She-Rox: A Rock & Roll Novel (33 page)

“Eddie, I’ve been looking all over for you. C’mon,” Raven ordered, “The president wants to meet you.”

“The party only started like a half hour ago,” Eddie whined.

“I know, but he came over to the table where we were all sitting and introduced himself and started saying stuff like, ‘Aren’t there supposed to be four Katz?’ So we had to tell him you were on your way and that you were probably trying to find the place. It just looked bad that’s all.”

Outside, Eddie viewed the lush gardens and an Olympic-sized pool with heavily cushioned deck furniture surrounding it. The house was situated far enough up the canyon that you could see the Pacific Ocean in the background. It was the cherry on top of this showplace of a home.

She spied Gretchen, Ginger and Rachelle. They were sitting at one of the tables under an umbrella, eating their brunch of soft-shell crab and sipping champagne.

“I found her,” Raven hailed.

Mr. Lanni Fauste looked very much at ease, seated with the band. With a wide smile on his face, he was dressed in a silk paisley shirt, khaki dress shorts, deck shoes and had that look, as though he just stepped off a yacht. His long silver thinning hair was tied back in a ponytail, as he sported the latest in wire rim eyewear with a diamond stud in his left ear. When he smiled, Eddie could tell he must have spent a fortune on his dental work. For a man with hair that silver, his teeth were blindingly white and showed no age, as they popped against his useless tan.

Seeing Eddie approach, Lanni very cordially said, “Ah, you found the place. Hope you didn’t have too much trouble.” His words were overly amenable.

“Mr. Fauste,” Eddie sweetly said.

“Lanni, please,” he warmly chided.

Communicating effectively with overly amenable rich people was an art Eddie had had years of observing and perfecting. Any friend of her parents had to meet a certain code of monetary affluence or they would be thrown into the “barely acquainted pool,” never getting over the hurdle that only money could bestow. Mr. and Mrs. Von Drake’s opera society crowd had been to the house for parties over the years, giving Eddie lessons on exactly how to win over the very well-to-do. Throwing lavish parties was an expensive backdrop for wealthy people to brag and this Lanni Fauste was just such a man.

“You must forgive my late arrival,” Eddie begged, holding out her hand.

As he shook it, he smiled, “Not a t’all, not a t’all, my dear. Please, sit,” he ordered, motioning to the last empty chair at the table, right next to him. “We need to get you a glass of champagne.” Waving his hand at one of the waiters, a glass materialized, and, handing it over he asked, “Eddie? Now, why on Earth would anybody give such a gorgeous female in such a gorgeous dress . . . a manly name?”

“My brother would, that’s who,” she charmed. “But
you
may call me Esther if you like.”

“Aw,” he sang, seemingly happy with the answer. “Are you a native to Los Angeles, or are you, ah, from Nebraska like the others?”

“Oh, no,” Eddie recoiled, “I’m from San Francisco.”

“Aw,” he sang again, vocalizing his approval. “So what brought you to L.A.?”

“I enrolled at Musicians Institute to study guitar and piano.”

“There are excellent music schools in San Francisco,” he stated, challenging her.

“Yes, there are—some of the finest, in fact. I received a full scholarship to the San Francisco Conservatory of Music, but I turned it down.”

“
Turned it down?
”

“Yes, I also turned down Julliard, Eastman in Rochester, Berklee College of Music in Boston, The Royal Academy of Music in London, and The New England Conservatory.”

“I don’t understand?”

“Neither did my parents.” Quickly changing the subject, Eddie praised, “You have a beautiful home. It reminds me of the architecture in Italy. I love Italy.”

“So does my wife. Have you been?”

“Oh, yes—Venezia, Roma, Milano, Firenze, Modena, Verona, Torino—but Venice, I love Venice the most,” Eddie said, crossing her legs and sitting back.

“My wife, Celina, that’s her favorite city as well, and she
insists
that we stay right on the Grand Canal at the Luna Baglioni.”

“Oh, I know exactly where that is – that’s a charming hotel. My aunt, she always insists that we stay at the Doge Gritti Palace.”

Eyeing her suspiciously, Lanni queried, “How did you manage a room at the Gritti Palace?”

With a flip of her hand, Eddie downplayed, “The Italians . . . they love my aunt.”

“
Who’s
your aunt?” he pushed.

“Giavenetta Constantini-”

Eddie watched Lanni’s eyes squint with heavy doubt. “La prima donna Giavenetta Constantini is your aunt?”

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew that,” Eddie apologized, diffusing her shameless name dropping. “I performed at Teatro La Fenice,” she stated, very subdued.

“You
performed
at La Fenice Opera House?”

“Twice,” Eddie answered, not meaning to come across as such a snob, but it was how one played Lanni’s game.

Leaning over, Eddie bantered, “There is a perfectly divine pasticceria just outside the La Fenice that serves—”

“Oh,” Lanni exclaimed, joining in the game, “I know just the one—with the brown striped awning?”

“That’s it,” Eddie brightened.

“So, you said that you
performed
at La Fenice?”

“My aunt, she demands I play a solo before she comes out on stage.”

“So, what did you play?”

Lanni was on pins and needles.

“Chopin’s Revolutionary Etude—”

“You’re kidding?” he paled. “Why would you bother playing in these dirty L.A. clubs when you could be touring with Gia Constantini?”

“Now Lanni,” she said, tilting her head, “I can’t very well be playing for the elite all over Europe, when I’d much rather be signed to
your label,
touring with Slade, now can I?”

A smile spread across Lanni’s closed lips knowing he’d been played. “An excellent point,” he conceded. “Then how about this—if I toss that mediocre fool of a pianist off the bench inside, will you play some Chopin for me?”

“With pleasure, Mr. Fauste—I would be honored,” Eddie answered.

As Lanni excused himself and walked out of ear shot, Gretchen snapped, “What’s with all that stuff about Italy?”

“Since when did you ever say garbage like ‘
perfectly divine?’”
mimicked Raven.

“I wanna know how you paid for
that dress
?” shrieked Ginger.

“Calm down,” Eddie retorted. “I just moved us one big step forward. We’re almost as good as signed.”

Rachelle, pulling off her sunglasses, asked, “Are you really Giavenetta Constantini’s niece, or is this some kind of high class snow job?”

“Everything I told him was the truth—Italy, performing at Le Fenice, the music academies . . . “

“Man, you are just full of surprises,” replied Rachelle, stunned. “I just hope you really can play this Chopin.”

“Not to worry,” Eddie promised, “I’ll just whip off some quick piece to impress his guests, make him look good and we’re in the clear. I had to play parties like this for my parents all the time.” She looked around the table at the shock in their eyes. “Look guys, I’ve known people like Lanni Fauste my entire life. They throw their money around and purchase talent because they don’t have any themselves and they want it . . . they want it badly. They scout around looking for someone else’s shoulders they can stand on. I’m going to let him stand on mine—for now.”

Eddie went off to take advantage of the soft-shell crab, knowing that after Kai and T.J. flew back to San Francisco, she’d be on her own, food-wise again. Getting back to the table with her plate, it appeared that the others had left for something a little more amusing than Esther the Virtuoso.

Finishing her brunch in peace and getting off the table, she went inside, and began wandering around again, wishing she could call Kai to come pick her up. From behind, she felt a tug on her elbow as Lanni urged, “Come, there’s somebody I want you to meet.” Leading Eddie through the mansion back to the courtyard, he stopped in front of a woman wearing a colorful full length Emilio Pucci caftan and blonde hair pulled into a chignon at the base of her neck. The diamond bling dangling off her ears and fingers were so blinding it seem as though an electrical switch was flipped to turn them on.

“Celina, dear,” Lanni interrupted, “This is Esther, the girl I was telling you about.”

Turning away from her guest, Lanni’s wife looked Eddie up and down. “Oh, my dear,” she swelled, clasping Eddie’s hand in an overly polite grasp. Eddie had passed inspection. “Lanni told me the most delicious story about your performance at La Fenice with Gia.” She pronounced “Gia” with an odd stamp of familiarity.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, you must have met de crema de la crema in the opera world,” Celina poured.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Oh, please—if you are a guest in my home, you must call me Celina. Only the help call me ‘ma’am.’” Getting the formality out of the way, Celina referred back to the woman at her side. “Dee Dee, I have somebody I’d like you to meet.” Pointing to Eddie, she said, “This is Esther. Esther is Giavenetta Constantini’s niece. Esther, this is Deidra Rothstein. Now, Esther, I need you to clear up a friendly dispute between Dee Dee and me. She
swears
that the last time we were in Venice together we saw Gia perform as the Countess in the Marriage of Figaro at La Fenice, and I keep telling her that she’s got her Mozart all mixed up because she played Pamina from the Magic Flute, right?”

Eddie wasn’t expecting to settle any kind of a score, much less one from these two powerful peacocks. Treading lightly she answered, “Well, you’re both right and you’re both wrong. You’ve got your operas and your continents mixed up. She did do The Marriage of Figaro but she performed it at the Sydney Opera House, and she
also
performed at La Fenice but she was Violetta in La Traviata.” Seeing both women’s faces pinch up with doubt, Eddie smoothed, “Come ladies, you know the Italianos . . . they only want to hear their opera from a fellow countryman . . . Rossini, Bellini, Verdi, Puccini . . . an Austrian born composer simply doesn’t cut it.”

“Well, no matter,” Celina brushed off, “but I’ve been told you are going to grace us with a little Chopin . . . is that true?”

“Absolutely -- Whatever you wish.”

“I do wish,” she snapped, marching to the piano. She whispered something to the current pianist and he immediately stopped playing and got off the bench.

Pulling the microphone up to her lips, Celina, regaled her guests, saying, “Can I
please
have everyone’s attention . . . please.” As the din of the courtyard lowered to a level that satisfied the hostess, she continued, “One of the great pleasures that Lanni and I treasure most is when we meet young new talent. We find that we are the fortunate ones who get to foster that talent. With us here tonight is such a young lady. She is Giavenetta Constantini’s niece.” As a very small applause broke the air, Celina motioned for Eddie to come to the piano. “Esther,” she called.

Taking the few steps to Celina’s side, she handed over the microphone and taking it, Eddie announced, “I will be performing Chopin’s sixteenth Prelude, Opus twenty-eight,” and snapping the microphone back in its place, she sat down. She had purposely picked this particular piece as it was only two minutes long, very difficult and showed her excellence in technique.

The first four chords of the prelude rang out into the courtyard and pausing, her right hand then flew up the keyboard as her left hand pounded out the accompanying bass chords. It was a showstopper and as the notes carried themselves up into the high ceiling, Slade McAllister, in one of Lanni’s upper rooms with the door closed, heard the music coming through the walls. Putting down the joint he was rolling at that very moment, he said, “
I think that’s Eddie playing out there.”

Standing up, he barked, “I’ll be back.” Leaving Bebe on the couch and stepping over Stevie and his girlfriend, he opened the door, careful not to let it slam. From down below, he heard the piano reverberate through the large room and listening, Slade leaned over the balcony, letting his elbows rest on it, putting his chin in the palm of his hand.