PROLOGUE:
Sophia knew something wasn’t right the
instant she opened her mouth to sing and the first note hit the air. It
actually sounded like one. It was only one word—part of a word really, more of
a syllable—but it was good.
Her brows lifted in mild curiosity and she
cleared her throat before trying it again. When the next note came out as clear
and pleasant as the first, her hands tightened around the steering wheel.
She glanced down at the chai latte in the
cup holder. No, it wasn’t some kind of reaction, and she hadn’t scorched her
throat—it remained untouched. But something had happened to change her voice so
drastically.
Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but
her reflection seemed the same, nothing out of the ordinary. She looked back to
the road just in time to avoid rear-ending a Mercedes.
Sophia clamped her mouth shut and glared at
the radio. Bryan Adams seemed unaffected by her present condition. Well good
for him. She remained silent for several blocks; time enough to reason it had
never happened at all. It was doubtless just one of those things, where you
drive under a power line and it messes with the radio reception. Yes, that was
it.
With her bravery renewed, she changed the
station. A new release aired, one she didn’t know the words to, so she jabbed
buttons until she heard the familiar strains of an old James Taylor song. She
was being silly. She opened her mouth once more.
The notes came out in a clean, effortless
flow that scared the hell out of her. “Am I losing my mind?” she asked James.
Maybe it was her hearing. No, she could
still hear the swish of wipers across freshly sprinkled glass, the suck of
rubber tire treads on wet pavement, and JT’s voice, satin smooth as always. Of
course people didn’t always hear themselves the way they really sounded, right?
She was probably just as bad as ever, but maybe she had wax build up or
something.
Then again, she was under more stress than
usual, with parent-teacher conferences and Principal O’Malley dogging her about
spending too much time playing games with the children and not enough on
curriculum. It didn’t seem to matter that Sophia’s class was ranked at the top
of the school in reading and comprehension, and in math, second only to the
fifth grade Mighty Math Majors. She didn’t feel the sting of that loss; those
kids were abnormally attracted to numbers.
She pulled into her space in the school
parking lot, turned off the ignition and went over the general things she
should know: name, address, phone number, days of the week, mother’s maiden
name. Everything seemed to check out. People having breakdowns didn’t know
these things off the tops of their heads, did they? Then again, how could she
be sure she wasn’t twisting the answers in some way, or—
She forced her mind to a grinding halt
before it could carry her over the edge. All of her saliva had dried up and her
heart was racing at a rate she was certain couldn’t be healthy. What she needed
was a witness; a second party to deny or confirm that she could sing, or needed
psychological treatment.
Sophia flipped open the cup lid, took the
cup with both hands and sipped. The liquid was blazing hot, but she sipped
steadily.
Lord, if she wasn’t already over the edge,
she was close. How was she going to pull off a calm facade in a classroom full
of first-graders, whose job it seemed, was to notice every minute detail?
Just as Sophia got out of the car the
sporadic drizzle became a steady rain. Though she held her briefcase over her
head, she was damp by the time she got inside and not in the mood to keep up
with the morning gossip in the teachers’ lounge, so she went directly to her
class. In bad weather the children were brought inside to await the first bell,
so she figured she had about ten minutes before she would collect her fifteen
children from the gym.
She fumbled for her cell phone and had her
brother on the line almost before she realized she’d dialed him. If anyone
could talk her down, Anthony could.
“What,” Anthony barked into the phone.
“It’s me. Just getting up?”
“Unfortunately. What’s wrong?”
Over the phone, Sophia could hear the
scrape of match to striker, the sifting of air through the end of a cigarette.
She was still praying he would quit. “Nothing.”
“You didn’t call me first thing in the
morning for nothing.”
Sophia twisted a lock of black hair around
her finger. “Nothing, exactly.”
“So tell me what’s not exactly wrong,” Anthony said.
Growing up she had often wished her two
brothers didn’t know her so well, but found it an enormous comfort right now.
“I can sing,” she said finally.
“No, you can’t,” Anthony stated as a blunt
fact.
“I couldn’t,” she agreed, excited as her
hands flailed in every direction. “But now I can. I don’t know how or why, but
I can. At least I think I can.”
“I’m not following.”
“Neither am I.”
She started at the beginning as best she
could pinpoint it. When she finished and he said nothing, she went to the
portable stereo in the corner of the room, popped out the Raffi sing-along CD,
and popped in one of the CDs she listened to during free period.
“Hold on, listen.” She put the phone where
he could hear and waited for Mariah Carey to complete one of her trademark
vocal summersaults before turning down the stereo and following with one of her
own.
“Who was that?” Anthony asked when she
picked the phone up again.
“Me.”
“No way.”
“You see? That’s what I thought when I
first heard it.” He might not believe her yet, but at least he was hearing the
same thing. “It sounds like me, but…not. I mean, it sounds like I would sound
if I could sing, right?”
“I just woke up, Sophia,” he said
impatiently. “I’m not in the mood for games.”
“It’s not, wait. Listen again.”
“Sophia—”
It was easy enough to silence him when she
sang a song they had made up as kids. It was a gruesome ditty about food
poisoning, intended as some kind of childish revenge when Uncle Victor had made
them sit at the children’s table at Easter. Since they’d never disclosed the
lyrics to another soul, Anthony would have no question it was her voice.
Sophia heard his fridge door open and the seal
break on a bottle of water. “That was you,” he said, surprised.
“Yes.”
“You must be leaving something out. Think.
Did you hit your head or get accidentally hypnotized or something?”
She had to laugh. “How do you get
accidentally hypnotized?”
“How should I know? I don’t hear you coming
up with anything better.”
He was right; she had nothing more rational
to offer. Noise in the hall caught her ear and she looked up to see Mrs. Falk
marching by with her third graders.
“I have to run. Thanks for listening. Love
you.” She hung up and ran to gather her class, feeling a little lighter now
that she had spoken to someone. He was probably right. She must be missing
something.
****
Throughout the day she rewound and replayed
every moment she could remember, working backward from the time she turned on
the radio in the car that morning. Before that there was the coffee shop,
dressing for work, the shower… The shower. No, she’d sounded as bad as usual.
There didn’t seem to be much point, but she
went back to the night before that. It had been a quiet evening alone at home.
Ben had tried to talk her into joining him and another couple for dinner and a
movie, but she knew that when they were alone later, he would try to talk her
into other things. He was a nice enough guy, but much too preoccupied with
pursuing a physical relationship. But not to dwell on him.
Apart from a Charlie Chaplin movie on AMC,
she could remember nothing to distinguish that night from any other. Nothing
remarkable, nothing disturbing or riveting.
“Miss Gallo.”
Sophia looked down as small persistent
hands tugged on her sleeve. “What’s the matter, Lily?”
The teary eyed child sniffled and wiped her
nose with the back of her hand. “I drew a picture for you. Now it’s gone.
Bentley ate it last night.”
Sophia had seen Lily’s monster dog on
occasion, dragging its owners around the neighborhood, and had no doubt the
girl spoke the truth.
She crouched to eye level with Lily and
smoothed a hand over her silken hair. “That’s alright, you can draw me another
one.”
“I wanted to give it to you today,” she
whined, though Sophia imagined she had intended the assertion to sound urgent.
Even after all the schooling and working
with children Sophia realized there were some questions that could never be
answered. Like why, when asked if they had to use the bathroom, children would
refuse, but two minutes later on the way to the bus, would be bursting at the
seams. Moreover, why, when school was almost over, would a little girl all at
once remember that a ravenous mutt had eaten her drawing the night before?
Kids.
“We’ll be singing the goodbye song in a few
minutes,” Sophia told her gently. She took a sheet of white paper from her desk
and handed it to her. “Go back to your seat and you can draw until then.”
Sophia went back to the boom box, removed
Mariah, and put in the disc of the Friendship Song they sang every afternoon
before leaving for the day. When the children gathered in a circle by the door,
she took a deep breath and pushed play. It was her first audience.
Three years later
CHAPTER 1
So much had changed in such a short period
of time, Sophia thought, looking down on rain-slicked Fifth Ave. Just a few
years ago, April would mean saving pennies and stretching her budget to allow
for a Spring break vacation. And probably using most of that free time fine
tuning her curriculum for when she returned to school.
She dropped her head against the window
frame. The children she’d taught were in fourth grade now. In fourth grade
there was no more marching around the classroom shaking tambourines fashioned
from paper plates and dried navy beans. No more cutting out pictures that
started with the letter of the day. All of them had probably forgotten the
words to the Friendship Song. She could not help but wonder what had become of
Miss Gallo in their minds.
Her winsome smile faded. The amount of
airplay her songs received made even her sick, so it wasn’t likely any of them
had forgotten her name, but would they recognize the real Miss Gallo under the
image that had been pasted over her? And was it fair for her to wish them to
remember a woman she barely remembered herself?
She couldn’t pretend she was the same
person. Even trying to distance herself, it was hard to remain untainted by the
world she now lived in. Sometimes just seeing what others were willing to
sacrifice for fame and fortune was enough to change someone.
What amazed Sophia was that the less she
recognized herself, the more strangers not only identified her on the street,
but seemed to feel a connection to her. She had the media to thank for that,
reporters who baited lines and dangled bits of her life over the murky waters
of gossip for greedy, empty minds to snatch up. And what reporters couldn’t
find, they manufactured. The stream had to keep moving at all costs, no matter
who paid.
Resentment stretched restlessly inside her.
The gossip stream had carried her out of a life she’d been contented to live,
into a world of tinted windows, endless commitments and security I.D. tags. It
was what prevented her from developing close relationships, and in some cases,
destroyed relationships she’d already had.
Not that it was all negative. Seeing and
meeting so many talented artists at awards shows never got old. Above that, it
created circumstances in which it was possible to influence people, to make a
fan’s wish come true, or bring life to a starving Ethiopian village. But, she
must never forget how easily life could be taken away.
Her movements slow and languid, Sophia went
to the cherry wood bar to pour a glass of wine, something she’d only recently
begun to do to help her unwind. With the glass in one hand, she undid the clips
in her hair with the other, releasing a fall of black silk down her back. She
yearned to take her make-up off, but needed to relax for just a moment.
Maybe she could catch a nap before her
sound check at the Garden. If not for the Today appearance this morning, she
would still be in bed. How people expected her to perform first thing in the
morning, when her day didn’t usually begin until it was half over, was just… She sighed. She used to be a morning person.
Crossing the room she caught a glimpse of
her own face staring back at her from the front page of Personality on a side
table. She always requested these publications be banned from her suite, but it
must have been an oversight. Maybe an overzealous waiter who thought it would
be a form of adulation….
Taking a closer look, there was no sign of
weariness in the photo, no clue that she’d only gotten four and a half hours
sleep the night before. The wonders of cosmetics. She gave her image a wry
smile and turned away.
People saw what they wanted to see. Not
long ago, people described her smile as friendly, her heavy-lidded, long-lashed
eyes as dreamy, even contemplative. But squeeze that same face through a camera
lens, add a little rumor, and viola!
A temptress is born. An item she’d made the mistake of reading recently, now
described her mouth as seductive, her eyes suggestive.
Sophia sank onto the sumptuous damask
couch. It would be ungrateful to say her life was bad. She had numerous
properties, piles of money and more advantages than she could count. But she
would give no thanks to the media for any of it. God and her fans got all the
thanks, in that order. Without God and this peculiar gift He’d given her, it
wouldn’t be possible to help so many.
Yet there were still nagging questions. How
had it happened? Why? Why at that time? Questions she would never have an
answer to.
She washed them down in a swallow of crisp,
white wine. It must be the rain making her feel low. Why else would she feel so
edgy and dissatisfied? Certainly not that it was her birthday and neither of
her parents had called.
She tucked her bare feet under her, tilted
her head back against the cushions and stared up at the ceiling. The truth was,
it was none of those things. It was Kira Quinn. Even the reason Sophia was
thinking about her class today was due to Kira. Because they would be her age
soon. And before long would catch up and pass her. Because Kira was dead and
buried in a tiny cemetery in San Antonio.
Sophia closed her eyes tight and willed the
tears away. Her head felt too heavy to lift from the thick fabric, so she
closed her eyes and listened to the silence, and the steady thump, thump of a
heart feeling sorry for itself. It was better than replaying the voice of
Kira’s mother in her head, telling Sophia she wasn’t to blame, it was just a
terrible tragedy.
Sophia couldn’t totally agree. Six months
ago today, Kira had been crushed to death at one of her shows; certainly she held
some responsibility. And worse, she hadn’t even faced Kira’s parents
personally. Even if they had requested her attendance, the public would have
made a sick festival of the funeral, waving pictures and snapping new ones. She
had, of course, spoken to them, insisted on paying for the services, etc.,
but….
The knock on the door made her heart
ricochet in her chest and she set the glass on the rosewood table as she leapt up, almost tipping both over.
A luscious redhead spiraled in, a burst of
vivacious color in a light blue suit with lime green lapels and cuffs. The
matching rain slicker she carried over her arm was cast aside as she leaned in
to kiss Sophia’s cheek.
“Kitty,” Sophia sighed, wearily.
“How many times have I told you not to
leave the door unlocked?” the redhead asked.
Whenever Kitty was in a room people seldom
noticed anything else, but when Sophia turned back to the doorway, there was no
way to miss the man who filled it. He was at least six feet, with wide
shoulders and a broad chest.
“Didn’t I tell you she never locks the
door?” Kitty slapped him on the arm. “She needs another bodyguard. Can’t seem
to keep one, but that’s another story. This is Cade Fioretti. He’s for you,”
she told Sophia.
Sophia closed the door. “Excuse me?”
Kitty giggled and tossed her purse on the
couch. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing kinky, Darling. Cade’s the writer I was
telling you about.”
Sophia released a long, exasperated breath.
“We talked about this, Kit.”
Kitty swept a handful of auburn locks away
from her heart shaped face. “It can only benefit you.”
“I don’t want my life story written,”
Sophia told Cade definitely. His crystal green eyes bore into hers, clashing in
a brief battle of wills with her dark, depthless brown ones. She looked away.
“I’m too young for a biography anyway. Shouldn’t that wait until I’m dead?”
“Really, biography has such a scholastic sound to it. Cade’s thinking of
something more intimate, but not intrusive,” Kitty assured Sophia. “We really
should remain open-minded, don’t you think?”
“I don’t care what you call it,” Sophia
returned. “I don’t want it.”
Kitty tugged on the collar of Cade’s
leather jacket, striped with darker shades of brown where the rain had lashed
at it. “Would you like me to take that for you?”
Cade remained silent, his eyes fixed on
Sophia.
“Cade?” Kitty prompted.
When he looked away long enough to shrug
out of his jacket, Sophia went to the table and picked up her drink. She no
longer wanted the wine but handling the glass gave her something to do with her
hands. She would rather be watched by thousands of people, than scrutinized by
one.
“You look better in person,” Cade said.
She wasn’t surprised that his voice was
deep. “Thank you,” she answered, assuming it was a compliment. He was staring
again. “I’m sorry, would you like to sit down, Mr.—”
“Cade.”
It was only one word, but the force of it
brought her up short. She knew it was petty, but because of his arrogance and
the way he was watching her expectantly, she deliberately resisted saying his
name. “Would you like to sit?”
“I saw you on Today,” he said.
He circled her once, examining her from all
angles like a patron at an art exhibit. The nerve. “Oh?”
“You don’t give much away, do you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” Of course she
did, and when he quirked one eyebrow she knew he knew she did.
“The interview,” he said.
Sophia set her glass down with a snap and
placed her hands on what there were of her hips. “I answered every question
directly and completely.”
“Without giving anything away. That’s quite
a skill.”
He seemed to be deliberately provoking her.
“Look, Mr.—”
“Cade.”
“Mr.
Fioretti,” she emphasized. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have no
intention of spilling my guts to you so a bunch of empty-headed puppets without
lives of their own can use your words as ammunition to pick me apart.”
“Is that what you think of your fans?” he
asked, slyly.
“I’m not talking about my fans,” she
snapped. “I’m talking about people like you. The press.”
“And what is it you’re afraid they’ll learn
and use against you?”
Heat rose to Sophia’s cheeks as she glared
at him. She felt crowded even though he’d taken several steps back. “You see?
You’re turning my words around. You’re proving my point.”
He smiled then and the air backed up into
her lungs. Until this very moment, Sophia never believed a smile could cause
physical damage to another person. Well, not damage exactly, more a malfunction
of normal response.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked after seeing
his mouth move.
“Prove me wrong,” he repeated.
“Now you’re baiting me.”
He nodded in acknowledgement, sending a
lock of damp, overly long hair into his eyes.
His hair was only a few shades lighter than
hers, Sophia noticed, but with dark auburn threads, that caught the light when
he moved. He could use a haircut. And an attitude adjustment.
“Children, stop your bickering,” Kitty
ordered.
“I’ll come back when you’re in a better
mood,” he told Sophia, and reached for his jacket but Kitty yanked it out of
his reach.
“Wait!” Kitty looked helplessly to Sophia.
“At least hear him out.”
Sophia was exhausted and needed to rest up
for the show that night, but Cade’s challenging grin told her that to do
anything other than listen at this point would only make her look childish. She
had no doubt he would enjoy seeing her make a fool of herself. And write about
it.
“OK, you win.” She sat in a gold wingback
chair, gestured him to the couch and fixed a pre-fab smile on her painted lips,
determined to keep it there for the duration of his visit. Because it was a
thin line to baring her teeth, she made a conscious effort to relax her face.
****
Fourteen minutes later, Cade was about to
jump out of his skin. He knew the value of being patient, but didn’t have time
to waste listening to Kitty push his project. Yes, it was a chance for Sophia’s
fans to get to know the real woman behind all the glitz and album signings.
Yes, it was true that it wouldn’t hurt sales, but Cade disagreed when Kitty
said it could only be positive. Really, one never knew how these things could
turn out, and it wasn’t fair to try and convince Sophia otherwise.
Kitty’s legs brushed past his several times
as she walked around the room, griping about Sophia’s public image which, she
mentioned, had suffered in the wake of Sophia’s refusal to sing in the gay
pride parade. Cade stretched his long legs out in front of him so that Kitty
would have to reroute her steps.
Patience seemed to be one of Sophia’s
strong points, he observed, watching her unreadable expression as she listened
politely, agreed to obvious points then ultimately, but skillfully withdrew
before consenting to a biography.
Frustrated, Kitty sat down beside Cade and
crossed her smooth, shapely legs. She wore some exotic female scent designed to
bring a man to his knees. Cade tried not to breathe more than necessary.
“How about a drink?” Kitty asked him. “Or
we can order up something to eat.”
Cade shook his head.
“They serve an excellent—“
“Nothing. Thanks,” he added stiffly. He
didn’t like aggressive women, even if Kitty was good-looking, with a curvy body
and enough sex appeal to melt his fillings. If any pursuing was to be done,
he’d be the one to do it. First, he wanted the option to decide whether or not
there would be a pursuit. An aggressive woman took away that option.
Not that either of the ladies in the room
were physically his type. He preferred
the long and lean variety. Both had the lean all right, but were a little short
on the long. And each posed another problem. While Cade had no question that
either would provide him with hours of pleasure, he’d never been particularly
attracted to older women, and Kitty had to be almost his mother’s age. Sophia
was young, but she was also subject material, and he never, ever messed with subject material. Plus,
the fact that she’d probably been wishing him dead didn’t bode well for getting
her into bed.
Cade leaned back into the generous cushions
and watched her. Despite her calm facade, her hands never ceased in their
movement, whether it was flexing her fingers, or twisting the gold necklace she
wore. She repeatedly swept a long length of hair back behind her ear when it
had barely broken free. And she’d licked her lips several times in a few
minutes. It wasn’t an intentionally seductive act, but her being unaware of it
made it all the more so.
He’d heard a lot about Ms. Sophia
Gallo—that she yelled at reporters and stormed off stage when the mood struck
her—yet she didn’t seem to fit the diva mold. So far, he would surmise that her
purported aloofness spoke more of shyness than conceit, and her body language
in no way indicated the wanton sex kitten the media portrayed. But, not
everything was immediately obvious. If he had learned anything in dealing with
people, especially women, it was that they could be very clever about hiding
things.
He had to admit seeing her nervous was as
alluring as it was surprising. He wondered if it was due to him or the fact
that she probably felt trapped right now.
He checked his watch. “So, what do you
say?” he asked Sophia directly, when he couldn’t wait any longer.
“What does your book entail? Exactly,” she
asked.
“That depends on you.” He could see her
bristle. “Look, I’m going to write the book anyway,” he told her clearly, when
she arched one perfectly sculpted brow. “We can do it my way, where you let me
in your life for a while, give me exclusive insight into your mind, your past,
your dreams.” He paused. When she did no more than quietly stare at him, he
continued. “Or we do it your way, where you resist me, I tail you, probably
misinterpret some things, get half-truths from jealous no talents, and draw my
own conclusions. My way’s best for both of us.”
Sophia stopped twisting the chain on her
neck and eyed him evenly. “Can’t you just tell me what you want so we can
discuss it, and find mutually acceptable ground?”
He couldn’t stop the laugh any more than he
could stop reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet along with him.
She was absolutely charming, in a quietly indignant, difficult sort of way.
“That’s funny. Really.” He kept her hand in
his as he walked with her to the door, taking his jacket as he went.
God, she was something, even when she used
her eyes as daggers as she did now. Despite being glossed over with a palate of
makeup, her face had only come by way of genetics. She shared some traits with
another famous Sophia of Italian movie prominence, with the almost overly large
mouth and dark, sultry glare that could skewer a man at thirty paces.
But, it was there the resemblance ended;
for her body was tight and compact, narrow in the hips with smaller breasts,
but that was another matter, and one he wouldn’t dwell on.
“I know you don’t trust me,” he told her,
unperturbed by the way she tried to tug free. “I can respect that. I don’t
trust anyone either. Unfortunately, I don’t have time to argue with you. I have
a meeting with my publisher in less than an hour.”
Her brow raised again, a trait of breeding
rather than fame and privilege. It gave him the impression of a queen,
pronouncing sentence on a lowly peasant. Now that he thought of it, there might
be some imperial affiliation in her lineage, maybe a monarch or two. He would
add that to his research.
“Well,” Sophia said, dislodging her hand at
last. “I won’t keep you “
“Sophia—” Kitty began.
“I’ll think it over and get back to you,”
Sophia said, making no effort to disguise her annoyance.
Cade had to admire
her spirit, even as she opened the door and backed him into the hall. “I need
an answer by Wednesday.” He still admired it when the door closed in his face.
He grinned when he heard the snap of the lock.
~~~~~
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