Chapter 3
Three
The hills had always been Cadenza’s favorite part of this drive. Modesto sprawled in the Central Valley, an hour and a half west of Sonora.
Flat.
Dry.
Ugly.
But in between the two towns the hills rolled and rippled. Mossy green in the winter, amber gold in the summer, and always empty, except for the occasional ranch house with a cluster of horses or cattle. Young boulders grew out of the earth, and low cliffs erupted from the hills like castle ruins.
In the winter, mist ghosted between the oak trees, obscuring anything twenty feet past the edge of the two-lane highway.
As a child, driving with her father between jobs, those unseen places had itched at her.
Restlessness had made her lean against the window, the seat belt cutting across her neck, aching with the impossible longing to stretch far enough to touch those places. To reach out and find Somewhere Else.
But then she’d catch her Babbo watching her in the rearview mirror, and guilt would pull her back to the middle of her seat. He didn’t need to worry about being left again.
Now, no mist swirled between the boulders. The hills undulated, golden and dusty in the end of summer, and the only thing she’d be reaching was her father’s favorite import parts supplier in Modesto.
The hills flattened, and the Central Valley’s concrete world spread in place of the fields.
To her left sprouted a bright green golf course surrounded by an iron fence.
A sign arched over the driveway, Learmonth Country Club spelled out in cream-and-gold letters.
Another sign was propped against the entrance gate, and Cadenza slowed as she read it.
Help Wanted: Weekend Singer, Inquire at Front Desk
Her mother’s email burned in her mind. The job at Norroway’s was a godsend, but she needed three hundred more dollars. She had to fill her schedule.
Ilaria hated lounge singers. But she hated failures more. Cadenza jerked a hard left into the country club’s driveway and parked near some potted topiaries.
She slipped a resume—Cadenza Cavalieri, Soprano—from a folder she kept in the car, raked her fingers through her hair, and marched towards the club’s front doors.
Her mother didn’t need to know how she paid for her airfare.
If becoming a lounge singer was what it took to get to Italy and show her mother she had what it took, then so be it.
That afternoon, the last note of the Star-Spangled Banner threaded through exhaust fumes and heat mirages to hover over the Norroway Automotive racetrack.
The crowd’s appreciation of the patriotic display mixed with the growing roar of revving engines.
Cadenza took a step back from the edge of the performance platform, nodded her acknowledgement of the applause, and climbed down the few stairs to the grassy middle field.
Drostan’s facility was on the small, informal side.
A half mile paperclip track with minimal banking and spectator seating on only the north side straightaway and first turn.
The two entrance gates at either end were used by crowds and cars alike.
Cadenza jogged towards the east gate. In years past, she would have stayed to see the race, but the parts she’d picked up yesterday in Modesto were waiting in the garage, and her fingers itched to get dirty.
She was planning on listing an offering for voice lessons in the local online classifieds as well.
It might bring in a little extra cash. A hand brushed her elbow at the exit, and she looked up to find Canon, flashing his brilliant smile.
“Cadenza,” he said. “I came by the apartment yesterday looking for you.”
“Oh, I had an errand to run.” She smiled but kept moving towards the exit.
“You sounded great, by the way.” He hooked a thumb back towards the track but kept pace with her.
“Thanks. Are you not staying for the race?”
“No, I’m manning the front today. Can I walk you back up?” He didn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”
His perfect smile faltered, and his sales floor veneer slipped a notch closer to honesty. Cadenza paused. “Sure, are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” The smile brightened. He swept a hand forward to encourage her to keep walking, the race noise fading as they passed through the gate.
“It’s just, I have a function that I’m putting on in Sacramento.
Sort of last minute. Some influential people are helping to finance a campaign for me to run for State Senate. ”
“Wow,” Cadenza said. “You were serious.”
“Most serious.”
“Shouldn’t you start with something smaller first?” she asked. Heat bounced off the asphalt, throwing bass notes in her face. The garage came into view, and she walked faster. It’d be cooler in the garage. And quieter. “Get practice in local politics or something?”
Canon shrugged. “Go big, right? And these backers are confident they can get me in position.”
“Ok, well, good luck with that.” Cadenza keyed in the garage code. “Did you need me to take your sales floor shift or something? Because I don’t have any sales experience.”
“No.” He leaned a shoulder against the doorframe, arms folded across his chest. “I’d like you to be my date for the evening. It’s tomorrow, and it’s black tie. So, like I said, late notice, but I’d really like for you to come.”
“Oh. Thanks. But I don’t think that’d be a good idea, since we’re basically co-workers.” And I’m leaving in a month.
Canon held up a hand to stall her argument.
“I know, I know. But since it’s my function, I have final say on the guest list. And I happen to know that the artistic director of the Sacramento Philharmonic and Opera will be there, along with a few of the board members, and I told them I knew a brilliant, young vocalist who they have to meet. ”
Cadenza’s mouth dropped. “You did?”
He nodded. “I did. I know it’s not the Met or anything, but it’s not a racetrack either. They have a spot in the company soon. Could be something useful for you.”
A new plan formed in her mind. If she got this spot in Sac Phil she could go to Italy, add an amazing festival to her resume, make connections, and then come home to a real position. A position that could lead to bigger things.
“Pick you up at 5:30 tomorrow?” Again, Canon didn’t wait for her to answer. “Here, I’ll give you my number and you can text me right now, so I have yours. Would’ve been helpful yesterday,” he laughed.
Cadenza added him to her contacts and shot off a text with just her name. Canon waved and left for the showroom.
“Sacramento… Two hours each way. In the car. With Canon. That’ll be interesting.”
The garage lights flickered on as she entered, reflecting off the Berlinetta.
“Too bad you can’t take me on a date,” Cadenza joked, tracing her fingers along the hood. She rolled the mechanic cart over to the car and tied back her hair. To work.
Starlight filtered through the garage’s high windows.
The lot was quiet, the race crowd having long gone home.
Cadenza’s stomach growled, reminding her that she’d worked through dinner.
And closing time. And bedtime. She’d installed a new starter, a new alternator, checked and double checked the fuel hoses and fuses.
The Ferrari still wouldn’t start. And whatever song lived inside the car, the F12 was keeping it hidden.
“Dai, bello mio,” she scolded the car. “Why won’t you start?”
She flopped into the driver’s seat for a break and checked her email on her phone. A new one from her mom glared at her from the screen. Cadenza’s heart constricted.
Ciao, cara mia!
I have some small complications. Patrizio, one of the musicisti, has moved in with me, so you cannot stay here with me.
You will need to bring money enough for living expenses.
Also, the government changed some visa laws, so now you will need a Permesso di Soggiorno.
I need you to send enough cash to me in advance to speed your visa approval along.
$3,000 U.S. You know how things work here.
Baci,
Ilaria
“Porca miseria!” Cadenza almost threw her phone through the windshield.
Tears blurred her view of the dashboard.
She scrubbed them away with a growl. This wasn’t the first time she’d been shoved aside for her mother’s latest fling, but how was she supposed to come up with living expenses, let alone a $3000 bribe?
She didn’t even have enough for her plane fare yet.
She beat her fist on the dashboard. A lump built in her throat, and she thunked her forehead against the steering wheel, more tears spilling down her cheeks despite herself. The money, her career, the car—how was she supposed to make any of it work?
Pulse pounding, she straightened. Her eyes narrowed. The car was such a little thing compared to the rest of her life. “I will fix you,” she told the Ferrari. “And if I can fix you, I can fix everything else too.”
Teeth clenched, she threw her senses wide, searching.
Alto tones drifted through the open garage door from the moon, and flute notes streamed from the scrub oaks at the side of the garage.
A deep thrum rose from the ground to mix with them both.
And in the middle of the music, the Ferrari. A stubborn gap in the song.
She pushed out harder. Come on, canta per me.
The gap melted into a fog. A few notes drifted close, curious, and she lured them in. She sang them, Pied Piper-like, and the other notes came stringing along to form a whole melody.
She breathed the tune into her lungs, and in a rush the words followed, filling her throat. “Fhir a’bhàta, na ho ro eile, Fhir a’bhàta, na ho ro eile, Fhir a’bhàta, na ho ro eile, Mo shoraigh slàn leat ’s gach àit’an téid thu.”
With a start, Cadenza recognized the song.
Drostan had taught it to her years ago, on one of her father’s visits.
It told the tale of a woman waiting in vain for her lover’s boat to return.
The Gaelic made different shapes in her mouth than Italian, and she couldn’t believe some part of her brain had remembered the lyrics, but she flowed through the rest of the song, afraid if she let it drop, she’d never get it back.
When she finished, the air in the garage hummed. New energy vibrated off the Berlinetta. Holding her breath, she turned the key one more time. Please…
A roar surged up from under the hood and settled to a purr. Cadenza whooped and did a victory dance in her seat. Eyes bright, she patted the steering wheel.
“Ok, bello mio. Let’s see what you can do.”
The lights still shone on the empty track.
Cadenza eased the Ferrari up to the start line and revved the engine.
She hit a stopwatch and the gas pedal at the same time.
Tires screeched, and she smirked. First curve.
The stands blurred by. Back side. Second curve.
Back over the line. She hit the stopwatch again, laughing.
The Ferrari slowed to a stop, engine growling as if hungry for more.
“Well done, bello. Better time than the winner today.” Cadenza pet the dashboard. The track lights glinted off the wolf on the dash. “It’s too bad Babbo isn’t here to see this. He’d love the chance to drive you.”
An ache stabbed through her. Didn’t matter how much time had passed. At moments like this, the hole left by her father’s death burned just as empty as it had right after he died. Her eyes moistened, but she didn’t fight it this time.
The leather of the wheel was warm under her hands. She couldn’t show her father the car, but maybe she could show the car her father’s favorite highway. “What do you think? Should we go?” she asked the car. It was after midnight. Highway 49 would be empty enough to let the F12 off its leash.
“Sí, sí. Andiamo.” Cadenza answered her own question and drove out of the track and up the hill to the front lot. She eased the car up to the exit. Hit the gas to turn out.
The engine’s roar cut out and the instruments went dark.
“What? No!”
She turned the key again, but the car didn’t respond. No engine, no lights, nothing. Her heart jumped into her throat. The Ferrari was obviously special to Drostan, that was why she wanted to fix it. Had she re-broken it instead?
“Crap, crap, crap, mannaggia la miseria, crap, crap.” Cadenza shifted to neutral and jumped out of the car to push it back to the garage, hoping the noise of her escapade on the track hadn’t woken Drostan.