One Fine Day

by Erica Abbott

  It would let her keep people like Bryce away from the partnership track, and let her encourage others who for years hadn’t traditionally been considered as Worthington & Steele material. Even if the deal to admit Gary Watson as a partner felt wrong to her, perhaps she could justify it as an opportunity to encourage the other partners to bring more gay lawyers, and women, and non-whites, into the firm.

  Walter was looking at her, waiting. She knew what to say, what she needed to say. “I’m sure everything will work out,” she said. “Murray has my full support.”

  Walter smiled happily. Jill liked Walter, but wondered why it felt as if she’d just found herself starring in a distaff version of Faust.

  * * *

  Arthur stood in the doorway of Caroline’s office and said, “Coffee? Tea? Water? Hemlock?”

  Caroline smiled at him from her desk and said, “Tea now, I think. Let’s save the hemlock for later.”

  “As Ms. Prince wishes.”

  He went away and Caroline sat back wearily. The meeting with Anna Cabot, Madame Petrovski’s soprano, had gone well that morning. Caroline had a keyboard moved into her office and she had listened as Anna sang a bit of an aria, just to get a sense of her voice. She had a fine and sturdy lyric soprano, but there was nothing particularly remarkable about either her voice or her persona. Anna seemed a nice young woman who desperately wanted to be an opera singer, and when Caroline offered her the small role in Akhnaten, she was thrilled beyond expectation.

  Madame had been right. Anna would never be a star, but with careful direction she could have a long career. In a way, Caroline felt sorry for her. Anna was better than ninety-eight percent of the singers in the world, but she would always be second tier, not quite good enough. She lacked the elusive quality that made the audience want to look at her, listen to her. She would never command a stage, and Caroline recognized how fortunate she herself had been in her career.

  Robert, the bass who had just left her office, was another matter. Vocally much more impressive than Anna, he believed himself to be a much more important singer than his talent warranted. Caroline had finally spent ten minutes delicately explaining to him the difference between talent and genius. She doubted that he had gotten the message. She offered him the minor role in Idomeneo anyway, and he seemed less than gratified. She would speak to Madame Petrovski later about him. He was going to need an attitude adjustment.

  That left Madame’s problem student. Caroline glanced at the print-out of the calendar Arthur had placed on her desk for her name: Naomi Snow. She wondered exactly how she would approach the young woman.

  Arthur brought her tea, remarking, “As you like it, just a bit of sugar. Where did you get a taste for Chinese tea? A season in Beijing, perhaps?”

  Caroline laughed. “Hardly. When I was a poor music student, we often ate this shrimp fried rice from a little Chinese restaurant down the street from our apartment. It was good and cheap, and there was enough in one order for two of us. The hot tea was unlimited, so we would sometimes sit and drink it for an hour or two. I like it, but it also reminds me where I came from, in a way.”

  Arthur lifted his well-defined eyebrows in expectation of more of the story, but Caroline stopped, lost in reflection.

  * * *

  It was a winter evening, and they met in the booth at Happy Dragon, the Chinese restaurant they visited almost every week while they were in college. Jill had gotten there first, and had already ordered the shrimp fried rice. She was drinking her first cup of hot tea from the small painted cup.

  Caroline unwound the scarf from her neck but kept her coat on. Jill poured her a cup of tea, then slid her hand under the table. Caroline pulled her gloves off, then reached under to tangle her fingers with Jill’s.

  They sat together, going over the day: Caroline’s singing lessons, Jill’s classes. When the shrimp fried rice arrived, Jill reluctantly took her hand away from Caroline’s touch and picked up her fork.

  “Try to leave me a little,” she joked, as Caroline heaped her plate full.

  “You give me trouble about that every time we come here,” Caroline grumbled. “I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “And you say that every time,” Jill responded.

  They sat for a long time after the meal was done, drinking tea and talking. Finally they bundled up and walked home under the stars, bright and hard and twinkling in the frigid air.

  Their apartment was tiny, and cold, but it didn’t matter. Under the blankets, wrapped around Jill, loving her and being loved, Caroline was warm and safe.

  Jill was near sleep when she muttered into Caroline’s naked shoulder, “I love you, do you know that?”

  Caroline turned to nuzzle her hair. “Do you?” she asked, teasingly. “Why is that?”

  “Dunno,” Jill murmured. “No, wait, yes I do. Because you have the voice of an angel.”

  “Oh, it’s my voice you love?”

  Jill brought one hand up, stroking the tender skin on the underside of Caroline’s bare breast. “Among other things,” she said just before she went to sleep.

  * * *

  In the years since, Caroline had been in the most luxurious hotel suites in the world, eaten the most elegant meals, had more money than she could spend, but had she ever been happier than she was being poor and working hard on her dream and loving Jill?

  She turned away from Arthur when she realized her gaze was blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, but she stopped any comment he would have made by saying, “You can send Naomi in when she gets here. Thanks for the tea.”

  Naomi showed up right on time, waiting in the doorway until Caroline looked up. “Ms. Snow? Please come in.”

  She was young. Caroline thought she looked even younger than her age. She had long black hair, shiny as a crow’s wing, and high cheekbones. Some part Native American, Caroline thought, looking at her dark eyes. She was only of medium height, about as tall as Caroline, but had an impressively sturdy torso. That, and the cheekbones, boded well for her ability to produce good sound.

  Caroline turned on her prima donna smile. “I’m so happy to meet you. Madame Petrovski has spoken highly of you.”

  She ducked her head shyly. “She has been wonderful to me,” she answered softly.

  “She believes in your talent,” Caroline responded. “Do you?”

  The question seemed to startle Naomi, who looked at Caroline with doe-like eyes. “I don’t understand.”

  Caroline leaned forward. “As hard as you’ve worked in the past to become a singer, it will be a hundred times harder to have a career in opera. The competition is intense, rejection is commonplace, and even the most gifted singers sometimes fail for no more than bad luck. If you can do anything else in your life and be happy, don’t be an opera singer.”

  Naomi folded her hands in her lap and stared down at them. Caroline searched for the fear that Madame Petroviski described, but when Naomi looked up to meet her gaze again, Caroline saw strength and determination. “But I can’t be anything else, Madame Prince,” she said simply.

  “Ah,” Caroline said. “Well, in that case, you might just succeed.”

  Naomi blinked at her in surprise.

  Caroline smiled again and said, “Tell me about yourself, Naomi.”

  Immediately her face closed. “What do you want to know?” she asked warily. “Don’t you want to hear me sing?”

  Maybe that would relax her, Caroline thought. “Of course,” she answered. “What would you like to sing?”

  Naomi, her self-assurance returning, rose and went to the keyboard. She played a chord and began to warm up her voice.

  Caroline sat back, listening. Madame Petrovski had not exaggerated, though Caroline would have compared Naomi to Jennifer Larmore rather than Horne. The coincidence that Rosina was Larmore’s signature role did not escape Caroline.

  Naomi’s voice had a coloratura mezzo range, but it also had a rich depth and color, and her placement was perfect. After a few minutes, Na
omi played another chord and began to sing, a capella, Mozart’s “Alleluia.”

  Caroline closed her eyes.

  * * *

  Jill played the opening notes of the Mozart “Alleluia” and Caroline took her first breath. They’d gone over the piece for the senior recital dozens of times in the last few weeks, but this was their last rehearsal before the performance on Saturday, and Caroline was determined to be the star of the show. It had to be perfect.

  Jill followed her flawlessly, the piano matching her tempo in between phrases, supporting her but never overwhelming the voice. When Renata played for her during lessons, the music teacher had a tendency to pound the keyboard to keep her students on track, but Jill understood the difference between performing and accompanying another performer, and Caroline was grateful for her.

  Grateful in many ways. When Caroline had been new at T.J., Jill made sure she knew where everything was, taking care of her like a big sister. She couldn’t imagine what it would have been like without Jill. Caroline had never had trouble making friends, and three years later, almost everyone knew the red-headed singer, but Jill was still her closest friend. At school, Caroline hung out with the music geeks, and Jill with the jocks, but they spent almost every afternoon together, working on Caroline’s music or studying or just hanging out.

  Perhaps kids were whispering about her and Jill, but Caroline couldn’t have cared less. In the beginning, she dated several boys, went to a few dances—but sometime in the last year, it had finally dawned on her that they all bored her silly. She would always rather be with Jill, even when they weren’t doing anything in particular.

  Now graduation was just a couple of months away and Caroline had been relieved when Jill got a full-ride scholarship to the University of Denver. She’d still be in the city while Caroline attended the Conservatory just a few miles away. Caroline had been gently working her parents for an apartment, since there were no dorms at the Conservatory of Music, and her plan was to ask Jill to share it with her.

  The piece ended, Caroline hitting the high notes at the end with the clear sound of a bell ringing. Jill lifted her hands from the keyboard and said, “That was great. Do it just like that on Saturday and they’ll give you a standing ovation.”

  Caroline grinned at her. “You think?”

  “I know.”

  Caroline sat down next to her on the piano bench, facing away from the keyboard. “Then let’s not wear it out. Play something for me, Jill.”

  “What do you want to hear?”

  “Anything. I just want to hear you play.”

  Jill knew what she wanted. She began the soft chords of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata from memory. Caroline reached over and turned out the light and they sat in the velvet darkness of evening, in the quiet house, and she listened to Jill play.

  When had she begun to feel something for Jill beyond friendship? She couldn’t name the day, or the moment, but she knew it for what it was. When she was around Jill, she felt things she had never felt with anyone else, an awareness of her own body that surprised and overwhelmed her. Only Jill had ever caused her to feel like this, calm and excited at the same time.

  Jill had never said a word to her, never even held her hand, but Caroline knew Jill loved her. She could see it in Jill’s eyes, hear it in the way she caressed the piano keys when she played for Caroline.

  Caroline let her eyes slide shut. The warmth from Jill’s body next to her seemed to penetrate her skin, leaving her heated and restless, wanting something she could barely name. The Moonlight Sonata ended, and Jill went effortlessly into Chopin’s Etude in E major, the melody for “No Other Love.”

  Caroline allowed her head to drop onto Jill’s shoulder, feeling the movement in her arm as she played on: Fauré’s Pavanne, the “Méditation” from Thaïs, “Clair de lune,” all soft, soothing pieces. She could sit here forever, listening to Jill play, feeling her body move next to her.

  The music ended. Caroline could hear Jill breathing in the darkness. Ever after, Caroline wondered how she found the courage to lift her head and turn to Jill. She whispered, “For God’s sake, Jill. Kiss me.”

  Jill’s breath caught, and Caroline felt her body go rigid.

  “Please,” Caroline murmured.

  Jill turned to her, gazing into her eyes a long moment, asking still. Caroline slipped her arm around Jill’s waist and tilted her head toward her, just a little.

  It wasn’t like any kiss Caroline had ever had before. Boys were about grabbing, penetrating, possessing. Jill claimed her in a different way, like the music, gentle and soft and beautiful. The kiss made Caroline ache.

  But the ache was so sweet.

  * * *

  Naomi had stopped singing, Caroline realized. She had been lost again, remembering. With the memory of the feel of Jill’s lips on hers, a dull throb rose between her thighs. Caroline crossed her legs and said briskly, “That was lovely. Come and sit down.”

  Naomi returned to her chair, and Caroline regarded her thoughtfully. Finally she said, “You have the voice. But you know that, don’t you?”

  Naomi swallowed and responded, “I had hopes.”

  “But there is more to it than that,” Caroline went on. “Opera is acting, not just musicianship. You have to become someone else. And to do that…to do that, you have to know who you are. Do you understand?”

  Naomi met her look. “I’m…I’m not sure.”

  “You have to have a strong sense of yourself, so that you can become someone else: Tosca, or Rosina, or Carmen, and then return safely to yourself. To withstand the competition, and the rejection, and all the other difficulties you face in opera, you must know who you are. Do you know who you are, Naomi?”

  Naomi said nothing, her face showing uncertainty.

  Caroline said, “Madame wants me to cast you as Rosina in The Barber of Seville, but I cannot see that you are ready for that. However, I do want you to sing in one of the shows we’re producing this season. Not an opera, exactly, but a show we’re putting on to try to enlarge our audience. It consists of great arias from rarely produced operas, and there is an aria I think you would be perfect for.”

  “What is it?” she asked quietly.

  “It’s Handel, from Xerxes. ‘Ombra mai fu,’ do you know it?”

  The music was well-known, even if the opera had been a rather dismal failure. Naomi nodded. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Good. There are a couple of other pieces in the show I’d like to hear you sing as well. The salary is comparable to one of the featured roles in one of the regular productions. You are interested, I assume?”

  She watched Naomi carefully, trying to see signs of disappointment. But Naomi said only, “That is very generous. Yes, I would like to sing for your show.”

  “Good.” Caroline rose and walked her to the door.

  Naomi offered her hand and said, “Thank you.”

  “Wait a moment. Naomi, I want you to think about what I said to you. I won’t be casting Rosina for a few weeks. If you want to come and talk to me again, call Arthur. I’ll make sure he gives you an appointment. All right?”

  “Yes,” Naomi said quietly. “I understand.”

  Perhaps she understands, Caroline thought as she watched the young woman leave, but I’m as baffled as Madame Petrovski. What is Naomi Snow so afraid of?

  She had little time to think about it the rest of the day. Davidson’s agent was on the phone, and it was time to begin negotiations for her Figaro.

  Chapter Six

  Jill timed her arrival at the Friends of the Opera cocktail party to be fashionably late, a careful fifteen minutes after the designated starting hour. Walter had agreed to meet her there, and as she stepped into the ballroom she looked over the room for him.

  The men were in black tie, of course, and Jill was jealous once again about how easy it was for men to dress in formal wear. A classic tuxedo, perhaps a new tie and cummerbund every year, and they were all set. Women had to find different dresses e
very season, and from her look around the ballroom, champagne was not only the beverage of choice, but also this season’s color.

  Jill sighed. She had selected, not surprisingly, basic black, as tailored a dress as she could find, with a fitted coat that mimicked a tuxedo jacket, but with a deep vee that plunged between her breasts. She could wear the jacket with it without looking unprofessional, since her breasts were small enough to be well concealed beneath the lapels, even without a bra. Her black heels were as low as she could manage for formal wear and she was grateful to be tall enough to get away with them.

  She didn’t really know many people, but she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, and walked slowly around, still looking for Walter. She nodded to a few of the familiar faces: a partner from one of their major competitor firms, a couple of current clients. The room had been decorated in swaths of golden material over mock balusters, giving the effect of a grand stairway in a manor, an appropriately theatrical effect, Jill thought. She wondered if Caroline had had any hand in the look of the ballroom. In the corner, a string quartet played soft classical music.

  She heard Caroline before she saw her, the familiar laugh floating to her over the discreet violins and the hum of conversations around her. Jill turned slowly until she saw Caroline near the back center of the room, surrounded by admirers.

  Caroline seemed to be standing, as she always did, directly under a spotlight, her instinct as keen as ever to seek the light as if she were on stage. She was laughing at something a man had just said to her, her hand gentle on his arm. Everyone around her, men and women both, seemed transfixed by her presence. As usual, Jill thought.

  Caroline, never fashion’s slave, was in a full-skirted cobalt- blue gown, blazing like a jewel in a plain setting, her dark red hair up but carelessly surrounding her face with tendrils. Jill couldn’t see clearly from across the room, but she knew from the color of the gown that Caroline’s eyes would be blue star sapphires, sparkling and bright. The sight of her, the sound of her laughter, caused a shudder to run through Jill.