Coffee Sonata (6 page)

Manon turned off the Jacuzzi’s jets and welcomed the silence. As she sank deeper into the water, her chin just above it, she let her hands slide along her body and gently rubbed sore muscles. The image of a redhead with long, rich hair pulled back in an intricate French braid invaded her mind: Eryn Goddard, her new neighbor. Manon sighed and continued to explore her own smooth skin.

Eryn’s eyes intrigued her. Shimmering, green, and luminescent, they were unwavering in their intensity. Manon shivered and slid farther under the water, only her face above the surface. Involuntarily she parted her legs, and the hot water flowing against her most sensitive parts made her gasp as if someone else was touching her.

It would be so easy to imagine she was feeling Eryn’s caress, but Manon struggled against such fantasy, as she had always done. She could ill afford it now. As a Belmont, she had been raised from birth to be perfect, to behave immaculately. Though
she
saw nothing wrong with being gay, her legacy didn’t allow her the luxury of putting her own interests and happiness first. All her life she had worked hard to fulfill her family’s expectations, burying her need for personal fulfillment and learning to be satisfied with the rewards of the family business. Though she had found women attractive since she was seventeen, she couldn’t act on her feelings. Absolutely not.

Eryn Goddard’s face emerged again, and Manon moaned as one hand found an erect nipple and the other moved toward her swelling center.
I shouldn’t.
But it was too late to stop; the startling rush of arousal was too strong. Pushing her self-imposed rules aside, she spread her legs and stroked down along her folds. The slickness between them was easy to spread over the aching ridge of nerves at the center. In her mind, she loosened the ribbon holding Eryn’s braid, and fragrant wavy hair surrounded them…
Them? Oh, God. Stop it, you fool! Get a grip!

Furious at herself, Manon rubbed harder, quicker, as if getting the orgasm over and done with would erase Eryn from her mind. With agonizing slowness, she moved toward climax, her clitoris swollen and hard where her fingers pinched it. Images of Eryn’s tongue sliding between her fingers to soothe and entice came and went. Manon whimpered and muttered incoherent words, sometimes cursing under her breath. Unsure if she struggled toward, or against, her pending orgasm, Manon finally went rigid, convulsing as wave after wave of lonely pleasure surged through her.

The water sloshed around her, and for a moment it wasn’t foamy water at all, but long red locks and the soft skin of a freckled cheek that touched her. Manon cried out, muffled, close to mortified, when her orgasm began to wear off. Silent tears ran down her cheeks and blended with the water, and she had no idea where the tears of sadness ended and the ones of fury began.

Eventually the water became so cool she started to shiver. Her legs unsteady, she rose and took a quick, hot shower. Afterward, she rubbed her skin vigorously with a terry cloth towel, determined to wipe the thought of Eryn Goddard off her skin and out of her mind.

*

The Sunday brunch crowd occupied almost every table in the Sea Stone Café. Vivian moved between them with calculated ease as she kept her eyes on a vacant table by the far wall. She reached it with a sigh of relief and sat down, adjusting the scarf covering her hair, which she had pulled back into a French twist for the day.

“Vivian,” a familiar voice greeted her from behind. Mike showed up at her side. “Perfect timing—I was just thinking about you.”

Vivian smiled at the spontaneous comment and promptly saw two red spots appear on Mike’s high cheekbones. “I was thinking of you too—and your coffee,” Vivian teased, delighted at Mike’s reaction. Then it occurred to her that Mike might be making polite conversation with yet another customer, and the possibility erased her smile.

“Of course,” Mike countered, “the way to a lady’s heart is through caffeine in appropriate doses.”

Reassured, Vivian felt her cheeks warm under Mike’s gaze.
Me—blushing? Now that’s one for the tabloids!
“Well, if you want to stay on my good side,” she said, “you can bring me a double espresso latte and a baguette with lettuce and tomatoes…and perhaps a sprinkle of Parmesan.”

“My pleasure.” Mike smiled, but then she wavered. “Want some company? It’s time for my break. Or are you waiting for someone?”

As Mike straightened her back and shoved her hands into her apron pockets, her obvious discomfort piqued Vivian’s interest. “I’d love some company, Mike. I’m here by myself.”

“Great.” An expression of relief flitted through Mike’s eyes. “Be right back.”

Vivian noticed several other people sitting alone, reading the Sunday paper. She suspected Eryn Goddard’s article was featured in the entertainment section and hoped nobody recognized her. In her official role as
prima donna assoluta
, with impeccable makeup and an awe-inspiring hairdo, she made an unforgettable impact on most people. She dressed to enhance her position as one of the most beautiful mezzo-sopranos working. A full spread in
Vanity
had claimed that none of the new talents could compare, despite their youth.
If they saw me now or, worse, early in the morning, they wouldn’t argue this so-called fact any longer.
Vivian hid a smile at the mere thought.

Opera reviewers around the world unanimously agreed her voice was at its best these days, when maturity and life had put its mark on her vocal cords and her soul. Vivian knew they were right, but they didn’t know many things, which made her worry about the charity event four weeks from now.

A Sunday paper was tucked into the narrow basket beneath each table, but Vivian didn’t attempt to pick one up.

“Here we go.” Mike placed a tray between them and sat down. “Oh, God, you have no idea how long my feet have screamed at me to sit down.” Vivian heard her kick off her shoes under the table. “There, better!” She eyed the tray. “Now, here’s your latte and baguette. I spiced it up for you with some new mixed herbs that go really well with tomatoes…Vivian?”

Vivian tore her eyes from Mike’s enthusiastic face and regarded the steaming mug of coffee and the large baguette. “It looks delicious. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You seem a bit tired. Is being on your home turf catching up with you?”

Vivian sipped her latte and felt the caffeine hit her system almost instantly. “In a way, yes.”

Mike stirred her drink, fished out a dark tea bag, and squeezed it against the inside of the mug with her spoon. Blowing on the tea she looked thoughtfully at Vivian. “Something bothering you? Can I help?”

“Thank you, but I don’t think so. As I said, this will be my last performance for quite a while.”
Most likely ever.
The thought hurt, and Vivian steeled herself against it, pushing it to the back of her mind.
“The media is focusing a lot on my part of the concert…and I guess I’m nervous. I have rehearsals all month, but still…” She shrugged. “I’m probably just overanxious.”

“I think it’s wonderful.” Mike leaned forward and placed her mug back on the table. “Was it your idea?”

“No, it wasn’t.” Vivian sipped her coffee. “Manon Belmont approached me several months ago, asking if I could fit this event into my schedule. I was booked for another year abroad, but my circumstances changed, so I could agree to Manon’s request.” Vivian bit into the baguette, managing not to drop the tomato. “I’m not the only one performing. A local concert pianist will be playing, and Madame Verdi’s ballet group will dance.”

“Madame Verdi! Oh, I remember when my fondest daydream was to dance. A girl in my class, I think it was second grade, took her classes. I desperately wanted to be a ballerina, but I sprouted into a gangly tomboy faster than you can say ‘beanpole.’”

Vivian could easily picture Mike as a child. The tousled black hair, skinny knees beneath denim shorts, and those dark blue eyes studying the world in much the same way Mike was looking at her now, with undivided, but guarded, interest. “So what did you end up doing?”

“Oh, nothing much.” Mike’s eyes grew impossibly dark. She shrugged and cradled her chin with her palm. “Survived, mostly. I grew up with just my father and had to be responsible for myself early on.”

“Sounds familiar. I grew up with both my parents, though. They worked shifts at the cotton mill—long days and sometimes nights. I was home alone a lot.”

“You’re an only child too?”

“Yes. I remember wishing for siblings. How about you?”

Mike shook her head, her knuckles whitening as her hands clutched the mug. “No, I didn’t. Not ever.”

Vivian remembered what Mike had told her about knowing someone who drank too much.
Her father perhaps?
She knew better than to pry, especially in a public place. Still, she couldn’t help but respond to Mike’s obvious distress. Barely missing the tea mug, she placed her hand on Mike’s wrist. “Life can be tough on kids.”

“Understatement.” Mike’s voice didn’t waver. “Say, can’t you discuss your stage fright…or whatever…with Manon Belmont? From what I know, she’s a neat lady, really classy, and on TV the two of you looked like good friends. I think everyone in town admires her. Well, perhaps except Reba Ronaldo. She wrote a nasty column a while back in the
New Quay Chronicle,
which she had to apologize for, and
that
must’ve stung.”

“Who on earth is Reba Renaldo, and what did she write?”

“She implied that Manon Belmont goes from one man to the next like wildfire. You know, chews ’em up, spits ’em out. That sort of thing.”

“What a terrible thing to say, about anyone. It’s nothing but lies. I’m amazed she wasn’t fired. I mean, a local paper, which relies on local adverts?”

“Ah, believe it or not, Reba has her fans. When a large number of
them
wrote to the paper, complaining, she and the chief editor finally thought she ought to apologize. On the front page, no less. Only time that woman’s made the front page, and she has to eat humble pie.”

Mike snickered, a sound Vivian found surprisingly charming. She could easily picture Manon’s haughty expression as she read this Reba person’s column. She’d certainly seen it many times in the past. “The Belmonts have earned a lot of respect and loyalty in the community.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Mike grimaced. “They’ve had their share of bad luck, more than their share. Seems like they’ve been sort of cursed. I think a lot of people feel bad for Ms. Belmont because of that.” Mike’s voice was low, almost hollow. “She’s the last one. That’s got to be awfully lonely. Who could blame her for looking for company?”

“I agree.” Vivian wondered why Mike sounded so pained. She leaned her chin into her palm. “I guess I could talk to Manon about my stage fright. On the other hand…”

“What?”

“I don’t think it’s really stage fright—I’ve done this too many times for that. However, I suppose I could talk to Manon about this strange uneasiness. It’s not like me. She’s my friend, but…and perhaps this is my pride speaking here, I don’t want the press to get wind of this. You have no idea how the media can blow things out of proportion.” Vivian’s eyes hardened. “They file everything you say or do and store it for future reference. No matter what, they always get the last word.”

“Oh, trust me, I have some idea.” Mike made a wry face and twisted her napkin into a ball. “But is the local paper that bad when it comes to the charity event? Surely you thought Eryn Goddard’s piece was fair?”

“The Belmont Foundation arranged for the press conference. They need the publicity.” Vivian willed her shoulders to relax and shook her head. “Since I’d already agreed to do it, there was no way out. They need to sell every single one of the tickets. And I really don’t have an opinion about the
New Quay Chronicle
. If I remember correctly, Ms. Goddard appeared intelligent and pleasant. At least I think it was her, sitting in front. I’m sure she did a good job.”

“Haven’t you read it yet?” Mike reached for the newspaper. “I glanced at it earlier and think it’s actually well written. Granted, I’m more used to bookkeeping and dealing with business management, but it seemed to do you justice.”

Vivian felt herself grow cold and shook her head again. “No, I haven’t read it.”

“Here.” Mike unfolded the entertainment section and offered it, but appeared slightly puzzled when Vivian waved it away.

“I’d rather not.” Vivian knew she sounded short and smiled weakly. “Why don’t you read some of it to me?”

A few seconds ticked by before Mike dropped her gaze toward the article. “All right. No problem.” In a low, clear voice, she read the beginning of Eryn’s text.

As she took in the words, Vivian began to relax. She liked how Eryn had written the article. The straightforward text wasn’t full of the ingratiating adjectives that inundated some of the articles written about her in Europe. More importantly, it was neither disrespectful nor malicious. Instead it focused on Vivian’s link to East Quay and her work in general over the years. Eryn had appeared to be confident and friendly. Her questions had indicated that she’d done her homework, but…she was a reporter, and the media always made Vivian feel on guard.

“She’s done a good job,” Vivian said with a quiet sigh of relief when Mike stopped. “Thank you for reading it to me. I…I haven’t subscribed to the
Chronicle
yet.”

“My pleasure.” Mike folded the paper and put it back into the basket. “Got to get back to work.”