Semblance (2 page)

I began to play and was marveled by the brilliant acoustics of the room. The sounds of the piano filled every nook and cranny of the restaurant with its vibrant melody, and the building responded with a lively echo that flooded the space between the walls with the genius imagination of Chopin.

When I finished the piece, I quickly transitioned to another piece, and then another. Eventually I lost track of time, finishing song after song, pausing only to allow the final resonating note of each piece to fade into the air and seep into the hearts of my audience.

When I had finally finished my entire set and glanced up from the keys, I noticed that most of the tables were now empty.

I was disappointed. Did my music scare everyone off?

I looked up at the clock and realized it was almost midnight and the restaurant was just about to close. I had played for five solid hours without taking a single break.

Music had a tendency of speeding up time, making me lose track of the world around me. I lifted my hands off the keys and stretched them out, catching a glimpse of Abraham chatting with someone.

The woman sitting at the table was a real classic beauty. Raven-colored hair flowed down to her waist like water; counterpoint to her smooth milk-white skin and red lips the color of apples. She wore a ravishing designer ink black dress that made my Vera Wang gown look ‘casual’ and the diamonds around her neck and fingers reflected the lights from the chandeliers above, transforming her into a glittering dark star.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye and smiled, and me being the goofball I was, waved to her like a kid on a school bus waving to her parents. I might as well have added a “Hidey Ho!” to officially coronate myself as the Queen of the Dorks.

While I mentally chewed myself out, Abraham strolled up to me and gave me a great big smile.

“Brilliant,” he said to me.

“You think so? I was so far gone into the music that I didn’t get a chance to see other people or gauge their reactions. I was okay then?”

Abraham pointed to the fishbowl wineglass resting on top of the piano. It was jammed with money, most consisting of one hundred dollar bills.

“There’s a direct correlation between audience appreciation and the tips you receive. I’d say you impressed my patrons tonight. The tips are all yours. I will also cut you a modest check for your wonderful work. But first, there is someone that I’d like you to meet.”

He took me gently by the hand and led me to the table where the black-haired woman sat. A glass of dark red wine rested in front of her.

“Aria, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Calisto Tremaine, of the esteemed Tremaine family,” Abraham announced. “She was the one who recommended your talents to us.”

There was a familiarity to Calisto’s face but I couldn’t recall ever meeting her before. Would she be offended if I didn’t have a clue who she was? I couldn’t possibly pretend to know her. My abilities to tell a lie were as proficient as a hole-punched condom.

“I’m honoured,” I said, extending my hand out. I figured a good old-fashioned handshake was a safe way to start things off.

Calisto grinned, rose from her seat and returned the handshake. She had a firm grip.

“I’m a big fan of your music,” Calisto said, gesturing for me to sit in the empty seat at her table.

I sat down.

Seeing that we were both settled in, Abraham gave us a polite nod. “Well if there’s nothing else needed of me, I’ll help the others with the cleanup.”

“You do realize that’s what hired help is for,” Calisto said. “You should sit back and relax once in a while.”

Abraham smiled. “Believe it or not, I find doing dishes quite soothing.”

“You’re the poorest rich man I know,” Calisto said.

“Wealth is not measured by one’s assets, but rather one’s reverence,” Abraham said. “Do those words sound familiar?”

“How could they not?” Calisto smiled. “I’ve always been daddy’s little girl. You know that.”

Abraham bowed politely and then headed back to the kitchen, leaving me alone with my mysterious fan.

“Some wine?” Calisto asked, gesturing to the half-filled bottle on the table. “It’s a vintage 82 Bordeaux. You’ll love it.”

“I can’t really say I’m a wine connoisseur,” I replied. “Something so expensive might go to waste on my primitive taste buds.”

“Nonsense,” Calisto said as she poured some of the rosy liquid into an empty wine glass on the table. “It’s a travesty for a single girl to drink alone. You’re obliged to have a drink with me.”

I grabbed the glass, shrugged, and took a healthy swig, downing it like I would a beer. It probably wasn’t the proper wine-drinking etiquette seeing as how my chugging display caused Calisto to start giggling.

“You’re supposed to appreciate the wine, not inhale it like tequila shots,” she said.

“Sorry,” I muttered. I felt her judging me, which was item number two on the list of things that vexed me.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “Maybe all the wine snobs are fools and don’t even know it. Who has the right to determine how one enjoys alcoholic beverages anyways? To tell you the truth, I never had the palate for wines either. All vintages taste the same to me.” Calisto stared at her glass, shrugged her shoulders and said, “Fuck it, why not?” She downed the rest of her wine in a single gulp.

“Fuck traditions,” she laughed, slamming the glass down on the table when she finished. “Someone always ends up breaking it anyways.”

I liked her already.

“You probably have a lot of questions for me,” Calisto said, pouring another glass.

“I sure do,” I replied.

“You probably want to know how I heard of you and your brilliant piano skills.”

“Yes.”

“And why I suggested for you to play at the China White tonight.”

“Yup.”

“And maybe who I am, besides this lonely girl sitting at this table downing a whole bottle of wine by herself.”

“Of course.”

“Well too bad,” Calisto laughed. “None of that matters. What does matter is if you want to make some more money.”

“Like another gig here?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” Calisto said. She glanced around the room, making sure no one else was listening in on our conversation. “What if I told you that I’m looking for a pianist for just one night at a very exclusive party?”

“Sounds pretty intriguing,” I replied.

“When I say exclusive, I mean that no one else can know about it. I’m talking cloak and dagger secrecy here,” Calisto said. “Can I trust you not to say a word of this to anyone else?”

“Say a word of what?” I played along. “We’re just sitting here enjoying a nice glass of wine from what I can tell.”

Calisto smiled. “I’m part of a very secretive club whose members are very influential and powerful people. Don’t ask me to name any names or go into further details, but I can tell you this: if they like you, they can seriously make your career. You can have your pick headlining Vienna, the Metropolitan Opera, or Carnegie Hall. I’m sure you get the picture.”

She definitely knew how to throw a good sales pitch.

“Go on,” I said. “The wine has made me very impressionable to your sweet talk.”

“In three days, my organization is having a…” Calisto seemingly paused, trying to find the right words for it. “…celebration. It’s possibly one of the biggest events our secret little organization has had in the past decade. I’ve been tasked to take care of all the little details, including entertainment. Aria Valencia, I’d love for you to play at this very important and very
hush, hush
event.

It sounded almost too good to be true. There had to be a catch. There
always
was a catch to these things.

“I don’t want to sound like an ungrateful skeptic, but why me?” I asked. “I’m just a nobody who knows how to hammer out a few good pieces on the piano.”

Calisto laughed. “You’re modest to a fault. A few months back I heard you practicing in the university concert hall. You were playing Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody number two, a piece that has great sentimental value to me. You played it with such a passionate fire and beautiful grace that the music resonated from the auditorium and straight into my heart, holding me like a mother holding her newborn.

“My father was a huge Liszt fan and listening to you play the rhapsody took me back in time, when I was still a little girl. I remembered sitting in my father’s lap one night and listening to that beautiful piece, just before his unfortunate death. It was the last moment we shared together as father and daughter. Your music unearthed that precious memory for me, a gift that’s absolutely priceless. I’ve been a huge fan of yours ever since.”

I was taken aback by her story. “You actually liked my version of the Hungarian Rhapsody?” I asked. “I thought I was playing it like shit. Hell, I still don’t have it all figured out. My fingering is still a bit stiff on some parts of the song.”

“It was beautiful Aria; absolutely beautiful,” Calisto replied. “I know this will sound a bit stalker-ish but sometimes I listened to you practicing from outside the hall. I’ve also attended a couple of your recitals that you had for your classmates. Creepy isn’t it?”

I was flabbergasted. I actually had a fan, and she was a woman of impeccable taste.

“It’s not creepy at all,” I replied. “I’m thrilled that someone appreciates all my hard work. Sometimes as an artist it’s hard gauging your own performance. It’s great to have a little validation once in a while.”

“So here’s the deal,” Calisto said. “I want you to play for us at this celebration. I’m willing to pay you ten thousand dollars for a single night’s worth of music.”

I choked on my wine.

“Aria, are you alright?” she asked.

When my airways were finally cleared of fluid, I responded.  “Did you just say you’d give me ten thousand dollars for a single night?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “Ten thousand dollars. It’s a very good offer. Try finding that kind of money without having to take your clothes off in some sort of fashion.”

I had to be dreaming. I should have been ecstatic, jumping on the tables while doing fist pumps, but once again the skeptic in me strangled my excitement.

“If this party is as important as you say it is, why don’t you get someone famous, like Marc-Andre Hamelin or Krystian Zimmerman?” I asked. “I’m seriously a peasant who can barely afford a Kit-Kat for lunch.”

“Because I don’t want either of those two,” Calisto replied. “I want you.”

“And these guests of yours won’t be disappointed that an undiscovered nobody musician will be playing at this grand event?”

Her smile was sly and full of mischief. “Here’s the beautiful thing,” Calisto said. “I’ve already made you a star in this inner circle of ours.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I created a story about you, one that may be on the fictitious side,” Calisto said. “Right now you’re known as the Golden Virgin, a mysterious pianist who lives a life of chastity so that your music is as pure as your heart.”

“But I’m not a virgin,” I said.

“Just pretend.”

“I dunno,” I replied. “I’ve never been a good liar.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

It was a rather blunt question to ask. I was fairly private when it came to my personal life and felt uncomfortable discussing it with someone whom I met ten minutes ago. I was also embarrassed to admit that my sex life was as dry as a sand dune over the past two years.

Having no money didn’t exactly give me the freedom to go out and meet people worthy of dating.

“I guess it was an intrusive question to ask,” Calisto said, after a brief moment of awkward silence. “I’m fairly open about my indecent escapades. The last time I had sex was yesterday with a Chilean carpenter who was installing hardwood floors in one of my condos. He looked like Johnny Depp with muscles. I came twice that night.”

“Uh…”

“I thought I’d share that with you, just so you understand that my question to you had no cruel intentions behind it.”

Oh, what the hell. What harm was it in telling Calisto about my dismal and chaste personal life.

“Two years,” I said.

“Two years?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. You’re practically chaste anyways. I’m sure you’ll play the part of the Golden Virgin well.”

“So this story telling of yours, does that make you a habitual liar?” I asked. I was always cautious around storytellers. I hated being the fool.

“No,” Calisto replied. “It makes me a habitual marketer.”

“I see.”

She must have noticed the look of disapproval on my face. She immediately took my hands and gave me a pleasant, and strangely hypnotic, smile.

“So Aria, it all comes down to this,” Calisto said. “For ten thousand dollars, will you play at our exclusive party?”

I didn’t have to think long nor hard about it.

“Yes,” I replied. I needed to take every opportunity I could get. Also ten thousand dollars would cover my rent for the year along with supplying me with some much-needed groceries.