him.”
A circular patio, sprinkled with wrought-iron chairs, spread between the open conservatory doors and the gardens.
Potted plumeria trees lined the edge of the patio, whispering a soft tune like pan flutes.
A hot breeze shivered a song up Cadenza’s arm, and the marble patio hummed.
Canon moved through the guests towards a man in a tailored grey suit and light pink cravat at the far end of the patio.
Cadenza let him go ahead while she clutched the back of one of the patio chairs.
She drew a breath. One more. She could do one more.
Actually, more than that, she corrected herself.
She hadn’t met the Sacramento Philharmonic and Opera people yet.
This part—the mingle-small-talk part—she’d never mastered.
The lack of sleep from manhandling the Ferrari last night wasn’t helping her social graces either.
Her reflection in the conservatory windows caught her eye.
Her dark hair was swept up off her neck, her deep blue gown moved with her figure like an aura, and she’d shelled out the money to get her nails done to hide the oil stains.
She knew she looked like one of these beautiful people.
What would it feel like to be one of them?
What would the music sound like when she was the successful star with the power to grant opportunities to young artists?
Try as she might, she couldn’t hear that song.
Her ear fluttered uncomfortably, as if it had water in it. She frowned, tugging on her earlobe. The pan flute of the plumeria suddenly dropped out of the earthsong, and just as quickly rushed back at full volume. Cadenza gripped the chair harder, dizzy.
“Cadenza,” Canon called, beckoning her to where he visited with the gray-suited man.
She straightened and pulled her attention back to the party. Get it together, Cadenza. Just a few more. And you, behave. She shot a glare at the earth on her way over to Canon and his companion.
Canon made the introductions. “Vasilios, I’d like to introduce Cadenza Cavalieri, who graciously agreed to make me look good this evening.” He turned back to her. “Cadenza, this is Vasilios Pearce, the man who graciously agreed to put me in office.”
“A pleasure, Ms. Cavalieri.” Canon’s mentor spoke with a slight accent that Cadenza couldn’t quite place.
Every detail of his appearance, from his classically styled hair to the silver-tipped walking stick, to the way he bent over her proffered hand as if he was going to kiss it, spoke of old money.
Cadenza fixed a smile in place and took a breath to answer.
Sound stopped.
The song of the breeze vanished from her arms. The plumeria trees fell silent. The marble’s hum evaporated beneath her feet, and her stomach lurched like she’d been dropped off a cliff.
Head spinning, she fell back into a chair. The earthsong rushed back in just as the plumeria had done a minute before.
Canon knelt beside the chair and gripped her arm. “Are you ok?”
Cadenza blushed, mortified.
“Yes, I’m so sorry.” She set her champagne on the ground. “Maybe too much of that? And the heat…”
“Are you sure you’re alright, Ms. Cavalieri?” Mr. Pearce asked, all solicitation. “We could find you a quiet place to lie down.”
“No, no. Thank you.” She waved away the concern, pushing out of the chair. “I’m fine.” The last thing she needed was to faint where the Sacramento Opera people might see her.
He peered at her a moment longer, then clapped his hands together.
“Very well then. In that case, I believe there are some people from our lovely capital’s opera that want to meet you.
” He turned towards the rose garden but pulled up short.
A petite woman in pearls and raw silk and a stout man in a black suit coat stood behind him.
“Ah, and here they have found us.” Mr. Pearce beamed a smile and introduced the woman. “Ms. Allen, Chairwoman of the Sacramento Philharmonic and Opera Board, and Mr. Blanchet, of the board.”
The chairwoman did not smile as she shook Cadenza’s hand. She did raise an eyebrow. Pointedly. Because of course Ms. Allen had seen Cadenza’s reaction to whatever temper tantrum the earthsong had just thrown.
Of course she did. Cadenza struggled to keep her smile on. “Ms. Allen, Mr. Blanchet, it’s so good to meet you.”
“Mr. Richards spoke very enthusiastically about you.” Mr. Blanchet pursed his lips in a look Cadenza hoped was thoughtful rather than skeptical.
“My protégé has excellent taste. I’m sure you’ll find him correct. Why don’t I refresh your drinks while you get acquainted?” Vasilios reached across Cadenza to take the board members’ nearly empty glasses.
“Thank you, Mr. Pierce. Mint-basil limeade for myself, tonic Rickey for Tim here.” Ms. Allen eyed Cadenza’s mostly empty champagne glass on the ground as she spoke and Cadenza’s heart sank.
Non-alcoholic drinks. Both the board members were drinking non-alcoholic drinks. Which meant not only had they seen her fall over, they assumed it was because she was drunk.
“Ms. Cavalieri,” Ms. Allen began.
Cadenza’s stomach lurched as the earthsong dropped out from under her again, and the world spun. She locked her muscles into place, trying to stay upright. A breeze blew over her forearms. The song returned, flutes and starlight, and she breathed deep, feeling steadier.
Ms. Allen was staring at her, obviously waiting for a response. To a question I missed, Cadenza realized. “I’m so sorry. What was that?”
Ms. Allen waited before responding, just long enough to indicate her words weren’t her original question. “I was just saying how many auditions we’ve already had for the open position. You understand.”
Cadenza swallowed. “Of course.”
Ms. Allen and Mr. Blanchet strolled away, taking Cadenza’s new plan with them. She gritted her teeth. She would not cry here in this place, with these people.
Someone placed a hand on her lower back and she started, turning. “Canon.” She’d almost forgotten he was there.
He frowned, staring after the board members. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair.”
“It never is.”
“I can try talking to them again.”
“No. They made it pretty clear.” She shook her head. Another door closed because the earthsong decided to play games again.
Highway 99 slipped by out the window of the Mercedes, lights from housing developments streaking together in the dark. On their trips to Sacramento, Cadenza and her father had always taken the back roads, his favorite Highway 49 included, but Canon chose the straight shot of the valley highway.
Cadenza chewed at her lip, rehashing the disaster at the party.
She sighed and rubbed her forehead. The music she heard from the world around her had always been a part of her life.
Often an unruly part. Sometimes it threatened to overwhelm her, like she would simply become the earthsong.
She had worked hard to be in control of the music, to be the director instead of the instrument.
Only occasionally did she allow notes of the earthsong to join with her own voice. But she had never wished it gone.
The Ferrari hadn’t yielded its song without a struggle. And tonight, when the music just stopped? What if she’d pushed her control of the music so much that she was losing her connection with it?
“Hey.” Cadenza turned in her seat to look at Canon. “I’m really sorry about this evening. I hope I didn’t mess anything up for you, like making the people with the money think you hang out with crazies or anything.” She tried to laugh.
“No, no,” he said. “You were great! Actually, Vasilios mentioned he thought you were lovely.”
“Really?” She raised an eyebrow in surprise.
Too bad he’s not on the board. She wondered what Mr. Pearce had seen in her that Ms. Allen and Mr. Blanchet had not but then caught a glimpse of herself in the car’s side mirror.
Hair still in place, despite the long evening, high cheekbones, Mediterranean coloring.
Lovely. Mr. Pearce had seen someone lovely. A lovely thing on Canon’s arm. She frowned. But then, it wasn’t as if she was going to make a habit of it. This evening had been a one-time deal. And lovely beat crazy. “Well, I’m glad I didn’t screw anything up for you.”
“Not at all. I am really sorry about the Sacramento people. They didn’t give you a decent chance.”
No they didn’t, thank you, earthsong. “At least I still have Italy.” She worked to get a smile on her face. Italy was better than Sacramento anyways. Who cared what the Sac Phil people thought?
“Italy?” Canon frowned.
Cadenza nodded. “My mother—she’s also a singer—she has a part for me in a festival in Venice. At this amazing theater too.” Real excitement lifted her cheeks this time, and her hands flew while she spoke. “Teatro la Fenice. That’s where I get my middle name, Fenice.”
“I see. So, if you have a part there, what are you doing here singing for Norroway?”
Cadenza dropped her hands in her lap, deflated.
“Well, I have to save up the money for the trip, and living expenses, and…things.” She thought of the bribe her mother said she needed.
She’d researched apartments that morning—in Mestre, outside of Venice proper, but less expensive—and the cheapest one she found would cost her $910 for the six weeks she’d be there.
“But Drostan knows I’m going. I didn’t take this gig under any kind of false pretenses or anything. ”
Canon’s eyebrows drew together. “When are you leaving?”