Grace: An Eternal Beloved Novel (Eternal Beloved Novel Series)

by R. Rodriguez

  “I play the cello,” I responded absentmindedly. My mind was in a whirlwind. I jotted all the information down, but started getting anxious. I hadn’t played the cello in a long time. I didn’t even own one at the time. I suddenly felt too young and inexperienced.

  “Oh, cool,” he remarked.

  Just as I wallowed in self doubt I had an idea to return Lucian’s kindness even if he didn’t expect retribution. I could cook a meal for him. Cooking was one of the skills that I had perfected in my short life of independence as a way to save. With the help of cooking channels and occasional recipes picked up in magazines, I had become quite the cook. It was possibly the one accomplishment my mother could feel proud of.

  “Hey, Lucian…how would you feel about joining me this next Friday for dinner at my place? I don’t have a lot of space, but there is a great roof terrace on top of our building.”

  I expected apprehension. I knew he was just a nice guy trying to help out, but Lucian didn’t even hesitate to answer.

  “Absolutely, sweetheart. I’d love that. Then, you can practice your audition on me. I’ll see you then.” He hung up before I got to tell him that I didn’t actually own a cello at the moment. I closed the webpage I was working on, grabbed my jacket from the back of the chair and headed home.

  I didn’t mope very long, though. In my newfound optimism, I found a solution. No problem. I’d take my savings to buy a used cello and I’d land the scholarship. Lucian had said it was a full scholarship. There was no failing this. A full scholarship meant that I had housing on campus, too. I could find a part time nearby for extra expenses. I could do this.

  My used cello was delivered to me by the middle of the week. I was tackling a Shrimp Alfredo recipe for Lucian’s dinner on Friday when my buzzard alerted me to visitors.

  “Delivery for Grace Coventry.”

  “I’ll be right down.” I tugged the olive green apron over my head and ran down the stairs to the entrance.

  It was a delivery man indeed and I had to let him up to my apartment because of the size of the package. He set it in the middle of my studio. I signed and looked at the box, perplexed. I opened the box carefully and ran my fingers over the tight cords. I took the instrument out of the box and forgot all about the recipe I was making.

  The smell of burning shrimp alerted me to the overcooked meal an hour later. I turned off the minuscule stove and opened a window to let the smoke out. I spent the rest of the night fine tuning the magnificent instrument. Then I took a box I kept on the top shelf of my only closet and took out a couple of CDs. Chopin, Strauss… Vivaldi. I chose Vivaldi. I popped one into my CD player and perched myself on my sofa bed. I settled the cello firmly between my legs and started gliding the bow in an all too familiar stroke.

  Playing the cello for me was like riding a bike. I never forgot how to do it. I let the music from my CD sway my strokes and my mind. I was so enraptured that it was midnight by the time I felt the need for rest.

  That night I didn’t go to bed wondering if I could make it. I knew I would. I sighed with a bit of regret for everything that this unexpected stranger had done for me, but as I heard his voice in my head, I knew that there was someone out there looking out for me and that he had no ulterior motives for the help.

  He didn’t ogle me with sex hungry eyes as other men did. He wasn’t a much older man experiencing a mid- life crisis, looking for a younger girl to boost his ego. He was a successful, educated, young man who could have any beautiful woman he wanted and had enough security and peace in life to be able to share his blessings with a complete mess of a girl. I didn’t know why he bothered, but I was sure he was the real thing. A wonderful human being, a genuine friend.

  I spent all of the week practicing for my audition, and setting up Lucian’s thank you dinner. I bought fresh flowers on the designated day, and a simple cloth table cover for the picnic table I’d set on the roof.

  Our apartment building wasn’t much, but Mr. Granada, the building’s owner, had taken great care to have plants and twinkly garland lights adorn the roof. He’d also tiled it and placed a couple of benches and picnic tables on it.

  I wrapped my light ivory scarf around my tan turtleneck. The night was chilly, but not too cold to impede us from enjoying a good meal up there. The wind was also mild which was important. We were in the windy city after all.

  “Hey there, doll.” Mr. Granada’s gallant voice greeted me as I scampered onto the roof with the table settings.

  “Hi,” I said, smiling and starting to set the only table available.

  “If you’d told me you had a date, I would’ve canceled Friday night Bingo,” Mr. Granada apologized while turning on the twinkly lights.

  “Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Granada. It’s not really a date. I’m just having dinner with a good friend.” I wouldn’t dream of interfering with Mr. Granada’s Friday night Bingo.

  Besides, I knew that it would be fun to be part of Friday night Bingo. Mr. Granada called it that, but it was actually more than that. It was a night when the only other tenants of the building, all elderly, got together to paint the night with Bingo, anecdotes and even dancing sometimes. On other occasions, kids and grandkids joined in. It always guaranteed a good time.

  It went on even in the winter. Mr. Granada just placed portable electric heaters in strategic places and everyone bundled up for the fun. I climbed back down to my apartment to place food on pretty trays. I knew that Lucian’s world was very different from mine, but I knew I wanted to offer my newfound friend a small measure of kindness, even if it didn’t equal the amount of generosity he had shown me.

  My intercom buzzed right on time. I knew it was Lucian. I didn’t even ask and buzzed him right in. I felt a small tremor inside, but not the kind that you get when you’re about to have dinner with a love interest. Lucian was undoubtedly a looker, but there were no stirrings in me toward him in that sense. The strong feelings I experienced for him during my horrific nightmare had been disqualified as real feelings. I was under the effects of a senseless dream state. All dreams magnified feelings.

  I was just anxious that I’d be able to offer him a nice time. I also wanted to demonstrate to him that I was taking the opportunity he had handed me seriously. He’d be pleasantly surprised at my performance.

  I waited for him right at my door. He smiled broadly as he climbed the stairs. Of course, he couldn’t come empty handed. He handed me a bottle of wine and walked into my tiny studio. I thought of how perfect it would’ve been with the Shrimp Alfredo recipe and how inappropriate it was with the simple steak and vegetable recipe I had finally decided to make.

  He looked around and I cringed inwardly at how tiny it must seem to him. He noticeably filled the room with his height. Lucian didn’t seem to mind, though. He kept on smiling, especially when he spotted the cello leaning on my sofa.

  “This is all there really is to it and it’s not even mine,” I excused my humble abode.

  “It’s fine, Grace.” I thought he might just be trying to be nice, but the sincerity in his gray eyes told me otherwise.

  “But, if you want bigger digs, I bet you’ll be able to get them soon enough.” He was always so sure of my success.

  It was great to have him around. If only to uplift my ego.

  “So, what smells so good?” He clapped his hands together. I was beginning to note this gesture of his at chow time.

  I led Lucian to the trays of food and led the way up to the roof. I warned him about Mr. Granada’s Bingo Fridays on the way and as I thought, he didn’t mind at all.

  He seemed thrilled to be in the company of my neighbors. I noticed that Mr. Granada’s troops were a bit detained today. Lucian and I were almost finished with dessert by the time they appeared.

  I found that I enjoyed Lucian’s company immensely. Now that the issue of my suicide attempt wasn’t on the table any longer, it was anyone’s guess if we would be able to engage on any other level.

  Luckily, Lucian never lacked conv
ersation topics. He was clearly a well rounded guy with enthusiasm for life in general. His positivity was contagious. His mere presence was uplifting to my soul. Lucian stood up as soon as Mr. Granada’s crew stepped on the roof terrace. There was Phil, Harry, Robert, and Mrs. Granada, who didn’t play, but often cheered up the night with great snacks and conversation. It was she who put the music into it and made every one dance. I suspected she was in the dancing mood tonight because she brought up the portable CD player Mr. Granada bought her recently.

  Her eyes twinkled as she assessed Lucian and me and the dinner settings.

  “Oh, my. We have company tonight.” She feigned shyness as she stepped closer. “Hello, Grace. And hello, young man.”

  “I do believe we’ve met before,” she assessed.

  “Yes… I brought Grace’s car over a few weeks ago. It’s nice to see you again.” Lucian nodded his head respectfully and Mrs. Granada enveloped him in a huge hug.

  Ooohh. I knew how those felt. She gave them to me strongly and often.

  “Lucian, is it?...” she acknowledged. “So, you’ve been lucky enough to enjoy Grace’s great cooking, huh,” Mrs. Granada said, directing a forceful look at me. “This girl here is gold.”

  My heart contracted as I remembered what I was about to do just a month before. How could I hurt people who obviously cared for me? And these were only my neighbors. I couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened to my family had I succeeded in my feat.

  This all came into clear perspective since Lucian had found me. I now believed that there were always solutions to be had. After many a chat and even a short dance with Mrs. Granada, Lucian finally requested what I feared he would. I had almost forgotten what I had promised him and he had been expecting. I’d become enveloped in watching Lucian dancing with my elderly neighbor. He was so kind and gentlemanly with her.

  It was a Friday night. He could’ve chosen to leave long ago, yet he chose to stay with me and my elderly neighbors. I think even Mrs. Granada would agree that it was Lucian who was made of gold.

  The moment had come. I couldn’t avoid it any longer. I’d have to offer my cello performance to him and the others present, as well. I momentarily panicked. I had practiced all week. I knew my piece. I knew I was good. Music was the only clear talent I had since I was little. It just wasn’t so important to my mom to be able to play the cello. My sister and I were encouraged to have a 4.00 average, be presentable at all times, befriend the right people and have our eye on the best schools.

  I was always sidetracked in the wrong direction, it seemed. My dad noticed my passion, though. He managed to find a good instructor that came in every evening unbeknownst to my mother. She was busy careening my sister Jane around for debate club and her infinite list of activities.

  “A woman must have and display a strong mind.” My mother’s echo filled my head, loading me with momentary sorrow.

  “Come on, Grace,” Lucian encouraged, cutting through the hold my mother still had on me, somehow. “I’ll go get your cello.”

  He didn’t wait for my response and returned shortly with it and the CD that was lying next to it on the sofa. Mrs. Granada led me to one of the benches and everyone just stared as I placed the beautiful instrument.

  “Go on, dear,” Mrs. Granada encouraged as she set the CD player.

  As soon as the music started I transported myself to a different place. Gone were the dark thoughts that accosted me before. Gone was the panther that I knew had been real somehow. Gone were the doubts and old hurts. The music uplifted me. I was in control and what I made happen with my cello was beautiful. I knew. I poured my heart into my performance.

  When the piece finished, and I felt the vibration of the chords subsiding, I relaxed my shoulders and looked up. Mrs. Granada was covering her mouth with her hands in awe. Lucian was grinning from ear to ear and the Bingo players had stopped playing all together.

  “I say, doll… You have a hell of a stroke there,” professed Mr. Granada. His sweet wife clapped profusely, “Bravo!!!” I sighed in relief at the finished ordeal and offered a smile of gratitude to my friend.

  When the last of the Granadases’ guests said goodbye and we began to feel the chill of the progressing night, we secluded ourselves in my studio for more wine. Lucian stepped in the tiny kitchen as I handed him two new glasses from the cupboard.

  We settled on each end of the sofa bed to enjoy our wine and each other’s company. The ease with which I related to Lucian surprised me. I had never been this comfortable with a man before in this non-threatening, totally innocent way. It dumbfounded me how he had come into my life and when. As we chatted about one thing or another, Lucian suddenly stopped to study me solemnly.

  “You know Grace, I have no doubt that you’ll be okay now,” Lucian said.

  He tipped the glass and emptied the last of its contents and slowly rose.

  “I must say regrettably, that I have to leave now,” he declared much to my disappointment. I knew that apart from thanking him for his generosity and kindness, I had no further excuse to prolong his company.

  Lucian quickly expelled those thoughts from my head.

  “Let me know how it goes at the audition.” Lucian kissed my forehead tenderly as he opened the door to leave.

  “Thank you, Lucian.”

  “Sweet dreams, sweetheart.”

  Chapter 5: Dario

  I did. The sweetest dreams. My life was on track and dreams I didn’t even know I had were coming true. And then… entered the storm. Why is it that at certain points of your life, specific people coincide with you? Some are there for a minute. Some are there for an hour. Some collide with you for a little bit more, but others make an appearance when you least expect it, stay forever or for a significant amount of time and change your life. Like Lucian, but there would be another person who would have an opposite effect on me, just when I was on track to fixing my life.

  The so called love of my life. First of all, I never thought I’d have a love of my life. I was raised to be a feminist. Well, not by my mother’s influence, by any means. My mom stuck to traditional ideas. I was raised to be an asset to my future husband as a good trophy wife complete with an Ivy League education that I wasn’t supposed to use.

  In school and by society, though, I was getting a different message. I remember my favorite Human Rights teacher ranting about Roe vs. Wade and women being able to finally vote in the 1920’s. I remember reading articles and short stories about the struggles of women in the Middle East.

  I learned that in some countries, girls were mutilated so they would never get to experience sexual pleasure. I learned that some women were subjected to arranged marriages with men who were much older than them only to be discarded later by second and third wives.

  So I came to value the liberties I enjoyed as a free American girl and the rights that we enjoyed because of the struggles of my predecessors. Although I had my secret issues, I was a soldier in the battle of women’s rights.

  I wasn’t part of an organization or anything like that, but I let no boy get under my skin. Over egotistical boys were dealt with promptly. I felt strong and sure of my charms and worth as a member of the female gender.

  This was an area where I was confident in myself. I was successful at establishing relationships with boys. I had lots of topics of conversation. I was sweet and charming and I was pretty and was great at singing and dancing, which made me popular with the opposite sex. Most importantly, I had the upper hand.

  In high school, I never had serious relationships. I waded through the waters and basically had fun. Plus, guys usually exasperated me. If they showed up late, I wouldn’t take their excuses. If they weren’t romantic, I refused to date them again. If I heard rumors about them dating other girls while they dated me… they were gone. It all fit in with my elusive personality, I liked to think.

  And then, I met Dario. That was what everyone knew him as. His full name was Luis Dario Palmeiro. He came like a tsunami that swa
llows everything in its path. I remember the exact moment I saw him. It was during the spring semester of my junior year at Columbia.

  By this time, I was well on my way to becoming what I had promised myself two years before and what Lucian, who had become the mentor I’d never had, helped me become. I concluded that his success in getting through to me was based on his being only a few years older than me. He knew what I needed. It was as if he knew me from a long time ago.

  I was walking toward one of my classes with my roommate Laura and there he was. Over six feet of completely muscled body, dark messy hair and ice blue green eyes and…what got me –a cool swagger that took your breath away. I learned later that he came from Argentina. He didn’t have an accent or anything because he was the son of some diplomat or other and studied in private schools that taught English all over the world. In less than a month, he was the star goalie for our soccer team. I couldn’t get enough of him.

  It was only a matter of time before he noticed me too. I was making myself seem so available, I was probably impossible to miss. He would stare me down any time we came across each other. I raided my closet nightly, trying to put together knock out outfits that would catch his eye. They appeared to do the trick from his long gazes at me, but he never took the initiative to approach me. He stayed at a cool distance while he stared me down unashamedly.

  “Oh my God, He’s very definitely gawking at you again, Grace!” My roommate Laura shook with excitement as we rounded the corner after passing him on campus for the umpteenth time. His classes were nowhere near mine. I actually had to go almost to the other side of the school to get near him. He was a senior and had another major, so our classes didn’t coincide.

  “Be cool, Laura.” I reminded her that we weren’t exactly on the higher stratosphere of social life on campus. We were known. We had friends, but we hadn’t pledged with any sorority. The “in” crowd acknowledged us and we had a good social life, but we still didn’t hold the dawning popularity frat houses and sorority rows brought.