Authors: Greg Herren
As they walked toward the dunes, Mike realized that though she didn’t know Vivian, she very much wanted to.
*
Vivian unleashed the dogs before she climbed the stairs. Seeing how they had taken to Mike, she smiled. Their reaction was a good omen, since Mike was her first private houseguest, a nerve-wracking prospect. Even though she had entertained her colleagues for years in the opera world, that had been business. But to have a young woman over for an impromptu visit felt more daunting than even her upcoming performance.
Vivian gestured for Mike to sit down on the patio before she hurried into the house and grabbed a pitcher of orange juice from the fridge. She placed it and a couple of glasses on a silver tray, took a deep breath as she picked it up, bit the tip of her tongue for balance, and carried it out to the patio, hoping she wouldn’t trip or spill anything. Successful, she placed the tray on the cast-iron table. “Here we go.”
“Thanks.” Mike was still patting the dogs. “Perry, Mason, down.”
Vivian stared as her boys obediently lay at Mike’s feet and gazed up at her, as if eager for her praise.
“Good dogs.” Mike’s words were met with adoring looks and wagging tails. “I’m glad you haven’t had their ears cropped or their tails docked.”
“Yes,” Vivian said, her heart warming at this observation. “Personally, I find it unnecessary and unnatural to subject any pet to that kind of treatment.”
“I know what you mean. You mentioned they’re brothers. They look alike.”
“Yes, some people warned me they might become hostile toward each other when they matured, but after six years they still only play.”
“Best friends, huh, boys?” Mike ruffled the dogs’ ears. “They’re great.”
Vivian sipped her juice and motioned for Mike to accept the other glass. She studied Mike—black hair, milky white complexion, and the darkest blue eyes she had ever seen.
Tall, at least six feet, and slim, Mike appeared fragile, but the way she jogged suggested strength beneath her smooth skin.
She recognized an unexpected attraction, which was both puzzling and unwelcome. Granted, she’d been acting out of character lately, and with good reason, but she certainly didn’t have time for any mysterious feelings. This called for casual conversation. “So, Mike, did you grow up here?”
“I lived on the other side of town most of my life. Was raised south of East Quay, in the outskirts four bus stops from the depot. Now they’ve built a whole new community there, kind of like a suburb, though it’s silly to think of a town this size having one.”
“Unless you consider the tourist season with all the summer guests.”
“True. Everyone and their dog are here then.” Mike winked at Vivian. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Of course.” Vivian hoped her smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. Maintaining a relaxed façade was more difficult than she’d anticipated. “I know exactly where you’re talking about. I grew up not far from there, a bit closer to town, on Delivery Street, and couldn’t get away fast enough. I hated it with a passion. It was so run down and depressing…” She grimaced. “I guess that’s why—”
“What?”
“I’m shocked that coming back to East Quay is comforting. Like home, you know? It’s odd, because I don’t know anyone here anymore, except my manager and Manon Belmont.”
“You’re not exactly back in the sticks, are you?” Mike cocked her head and glanced around, gesturing at the luxurious interior. “This is definitely the more upscale part of East Quay.”
“Like I said, it isn’t mine.”
“But surely you make more than your manager.” Mike pursed her lips. “If you don’t, you must be gullible or doing something else wrong.”
Vivian tossed her head back and laughed aloud. “God, how true. This isn’t a small apartment above a hardware store, that’s for sure. Returning to ‘the right side of Quay’ and still helping the local hospital by doing what I do best feels okay.”
“And it should. No need to go slumming to prove a point.”
She actually gets it.
Vivian wanted to reach out and squeeze Mike’s hand in gratitude, but instead chose to cuddle Perry’s silky ears.
If
she
gets it, perhaps I can really come home.
Some of the comments the reporters made during the press conference still stung, perhaps because she believed, deep down, that they were justified.
I did abandon this place and didn’t look back, until now, despite every attempt they made to get me to perform here over the years. And now I need these people a lot more than they need me.
“You’re performing for free, right?” Mike interrupted Vivian’s thoughts. “That’s cool and very generous.”
“Yes, I am. And thank you. Those $1,500 tickets should certainly help build the new children’s hospital wing. Manon Belmont expects most of New York’s opera community to turn out.”
“That’s great.” Mike said. “With all the cutbacks lately, our hospital needs the cash.”
“I know.” Vivian let her fingers trace the rim of her glass, creating a delicate, haunting sound that made the dogs prick their ears. “After Manon and I discussed this project, my manager took care of everything. At first he was apprehensive, but I told him since I was going on leave this was a fabulous way to end my tour. Honestly, Mike, I’ve traveled for so long and…”
There’s more than I can handle alone now.
She was so relieved to know Malcolm was taking care of things when she had to keep one doctor’s appointment after another. He was more than her manager. Before she met Manon, Malcolm and his wife were her only friends and had been since she was a teenager. The hordes of admirers and fanatical opera fans that constantly surrounded her, as well as her accompanist, makeup artist, and the paparazzi, weren’t a good source of new relationships. And besides, she had always been an ambitious workaholic.
Vivian realized she was drifting and said briskly,
“I have to make some changes, so I decided to take a break here. Time will tell if it was the right move.” She sipped her juice again. “Exactly how did you end up owning such a successful café?”
“Martha and Edward helped me turn an out-of-the-way café into a popular place for the yacht crowd and, later on, the locals from East Quay.” Mike sounded cautious. “Lately, we’ve attracted a lot of out-of-towners, thanks to some serious advertising. We couldn’t accommodate a bigger crowd until now. At breakfast and lunch, we have mostly regulars, and in the evenings all sorts of people come in for a meal and some coffee.”
“Sounds like long days for you.”
“Very long days. That’s why my morning run is so important. It gives me a chance to…breathe.”
Watching the careful smile that flickered over Mike’s features reminded Vivian of glimpsing a startlingly beautiful sunrise, only to watch it disappear as fast as it appeared. Uncertain why a mere smile had such an impact, Vivian struggled for something to say.
“I can imagine that. Most people don’t realize what kind of physical effort being an opera singer entails. It’s like being a lumberjack.”
“A lumberjack?”
“Performing for an entire evening is hard on the body.”
“I’m glad I ran into you this morning.” Mike gestured toward the dogs, the glass, and the ocean view. “This was great.”
“I agree. How old are you, Mike?” The question slipped out before Vivian could stop it.
Damn, where’s my tact?
“Thirty-four.” Mike sounded unfazed. “You?”
“I’m fifty-three.” Relieved, Vivian liked Mike’s quick return of her frank question. “Actually fifty-four in a few months.”
“You look a lot younger.”
“Thank you, so do you. Age is really just a number. We opera singers aren’t like many theater and screen actors. We can still find parts well into our sixties. Makeup helps, but our performance isn’t about appearance. It’s about the voice.”
“You don’t need any help in either department,” Mike said impulsively.
Embarrassed but pleased, Vivian changed the subject. “I can certainly see why people eat at your cafe. It feels so warm and welcoming. Besides, you’re bound to attract all kinds of coffee lovers.”
“I know. Our Java lovers are very particular about how we grind and brew their coffee.” Mike fiddled with her glass, flustered at the praise. “And being meticulous has paid off. My best investment, not counting Martha and Edward, was our state-of-the-art espresso machine. I stayed up the entire first night staring at it, making cappuccino, café latte, café mocha, and ten other specialties. Edward insists that he found me asleep with my arms around it, but I don’t recall that.”
“Well, you have a new customer to add to your regulars.” Vivian smiled at her sudden commitment, limited though it was. “I love the ambience, and the view is wonderful.”
“Thanks. That’s the idea. When the sun goes down and the sky’s all purple and orange, the marina is a pretty romantic place.” Mike made a wry face. “At least if you believe in romance.”
“And you don’t?” Vivian’s voice was gentle.
“No.”
“Not ever?”
“I don’t actively look for it.” Mike shrugged and appeared a little uncomfortable. “I have a business to run.”
Vivian recognized her own life all too clearly in that sentiment, and it saddened her. They had loneliness in common, it seemed. She watched Mike rise from her chair with Perry and Mason standing at attention. “You have to get back to work?”
“I’d like to stay longer, but…” She patted the dogs, which rose expectantly. “Now, boys, behave and I’ll bring you doggie treats next time, if it’s okay with your mom.” Her cheeks reddened as she glanced at Vivian. “Damn. I didn’t mean to invite myself…”
Wanting to erase Mike’s mortification, Vivian placed a hand on her shoulder. “Just pop by anytime. I’ll be here most of the time, when I’m not rehearsing.”
“Okay, then. See you later!” Mike patted the dogs and stunned Vivian by gently touching her arm, the contact so brief it barely registered. “Have a really good day.” Mike ran down the steps toward the beach and jogged at a steady pace along the water’s edge.
Vivian touched her own arm, which tingled from Mike’s touch. The sky was ablaze, but she resisted the urge to close her eyes. Instead she watched Mike until she disappeared from sight.
Manon sorted through the Sunday paper and tossed everything but the entertainment section on the floor by her bed. Noticing Eryn Goddard’s byline, she tried to reconcile the professional-looking woman in the photo with the redheaded force of nature she’d just met. Now she understood why she hadn’t
recognized her, though she
should have at least remembered the name.
Sunday mornings were the only times she indulged in personal luxuries. She’d already filled the tub with hot water, scented with honey oil and bay-leaf bath salts. She read on her way to the bathroom for a long soak, caught up in Eryn’s article about Vivian Harding. Pleased by the publicity, Manon was relieved that the piece didn’t speculate about Vivian’s private life. Eryn had obviously done her homework too. She mentioned how much the opera world admired the singer but didn’t just focus on her notoriety. Instead she provided facts about the person, the woman Vivian Harding. Eryn demanded her reader’s full attention and some brainpower. Though
Manon was neither a writer nor an editor, she took pride in being able to spot talent. And Eryn clearly had it.
Manon placed the newspaper next to the bathroom sink. As she removed her bathrobe, she scrutinized herself with unusually critical eyes. Though her full breasts were a bit out of proportion to her slim figure, as were her long legs, a college friend, Faith Dabrinsky, had once told her, “When you wear those preppie clothes, you hide your wonderful assets. You’ve got to learn to flaunt them a little…in a respectable way, naturally.”
Manon knew she was only half joking. She climbed into the large tub and set the jets to maximum before she sank down into the milky bubbles. Leaning back she let the soothing scent and the massaging water engulf her.
Being head of the Belmont family and Jacques Belmont IV’s only direct descendant had its moments, but it also created headaches and heartache. She wondered if her grandfather and father had routinely felt as tired as she did right now and how they had relaxed from the demands their positions placed on them.
She’d been only thirteen when the somber realization had struck that she would take over the family fortunes
and
the obligations that came with it someday. Fortunately, she’d had seventeen years after that to prepare for the legacy before her grandfather died. It had felt natural to take over the foundation, his heart’s work. It had never felt like a burden. She loved it and had concentrated on learning everything she could about how to administer the many philanthropic programs. She hadn’t expected to find herself at the head of Belmont Industries quite so soon, however.
Rubbing a soapy hand down her arm, massaging her tired muscles, Manon recalled her shock when her father had suffered a massive stroke four years after her grandfather’s death and soon passed away. Suddenly she was responsible for running both Belmont Industries and the Belmont Foundation, two independent companies that needed full-time attention.
She couldn’t have done it without her highly competent friend Faith, who took over the business side of Belmont Industries and breathed new air into the corporation.