The Soprano Ch. 08

"I promise...if you will promise me something."

"What?"

"Promise you will think about what you are doing. I do not want you to torture yourself, and for now perhaps you should not even think about the effect on Claire. I want you to think about what you are doing to yourself and whether this is worth it. I hear what you are not saying aloud, even if you do not yet hear it yourself. Have a safe trip, and I expect to hear from you again when you have landed." Sebastien was still thinking about René's words when the line went dead in his ear.

-----

The sound of the phone startled Claire out of her reverie. She had been taking a break from studying her music, wishing she was with Sebastien and simultaneously mourning the turn their relationship had taken. It had only been three days since he'd left, but they hadn't been easy. Sebastien had called the night before, but neither of them seemed to know what to say. She stretched her arm out of the nest of blankets she'd made around herself on the sofa and caught up the phone on the fourth ring.

"Hello?"

"Chérie, it is good to hear your voice. When Sebastien is not around, I never get to see you. How would you like to come out with me to dinner tonight?"

"Oh, René, it's you. I don't know. I've just been so tired lately."

"Have you eaten since he left?" he asked softly.

"Of course," she replied defensively, before adding contritely, "a little."

"I am coming over. Do not go anywhere; I will be there in ten minutes," he said, and hung up before she could protest. Not that she was going to go anywhere. She just didn't feel up to it. Everything was going wrong. One way or another she was going to lose the best thing that had ever happened to her. She sat back in her chair and watched a bird flitting about in the tree outside. It seemed happy. Why couldn't she be happy?

Suddenly she realized it was very quiet in the room. Her laptop had been playing an internet radio station, but had shut itself down after she had ignored it for long enough. Absently she clicked a few buttons to get it started again, but instantly regretted it. The snare drum and the wistful flute solo told her it was Boléro, and it reminded her of Sebastien.

It had been months ago now, after some concert or other -- she couldn't even recall which one anymore -- and Sebastien surprised the audience, and Claire, with a piece that hadn't been on the program. Boléro, a perennial audience favorite for its twisting melody and insistent rhythms, was part of the symphony's usual repertoire, so the musicians were generally familiar with it. Claire had known it was about more than that, though.

Sebastien was trying to embarrass her by playing for her, in public, the song he had so thoroughly whipped her to in a sleazy hotel room the year before. The worst part was, it had worked. Her cheeks burned as she sat at the front of the stage, knowing no one in the audience could possibly understand the reason for her discomfort. Yet she saw Sebastien's sneaky smile, understood that he was getting some perverse pleasure from it.

She had been pissed off, but couldn't deny the power of the memory or the fact that he had embarrassed her with it in public. She had put on a show of being mad at him, but it hadn't lasted. They had retired to his dressing room and had incredible, passionate sex. Those were the days before secrets had come between them. But then, she had to admit he had been lying to her not just for weeks but really for months. Months. It didn't seem possible.

A sharp knock on the door brought her out of her thoughts again and she sighed. Whoever it was should just go away and let her suffer. She drew the blankets over her head and pretended to be asleep. Not that they could see her anyway, but it made her feel better.

The knock came again. Then she remembered. René. Heaving an even bigger sigh, she got up from the sofa and wrapped the blanket around herself before shuffling to the door. She unlocked it, but didn't open it, and then went back to the couch without a word. Behind her was unintelligible French muttering, and then the sound of the door opening and closing again. She braced herself for the look she knew he would give her.

René walked around in front of the sofa, looked down at her, and gave a sigh of his own. But she didn't see the expected pity. Instead, he looked rather annoyed.

"I do not understand what is the matter with you. Sebastien is gone for three days and you turn into a complete mess." Claire's mouth opened in surprise and indignation. "You know, a French woman would never allow a man to destroy her life like this. She would simply go out and live her life, and the man, seeing what he has missed, would drop everything to come back to her."

"Well, I'm not French. I'm an American woman and this is how we grieve our relationships. Don't you watch American movies? I'm not sleeping well, I've barely eaten, and I haven't showered or brushed my teeth today."

René wrinkled his nose, but could not quite conceal the soft concern in his eyes.

"Chérie, you are so pale. Why are you doing this to yourself? Mon ami loves you more than anything. He would give up everything for you."

"Then why is he there, and I'm here?" Neither of them knew the answer to that.

"How will you be able to perform on Friday if you do not get control of yourself?"

"I'll be fine. I always am."

"I am not very good at this ordering around business, but if that is what it takes to get you back into the world, then so be it. Get up from that couch," he said.

"No."

"Is this how you treat Sebastien?" asked René exasperatedly.

"Sometimes."

"No wonder he wants to whip you all the time." Claire frowned at him. He leaned over and tried again in a lower voice. "You will get up, or I will force you to get up." Claire thought about trying him on that, but wasn't sure she should. Still, it was obvious he meant business, so she pushed aside the blanket and got off the couch.

"Fine," she said with a pout.

"Go take a shower."

"Make me," she replied, before she even realized it. Rolling his eyes, he lifted her bodily over his shoulder and carried her into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and then set her down, looking meaningfully at her.

"I'm not going to undress in front of you."

"I have seen it before, you know."

"Don't you trust me?"

"Should I?" With a frown, Claire turned her back on him and disrobed. She dropped her clothes at her feet and stepped into the shower. The door didn't open, so she knew René was just standing there. It was weird, but she tried to ignore the fact that he was there and just take her damn shower. She washed her hair out -- twice -- and even brushed her teeth while her conditioner worked its magic.

She couldn't believe he was treating her like a child -- or that she had been acting like one. Really, as he had asked her, what was her problem? She had been trying very hard not to think about Sebastien, although he was the only thing she apparently could think about. Sometimes it felt like she had already given up on the relationship. Oh, sure, she had said they would be able to work something out if he moved across the country to take this new job.

But did she mean it? Long-distance relationships were hard enough when they started off in the right way, without lies and deception and hurt feelings. Besides, when he left René would no doubt go with him, and then who would she have? She didn't really have any friends in the city, although one of her high school friends was supposed to be moving up here this year and she'd gotten very friendly with some of the musicians. But still most of her social life was wrapped up in these two men, and soon she would have nothing.

René hadn't heard anything in a long moment when he suddenly perceived what sounded like soft sobs under the pounding water of the shower. Peering around the edge of the shower curtain he saw Claire sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up tightly to her chest, crying her eyes out. Heart pierced with pity, he quietly slipped from the bathroom and dialed a number on his phone.

"What do you want?"

"It is about Claire."

"What about her? Is she all right?" Sebastien asked, suddenly focusing his attention very intensely on the other end of the phone.

"Of course she is not all right. I got her to take a shower, at least, but now she is curled up sobbing. I have never seen her like this. She is not eating, not sleeping."

"I asked you to take care of her-" began Sebastien, his concern making him sound angrier than he was.

"Do not blame me for this!" returned René hotly. "May I remind you she is an adult, and she said she was 'grieving like an American', so you will pardon me for being out of my element."

"What would you like me to tell you?"

"I just thought you would want to know." For the second time in a week, René hung up on Sebastien and then dropped his phone into his pocket. When he turned around, hardly knowing what he would do about Claire, he saw her in the bathroom doorway. She was clutching a towel around her, hair dripping onto her shoulders, eyes red-rimmed and looking very vulnerable.

"Were you talking to Sebastien?" she asked in a small voice.

"I was."

"Did you tell him I was..."

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"I did not give him much of a chance to respond, chérie. But I know that his heart is breaking. In all my years of knowing him, I have never seen him as distraught - except perhaps when he thought you were going to leave."

"It's his fault, you know."

"I do know, and I have told him as much. But he is, as you know, a stubborn man. Once he has decided upon something, there is no turning back. So he will punish himself for leaving you, and torture himself with thoughts of you turning your back on him when he returns."

"I wouldn't-"

"Reality does not intrude upon a sorry man's thoughts, I am afraid. But look at you, shivering. Let us warm you up." He strode forward, sliding the towel out of her hands and moving it up to her hair. He squeezed the moisture out, heedless of her nakedness in that moment. Then he motioned for her to go into her bedroom, and he followed. He crawled onto the bed, pulling her blanket back and patting the bed beside him. Claire looked over at him, feeling a bit awkward, but got into bed beside him. He wrapped the blanket tightly around her and then pulled her into his lap.

The chill finally faded away as she found herself enveloped in the heat of René's body. She was suddenly very conscious that she was naked in his lap. Naked and clean and feeling comfortable for the first time since she had found out Sebastien's secret. She turned, burying her face in the side of his neck and breathing in his scent. She had never noticed it before; he smelled clean and lightly floral, like freshly laundered cotton t-shirts and tea and roses. Claire slid her arms around him, hardly noticing when he stiffened slightly.

"Thank you for coming over to see me," she said softly.

"Sebastien asked me to care for you," he murmured, unable to forget his friend.

"He did?" Claire asked, pulling back slightly in surprise. She wanted to be mad about that, but it touched her heart somehow. Sebastien did care about her. Not that she had ever doubted it really, but it was nice to hear. She studied René's face. He looked...nervous. His pulse was jumping in his throat and his tongue flicked over his lower lip.

"He did."

"What else did he ask you to do?"

"Claire, I-"

"What else?" she repeated.

"Anything you asked."

"Anything..." Claire leaned in again and pressed her lips gently against René's. It felt nice, his arms around her and the growing heat she felt as his hardening cock bumped in against her hip. But he drew back and ran his hand through his hair.

"Claire," he said, as gently as he could manage, "Sebastien did not ask me to do this because he wishes it. He asked it of me to care for you, to give you what he feels he cannot."

"What can't he give me?" René just sighed.

"Is this really what you want to do?" Claire looked away. The truth was, she wasn't sure. She loved René, she was attracted to him, but...

"I don't know," she finally said. "If you think it would hurt Sebastien..."

"I do, but I do not think he realizes it."

"I would never want that. But, um, what are you going to do about..." She pressed her hip more firmly against him, and René smiled and shook his head.

"Chérie, please, I am a man, not a beast. Come, I shall take you to dinner."

-----

The weather was gorgeous this time of year. Snowdrifts had largely melted away and the brisk winds brought with them the scents of spring. Mornings and evenings were still cold and dark, driving those in the city to coffee shops for heated sustenance. Sebastien remembered days like this from graduate school and thought he should have felt more at home. It was familiar, of course, but so much more alien now than it should have been.

He was as busy as had been promised this week, his schedule packed with orchestral rehearsals and meetings with various important figures in the symphony world from soloists to board members. Hiring committee members were in and out over the week, but all of them would be present during the final performance he would give with the orchestra.

Julia was present at these meetings once or twice, and she had been charming and friendly -- and nothing more, though she mentioned the possibility of having another girls' night out with Claire should she come to visit.

Sebastien rehearsed with the orchestra in the auditorium, the vast empty space behind him making him almost uneasy. Of course, the musicians were consummate professionals, so getting them to follow his direction was simple. He did miss the camaraderie of the musicians in his own symphony, however. They tended to be a bit more relaxed, but also more interested -- no, more obviously passionate about the music they played.

Everything was lovely; he was forced to admit that. Yet...yet it was not home. He supposed that was the way it always felt at the beginning of a new venture. Certainly when he had first arrived in America there had been a period of adjustment. Now, finally, it felt almost as much like home as Paris did -- even more so in some ways.

But when he'd come for his graduate students, he'd had a definite point and purpose that drove him, a spirit that kept his cold heart warm. When he moved to helm his own symphony, again his sense of purpose kept him going. When he had begun to run out of steam and long for home and family again, Claire had come into his life and recharged him.

Now he could honestly say he had everything he wanted. He was the conductor of a major city's symphony, for goodness' sake. He had built fulfilling professional relationships with musicians and donors alike. He was genuinely excited each season about creating a music program that would delight his patrons, and he enjoyed the people he worked with.

So why, if he was so content, was he really applying for this job? If the additional money, renown, and whatever perks there were didn't ignite his passion for the profession any more than he already felt, what was the point? It pained him to admit that his major motivation might have been to keep from revealing his relationship with the woman he loved. And damned if that wasn't incredibly stupid -- he hadn't even needed to do it, really.

Or maybe it was his ego. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that he could still be that great. He could still contend with those older and more experienced, with the young upstarts. He was still good enough to get hired here.

Each evening after rehearsals and meetings and luncheons, he went out on his own to explore the city he had once felt he knew so well. He traversed the funky angled corridors, discovering new places and rediscovering old haunts. Perhaps it was the city itself that had called to him. He could almost imagine himself living in this place again, head of one of the very largest and most prestigious symphonies in the country.

Well. It was all just ego, after all. How unattractive.

On Friday, Sebastien conducted Brahms' Third Symphony early in the morning, to the polite applause of the hiring committee. He had relaxed into it, though his mind was beginning to drift far away indeed. When it was over, he'd individually thanked and greeted each of the musicians and the hiring committee, surreptitiously checking his watch. If he caught an early flight and went straight from the airport, he could catch Claire's performance. It wouldn't fix things between them -- probably nothing could return to normal until a decision had been made -- but at least she might see that he cared. At least that.

-----

Tom drove Sebastien directly from the airport to the church where Aaron's choir was performing -- a vast stone monolith on a square in the middle of the city. The doors were just closing for the performance when he slipped through and found a seat near the back. As he waited for things to begin, he realized how very rarely he allowed himself to be merely a spectator -- even more rarely for choral music than opera or ballet.

Never a particular fan of Bach, he nonetheless was swept up in the majesty of one chorale and the simple beauty of another in the quartet of cantatas that Aaron had chosen. At intermission, he took pains to avoid Claire so that his presence wouldn't make her nervous. But he observed her from afar, noting with dismay that between cheerful interludes with singers and audience members there was an undeniable sadness about her.

When the concert was finally over, he wandered into the courtyard along with the others, hoping to find Claire. He saw Aaron first, however, and went to congratulate him.

"Maestro, hello!" Aaron said in surprise. "You almost never make it out to our concerts."

"Perhaps if you did not schedule them in the middle of the last rehearsals of our symphonic season," he teased. "This time I was away on business and just made it back in time. It reminds me I must come more often."

"I'm glad you did. So you enjoyed yourself? It's not what you're used to, I know."

"Indeed no. Much larger ensembles all around. But I must say you created a very pleasing sound. It was quite good."

"And what about Claire? She actually turned me down at first, thinking she'd be too busy at the end of the season. But last week our soloist came down with a bad cold, and Claire stepped in. She must have practiced all week long, and she was so perfect tonight. Definitely our angel this week. Quite a girl, isn't she?"

"She certainly is," Sebastien murmured as he finally caught a glimpse of her. "And always an absolute joy to listen to. I am glad every day that I hired her." His voice was soft and charged with emotion, which clearly surprised Aaron. The undemonstrative conductor apparently had a tender heart.

Claire emerged from a knot of people heading directly for Aaron, though the uncomplicated smiled on her face told Sebastien she hadn't noticed him just yet. She was beautiful as always in a dark blue gown he had never seen before. It was a good color on her, setting off the coppery undertones of the silky auburn hair she had pulled back into a braided bun. As she reached for Aaron's elbow to catch his attention, she turned slightly and flicked her eyes up to see whose conversation she would be interrupting.

For a moment she was completely still, startled to see Sebastien there. A blush crept up her cheeks and she moved her hand from Aaron's elbow to hover just above Sebastien's forearm. She didn't touch him, almost afraid he would disappear if she did.

"Maestro...you're here."

"Yes, I..." He hesitated for a second, but decided to say what was on his mind. "I could not miss your performance." Claire's expression softened as she gazed up at him, like they were alone in the courtyard. "Oh, and mon abeille, you were magnificent."