Eternal Melody

by Anisa Claire West

  As Wednesday and the second week of performances crept closer, Rebecca became agitated and eager to take the stage again. While she was genuinely happy for Gloria, whose dinner with Christopher Graysen had sprouted three more shared meals in as many days, it was difficult to hear her constantly rhapsodize about her burgeoning feelings. Exultantly, Gloria told her granddaughter how Mr. Graysen made her feel like a school girl, like a maiden, and like a lady all at the same time. Their courtship was devoid of the complications that plagued Rebecca and Luke. The older folks were already established in life and did not have to worry about providing for offspring. Listening to her grandmother recount every cherished moment spent with the conductor, Rebecca wished that she and Luke could enjoy the same simplicity.

  When it was finally time to leave for her matinee performance on Wednesday, Rebecca breathed a sigh of unconcealed relief, avid to break loose of the hotel room and her caretaking responsibilities of Annabelle, who was teething and becoming increasingly whiny. She did not care that she would have to perform not only in the afternoon, but also give an encore show in the evening. She would welcome that kind of exhaustion after the sleepless nights listening to Annabelle shriek.

  In the auditorium, the orchestra members were seated in rows, apparently awaiting a speech from Mr. Graysen, who stood at a lectern in the center, holding his baton and looking like a wizard with a magic wand. Rebecca selected a seat up front, smiling as Mr. Graysen nodded in her direction. Luke was seated one row back, and though Rebecca could feel his eyes glued to her, she made no effort to turn around and greet him. Setting down his conducting stick on the lectern and clearing his throat importantly, Mr. Graysen began his announcements.

  “Welcome back, my friends. I trust that you have had a restful three days of leisure. Today, we return to work, and I am pleased to share some wonderful news with you. After the outstanding review that we received on our opening night, the music community in Vienna has been buzzing ceaselessly.”

  Rebecca smiled in satisfaction, mollified that Greta’s beastly scene on the second night had not destroyed the ensemble’s credibility.

  Mr. Graysen continued, wearing an expression of thinly veiled excitement. “It is my honor to announce that we have been asked to perform abroad.” Immediately, the players began to gasp and whisper, now clinging to the conductor’s every word. “At the close of our run of The Magic Flute in October, we will be packing our bags and leaving for Venice!”

  Italy! Rebecca had to sit on her trembling hands to keep herself from clapping loudly and disrupting the room. But she needn’t have worried about making noise, as the entire room resounded with joyful hollers and thunderous applause.

  Raising his voice to speak over the commotion, Mr. Graysen said, “I know we originally set our goal as London, but I don’t think any of us will be turning our noses up at Venice, will we?” He chuckled, watching the ecstatic reactions of his orchestra.

  “As for housing, we have the opportunity to lodge in a spacious villa by the Grand Canal. This is optional, of course, as you may choose to reside wherever you wish. But if you would like to rent space inside the villa, you are most welcome and will find the fee affordable since the place has the capacity to house more than two dozen people.”

  Without a second thought, Rebecca decided that she would rent a room for herself within the villa and another for Gloria and Annabelle. Gratefully, Rebecca envisaged herself in Italy, safe from the clutches of Greta and a perturbing secret admirer. Maybe the romantic Italian city would even inspire Luke to recognize his feelings as love and unite with her. Heading backstage to apply the finishing touches to her makeup, Rebecca hummed a jubilant tune.

  *****

  The matinee performance was another tremendous success, with the ensemble playing at peak level after learning of their pending escapade to Venice. After an exuberant curtain call, Rebecca ran over to Mr. Graysen and gave him an impulsive kiss on the cheek.

  “I can hardly believe that in less than a month’s time I shall be in Venice. It’s almost too much for an ordinary Midwestern girl like me to handle.”

  The two exchanged grins, as Clive walked over, carrying a bouquet of pure pink roses in his hand. Before the boy could speak, Rebecca knew they were from her haunting secret admirer.

  She frowned so stiffly that her forehead creased like a sheet of paper folded into eighths as Clive announced, “More flowers for you, Ms. Meadow.”

  Grabbing the bouquet from him and hanging it carelessly over her forearm, she asked, “Where is he? Where is the man who gave you these flowers?”

  Mr. Graysen stood by, perplexed, as Clive shrugged and answered, “He is not here, Miss Meadow. These flowers were delivered to the theatre. I believe there is a card inside.”

  Rebecca tore into the bouquet and retrieved a card, sealed neatly inside a small white envelope. Disquieted, she read the message, scrawled in splotchy red ink:

  Beautiful Rebecca, I shall see you this evening

  Yours truly, M.T.

  Her frown deepened as she pondered the initials, her mind racing with possibilities of who could have written this card. Turning desperately to Mr. Graysen, she handed him the card and said, “This is from some mystery man who attended every performance we staged last week. Apparently, he is to return tonight. Do you recognize those initials?”

  Mr. Graysen narrowed his eyes and tried to decipher the handwriting. “I don’t have my reading spectacles, but I can see what the man’s initials are. I cannot say, however, that I recognize them. We have had so many people in our audience since last week, and I do not pay much attention to the roster. You might want to inquire at the ticket counter.” He handed the card back to her, clearly not perceiving the alarm that this puzzle caused her.

  “Mr. Graysen,” she pressed, “do you not see this as cause for concern?”

  The conductor looked pensive as he replied, “I’m afraid it is very common for lovely young divas such as yourself to be pursued by admirers. I’ve seen it happen many times over the course of my career. However, if you feel the slightest bit uneasy or threatened, I will see to it that a security guard is hired immediately.”

  Rebecca considered this, suddenly feeling as though she had overreacted and not wanting Mr. Graysen to go through the trouble of hiring a protective guard when there was no imminent danger. “Thank you for offering, Mr. Graysen, but I don’t think such a drastic measure will be necessary.”

  “The offer stands. Keep it in mind, Miss Meadow. In some ways, you remind me of my daughters before they were married.” He mused.

  “What are their names, if I may ask?”

  “Deborah and Caitlin.” He sighed. “Thankfully, they both have good husbands or else I would spend all my time worrying about them. One day, you will also be blessed with a good marriage. Have faith.”

  Rebecca watched Mr. Graysen walk away to speak with some stage hands about the scenery. She thought bitterly how her quicksilver affair with Luke had potentially ruined her chances of finding a decent husband. But that had never been her objective in the first place, she reminded herself. Marriage had been the last thing on her mind when she set sail three months ago, so why was it that the thought suddenly consumed her with longing? Rounding the corner to the triangle of dressing rooms, Rebecca sought solace in isolation, hoping that none of the chorus members or stage hands would bother her once she closed the door.

  *****

  At the end of the evening show, Rebecca had nearly forgotten about the pink roses and cryptic card she had received that afternoon. Backstage, filled with the adrenaline of another successful performance, she hugged her fellow cast members and graciously accepted their generous praise about her singing, telling them how wonderful they were as well. Alone now, Rebecca walked down the dark hallway, completely taken aback when a male voice called out to her.

  The thick carpets of the corridor had silenced the sound of the man’s footsteps, she realized with her heart pounding, as she turned around to f
ace him. Gawking at her with a mixed expression of intrigue and desire was the man she presumed to be her secret admirer, M.T. Dressed in a solid black tuxedo, the man was unusually tall, close to six and a half feet, but with a thin build that did not emanate masculinity or strength despite his towering height. His sable colored hair was receding around the forehead and appeared cemented to his skull with styling grease. A sharply chiseled, rectangular face housed a long nose, wide mouth, and amber eyes that glinted mischievously. The man was by no means traditionally handsome, but exuded a certain eccentricity that would capture, if not captivate, a woman’s attention.

  Clearly enjoying her perusal, the tall man stood straighter, impressively lengthening his frame. When he spoke, Rebecca instantly identified his accent as Received Pronunciation, the most elite of all British accents.

  “At last we meet, beautiful Rebecca. I do hope you have received my flowers and have been enjoying them.”

  Rebecca thought of the dying bouquet that still littered her dressing room floor and nodded tightly, unsure of how to converse with the man. He certainly did not appear to be insane, but she was not inclined to trust him either.

  The admirer spoke again in his distinguished accent. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Milton Thornbrenner of London.” He extended a skeletal looking hand that felt cool and impersonal as she shook it.

  “Pleased to meet you.” Rebecca said politely, inexplicably wanting to flee to her dressing room, but not daring to behave rudely in front of her admirer, who indisputably had presented himself as a gentleman.

  “I am in Vienna on business for my financial firm back in London. I have many international clients who invest with me, you see.” His tone was nonchalant, but Rebecca sensed that he was boasting, trying to bait her with his affluence. “When I have the luxury of traveling in Europe, I generally like to see a show. But, instead of seeing just one show this time, I have attended an astonishing four performances, all because I was compelled to see your stunning face and hear your impossibly beautiful voice.”

  The flattery dripping from his lips made Rebecca self-conscious, but she did not blush as she had done so many times when Luke complimented her. Something about Milton Thornbrenner’s demeanor made the blood rush away from her face and left her feeling chilled, as though she were standing naked in an Austrian snowstorm.

  But she politely received the praise with a soft, “Thank you.”

  “I was hoping that you would honor me by being my dinner partner.” He proposed in a tone that was clearly meant to be dashing. Rebecca found the bluntness of his offer a little too presumptuous and hesitated. Sensing her uncertainty, Milton resumed, “I do hope you don’t find me bold, but I see no reason not to lay things on the line right here and now. You are a very attractive woman, and I would like to show you a grand time in Vienna. What do you say?”

  Resisting the impulse to take a giant bite out of one of her fingernails, Rebecca stood there. Even though it was undeserved, she felt a loyalty to Luke that made her yearn for him to be the one standing in front of her asking her to dinner. Milton might be able to take her to the finest restaurant in all Austria-Hungary, but she would prefer the placid joy of swimming and singing with Luke to a gourmet feast any day.

  Milton stood there patiently awaiting her response. Though he was gentlemanly enough to refrain from ogling her body, the intense way he regarded her face was unnerving. She was still in full makeup and wondered if he found her garish. From the looks of him, though, he seemed very pleased with the sight his eyes beheld.

  As if to confirm her thoughts, Milton muttered, “You do make a fetching Pamina. That costume fits you like a glove, and your mask is flawless.”

  Rebecca’s brow furrowed when he referred to her stage makeup as a “mask” and she recalled how Luke had made her wipe her face clean and natural the first night they had made love. Although it had just been last week, it felt like an eternity ago.

  Rebecca met Milton’s cold, glimmering appraisal. Shifting her weight from her right foot to her left, as though tipping the scales and considering her options, Rebecca opened her mouth to speak. Shockingly, her lips parted on a wordless reply, and she found herself utterly unable to talk. Frantically, she wondered if she had developed a case of laryngitis from the excessive amount of singing she had been doing. How cruel that would be if she were to be replaced by an understudy just as Greta had! Swallowing, feeling a dry scratchiness scrape across her throat, Rebecca attempted to speak again.

  This time, the words came out in a hoarse whisper, “I don’t know what to say.”

  Intuitively, she guessed that her impaired ability to communicate could signify that she should not accept Milton’s invitation, but when she suddenly spotted Luke standing behind Milton and glaring contemptuously, she thought twice. How long had he been there? Had Milton’s tall stature impeded her view of him and he had been there all along? She had no idea, but the hateful expression on Luke’s face made her want to defiantly accept Milton’s dinner invitation and brush aside her misgivings.

  “You don’t know what to say? Say yes.” Milton enticed in a slow drawl.

  “Yes.” Rebecca whispered, only half aware of what she was saying, still fixated on the heart-wrenching sight of Luke looking at her with such potent derision.

  “Splendid! Simply tell me the first night you shall be free, and we will enjoy delicious imported wine and exquisite cuisine.”

  The moment Milton uttered those words, Luke disappeared around the corner, moving away from the dressing rooms in the direction of the exit. Rebecca instantly regretted accepting Milton’s invitation.

  Glumly she informed him if her free day. “Sunday is the only evening in the foreseeable future.”

  “Sunday will be excellent. I shall come for you at your residence if you would kindly give me your address.”

  He handed her a slip of paper from his pocket, which she snatched from him to scribble the location of her apartment. Overcome with a queasy stomach, Rebecca excused herself to rush off to her dressing room. Inside, she closed and locked the door behind her, glowering at the arid flowers on the floor and feeling a crushing emptiness.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  A dense gray fog swathed the city, the hidden sun creating a blinding glare through the window of Luke’s chamber when he awoke the next morning. Inclement weather usually did not bother him. But this morning, in the wake of witnessing Rebecca accept another man’s dinner invitation, Luke felt as though the entire planet had disowned him.

  Twisting onto his side and staring blankly out the window at the murkiness, he knew that he had only himself to blame. He had practically flung Rebecca bodily into that rich numbskull’s arms, and now he had to suffer the agonizing consequences. After the show, when he sought Rebecca in the dressing room wing, he had never expected to find her engaged in flirtatious conversation with the man who claimed to be her secret admirer. He had stood there, unmoving, holding his breath and his tongue as he listened to Milton Thornbrenner seduce Rebecca with sugary compliments and promises of luxury. It had sickened him beyond endurance. When Rebecca finally realized he was there, Luke had flashed her a malicious expression that he now wished he could take back.

  Ironically, Luke thought, clenching his jaw, he had been prepared to apologize to Rebecca and ask if they could reconcile. But the cruel and untimely insertion of Milton Thornbrenner into their lives had prevented Luke from reuniting with the woman he loved.

  Hurling himself out of bed and feeling a twinge of pain in his leg, as he often did when the humidity was high, Luke picked some random garments from his armoire and threw them on carelessly. He had just a few hours of leisure before he would have to see Rebecca again at the theatre and, possibly, her wealthy suitor too with a fresh bouquet of flowers.

  *****

  On Sunday evening, Rebecca selected an arbitrary dress from her wardrobe, not caring what she wore for Milton. The first garment she seized from the recesses of her suitcase was a mucky br
own shade that washed out her complexion, making her face appear ashen. She had only worn the dress once before---at Gregory and Ethel’s wedding in Michigan. After Ethel had snubbed her and not asked her to serve as bridesmaid, Rebecca had been so offended that she deliberately donned the most unattractive dress she could find, hoping to blend in with the woodwork. Surprisingly, men had still asked her to dance that evening despite her hideous clothing.

  As she buttoned the dress up to the collar to completely cover her neck, Rebecca hoped that Milton would find her drab, exonerating her from ever being his dinner partner in the future. During their conversation outside her dressing room, she had been wholly unimpressed with his conversational skills and his physical appeal, or lack thereof. Without his money and height, she doubted that Milton would have had the courage to so brazenly approach any woman, let alone a stage performer he’d never met.

  Rubbing a very light coating of pink color on her lips, Rebecca could not help but think of Luke one floor down in his chamber, if that was indeed where he was. She had not spoken to him since the devastating moment when he had heard her say yes to Milton Thornbrenner. Shaking her head sadly at the memory, Rebecca tossed a few coins and a handkerchief into her purse.

  A moment later, she heard footsteps climbing the staircase. There was a firm knock at her door, and Rebecca knew that it was Milton, though she still clung to a thread of hope that it could be Luke, coming to sweep her into his arms and beg her not to see any other man. As she primly opened the door and looked up into Milton’s insidious gaze, she accepted the reality that, at least for tonight, she had to dine with a man whom she did not love.

  *****

  As soon as Rebecca set foot in the restaurant, with Milton’s gaunt yet possessive arm boldly encircling her waist, she had a creepy sensation of déjà vu. The opulence in the French eatery, from the hand-cut crystal glasses to the gold-trimmed tablecloths, brought back unpleasant memories of her traumatic employment in the Brecht mansion.