Eternal Melody (13 page)

“Ouch!” Rebecca shrieked as she twisted her arms like pretzels behind her, fastening the last blasted button on the dress and standing up straight with a giant exclamation of “humph!
.”

She scavenged in her suitcase for her toilette and pulled out
a
heart-shaped glass bottle filled to the brim with perfume. 
The perfume had been a birthday gift from her grandmother, and she had never opened the bottle until this moment. 
As she inhaled the
pristine
, airy aroma of lilies, she
felt instantly refreshed.  Rebecca doused her body with the fragrant liquid, not just on her neck and wrists, but also dabbing some behind her ears, in between her breasts, and even a bit on her nape.  She wanted
to captivate Luke
from all
angles
. 
Foregoing an application of maquillage in favor of
arriving to the rehearsal hall
punctually
, Rebecca hurried out of her chamber in a sweet floral breeze.

*****

The instrumentalists were warming up when Rebecca arrived
at the rehearsal hall.
T
hey soun
ded
out of tune with an eardrum-
piercing,
whining sound coming from a French horn and a clarinet squeaking out notes that even a music professor would not be able to identify.  If the warm-up were any indication of the caliber of this orchestra, then
they would never make it beyond the dingy rehearsal hall
, let alone to
an
opera house in London
.
Shrinking back from the stage,
Rebecca puckered her lips as though she had just swallowed a
gallon of
lemon
juice
.

“Don’t be discouraged by the warm-up. 
In a half hour’s time, beautiful music will permeate this entire building and drift outside to delight
all of Vienna.  Have faith.”

Mr. Graysen approached her with an engaging smile and outstretched hand.  Feeling guilty for her blatant display of displeasure, Rebecca shook the conductor’s hand warmly.

“I have no doubt that you command a brilliant orchestra, Mr. Graysen.”
She lowered her eyes in deference to the older gentleman.

“Thank you.  That’s very kind, Miss Meadow. 
I’m glad to see you here.  Please take a seat in the first row.  We’ll be officially opening rehearsal very shortly.”

Mr. Graysen turned away to consult with a young
trumpeter
, who had just come to him with sheet music in hand, looking frazzled.  Rebecca listened briefly, as Mr. Graysen convinced the lad that Mozart’s overture was not too complex and that he would be able to execute
his part
on the
trumpet
.  Smiling, Rebecca made her way over to the first row, thinking how Christopher Graysen
was
an exemplary father figure to
this group of young musicians.

As she seated herself in the
front
row, Rebecca glanced around the room, discreetly trying to pinpoint Luke. 
She didn’t see Luke, but she did spot her brother,
tuning up his violin, and gave him a friendly wave. 
Deep in concentration, Ryan looked up from his violin, waved at his sister, and quickly returned to making adjustments so the bow and strings would play together in perfect accord.

Re
becca’s attention was stolen as the door to the rehearsal hall swung open and a stunning woman with a buttery blond French braid that reached her swaying hips entered the room.  Several of the musicians instantly ceased their practice to gawk in her direction, as she sauntered
flamboyantly over to the stage.  The entire percussion
section fell mute as the bewitching young woman
,
dressed from head to toe in crimson satin
,
tossed a brazen smile in their direction
, flashing jewel-like eyes
.

The tow-headed sylph was not carrying any instrument, and Rebe
cca instantly realized that this
must
the lead singer for whom she was the understudy.  Rebecca had not even heard the emerald-eyed beauty utter a single note, but already she felt intimidated.  The woman’s figure was more curvaceous than Rebecca’s slender frame
.
Jealously, Rebecca wondered if Luke admired the woman’s beauty.

Mr. Graysen
interrupted his discussion with the cellist to greet the blon
d, who was waiting expectantly.  They began to speak in a spitfire German that Rebecca could not understand, but she did notice when Mr. Graysen gestured in her direction.  The woman looked over at Rebecca with mild interest, then
quickly
carried on
her frustratingly incoherent conversation with the conductor.  Rebecca tried to focus on the scene taking place on stage, as the musicians had
resumed
their seemingly tone deaf blowing and strumming. 
From the corner of her eye, Rebecca saw that the blond woman was gliding over to her, braid swinging like a pendulum over her derriere.

“It is Rebecca,
ja
?” The woman addressed her in heavily accented German.

Perceiving a trace of condescension in both the woman’s tone and demeanor, Rebecca answered in German, “
Ja, ich heisse
Rebecca.”

“
But
Mr. Graysen said
that you do not speak
Deutsch
.”

“Well, I speak enough to be able to tell you that my name is Rebecca!”
She snapped.

“I see.  You are my understudy, is that correct?”

“
Ja
.”
The syllable was spoken tightly.

The woman pursed her lips in condescending amusement and
introduced herself without offering a handshake
, “My name is Greta Schiller.  I am the lead singer in this opera and in this orchestra.” Greta enunciated the words
slowly and deliberately
.

Rebecca hooded her eyes with plentiful auburn lashes so that Greta could not read her
irritated expression.  She knew it was unreasonable and that she had only just met the woman, but Rebecca had taken an immediate disliking to her.  It wasn’t just that Greta had the part Rebecca wanted so fiercely or that her beauty was blinding---it was an intangible arrogance
that
the woman exuded.

Despite her misgivings about Greta, Rebecca knew that she would be interacting with the singer on a daily basis and would have to force herself to be congenial.  “Pleased to meet you Greta.  Are you Austrian?”

Greta burst into shrill little bubbles of mocking laughter.  “No, Rebecca, I am
Swiss
.”

“I’m sorry,
but
is it somehow amusing to be mistaken for an Austrian?” Rebecca inquired, insulted by Greta’s bizarre reaction.

“No, it is not.  You must excuse me because I like to laugh.  I laugh at many things in life because it pleases me.  You don’t look like a very laughing person, Rebecca.”

Laughter still gurgled in Greta’s throat as she spoke, and Rebecca thought that she had never met a more vapid individual.  Only fools laughed when nothing was
humorous
. 
Fools, or
wicked witches dressed in crimson
, Rebecca thought disdainfully, convinced that her first impression of the sn
ickering
woman had not been too harsh.

“I laugh wh
en something
is
amusing.” Rebecca said tersely, wishing she could snap her fingers and make Greta vanish.

Thankfully, Mr. Graysen clapped his hands and called the orchestra to order, saving Rebecca from the burden of conversing with the little twit.  “Ladies and gentlemen, please put your instruments aside and join me in welcoming our
newest
understudy
.
For
the
role of Pamina
,
I present to you
Miss Rebecca Meadow.” The room erupted into applause as Rebecca stood up shyly and curtsied.

Mr. Graysen continued, “Today is the second day of our rehearsal for
The Magic Flute
.
  I will reiterate what I told you yesterday about our goal for this performance.  Our orchestra is destined to move beyond the confines of this building, and we must all believe that.”

Rebecca thought she saw Mr. Graysen throw a backwards glance in her direction, reminding her that she needed to have faith.

“Furthermore, our ultimate goal is to go where?”

“To London!” Luke’s voice sounded and Rebecca squinted to identify him on the stage.  Presently, Greta seemed to be standing directly in front of him and obstructed Rebecca’s view.

“Yes, Mr. Springwell, we
certainly do
strive to perform in London. 
If we gain prominence in London, it will only be a matter of time before we are asked to perform in Rome, Paris, and ca
pital cities all over the globe!
”

Mr. Graysen adjusted his polka-dotted bowtie and set his silver-rimmed glasses higher on the bridge of his nose
before continuing with an air of seriousness
.  “However, in our quest to become a foremost international orchestra, we must never sacrifice the
integrity of the music…or the integrity of ourselves.  There is to be no conniving or competition within our team.  We are here to interpret the greatest music ever composed,
and
even if it takes us ten seasons to reach London,
we will accomplish that goal in earnest.”

Rebecca observed as the orchestra members nodded vigorously and beamed with pride at Mr. Graysen’s motivating speech.  It was exciting to be part of such an inspired group of musicians, even if she had to be relegated to the sidelines for now.  As Greta
waltzed onto
center stage, Rebecca tried to remain expressionless, waiting for her to begin singing. 
Rebecca’s eyes wandered, though, to Luke who had positioned his violin under his chin, poised to begin.  She tried to catch his eye from her seat, but he seemed
lost
in his own mental realm, oblivious that she was even in the room.

“Let us begin this afternoon with
Pamina’s famous aria
, shall we?” Mr. Graysen picked up his baton
and motioned for the orchestra to begin playing.

The other chorus members stood off to the side, carving space for Greta to enter the spotlight. 
Face swollen with inflated self-confidence, Greta
parted
her scarlet bee-stung lips that matched the bold shade of her dress and launched into the aria.

Rebecca listened with cringing horror as the woman screeched and chirped her way through the aria, utterly butchering the
magnificent piece.  If the musicians had sounded questionable during the warm-up, then Greta’s execution of the aria was
inestimably
worse.  Rebecca had to keep her arms bolted to her sides in order to resist the mounting urge to slap her hands over her suffering ears.

At one point, Greta’s “singing” transitioned into a sort of chortling, much like the mindless giggles that had erupted from her throat earlier.  As she chortled, she batted her eyelashes ridiculously, flirting with an invisible audience.  When Greta finally reached the soaring climax of the aria, she looked as though she were about to collapse with the
strain
.  For a strongly built woman, she did not have the
necessary
lung capacity to be an opera singer.

Cynically, Rebecca stared at her, surmising that Greta had been hired merely for her prettiness, which she possessed in abundance, and not her talent, of which there was an astonishing scarcity. 
When she had hammered out the last tortured note of the aria, Greta took a sweeping bow and affixed her hand to her bosom as though she were fielding a standing ovation.  Mr. Graysen’s face was a complete enigma, as were Luke’s and Ryan’s.  Rebecca thought she saw a look of distaste on one of the flutist’s faces, an older, mustached man who had likely heard infinitely more glorious voices in his career.

Mr. Graysen set down his baton and caressed his beard pensively.  “
There is ample room for improvement, my friends.  And I am addressing not just our instrumentalists, but our vocalist as well.”

Rebecca felt triumphant, as Mr. Graysen proved that he was not besotted with Greta’s allure, but valued the goals of the entire
ensemble
. 
“This rehearsal hall is not the only place you ought to be practicing.  Practice at home, on the train, in the bath, on the street!”

His comments, while comical, were spoken in a manner so impassioned that Rebecca knew he meant every word.