Coffee Sonata (8 page)

On days like today, when she wanted to choke her overbearing boss, she regretted her decision. The general consensus at the news desk was that Harold Mills was a twenty-four-karat bastard.

“I’ll hold you to it, kid.” Harold stalked toward his office and glared at his assistant, who cowered behind her computer.

Eryn checked her watch. Time for the photo shoot uptown. She looked forward to meeting Manon in a more relaxed environment. As she leaned down to grab her purse, she was startled when three pencils dislodged from her hair and fell to the floor.

*

The resonant voice of the woman standing center stage surpassed even the powerful sound of the orchestra. Her hair glowed in the light as the sound reverberated, weaving its magic.

As Vivian reached new heights and incredibly rich tones, Manon stood at the back, listening intently to a new, special quality. Not only had Manon attended a multitude of Vivian’s performances, but she also owned most of her recordings. She had listened to this particular aria many times, and when the music reached its crescendo, Vivian’s voice rose with it, both chasing and leading it. When the aria “Printemps qui commence”
from
Samson et Delilah
ended with only a whisper, Manon held her breath and furtively wiped away tears from her eyelashes.
If she sings like that at the charity concert, she’ll go out with a bang. Oh, God, Vivian…

She watched a stagehand approach Vivian and frowned when the singer backed away from him as he gestured toward where Manon stood in the aisle. Vivian then nodded briefly and edged toward the steps leading down from the stage, descending them slowly.

Now she walked toward Manon with longer, more confident strides and let her hands slide along the backrests of the chairs closest to the aisle. “Manon,” she exclaimed and extended a hand. She wore a flowing blue caftan over black slacks, black pearls glimmering around her neck and dangling from her earlobes. An ebony comb secured her hair in an intricate twist.

“I thought I’d stop by and enjoy some of your performance, Vivian.” Pretty sure the prima-donna act was intended for the benefit of the stagehands and the rest of the staff, she took Vivian’s hand. Manon admired her poise and larger-than-life energy. “We’re honored to have you here, you know that. Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s perfect.” Vivian gave a dazzling smile. “I’m very impressed with the musicians. They would be welcome in any concert hall in Europe.”

“I’m glad you think so. We’re proud of our orchestra. I’ve come to see if you’ve decided on a final program yet. Is singing four arias in a row too much for you?” Manon added the last question in a low voice, out of earshot.

Vivian shook her head slowly. “I sing three or four times that during an opera, Manon. Four arias is nothing. Not even now.”

The sadness in Vivian’s voice made Manon’s heart ache. She seemed confident enough, but Manon wondered if she wasn’t asking too much of herself—under the circumstances. She tried not to sound too concerned. “I realize that, but I also know you haven’t had much time to rehearse, and you’ve also come straight from a strenuous tour. The rehearsals must be wearing. You seem nervous, to tell the truth. Feeling a little jumpy around people?”

“No, no, I’m fine. Still a bit jet-lagged, I suppose.” Vivian spoke quickly, too hasty for her words to ring quite true. “Guess that kind of thing gets worse with age.”

Manon wondered why Vivian was downplaying the subject. They were good friends, if not extremely close, since they were both busy women with demanding careers. Still, the fact that Vivian seemed to be stalling worried her.
Why do I get the feeling that I can’t probe further?
“You sure?”

“Positive. I’ll be fine once I adjust.” Vivian smiled brightly. “You know us old divas. We’re used to performing more or less under any circumstances. It’ll take more than a little jet lag to stop this concert. Trust me.”

“You know best, I’m sure.” Manon suspected that if she pushed, Vivian would only recoil further behind her onstage persona. “All right. I won’t keep you any longer. Just so you know you can talk to me if you need anything. Anything.” Manon reached for her black leather briefcase.

“Thank you,” Vivian said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Not convinced, Manon said good-bye but remained standing in the aisle while Vivian slowly made her way back to the stage, then stopped and hesitated before she resumed her position by the microphone.

While exiting the building Manon pulled her cell phone from her jacket pocket. “Kay? Manon here. I just visited the concert hall and spoke with Ms. Harding.”

“And?”

“I’ve just heard her, and if she sings like that at the benefit, and I don’t see why she shouldn’t, we’ll be more than fine.”

“I’d hoped I was imagining things.”

“Just keep an eye out and get back to me…once a week from now on, unless there’s something urgent, all right?”

“Fine. We’ll keep our fingers crossed.”

Manon walked to her car, where Ben opened the door to the backseat. “Where to, ma’am?”

“Back to the office.” She checked her watch and frowned. “No, make that Dante’s, on the corner of Hammers and Lloyd, please. I’ll be a while, so you can take your break then.”

“Very good, ma’am.”

Manon sighed, fondly exasperated by Ben’s refusal to relinquish the manners that were more fitting for her father’s day. But she couldn’t break him of the habit.

She leaned against the leather backrest and thought about the woman she was about to meet. Still uncertain why Eryn Goddard wanted to join her for lunch, and chastising herself for being overly suspicious, Manon decided to keep an open mind and a watchful eye.

Eryn wasn’t surprised to find Manon seated at the best table in the room. As Eryn approached Manon, who clearly studied her every step, she felt oddly self-conscious, as if she was destined to trip on the carpet any second and make a fool of herself. Manon, on the other hand, in a black business suit, crisp white cotton blouse, and her deceptively simple jewelry, projected a professional, self-assured image of a woman who could handle anything. Not pleased with her rare lack of confidence, Eryn lengthened her stride and smiled self-assuredly.

“Hi. How late am I?” Eryn pulled her long braid free from the shoulder strap of her purse. “There was a lot of traffic.”

“Don’t worry about it. I just got here.” Manon looked at her over the menu and pointed at the tall glasses. “Is mineral water okay?”

“Thanks.” Eryn grabbed the glass and drank thirstily. She felt heat creep up her cheeks as she put the almost-empty glass back on the white tablecloth. “Yes, I know. Don’t tell me. No manners.”

“You drink when you’re thirsty. Should I mind?” Manon raised her eyebrows while sipping her own water.

Eryn resisted the urge to smooth her corduroy jacket. It was a few years old and supposed to look wrinkly, but she was afraid she looked sloppy compared to the vision of perfection across the table. She wondered if there was anything she could say or do to keep Manon smiling forever. Eryn’s chest heaved as she drew a deep breath and grabbed the menu to quickly find her favorite dish. She thought it best to go with what she knew. “I’ll have clam chowder
.
And iced tea. I have a busy afternoon.”

To Eryn’s surprise, Manon ordered the same. “Seems our tastes are similar,” Manon acknowledged with a faint smile before she continued. “You know, I don’t remember seeing you in the apartment building before now. Your aunt didn’t appear to have many visitors, though I do remember someone on a motorcycle visiting her once or twice a week.”

“That was me.” Eryn laughed. “I normally ride my Yamaha Wildstar, weather permitting. And Amanda was my mother’s aunt. My great-aunt. My mother…just didn’t have time to visit her.” Eryn heard how critical she sounded and hastily added, “Mother has a lot of commitments. She volunteers for our church several times a week…and…I was brought up Baptist. It made things kind of hard further down the line.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Manon said quietly, suddenly subdued. “I didn’t mean to sound insensitive.”

“That’s all right. Amanda’s been gone six months now, and I’m coming to terms with her death. In fact, living in her apartment, surrounded by her things, helps. All I had to do was paint the living room and the bedroom, and other than that, the place is just like when she lived there.” Eryn wanted to tell Manon more, to share, since she didn’t like secrets.
Secrets backfire.
She looked up at Manon. “She accepted me as I was, with all my faults and fears.”

“I’m glad. She was a nice lady. We visited some when we had meetings regarding the house. She was chairman for several years.”

Eryn thought fondly of her low-key great-aunt, who could turn quickly into a frightening disciplinarian when Eryn was little. Amanda Ritter had been patient up to a point, though Eryn and her two younger sisters had tested her limits several times.
Still, it was Amanda who took me in when Mother began her ridiculous ultimatums.
Eryn suppressed another shudder. She didn’t want to explore the subject of her mother.

“I finally realized that I’d read more of your articles in the
Chronicle,
” Manon said and pulled Eryn out of her reverie. “When I saw your byline, it dawned on me that you cover most of our local news. I can be absent-minded sometimes.”

“Or maybe it’s the picture of me in the byline that shows me as a seasick person who’s just lost a tall-ship race.”

“No, no.” Manon laughed. “You look fine. Perhaps a tad more”—she raised her hands in a helpless gesture that Eryn found both endearing and sexy—“neat?”

“A tad?” Eryn snorted. “I think I had glue in my hair spray that day. The photographer demanded that I look respectable, ‘not like a wild-looking mermaid.’”

“So far I haven’t seen you look anything but quite presentable.” Manon relaxed visibly, her hands loosely folded together on the table.

“I appreciate that. I do try.” Eryn winked and enjoyed seeing Manon’s cheek’s color a faint pink.

“Your piece on the benefit was excellent. Surely that’s what matters,” Manon said, and sounded sincere.

“Thanks. I worked hard on that piece, especially since I just had one day. The press conference was really a breath of fresh air. Interesting things don’t happen very often in East Quay. I wonder if Ms. Harding realizes what a legend she is, not only in this town but worldwide.”

“I believe she does, to a degree. She has her fair share of paparazzi. Actually, I saw her just now, during rehearsals, and I’m glad she insisted on pretty strict security, because the stairs leading up to the concert hall were filled with fans and reporters. I had to use the side entrance.”

“The price of fame,” Eryn mused. “Some of my less tactful colleagues can be a pain, but I suppose there’s a story there…and anything regarding Vivian Harding is good copy. How did rehearsals go? Will she have a program for us soon?”

“Yes, she should. She was excellent. Of course, she’s so flamboyant. That, plus her great stage presence, helps make her so popular.”

“Yes, she makes opera appealing—though I admit it’s not the first CD I’d buy.” Eryn stirred her cooling chowder. “I play the guitar, so I listen to a lot of instrumental stuff. You know, like Clapton, Malmsteen, and Morse.”

“Eric Clapton I know,” Manon admitted. “The other two, well…”

“Guitar gods. But the goddesses are my thing. Bonnie Raitt and Juliana Hatfield do so much more for me.”

“Never heard of either of them.” Manon blinked, seeming totally out of her element. “They play the guitar?”

“Yes. Mean, howling electric guitars.” Manon was obviously trying to show interest, which Eryn appreciated.

“What do you like to play?”

“I have an old black Fender Stratocaster. I saw one in the window of Harmony Instruments when I was fifteen, and it took me three years of landscaping to save up for it. I own a vintage Gibson too, but I love my Stratocaster. Probably because I saved so long for it.”

“Couldn’t your parents have chipped in at least half?” Manon had finished her meal and was now leaning her chin in the palm of one hand, picking at the tablecloth with the other.

“I suppose. But they didn’t.”
But Mom made sure they supported Kelly’s ballet classes, even if she cut half of them. And they bribed Sandy to do her homework all through high school.

Manon studied her in silence. “You were brave to follow your dream and buy the guitar on your own.”

“That’s not how my mom would’ve put it,” Eryn muttered.
She wouldn’t let me practice in the house and said it was just another way of showing my
“
unfortunate disposition
.”

“But you kept your guitar.”

“Yes.” Eryn shrugged. “What I wouldn’t give for a cup of Mike’s coffee right now.”

“Who’s Mike?” Manon carefully placed her spoon in her empty bowl.

“Michaela Stone. She owns the Sea Stone Café, in the old marina. Haven’t you been there? Mike’s café latte is the best I’ve ever tasted.”

“She a friend of yours?” Manon smiled and leaned forward on her elbows.

“We’ve known each other for a quite a while. Mike’s very private and doesn’t exactly invite people to share her life story, but she’s happy to serve them the best coffee imaginable. I got to know her through a story I did about enterprising young women when I was new at the
Chronicle
. She stood out because she’s so driven and street smart. And now her business is booming.”