Nocturne (35 page)

Savannah

T
he shoulder strap of my bag
caught on the door handle as I tore into the hotel room. I growled my frustration and yanked the strap free from around the handle and sailed the bag across the room.

In the next second I was thankful that my roommate wasn’t there. She must have been at dinner. Lizzy played the French horn and was extremely nice, but I didn’t know her well enough to explain my outburst.

“Shit,” I grumbled, collapsing onto my bed.

What the hell
did
I want from him? It’s not like we made love and he told me
by the way, I’m married.
I knew. But
he
also knew, and he did it anyway.

He made me feel like I was his.

I wasn’t.

Despite the sweltering, long walk I took from the cab to the hotel, I still wasn’t able to coax my thoughts back from the edge. I picked up my phone, thumbing through to the only number that made any sense at the moment.

“Hey, babe, what’s up? That was a hell of a performance the other night.” Marcia’s playful voice brought tears to my eyes.

“Hey.” I barely squeaked out the word before tears tightened my vocal chords.

Marcia responded in a quick, urgent voice. “Savannah? Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“I … it …” I didn’t know where to start. How could I express that my heart was breaking over the man I loved, because I couldn’t say
no
to him. Neither of us stopped long enough to ask or think about what we were doing.

There was no question that what happened last night was the single most powerful experience in my life. And the most devastating.

Just as I was about to attempt an answer, my phone beeped. It was my mother.

I’d been avoiding her calls since our aborted lunch in Boston several weeks ago. Even my dad softly scolded me about it via text message. I couldn’t put her off any longer.

“Shit, Marcia, it’s my
fucking
mother. I … shit, I have to go.”

“You call me back tonight, okay?”

I nodded in the empty room. “I will.”

One long sigh later, I steadied my voice and pressed to accept her call.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Savannah.” If we were face to face she would have nodded as she spoke, raising a too-thin eyebrow. “Are you okay, darling?”

“I’m fine. What’s up?” I sniffed as I made my way to the bathroom. When I flicked on the light, I still couldn’t bear the broken eyes that stared back at me, so I darkened the room again and sat on the edge of the tub. I was covered in dust and sweat from the walk to the hotel. It was all so appropriate.

“You did a fine job on the show last night, Savannah. I’m proud of you.”

Proud of you.

Vita Carulli never doled out fluffy praise. In theory, this would have been the point that I would have hung up the phone, not wanting to hear whatever came next. To hear what she was priming me for with the verbal approval. This time, however, I was willing to let anything invade the space in my brain that was searching for escape from the emotions of last night.

“Thank you. Apparently we’re going to do it at every show now.”

Joseph’s insistence on the addition of our duet to the regular program was aggravating at best.

“Don’t sound so put upon, dear. It’s a fabulous opportunity. You should think twice before squandering it.”

Just like that she was back.

I sighed my response.

“Anyway,” she continued, “that’s not the reason I called.”

“I suspected as much.” I made my way to the minibar in my room, cracking open a tiny bottle of vodka that would probably cost me twenty dollars.

“You remember Malcolm Carroll,” my mother stated, her voice turning a notch over his name.

“Mmm-hmm,” I mumbled through the tiny plastic bottle dispensing the mid-shelf vodka into my mouth.

Malcolm was the conductor for the Boston Ballet Orchestra, and longtime friend of the family. My mother had tried to arrange an audition with them for me during my senior year of college. When I turned it down, she’d implied that my admission to the conservatory had less to do with my own skill at the audition and more to do with
her
influence, and it would be foolish of me to ignore the opportunity
she
was providing.

“He’s leaving the Boston Ballet.”

She seemed to choose her words carefully, but that didn’t stop the vodka from burning my sinuses as it shot through my nose. “
What?
”

One doesn’t simply
leave
a position like that unless they’re headed to something better. I instantly searched my mental list of all the conductors of the major orchestras I knew, and couldn’t come up with a single name of anyone leaving their current posts.

“He’s accepted the conductor position for the Boston Lyric Opera.”

“Okay, I’m not really sure what that has to do with m—”

“Where I’ve just earned lead role in
A Midsummer’s Night Dream
.”

I sat up. “You’re performing again?” I can’t say that I was surprised. After she left my dad and moved to Boston, I assumed it was only a matter of time.

Ten months on the nose, it turns out.

“Well, at least just for the run of this show. I’ll see how things go afterward.”

“That’s great that you and Malcolm will get to work together again. What are the odds?”

My mother cleared her throat. “Yes, it was quite fortuitous, but it complicates matters.”

Once again I found myself shaking my head in my still empty hotel room, a nonverbal indication that the vodka in my hand was much stronger than the bottle promised, or maybe that my mother was speaking another language.

Maybe it was both.

“Mother, what’s complicated?”

“I wanted to make sure I spoke with you tonight, before the
Opera News
story runs tomorrow.” By the tone of her voice, which was quickly fading, I knew the news wasn’t going to be about my mother’s return to the stage.

I cleared my throat. “What is it, Mom?”

“The story tomorrow is going to say that Malcolm was growing restless with the Ballet and was looking to move on, dying to work in the opera.” She spoke as if she were reading from a novel. The dramatic rise and fall of her voice had me picturing her on stage somewhere. “They’re saying that once I landed the role of
Hermia
, I used my pull to get him the job currently filled by alternating conductors since Don Kimmel left the position last year.”

“From what I recall, you’re no stranger to tossing your name around as it suits those around you. What’s the big deal now? You say everyone does it.”

Talking about her attempt to sway the admissions committee in my favor at the conservatory got easier over the past few years.

Despite the fact I knew I got in on my own skill, doubt lingered. It always does.

“For one thing, young lady, that’s not what I did.” Her tone was clipped and defensive.

Growing tired of the conversation, I sighed heavily. “What’s the point here, Mom?”

“The
point
is that the photo they’re running with the story is one of Malcolm and I kissing in Venice.”

I’d assumed she’d move on from my father at some point. But under a year seemed a bit hasty. 

Trying to sound like an unwounded child, I pressed for more. “When did you and Malcolm go to Venice?”

Her long silence suddenly made it very clear it wasn’t a recent excursion.

“Mom …” My heart raced, embarrassingly unprepared for what was coming.

“
Coccolona
…” she sighed, trailing off as her voice caught.

Cuddly one.

My mother hadn’t called me that in years.
Years.
We hardly spoke Italian on a regular basis anymore. She only slipped into Italian terms of endearment under times of great stress, like when my grandmother passed away.

She cleared her throat. “Seven years ago.”

“Seven
years ago?
” I ran a hand through my hair just as there was a knock on the door.

Now? Really?

“Savannah, let me explain …” My mother’s voice was uncharacteristically frazzled.

Opening the door, I found Nathan. He looked happy to see me, until he studied my face for a second. He quickly ushered himself into the room, shutting the door behind him. I mouthed to him that I was on the phone with my mother. He knew all the gritty details of my parents’ falling out. He patiently waited, crossing his arms in front of his chest and leaning against the wall.

“I wish you would, because I’m
dying
to hear about how a seven-year affair is blowing up in your face as we speak.”

Nathan’s eyes widened.

The irony of the conversation brought me to my knees and I rested my back against the side of the bed. Nathan sat next to me, resting his arms on his knees.

“Get ahold of yourself, Savannah. Malcolm and I haven’t been having an affair for seven years.”

“You’re lying. Are you two together now?” I stood, fuming with rage over what she’d done to my father.

“My private life, Savannah, is not any of your business. What you need to know is that Malcolm and I never had a relationship while your father and I were together. That’s all I wanted you to know. Besides,” she continued, rather distantly, “you know what it’s like.”

“I’m sorry, I know what
what’s
like?” I couldn’t even address her assertion that I should be happy about anything that was going on.

“Not being able to stop yourself from loving someone.”

“I …” I trailed off, knowing full well what she was talking about, but unable to defend myself now that I had an audience. What I didn’t know, however, was how she
knew.

“I saw the performance, Savannah. Tread carefully. Whenever it happens it will be a mess, and I don’t want it jeopardizing your career.”

Hastily, I ended the call and turned off my phone. In a few short minutes my mom admitted to being in love with someone other than my father, all the while skirting the discussion of a possible seven-year affair and not appearing to give a shit about my feelings. Only my career.

Seven years.

Intermittently on the flight from LA to Lincoln, I considered what it would look like to try to be with Gregory, despite his marriage. Now knowing how that looked from the outside, I brought my hand to my mouth, stifling a sob. Nathan grabbed me into a hug in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, stepping back and holding me at arms’ length.

Wiping tears from my eyes, I shrugged in defeat.

I had to tell him. I had to tell someone, and I was in no condition to call Marcia back.

“Nathan … I made a horrible mistake.”

Gregory

I finished strapping in the cello, then lay down on the lower bunk and glanced at my watch. It was just past midnight, and the Amtrak California Zephyr would roll into Denver at 7 a.m. I sighed, staring up at the bunk above me. I didn’t care for sleeper cars unless they were solo, and this one I cared for even less, because I would be sharing the car with Nathan Connors, who I really didn’t want to see at the moment. I needed to have a talk with the production assistant who made the travel arrangements, because this was not acceptable. God knew Savannah had probably spoken with him, so I would be getting an earful of self-righteous yammering from a boy barely out of his teens.

Savannah and I had performed the duet together at the Pershing Center in Lincoln.

Despite our argument, despite her charging off by herself, she’d shown up for the performance on time, got up on the stage, and brought magic into that auditorium. Music that took my breath away. Not once during the four and a half minutes of our duet did her eyes leave mine. Until the end, when she turned away from me dismissively and bowed to the wildly applauding audience. Then she swept off the stage like a queen, leaving me to clumsily lumber behind her with my cello.

With a small lurch, the train moved forward, the car rocking back and forth, the thumping slowly accelerating as we pulled out of the city. My phone rang. Probably Karin again. I shook my head and took out the phone and wrinkled my eyebrows in surprise. It wasn’t Karin: the call was coming from Madeline.

“Hello?”

“Gregory, I’m not waking you am I?”

“No ... actually, we just boarded the train in Lincoln.”

“Good.” She went silent.

I sat, waiting for her to speak, but she didn’t, which was hardly normal, not to mention extremely uncomfortable.

Finally I said, “I trust your honeymoon went well? Is everything all right?”

She let out a small chuckle. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry ... everything’s fine. Actually ... I was calling for two reasons. We didn’t get a chance to talk before you left Boston, and I wanted to thank you for watching the flat. James and I really appreciated it.”

“Of course, Madeline, after all, what are friends for?”

She let out a low chuckle, and said, “Well, that’s what I’m calling about, now, isn’t it?”

I stretched a little in the bunk. “Are you drinking? What time is it there?”