The Goodtime Girl (20 page)

28

How I long to sit beside you
To hear your angel's laugh
Kiss your sweet lips and tell you
You've broken my heart in half

Marianthi reappeared at five minutes to eight, glowing as if she had good news to deliver and crackling with anticipation.

“What's going on, my girl?” Kivelli teased. “Did Kyra Xanthi predict some smashing success for us, or have you been drinking retsina with the manghes in the square?” In response, Marianthi threw her arms around Kivelli's neck.

“I'm just happy. Happy to see you, happy to be going to the Bella Vista to hear you sing.” She was blinking rapidly and was positively giddy.

“I take it you found something to amuse yourself with while I was getting ready?” This had ultimately involved lying down for another hour. Bathing and getting dressed took her no time at all, but without that extra hour of rest, she would not have been able to live through the night.

“I followed your orders and sat in the square and had the most marvellous time. I drank some wine, made some friends.”

“You do look a little tipsy. I hope you didn't get into any trouble.” Kivelli winked and patted her friend's warm cheek. Marianthi's slurred words and languorous gestures made her smile. Normally it was impossible to get her to sit still, but now she draped herself across Kivelli's bed, her arms thrown behind her head. It suited her, this slowness.

“Are you ready my friend?” she purred. “I have a taxi waiting outside.”

“I'll be done in a minute.” Kivelli looked in the mirror one last time and placed a fresh gardenia behind her ear. “I hope the meter isn't running.”

“He doesn't have a meter. He said he'd count his worry beads until I came back down, then add that to the fare. But when I told him who you were, he put the beads in his pocket and told me to take my time.”

“Let's not take advantage then,” Kivelli said, and took a step towards the door, but Marianthi grabbed her wrist.

“Just a minute. I have a present for you, for good luck.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a gold bangle, which she slipped over Kivelli's hand. It hung from her wrist, too big and heavy, weighing down her arm and threatening to fall off. She removed it and handed it back.

“Marianthi, I can't accept this. It's too much, and you know I don't wear jewellery.”

“Take it, Kivelli. I have half a dozen just like it from my dowry, and I never wear them either.” It was true that the thin gold cross around her neck and the wedding ring on her finger were her only adornments — other than an assortment of flashy earrings that she hid behind her hair: shells, moons and starfish encrusted with rhinestones and coloured beads. “Sell it if you want to. You're going to need a lot of new dresses if you become a regular at the club, and I know a sweet little seamstress who will make you one in exchange for it.”

Kivelli slid the bangle back over her hand, then pushed it up to her forearm like the silver snakes Sophia the Cappadocian wore when she belly danced. “I'll wear it tonight to please you, Marianthi, and then we'll see. We'd better be on our way now. You know I detest being late.”

When they stepped outside, a familiar face smiled at her from behind the wheel of the taxi. The driver waved enthusiastically and started the engine. “Hello to the pretty Kivelli. It's me again. Your personal chauffeur.” He smoothed out his moustache with his fingers and put on a dignified air. “I guess it went okay last week since you didn't come looking for me.” Before she could respond, the back door swung open. A long leg emerged and a black polished boot planted itself on the sidewalk. Diamantis tipped his hat, bowed slightly and held open the door for the women. Marianthi beamed at him and laughed girlishly. “Look who I found in the square, Kivelli. Do you remember my friend Diamantis?”

“I have a vague memory,” she replied in her most neutral voice, “of some madman you once introduced me to.”

“That would be me,” he replied very seriously. “And I'm still mad, Miss Kivelli, in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn't,” she said, and quickly got into the cab before Marianthi saw the panic in her eyes. After both women were in the back seat, Diamantis shut the door and sat beside the driver. “To Athens, Captain,” he commanded, and the car began to move. “Diamantis was going to the club too, so I suggested we all ride there together, make an entrance,” Marianthi explained, a little too enthusiastically, as if she were guilty of something other than coincidence.

“How convenient,” Kivelli muttered sarcastically. This certainly put her in a difficult position at a moment when all she wanted to do was be calm and prepare herself mentally for her night. She wondered what had happened to Aspasia, though it didn't matter now.

“I'm taking a few hours off tonight to hear you sing, Miss Kivelli,” the cabby announced. “I decided it, just like that, when your friends told me where they were going.” Kivelli just nodded whenever she was addressed by the cabby or Marianthi, who was talking enough for all four of them about nothing at all. Both she and the cabby were overly excited about their night out on the town, the unexpected company. Marianthi even invited him to sit at her table, and he replied he would be honoured to, but would not think of intruding. Diamantis sat in perfect silence, looking straight ahead, no doubt planning an escape. Who could blame him with all this useless noise? But if he was in the midst of it, it was his own fault, so Kivelli was disinclined to feel sorry for him. He wouldn't have wanted her to anyway. She drummed her fingernails against the bangle and stared out the side window, concentrating not on what might happen next but on the aftermath, when she and Diamantis could be alone again.

When they stopped in front of the Bella Vista, Kivelli was the first one out of the car. There was no hesitation on the sidewalk this time. She marched inside, followed by Marianthi and Diamantis, who the Smyrniot greeted first, as if both women were invisible. He then turned his attention to Kivelli, directing her towards a door that led backstage where she could leave her things.

“She can leave them with me,” Marianthi piped in, and the Smyrniot looked at her as if he'd just noticed her standing there.

“What a surprise,” he pronounced in a flat tone, though his ears were burning with rage.

“You know that I'm mad for Kivelli's singing,” she replied, averting her eyes from his, turning them pleadingly towards her friend. Diamantis had already excused himself and was shaking hands with a few of the other musicians. Kivelli too wished to be far away from their little trio. “I think I'll have a look backstage,” she began, which prompted Marianthi to link arms with her. “I'll keep you company,” she said, leading her away. “And Panayotis, my boy, be good and reserve a table up front for Diamantis and me.” She threw this over her shoulder like spilled salt. It had its effect, because when Kivelli came out to sing, Marianthi and Diamantis where seated at the best table in the house, their chairs as close to each other as those of would-be lovers on their first stolen rendezvous.

Marianthi leaned in to whisper something into Diamantis's ear, her hand resting lightly on his forearm. He smiled warmly at her, refilled her glass several times — Kivelli had never seen her drink so much — and offered her mezzedes, but stopped short of feeding them to her. Wasn't that how their affair had started a week ago? For all her eagerness to come hear her sing, Marianthi hardly seemed to be paying attention at all, applauding only for her own songs, and even then, a little bit late. The minute the next song started, she was on top of Diamantis again, no better than the working girls at Barba Yannis's making their pitch at the end of the night.

Did the Smyrniot see it the same way from where he stood? He seemed to be avoiding looking in their direction altogether. The sight of her best friend with her lover gave Kivelli a slight but unmistakable cramp between the breasts. This, she supposed, was what jealousy felt like. During the intermission she would take Marianthi aside and tell her about Diamantis. Then she would have to behave herself, stop leaning into him and fluttering her hands about his body like a mating bird.

Kivelli closed her eyes, concentrating on the music, on the lyrics she was singing, riding the song's wave until it crashed on the shoreline and soaked those who stood too close. But one eye kept flickering open, like a guttering candle that provided only intermittent and inadequate illumination. Whether the first set had gone well or horribly, she could not say. Marianthi's assurances hardly convinced her, and even Diamantis's praise did nothing to assuage her doubts. Instead of sitting with them at the table of honour, she asked Marianthi to join her in the dressing room. And though she immediately followed Kivelli, she was still looking back at Diamantis.

The dressing room was empty, the male musicians preferring to mingle with friends in the audience or with each other at the bar that ran along the back wall of the club. Kivelli sat in a chair and watched Marianthi as she primped in the mirror, smoothing her hair and touching up her face. From her purse she extracted a small silver phial of perfume and applied drops to her wrists and neck, filling the small room with the scent of freesia. She always wore too much perfume, Kivelli thought, but this was not the time to criticize. It was the least of their problems.

“Are you having a nice time?” she asked, trying to sound casual. She looked through her purse for nothing in particular, hoping to find something that might make the next few moments easier. A sliver of Bursa Black, perhaps, though Marianthi was already high enough.

“It's an absolutely marvellous night. The wine has made me all tingly, and you sang so beautifully, Kivelli. Even better than at Barba Yannis's or Kyria Effie's. Diamantis thought so too, especially when you sang my songs. We were both very, very moved. If only he knew …”

Kivelli put her purse on the floor, folded her hands in her lap and tried to sit as still as possible. She hated to fidget; it made her even more nervous. Marianthi's bracelet was choking her arm, cutting off the circulation in her fingertips. “You seemed a bit … distracted. I wasn't sure you were listening.”

“Oh, I was distracted. Who wouldn't be with a beauty like Diamantis so close? It's like sitting next to a volcano that's about to explode, but you can't convince yourself to run because the view and the heat are so spectacular. But I heard every word you sang, and I sang along with you on the inside.” Marianthi placed her hands over her heart and walked over to her friend. “You're not feeling neglected, my dear.” She began caressing Kivelli's hair and face. “You know I love you the best, but when Diamantis is around, I'm completely helpless. I don't know what comes over me. You must think I'm ridiculous.” She laughed like a schoolgirl, and Kivelli felt a cramp in her chest again — not from jealousy this time, but from remorse. She took Marianthi's hands, and with her heart beating in her throat, asked her to sit down.

“You sound very serious all of a sudden, Kivelli,” she said, taking the seat across her. “Is there anything wrong? Are you not enjoying yourself? It's going wonderfully, don't worry. I even saw the Smyrniot smile at you, though he'd never admit it. It has nothing to do with you, you know. He treats you like that to spite me…”

“Marianthi,” she began, her voice lowered as if she were talking to herself or praying. “I have something to confess. Something I should have told you earlier, and now I fear you'll be upset with me.” Tears gurgled in her throat, and a few spilled onto her cheeks. Marianthi quickly wiped them away with her handkerchief and looked at Kivelli with sympathy and concern.

“Upset with you? There is nothing you could do, my light, that I would not forgive you for the next minute. I love you better than my own sister. It would hurt me too much to stay angry with you. I don't think I could bear it.” She kissed her cheek and held her hands tightly. The floor seemed to be rumbling and shifting beneath their chairs.

“There is something going on between Diamantis and me.” Had she said this out loud or just thought it? She hadn't intended to blurt it out like that, but she couldn't hold back any longer. And there were no prettier words that might have softened the blow.

Marianthi's grip immediately loosened — she didn't let go, just ceased holding on. Deep creases lined her forehead and all the colour drained from her cheeks. She stared at Kivelli, unblinking. “Between you and Diamantis?” she repeated slowly and nodded, as if the words and their implication were just sinking in. She then extracted her hands and went back to the mirror, fussing with her hair again, applying more rouge, more colour to her lips. “Of course there is. It's exactly what I'd hoped for — you and Diamantis.” Her voice was too steady to be telling the truth. “I'm a married woman, after all. Since it can't be me, it might as well be you.” She walked towards the door, refusing to look back.

“I was going to tell you, Marianthi. In a better way than this. But then you showed up with him in a taxi. I'm sorry.” She stood up and caught a glance of herself in the mirror. She wished she looked as upset as she felt, but hiding her sadness was a habit that was hard to break. “I'm so sorry,” she repeated.

Marianthi turned around, a stiff glee frozen onto her face. “There's nothing to apologize for. I'm just a little embarrassed. Serves me right for introducing you in the square that day. I'll see you out there.” She blew a limp kiss and left. Kivelli did not follow her. She needed a few minutes of silence before entering the fray again. Would Marianthi still be in the audience during the second set? Maybe she'd sit with the cabby, who'd settled for a table in the back, close to the exit. He might even offer to drive her home. They could talk about it tomorrow. Kivelli would definitely pay her a visit tomorrow.

When she took the stage again, Kivelli saw that Marianthi was still sitting with Diamantis, though she'd moved her chair to the other side of the table, as far from him as possible in such tight quarters. But now he was the one who seemed intent on holding her attention, leaning over the table so he could be heard over the music, waving his hands around as if he were telling her the story of the fork stabbing. At least that's what it looked like from her perch.