A Wilder Name

by Laura Resnick

  The waitress came back with a tray of beer bottles which she plunked unceremoniously on the table. “Enjoy,” she said and turned to go.

  “May I have a glass?” Nina requested, trying to be heard above the music.

  “A glass?”

  “Yes.” Nina was determined not to get irritable.

  “Can you bring my friend a glass, honey?” chipped in Jesse.

  The waitress smiled at Jesse and looked back at Nina “Honey, I’m waiting on all these tables by myself. I’ll bring you a glass when I get a chance.” She wasn’t unpleasant, just unconcerned. Nina looked at her bottle.

  “Was drinking out of the bottle good enough for your father, Nina?” asked Luke. No one else had heard. He hadn’t meant them to.

  He was trying to imply she was a snob and daring her to prove him wrong, she realized angrily. Her eyes flashed with violet light as they met his. She raised her bottle resolutely.

  “Here’s to Jesse!” she toasted and tipped the bottle to her lips, swallowing well over half of it before she put it back on the table. She looked defiantly at Luke. His eyes were lit with amusement and approval and something she couldn’t identify. Very pointedly and ostentatiously, she turned her back on him. She could have sworn she heard him chuckle.

  “Whoowhee! Who taught this little girl to swig beer like that?” shouted Jesse, clapping her on the shoulder.

  That must mean I’ve arrived, she thought wryly.

  They were finishing their second round when the band and the other customers unanimously decided that Jesse had been drinking for long enough and ought to get up and do his stuff.

  The old man picked up his horn as tenderly as a lover and mounted the stage. He spoke briefly, welcoming and thanking everyone, introducing Luke, Nina, and his family, then introducing some of the friends who had joined him onstage with their instruments.

  What followed was magic. The man was a master of his art, playing and performing with a passion and skill that Nina admired both as a professional and as a fan. The saxophone came to life in his hands, pouring dark fire into the room; no foot was still, no heart was untouched. The entire band was excellent—but tonight was Jesse’s night, and they had all come to hear the sax.

  The musicians jammed for about an hour, mostly fast, wild music. Nina wondered how a man Jesse’s age could expend that much energy. Dozens of people jumped up to dance wherever there was enough room. They finished the session with a mournful, bluesy tune. Jesse’s eyes were closed tight with concentration. The saxophone wailed like a lover in pain. Nina sat transfixed, hypnotized by musical genius. When Jesse finally protested that he needed a break and left the stage to go greet more friends, Nina relaxed. Her body sagged; she’d been so entranced, she hadn’t realized until then how rigidly erect she had been holding herself while he had been playing.

  She turned her head slightly and saw a long, tan hand resting beside her small white one. The music had stopped, and suddenly Luke’s presence filled her mind again.

  “You weren’t kidding when you said you loved the sax, were you?” he said softly. Their eyes met for a brief moment of understanding; however different their styles, they were both musicians and both appreciated such artistry.

  Then Nina remembered she didn’t like him. “Another beer, Mr. Swain?” she inquired archly before turning her back on him and entering into a cheerful discussion with Jesse’s friendly wife, Rebecca. But she knew he was there.

  The evening went on. It was turning out to be quite a success for Nina. Jesse, whom she had dreamed of meeting only hours before, was treating her like a surrogate daughter. Since her beer-swigging demonstration, the rest of the group were treating her like one of the family. She was enjoying Rebecca’s warm and humorous conversation although they had to shout to be heard above the regular band, which was playing once more. Later on, Jesse and his friends jammed again.

  After it was over, Nina was feeling drained and tired. It had been a wonderful evening so far. Why did she feel so dissatisfied? She saw Luke dancing with Jesse’s daughter and tried to ignore the thoughts that flashed through her mind.

  It was a slow number, and he held the woman in his arms at a properly respectful distance. He moved gracefully, smoothly, like a panther. Nina had noticed that before. She looked away before he caught her staring at him. Those eyes saw too much, she decided.

  Nina was lost in thought, listening to the music when a warm hand touched her shoulder. Jesse was there before her, smiling into her dreaming face.

  “You sure look far away. Come and dance with an old man. My own wife’s turned me down!”

  “So I’m second fiddle?” Nina smiled and let Jesse lead her to the crowded dance floor. He held her lightly and they shuffled about in a jazzy two-step, with Jesse occasionally adding embellishments.

  “I’m so glad you invited me along this evening,” she shouted near his ear. “I’ll never forget the way you played tonight, not as long as I live.”

  “I’m glad you came,” he answered. “Those words mean something coming from you, Nina. I saw you in Il Pirata last year. And I saw you sing half a dozen times the year before that. In fact, I can remember seeing you when you used to work out in San Francisco. You were singing Glauce in Medea. It was your first solo role. You were just a young thing, but I never saw so much courage onstage. You were born to sing, Nina.”

  Nina’s eyes filled with tears and her throat felt tight with pride and gratitude. There was no need to say anything. He knew how much his words meant to her. He gave her a fatherly squeeze before knocking her off-balance with more improvised steps. Nina stumbled and rolled her eyes at him. He chuckled. Their mood had lightened, but they were bound now by an open respect and affection.

  When they sat down again, Rebecca joined them for another beer and a chat.

  “So how long have you known Luke, Nina?”

  “I don’t know him,” said Nina emphatically. “We just met at the show tonight.”

  “Whoowhee!” That was Jesse. “The way that boy’s been giving the evil eye to every man who talks to you, I thought there must be something between you two.”

  “No.” Nina grimaced uncomfortably. “He’s probably giving those evil looks to me. To tell the truth, we didn’t exactly hit it off this evening.”

  “Well, he’s hardly taken his eyes off you all night, honey. I thought he was gonna sprain something trying to keep an eye on us on the dance floor. And me an old, married man,” Jesse chuckled.

  “Don’t you mind this old fool, Nina,” admonished Rebecca. “And don’t you mind Luke’s manners, either. He just likes to say exactly what he thinks and do exactly as he pleases without prettyin’ it up with manners. But he’s got a heart as big as all outdoors. He’s a real nice boy, all right.”

  “Are you a fan?” asked Jesse.

  “Fan? No. I’d never even heard of him before we met. I take it he’s very popular.”

  “Sure enough is, and has been for a few years, now. He’s worked damn hard for it, too. All that hype the press prints about pretty girls and wild parties and fast cars—it’s a load of hog slop. You know what the music business is really like: rehearse, perform, rehearse, record, rehearse, interview, tour, perform, rehearse, rehearse. And when you figure he writes all his own stuff, where is he gonna get time to be a playboy? Half of what you read about rock stars is lies. And the other half is probably stretching the truth.”

  “I’ve never read anything about him,” Nina stressed. “I’ve never even heard his music.”

  “Well, you should, honey. I don’t like to tell him, because he’s too cocky, anyhow, but he’s damned good. If he would just keep politics out of his songs and stop shootin’ his mouth off...”

  At this interesting point in the conversation the “real nice boy” came back to their table.

  “Tired already, Jesse? It’s only three o’clock in the morning,” Luke teased.

  “Watch your lip, boy,” scolded Jesse. “Miss Gnagnarelli here has got much
better manners than you, son”

  “So I’ve noticed,” said Luke dryly. He turned his attention to Nina, holding his hand out formally to her. “Do you dance?”

  His tone was polite, but the impertinence in his eyes was intolerable to Nina. He knew very well that she danced! Rising to the bait, Nina placed her hand in his and stood up, saying confidently, “I do everything, Mr. Swain.” His right eyebrow arched and his eyes widened. He led her to the dance floor, leaving Jesse chuckling behind them.

  Nina held herself rigidly in Luke’s arms, her left hand gripping his shoulder with about as much tenderness as she would have shown to a rolling pin. She gazed at an invisible spot somewhere past his shoulder. They danced in silence for several minutes.

  “To ignore a man sitting next to you is easy enough, but to ignore a man when you’re in his arms is a fine art. I congratulate you.” He sounded amused.

  “Some men,” said Nina pointedly, “deserve to be ignored.”

  “Ouch! “

  “Some men,” continued Nina, warming to her subject, “have the charm of a puff adder and the manners of an ox.”

  His right eyebrow shot up.

  “Can’t you raise both eyebrows like a normal person?” Nina snapped irritably.

  Luke laughed outright at her open burst of temper. “Actually, no, I can’t. I fell off my bike as a kid and gashed the left side of my face. Evidently there was some slight nerve damage that never healed.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Nina contritely, “That was rude of me.”

  “I prefer a straightforward question to polite chitchat,” Luke said easily. “Even when it’s asked with all the charm of a puff adder.” Their eyes met. She clenched her teeth so she wouldn’t smile. “Besides, it’s one of my trademarks. The press says it gives me a look of lazy sensuality. What do you think?” He leered at her melodramatically. Nina burst out laughing. “So much for my technique,” he sighed.

  Nina settled more comfortably in his arms, enjoying herself now. They swayed easily to the music, their bodies moving gracefully together. Luke was much taller than Nina, so it was easy to avoid his eyes as she wrestled with her thoughts.

  She was intensely aware of his body so close to hers she could feel his warmth. The muscles under her hand were strong and firm; she sternly stifled a sudden desire to run her hand along his arm to learn its shape and texture. The hand that held hers was long and well shaped, strong and a little rough the way musicians’ hands sometimes were.

  He had removed the tie of his formal evening attire—she had sensed immediately that this was quite unlike the way he normally dressed—and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his white shirt. Her gaze traveled up the strong column of his throat to examine his hair. It was a dark, shining brown color. In front, it was cut at what Nina considered a reasonable length, waving lightly around his face, but in the back it grew well past his collar. She hadn’t liked it at the beginning of the evening, having rather conservative tastes, but now she decided that it suited him. Her gaze traveled to his face, taking in the dark arched brows and long lashes before her eyes met his with a suddenness that startled her. She realized he’d been studying her, as well. Confident of her physical attributes as a performer, Nina suddenly felt shy as a woman. She lowered her eyes in confusion, veiling them with her thick, black lashes.

  The music ended and they went back to their table without speaking,

  “I hope you were nice to this little girl,” chided Jesse.

  “I was a perfect gentleman,” Luke assured him. Nina looked at the ceiling.

  “Jesse,” she said finally, “this has been a wonderful night for me, but I’ve been shouting for hours and I’ve got to stop or my voice coach will lock me in a room by myself for six weeks. I’m going home now.”

  Jesse and Rebecca and their friends expressed regret that she was quitting early—they didn’t plan to leave till breakfast time.

  “When can I hear you sing?” Jesse asked.

  “I’m in II Turco in Italia now. We’re opening Rigoletto in a few weeks; I’ll get you some complementary tickets to that, okay?”

  “You promised, now. I’ll be in touch. Take care.”

  When she tried to say good-night to Luke he interrupted smoothly, “I’m leaving now, too. TV interview tomorrow. Why don’t we share a cab?”

  “You be sure you go straight home, son,” scolded Jesse.

  “I will,” Luke promised. “After all, I need my beauty sleep if I’m going to dazzle millions tomorrow with my lazy sensuality.”

  Jesse looked at him appraisingly. “You’d better leave right away, in that case.”

  Nina put on her mink—without Luke’s help—and they walked to the door. She did a dramatic double take when he actually held the door for her. They stepped out into the crisp October night and Luke hailed a cab.

  When it pulled to a stop in front of them, he opened the door for Nina and climbed in after her. She gave her East Eighties address to the driver. They zoomed off with that abruptness of which New York cabbies were the masters.

  Nina made a commendable effort to chat politely with Luke. However, within moments, he once again proved himself devoid of normal social skills and incapable of civility.

  “Look, why don’t you just come right out and say that you think rock music is rubbish?” he prodded after she had tactfully admitted that it wasn’t particularly to her taste.

  “Why should I have to?” she countered.

  “We’re musicians, not diplomats. I’m interested in your opinion, this is not a cocktail party, there are no reporters around. Why not just plainly say what you think? Are you afraid I’ll be offended?”

  “I don’t want to be rude—not even to you. And most musicians wouldn’t sit here and insist I openly insult them!”

  “I won’t be insulted. But how can we have an intelligent, honest, interesting conversation if you beat around the bush, if you use silly phrases designed to obscure rather than tp reveal your opinions?”

  “It’s not enough that you hate my outfit, now you’re criticizing the way I speak?” Nina finally lost all patience with him.

  After arguing heatedly all the way from Greenwich Village to the Upper East Side, Nina decided she’d had enough.

  The cab stopped for a red light two blocks from her apartment. In a raging temper Nina opened the car door and stepped out into the street.

  “I’m getting out here!” she shouted. “I’m not putting up with another minute of this abuse!”

  “Hey, lady, what about my fare?” the driver demanded.

  “Here!” Nina snapped, pulling a few dollars out of her crocodile skin purse.

  “That’s not enough,” protested the driver.

  “I’ll pay it,” snapped Luke.

  “Shut up!” shrieked Nina, beside herself.

  “What?” hollered the cabby.

  “Not you!”

  “Nina, get back in the cab!”

  “No!”

  “You’re being unreasonable.”

  “Mr. Swain. You have insulted my wardrobe, my drinking habits, my opinions—”

  “What opinions?”

  “My intelligence, my integrity and my manners. You are the rudest man I have ever met and the most boorish clod I have had to spend an evening with since I was seventeen years old. Is that direct enough for you? And don’t follow me down the street!” she added as he got out of the cab.

  “Nina, it’s four o’clock in the morning. I can’t let you walk home alone.”

  “If I am mugged, it will at least be some small consolation to you, Mr. Swain, since they will doubtless take both my coat and my purse!”

  And with that parting shot she turned and marched off, leaving Luke fuming in the middle of the street while the taxi driver reminded him that the meter was still running.

  Two

  “Hi! Sorry I’m late—couldn’t find a cab and traffic was awful,” said Nina breathlessly as she entered the familiar rehearsal room.

 
; “It’s all right. It doesn’t happen often,” responded Elena in her richly accented voice. Elena had been Nina’s first voice teacher at Juilliard in New York, and although Nina was a fast-rising star in the opera world, she still worked privately with Elena as often as she could.

  In the initial years of their relationship, when Nina had been a young girl with almost no training, Elena had served as a teacher and guide for her work and as a surrogate mother figure to advise her about the world she would soon be entering—a world Nina’s own mother knew nothing about and couldn’t help her with. During the years Nina had spent in San Francisco and the tours that followed, she had kept in touch with Elena. And now that Nina had returned to New York, Elena was again a stable and reliable foundation in her hectic life. At twenty-nine, Nina considered herself a skilled artist and a sophisticated woman, and Elena was now mostly a second ear in the rehearsal room as well as a valued friend.

  “I’m sorry I canceled our rehearsal the other day,” Nina said. “My voice was just so raw and tired I decided to rest it.”

  “What were you doing with it?”

  “Shouting with it. Mostly at a boor. Oh, never mind. Did you catch the music awards on TV?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m rather astonished at what can pass for music these days. But your hero won an award, I see.”

  “Jesse? Yes.” Nina told Elena about her evening with Jesse and the gang, carefully editing her comments about Luke Swain.

  “Well, you must introduce me sometime. He is indeed a great musician. By the way—your outfit that night...”

  “Yes?”

  “A bit too simple. What looks elegant in a nightclub can look positively austere on television. You need a few big ruffles or sequins and some diamonds, I think.”

  “I’ll remember that, thanks.” Nina always absorbed criticism about any aspect of her profession and tried to learn from it. She seldom repeated a mistake. “Let’s get to work.”

  Elena sat at the piano while Nina stood nearby. They went through a familiar routine of Nina’s warming up while Elena played, then Elena guided Nina through vocal exercises of increasing difficulty, listening, nodding, occasionally giving advice: relax your shoulders, get your tongue out of the way, stop chewing the note. Nina worked for an hour on a piece from Rigoletto that she didn’t feel comfortable with, then finished by discussing possible arias with Elena for a benefit she had been asked to sing in.