she knew it wasn’t, knew she’d earned her skill and she ought to protect it. Knew the real reason she quit was that she couldn’t accept she wasn’t good enough to get into Julliard. Brian was the one who’d sent her back to playing, and for that she would be forever grateful.
* * *
She slid across the polished wood floor in her stocking feet and sat at the piano.
“Remember this?” She hadn’t played the Schubert in years but the notes came back effortlessly.
The sangria made her sloppy, and this piano hadn’t been tuned in a while. No matter, she played with flair, half-drunk melodrama, raised her hands high, pounded the keys. Made sure the neighbors would hear and the cats on the street.
Then the Schubert was done and she slid into the Beethoven, lush and romantic. Now and again she turned her head toward Brian. He leaned against the wall and sipped his wine and watched with his unreadable smile, the one she’d loved until she hadn’t and now did again.
When she finished he came to her, stood behind her. Put his hands on her shoulders and leaned over and kissed her.
“Bed,” he murmured in her ear.
“Tony,” she whispered back.
* * *
Across the room Tony stood from the couch like he’d heard his name.
“Mom. You know it’s like one twenty.”
She loved Tony more than anything, her only son, et cetera… but he seemed to have no idea that she and Brian were having a moment. He desperately needed a girlfriend, or just a girl friend.
“Yes, so?”
“Where’s Kira?”
3
“Kira.” Jacques kissed her cheek. “This is Lilly. Lilly, Kira.”
Lilly was early twenties, brown eyes, with a long platinum-blond wig.
Kira’s stomach knotted. Jacques had brought his girlfriend?
“My sister.”
Now Kira saw the resemblance: the strong chin, the narrow mouth.
“You didn’t think…”
Tonight he was wearing a baseball cap with a big unbroken bill and a logo she didn’t recognize. She didn’t like the hat. It made him look like a bro. “I didn’t bring my brother.”
Lilly said something in French.
“I don’t speak French.”
Lilly smirked. “I said, American heartbreakers, better keep an eye on you.”
That fast Kira couldn’t stand this hipper-than-thou Paris chick. Lilly wore a black Violent Femmes T-shirt, purple velvet pants tucked into knee-high black boots, and a sneer. Jacques’s eyes tracked between the two women as if he’d just realized his mistake.
“Let’s have a drink.”
Kira lifted her Estrella. “I’m okay.”
The place was filling now, louder by the minute, the bartenders busy. They were stuck at the bar for a while before Jacques could order. Kira had dressed for a date, an off-the-shoulder white peasant top, a black flowered skirt, mid-calf gladiator-style sandals for an edgy touch.
“Nice sandals.”
Was Lilly being sarcastic? Better to be polite, Rebecca always said. Be the higher mammal. “Thanks.”
“So popular in Paris two years ago.”
At least now Kira didn’t have to wonder.
The bartender handed Jacques a pitcher of sangria and three copper mugs. They squeezed around a circular table in the back. Lilly gabbed at Jacques in French. No doubt intentionally, knowing Kira couldn’t understand. Kira didn’t mind, she had to figure out her next move. She was torn between wanting to ditch them and making sure Lilly didn’t win without a fight.
Jacques poured sangria. “To new friends. Salud.”
“First time in Europe, yes?” Lilly said.
Kira wished she could spin a fable about her globe-trotting youth. “Oui.”
“Here I thought you didn’t speak French.”
“You at the Sorbonne too, or do you spend all your time looking for velvet pants?”
“They don’t sell these at Abercrombie.” Aber-crombie.
During Kira’s anorexic days she’d found she could be nasty. No surprise, hunger didn’t improve her mood. Now that she lived on full rations she didn’t usually play the mean girl.
Except on special occasions. Like tonight. She poked at Lilly’s Violent Femmes T-shirt, just above the waist of the pants. As she’d expected they were a touch too tight, giving the French girl the hint of a muffin top. “Pro tip. Up a size next time.”
Lilly muttered under her breath, stood up, and walked off.
“Why is she here?”
Jacques shrugged and an oddly helpless expression crossed his face. “I promise you she’ll find a guy, she won’t bother us.”
“Hope she finds somebody soon, because I can’t stay out all night.”
“What time?”
“I turn into a pumpkin at one.”
“One? That’s barely one hour and a half.”
“One thirty maybe. But you’ll be here tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, but I have to go back in the afternoon. I have clients.”
Easy come, easy go. What had seemed like true love barely twenty-four hours ago had turned into