*****
Carly plopped onto the hotel bed and closed her eyes. There was no sign of Alaina, so the diva’s limousine must have run into problems along the way—which was fine with her. She needed time to check her e-mails and forget about the sexy conversation she had had with Michelangelo.
How his eyes zeroed in on her as if she were the only woman on the bus.
How his legs had brushed against hers.
Enough! She dug out her phone and brought up her e-mails. Finally some time to catch up.
The door burst open and a curvy young woman with hair bright as fire wearing a sequined, fluorescent-green Versace miniskirt waltzed in. The concierge followed her, with a parade of white leather Louis Vuitton luggage.
She glanced at Carly and sighed as if she’d had the worst day ever. ‘Why does Italy have to be so damned far away?’
Carly shrugged. Even though she’d been thinking something similar, she wasn’t going to respond to such an egocentric statement. ‘If you live here, it’s pretty close.’
‘Ugh!’ Alaina rubbed her temples, then turned to the concierges still standing at the door like seals before a shark. ‘Place them on the bed right side up.’
The boys did as they were told, and she handed them each five euros. At least she wasn’t a cheap prima donna.
Carly stood, leaving her phone on her bed. ‘There must be a mistake.’
‘There’s no mistake, Ms. Davis.’ Alaina smiled, reminding Carly of an evil Disney queen. ‘I specifically requested you so we could practice my aria. The last few rehearsals have been, shall I say…uninspired.’
Her words slapped Carly in the face. ‘Excuse me?’
‘This is my Italian debut, and I mean it to be fabulous. I already have three newspapers set up to provide quotes for my biography. Which reminds me—’
She unzipped one of the bags and pulled out a red, crystal-encrusted gown. ‘Matching dresses! Although mine has a tad more bling because I am the star after all. Isn’t it ingenious?’
Carly gawked at the sparkly, eye-bleeding fabric wondering how she’d squeeze her breasts in the plunging neckline, and then how she’d play her oboe in it. One bow too low was an immediate wardrobe malfunction. Not to mention being shown up by a voluptuous beauty.
As if Alaina could read her mind, she waved her concerns off. ‘Don’t worry; I had the dressmakers at Versace alter the fit to accommodate your stick figure. You’ll have no problem slipping it on. So?’ Alaina tapped her long, bright-red fingernails on the dresser.
Carly felt like a bird trapped in a tiny cage. If she gave Alaina any reason to complain, it could cost her points with Wolf, and Ms. Maxhammer. She knew the gig business enough to play the game. Never burn bridges. Contacts were the most important tool you could have. ‘Okay, I’ll try it on.’
‘Wonderful!’ Alaina clapped her hands. ‘But only after we rehearse.’
Carly gave her phone one last longing glance. ‘Right now?’
Alaina gave her a blank-eyed stare. ‘Our first concert is tomorrow—the Coliseum, remember?’
The itinerary flashed through Carly’s mind. She had only briefly peeked at it before the trip, but she did remember something about performing in the Coliseum. Funny how the last thing she wanted to play right now was an aria about a wedding. ‘Oh, all right.’
Alaina warmed up with an ascending five-note pattern while Carly soaked her reed in her I-love-NY shot glass. She reminded herself to get one for her collection while in Italy.
They set up as though they were in concert, looking out the window at the darkening sky as the sun set over Rome. Carly started with the cheery oboe interlude of Bach’s typical running eighth and sixteenth notes.
Alaina took a deep breath and came in right on cue.
Sich üben im Lieben,
In Scherzen sich herzen
Ist besser als Florens vergängliche Lust.
As Carly played, she thought of the translation, memorized long ago for a music history exam of the Baroque Period. For the first time since she’d practiced the aria all the way back in her New England Conservatory days, the meaning came through:
To become adept in love,
to jest and caress
is better than Flora's passing pleasure.
Yeah right. She took a deep breath and played through the next interlude before Alaina came back in. To become adept in love would give you one thing: distraction along with a big dose of heartbreak. It was so much more useful to put your time into something tangible that yielded better results, like classical music and her career. Bach had gotten the sentiment all wrong. Love was a passing pleasure, just like spring.
Alaina stopped singing and Carly realized the song had ended.
‘Carly, what’s wrong?’ Alaina’s face fell in true concern, which didn’t happen very often.
Carly shrugged. She didn’t want to put down Alaina’s aria, but the soprano had asked for the truth. ‘This is the silliest, most superficial song I’ve ever heard. I don’t get the words. Adept in love? What does that mean, really?’
Instead of flaring up with anger, Alaina simply waved it off. ‘It’s just a song. He probably wrote it for some big commission. It doesn’t matter what it means, it matters how you play it.’ She took a sip of water and cleared her throat. ‘It needs a little more energy, more mischievousness. One more time?’
Carly sighed, feeling like she’d hit her head against the wall. They could practice the aria as many times as Alaina wanted, but Carly couldn’t play it wholeheartedly if she didn’t believe what it said. She could pretend, but the best of the best would sense her reserve.
‘Sure.’ She felt like a broken record playing the song that never ended. Second verse, same as the first…
Chapter Four
Sunlight streamed through the crack in the curtains, warming the back of Carly’s hand. She rubbed her eyes, half stuck in her dream surrounded by jesting and caressing lovers while she lectured Bach on the finer points of writing song lyrics. In German.
Carly propped her head on her elbow. I don’t speak German.
She reached out and pulled the curtains back, expecting her view of Boston’s Back Bay. Instead, the bustling streets of Italy sprawled before her, interspersed with red-orange roofs and ancient stone. The tour. Michelangelo.
Dammit.
She checked her phone. Seven forty-five. They were supposed to be on the bus by eight for the soundcheck at the Coliseum.
Hadn’t she set the alarm?
‘Alaina.’ She called over to the sleeping beauty in the bed beside her. ‘Alaina wake up.’
Alaina turned on to her other side, exposing the lacy back of her silk nightgown and grumbled under her breath. ‘More sleep.’
Carly sprang out of bed. ‘We have to be at the bus in ten minutes.’