Impressions

            As Arienne readied herself for the evening, she wondered why saying the name “Trent Hirosawa” was such a big deal.  She’d never heard of the man.  From what Kathryn described, he sounded like some sort of businessman who dabbled in politics, but didn’t want to be bothered by the fame, criticism, or the overall drama.  She could most certainly understand that; anonymity had its perks.  While she couldn’t deny enjoying the limousines or the new château her cousin had his disposal, Arienne didn’t want to get mixed up in his politics either.  She was more than happy to let Thierry and his wife keep the spotlight all to themselves.  And if this Trent person had the ability to keep her cousin a wealthy politician, then by all means…she would gladly work alongside Thierry to stay in his good graces.

            As she settled in, Arienne noticed her rooms smelled old, but in a good way.  Smoke, age, incense, and perfume from decades past infused the wooden walls with an intriguing scent.  Her bedchamber was spacious, with a canopy bed in the center, draped in the sheerest pale pink curtains.  The rugs were mauve, slightly faded, while the heavy drapes against her walls were a burnt sienna shade.

            She had all the female essentials: a huge walk-in closet adjacent to French windows (which in turn led out to a balcony), an elegant wooden vanity, a full-length mirror, and even a fireplace.  In her bathroom, she lacked a shower, but she had marble counter tops and a giant white bathtub seated on gold lion’s feet.  The Old World elegance of the château made her feel much like a princess herself; she couldn’t wait to entertain guests in her “apartments.”

            And she couldn’t wait to see Thierry.  She couldn’t wait to thank him for his generosity, and to catch up with him on all the things she’d missed these past seven years.  She wanted him to know how good it felt to be back with family.  Of course, once she thought of her uncle in his apartments down below, wasting away on his bed, Arienne shivered, and refused to think of him anymore.

            She considered red to be her lucky performance color.  She never wore anything else when she sang.  Her paternal grandmother Claire Juneau often told her scarlet was her color, that it contrasted wonderfully against her dark skin and gave her a queenly look.  Arienne had already performed “Vissi d’Arte” a few times before, always in the same long velvet dress.  It had a tight bodice, bare shoulders, and bell sleeves.  Even when she wore heels, the gown still pooled around her feet.

            Tonight, she completed the ensemble with a choker of elegant pearls around her neck and pinned her dark braids up with fake roses to match her dress.  To her surprise, she felt completely at ease; after all, there would be no crowd tonight, just Kathryn and a stranger sipping tea in a sitting room.  They would not know opera as she did, so if she erred, it wouldn’t matter.  She wouldn’t have to worry about some snobbish critic giving her a bad review tomorrow in the society pages.  And besides, after this performance, she could go right back upstairs, change into a svelte evening gown, and enjoy a sumptuous dinner before bed.

            Señora Consuela Vélez was already waiting for her in the appointed sitting room; a curvy, well-dressed woman, she had only a few streaks of gray in her prim black chignon.  She was warming up with some scales when Arienne entered; upon seeing the younger woman, Vélez looked her over and nodded briskly as if in approval.

            “Bueno,” she greeted.  “Have you warmed up already?”

            “Not yet,” Arienne told her.  “I’d like to do a scale if that’s all right.”

            “Fine,” Vélez nodded.  “We have but moments before Kathryn and her guest arrive.  We’ll begin now.”

            As Arienne casually loosened up her vocal cords, she let her eyes roam the sitting room, taking in the fine chairs, rugs, and heavy drapes upon the windows.  She briefly wondered how exactly much of the furnishing originally came with the château, and how much Kathryn and Thierry had bought.  She wondered if their purchases had set them back, or if they ever argued about money.

            And for some crazy reason, she wondered if they were a sexual couple.

            “Good, good,” Vélez nodded, interrupting her thoughts.  “Very beautiful voice you have.  It’s a wonder you are not more famous by now.”

            Arienne opened her mouth explain how she preferred a life of anonymity when Kathryn entered, followed by two unfamiliar people.  One was a young Asian woman in a stunning royal purple chiffon gown and glittering diamond earrings.  She had highlights in her short, delicately curled hair, and she carried a lace fan which she lazily moved back and forth.

            Beside her was a tall, very good-looking Asian man in dark suit, with neck-length, midnight hair and eyes like obsidian pools.  They caught and brazenly held Arienne’s gaze, immediately rendering her mute.  A thrill of electricity rippled through her from head to toe, almost making her sway on her feet.  He didn’t frighten her per se, but there was something most definitely unnerving about him.

            This is he.  This is Trent Hirosawa.

            “Arienne,” Kathryn cordially called to her.  “Our guest has arrived, and he’s brought a guest of his own.”

            Arienne moved toward them, unblinking, finding herself unable to break eye contact with Trent.

            “Hello,” she greeted, speaking mechanically.  “I’m Arienne Juneau.”

            “Hi, Arienne,” he greeted pleasantly.  “I’m Trent.  This is my cousin.”

            “Hi, Arienne,” Rachel greeted cheerily, taking Arienne’s hand and shaking it enthusiastically.  “I’m Rachel.”  Arienne finally had to look away from him, towards his very friendly relative.

            “I have to admit: I know absolutely nothing about opera,” Rachel laughed, “but Trent is a huge fan of yours and he tells me you’re going to be amazing.”
            “I’m flattered,” Arienne confessed, suddenly feeling flustered.  “I hope I live up to his expectations.”

            “You will,” he assured her calmly, looking at her with those level eyes.  “I heard a recording of your performance in Piran.”

            “Oh,” she tittered nervously, “my tutors hated that performance.”

            “The critics seemed kind enough,” Trent shrugged.

            “Sometimes they are,” Arienne mused.  There was a soft lull between them; she got the feeling he knew far more about her than he was letting on.

            Dear God…what has Thierry been telling him about me?

            It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water; she suddenly remembered herself.  Arienne fleetingly wondered why neither Kathryn nor Rachel stepped in to remind them about the performance or dinner.  Instead, she noticed both women merely watched them interact, and rather expectantly.

            Arienne’s eyebrow shot up.  I smell a conspiracy.

She smoothly backed away from the Hirosawas, taking her place by the piano, smiling politely all the while.

“We don’t want dinner to get cold,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady.  “Kathryn’s gone to an awful lot of trouble to ensure this evening’s perfect for you.”

“But tonight is your night,” Trent assured her, still not breaking eye contact, and hardly acknowledging anyone else’s existence.  “We can forego dinner altogether if it suits you.”

Arienne blinked, doubting she’d heard correctly.  There was the faintest rumble in her stomach, warning her that skipping dinner wouldn’t be the smartest course of action.  Not that she would anyway.  She didn’t understand why Trent would even suggest such a thing.

Did they…did they eat before they came over?  And why does he keep looking at me like that?

Kathryn finally stepped in, suave as any politician, speaking as though this was not at all an unusual situation.  “We’ve waiting for you for quite some time now, Arienne,” she explained.  “You may not know much about us, but we know almost everything about you.”

“Your cousin is extremely fond of you,” Trent continued, when Arienne’s confused look didn’t go away.  “He wanted to be here tonight but he couldn’t.  This evening isn’t really about me; I see Kathryn and Thierry all the time.  Tonight,” he repeated, taking a single step forward, “is your night.  We’ll follow your lead.”

“Very well then,” Arienne nodded stiffly, suddenly nervous.  She could feel the hairs rising on the back of her neck and she wanted to get the performance over with as soon as possible.  “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Author's Note

Rough draft sneak peek.