Kill Me (3 page)

Then, I closed my eyes and I played.

It felt like I’d been born to do it. I could feel my soul being woven into the notes, producing a melody that was lighter and more tentative than hers had been.

I began to smell the heavy scent of vanilla and rose and my song became that of springtime and comfort. The bow felt weightless in my hand as it glided over the strings, vibrating and alive. The violin became an extension of my body and I wondered how I’d ever lived without it.

I opened my eyes.

The room was awash in a light fog of purples and yellows. I wondered if I was the only one who could see the pastel colors lilt and drift, like they were born from the music. If not true magic, it was certainly magical to me.

I looked to the woman to see if she saw the lights as well, but her eyes were closed, her face lifted toward the ceiling. Her lips moved, singing a silent song, the words foreign to my ears.

Too soon, the song was played out.

I cradled the violin in my arms and sat silently while the muted conversations returned around the room. I had no explanation for any of it, but in that moment I really didn’t care to search for answers. I was busy basking in the feeling that lingered.

The closest words I could use to describe how I felt are
divine fulfillment
or
charged
. I was sated, overflowing with bubbling euphoria. My skin tingled as the vibrato continued throughout my body.

The woman sighed, “You see, I told you the violin always chooses well.” She patted me on the knee and stood up, holding her hands out for the violin.

I didn’t want to give it up. I wanted to take it home with me. I wanted to wake up to it and fall asleep with it. I was in love with that damned violin, and to be cleaved from it meant leaving a part of my soul behind.

Then the rational side of me finally secured a voice of its own. I could rob a bank and still not afford something so rare and beautiful. It probably cost more than I would earn in a lifetime. Saddened, I relinquished the violin and stood.

“Thank you for letting my play it, Ms...” I started to say before I realized that we’d not had a proper introduction.

“We are friends, no! You may call me Elisabetta or Bette, which ever you prefer.”

My brain was finally functioning again. “It’s been a pleasure Bette,” I said hoping it didn’t come off as snooty as it has sounded. “My name is Claire. Claire Ciapanna.”

No, it’s not. Why the hell had I said that?

Bette grinned widely. “Perfecto, a fellow countryman! Clara!”

She opened her arms wide and folded me into her embrace. I tensed, not used to such public contact, let alone with strange Italian women. Still, a part of me, that tiny part that I was getting rather ticked at, not only allowed the hug but enjoyed it.

She smelled heavenly and the coolness of her chest pressed against mine made my heart flutter and my skin tingle. It was like she was a drug and I couldn’t get enough.

Mercifully, Bette broke the embrace and held me at arm’s length. “We have dinner tonight!”

I wanted to say yes. I wanted to run for the hills. I wanted to cry because I couldn’t accept her invitation.

I shook my head, “I’m sorry. I have a meeting with some clients over dinner.”

Bette looked mildly insulted, but brightened quickly, “Drinks after then.”

Relieved and terrified, I accepted and Bette walked me to the entrance of the booth. As I pushed back the curtain to exit, an audible zap leapt from my fingertips to the heavy fabric.

“Oh!” I gasped. Then feeling like a bumbling idiot I shrugged my shoulders and qualified, “Happens all the time, you’d think I’d be used to it by now.”

Bette looked at me with a curious expression; part amusement, with a little smidgen of perplexed. That was odd.

“I will see you at nine!” She disappeared behind the curtain, leaving me standing in the wake of weary visitors heading for the exit.

I realized too late that we’d never set a meeting place. I didn’t even know where she was staying. I felt like an idiot. Maybe it had been some Italian version of a brush off?

It was probably for the best. The whole experience had left me raw and stirred-up, and I had no idea what I was doing or why I was doing it. Dejected, I joined the mass of people heading back to their hotels. I had to put my game face on for my dinner meeting and I didn’t have time to worry about the rest. I’d meet with the clients, eat a meal and maybe have a drink at the hotel bar before heading back to my room for some much needed sleep.

The night was settled then. Or so I thought.

Chapter 4

The day had been long and I’d logged more footsteps than any woman in high heels should. Plus there was the whole foreign-lady attraction, the possessed violin (that I’d played!) and the vague feeling that I was falling down the rabbit hole. How long before I found a note that said “Eat Me” I wondered?

I jumped in one of the dozens of cabs waiting for conference attendees and willed myself to relax, which was rather hard considering my driver was hell-bent on wrapping us around a parking meter. As bad as his driving was, the music was worse. My hotel was only a few minutes away and I promised myself a hot soak in the tub so long as I didn’t snap and shove the radio dial up the cabbie’s nose.

I was pulled out of my mental bribery by the feeling of my cell phone vibrating. It was either my husband or Quinn. I didn’t answer, deciding to wait until I’d reached the quiet confines of my hotel room.

My driver didn’t have enough sense to turn down the “Kill the bitches, beat ‘em ho’s” song, so I was fairly confident he’d not have the decency to lower the volume while I took a call. When I was almost to the point of smacking some ho’s myself, my hotel came into view.

“Keep the change,” I said, handing him a ten-dollar bill. As soon as the car door shut, he sped off squealing tires.

After a quick trip up to my seventh-floor room in the tiny elevator, I entered, kicked off my shoes, dropped my purse on the bed, and shucked my clothes. I started a bath, dumping in more than enough bubbles to float the Titanic, and then went in search of my cell phone. I found it on the floor beside my purse.

Pete answered, “I called you a little while ago, why didn’t you answer?”

Great, he was in a bad mood too. That didn’t bode well for the coming conversation. I mentally ran through my possible responses, from “I’m sorry, I was busy getting a musical lesson on the perils of prostitution” to “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe because I was busy earning my paycheck?” before going with the standard response to a stupid question.

“I was busy.”

“Whatever,” he said, knowing how much I hated that word. He might have well said F-you. “Here’s Quinn.”

I mentally added to the list of things I don’t like about Pete (he can be so petulant sometimes) while I waited for Quinn to get on the line. My heart warmed at the sound of her voice. I could picture her there right in front of me—her blonde pig-tails flapping, her smile wide and eager as she bounced in place, barely able to contain her excitement.

“Mom, guess what!” Quinn said.

“What honey?” I went to turn off the tub before the water reached overflow-level.

“I made the honor roll and Mrs. Miracle said I was getting an award next Tuesday for improving the most-est!”

“Wow, Quinn! I’m so proud of you!” And I really was. She’d had a hard time adjusting from private school to public school this year. I’d hated every second of it, but I’d had little choice once Pete’s temporary unemployment had stretched into a year and a half of loafing around.

Quinn giggled. “Daddy says we’re going out for pizza to celebrate... only you can’t come because you’re working.”

I’d heard the lilt in Quinn’s voice evaporate at that last part and I knew that Pete had taken another small dig at me yet again.

“That’s okay sweetie. I really wish I could be there, but as soon as I’m done earning us some money I’ll take you for the biggest ice cream sundae that Sherbert’s has on the menu. How does that sound?”

I did feel bad about stooping to Pete’s level, but what else was I supposed to do? Let Quinn believe, as her father does, that I chose to spend so much time working away from them?

“Can we go tomorrow after school?” she begged.

“No, I won’t be home for a few more days, but I promise we’ll go as soon as I get home. Okay?” Sometimes, this working-mother thing stinks.

I’d gladly trade a few equal rights to get back to the times when moms were expected to stay at home with the kids and dads were obligated to bring home the damn bacon.

I could hear Pete talking to Quinn in the background. Even the muted tones of his voice were irritating to me.

“Okay, I’ve got to get in the tub now. Here’s Dad.”

I heard the phone being set down, maybe on the counter, and I counted the seconds before Pete got back on the line. Thirty-four seconds— that’s how long I paced around in my birthday suit, eyeing my rapidly cooling bath, before Pete picked back up. He was always doing petty passive-aggressive shit like that.

“Got a second notice on the power bill today,” he finally said.

“Okay, I’ll get online and pay it in a few minutes.” I covered myself with a bath towel, noticing for the first time that my room had become downright frigid. Like walk-in freezer cold. I half-expected for my breath to start forming vapor clouds.

I inspected the thermostat and saw that it was reading seventy-two degrees in the room. Weird. It felt much colder than that. Then again, I was naked, tired and probably coming down with something.

After a lengthy pause, Pete spoke. “So, you’re coming home late tomorrow night, right?”

“No, I’ve got meetings all tomorrow and Friday, you know that. And the conference ends with a banquet Friday night, so I’ll be flying home Saturday morning.” No way was I going to call it what the schedule did, an end-of-conference blow out. That sounded too much like a party and Pete would flip his lid.

I could hear him huffing and I was in no mood to argue over something I’d told him a million times. “Look, I’ve got a dinner meeting in forty-five minutes and I haven’t even showered yet. I can’t keep the clients waiting.”

“Why do you need to shower… you have a hot date?” he spat, then added a fake laugh to make it seem like he was kidding. I knew he wasn’t joking in the least.

I eye rolled to myself in the mirror.

“As a matter of fact I do. I’m having dinner with an all-female owned Guitar Company,” I added extra emphasis to the all-female part, hoping he’d picture me wooing a group of man-hating lesbians, and then continued. “After that I’m having drinks with a smoking-hot Italian woman, who I’m pretty sure was hitting on me earlier today.”

Okay, so I embellished a little bit. In my defense Pete deserved every bit of it. I hoped he tossed and turned all night wondering what I was doing out on the hot town, with even hotter women.

“Whatever. Just don’t forget I have plans Saturday afternoon, so come straight home from the airport.”

God, he was such a
guy
. He wasn’t the least bit threatened by the idea of me out with attractive women, because he didn’t see a woman as direct competition. In his mind
no penis equaled no threat.

“Fine, see you Saturday,” I said before ending the call and tossing my phone on the bed.

I got into the tub and allowed myself five minutes of trying to relax, but that was easier said than done. I kept thinking about my crumbling marriage and how Pete had changed so much since getting laid off. Gone was the carefree, hardworking devoted father and in its place I’d gotten stuck with an ogre.

When he wasn’t sulking around, Pete seemed to get pleasure from cutting me down every chance he got. Instead of being the savior of our family, I’d become the bad guy for doing something as inconsiderate as having a job while he didn’t.

How horrible of me!

Obviously, I needed to be ridiculed. Perhaps by being forced to wear a scarlet “E” stapled to my chest for “employed.” That would teach me.

I grumbled to myself and blew a handful of bubbles into the air. Men were stupid. Like, not-even-worth-the-effort stupid.

I pulled myself out of the tub and toweled off, perhaps a little too vigorously. Pete just made me so damn mad. It’s not like he was even looking for work at this point.

I got myself ready in record time and headed out to my business dinner, all while thinking about Pete.

I was meeting the women for dinner just up the block from my hotel, so I chose to save some cab fare and walk. The night was cooling off some, but the balmy air still coated my skin.

I arrived at the restaurant five minutes late, which for someone with my track record wasn’t technically late at all. As I entered the restaurant, the smell of flame-grilled red meat captured my attention. I savored the anticipation of dinner as I realized just how long it had been since I’d had a decent meal out that didn’t involve occupying a child.

I gave the host my party’s name and she directed me to a table flanking the bar area where the women from
SheRawks!
waiting on me. I walked to the table while cursing my ballet flats for making me walk like a dude.

“Sorry I’m late, my GPS tried to take me to Cleveland,” I said, careful to exude confidence and charm.

“We just got here ourselves,” said Joni, the CEO and founder of the company. “Make yourself comfortable while I introduce you to my fabulous partners.”

I shrugged off my light blazer and hung it on the back of my chair, then seated myself at one end of the rectangular table, with Joni at the opposite end and two women on each side. The woman on my immediate left was introduced as Cassidy, the director of product development. She had an easy smile, sparkling green eyes and a mass of curly red hair.

“Call me Cass. Everyone does,” she said before tilting a bottle of pale, designer beer to her lips.

The woman between Cassidy and Joni, a heavy set woman with cropped blonde hair and an apparent love of tank tops, introduced herself while standing and offering out her hand.