Chapter 1: Introduction
The Gentleman of Venice The Phantom of la Fenice Superstar, then have no fear… ~~~ Prologue The Venetian evening thrummed beneath the setting sun. The horizon hemorrhaged tinges of vermillion and crimson. Colorful shops, packed tightly and brightly like crayons in a box, gauntlet either side of the bustling street. Bakeries and boutiques welcomed canoodling couples and seasonal tourists gliding blissfully through Springtime in Venice. Gaudy and giddy and gathered to witness the crowning jewel of the Venetian season: Marie Birdsong and the premier opening of Teatro La Fenice. Rose petals littered waterways for gondolas drifting lazily through Venice, the City of Canals. The city’s normally pungent odor perfumed by discarded petals. ~~~ Chapter One: Showtime at Teatro La Fenice It was an aristocratic and exorbitant affair; one-thousand of Italy's most influential and wealthy all gathered to see one thing, or rather one person. The Diamond of the Season—the bewitching jewel. Marie. One of Italy’s most historic and lauded opera houses—the 19th-century building's facades seemed carved by God’s very fingertips; its white marble embellished with gold leaf flourishes. Towering over the the Gran Canal, Teatro La Fenice famously seated 1000 occupants with only 160 of the wealthiest benefactors occupying the auditorium’s center floor. The remaining patrons were relegated and seated in lavishly prepared booths with red velvet flooring, regal upholstery, and gilded windows and televisions for viewing convenience. The audience quieten as the first curtain drew. The dark green drape lifted from the floor, ascending higher and higher till it retreated into the abyss of the vaulted ceiling. The room's lighting—sconces set in rows along the walls and a hundred-light chandelier high above, dimmed to a lambent glow. A spotlight pierced the darkness of the stage and illumined its sole occupant. Beautiful beyond compare, her glossy raven hair tied in an artful arrangement of braids and curls, her dress fresh off of the streets of Paris. Marie’s jewelry glimmered at her throat; the pale slender encased in emeralds to match her glimmering green eyes. Her lovely mouth was painted with subtle rouge, her eyelashes batting playfully at her male companion somewhere in the gallery… Even seven years older than her predecessor. Marie looked decades more youthful. Inherently free of every wrong, every hurt her husband had dealt her priors. Because for every hurt that they had suffered, Marie had benefited. In her sequined and sleeveless black gown, Birdsong traipsed across center stage. With the promise of a nimbus, the audience quietened for the songstress in black. Marie's lips parted to charm the air: I'm a young girl, and have just come over, Over from the country where they do things big, And amongst the boys, I've got a lover, And since I've got a lover, why I don't care a fig. The boy I love is up in the gallery, The boy I love is looking now at me, There he is, can't you see, waving his handkerchief, As merry as a robin that sings on a tree. Now, If I were a Duchess and had a lot of money, I'd give it to the boy who's going to marry me. But I haven't got a penny, so we'll live on love and kisses, And be just as happy as the birds on the tree.
The boy I love is up in the gallery,
The boy I love is looking now at me,
There he is, can't you see, waving his handkerchief,
As merry as a robin that sings on a tree.
Marie Birdsong was a sonorous, shapely, and delicate thing—figured perfectly as glass. For whomever she sang in the crowd, he was the envy of every white-knuckled gentleman and fanning lady in company. Marie’s aria continued. Her tender tenor lilted without instrument or accompaniment. Birdsong glided across the stage, arms outstretched wide, her graceful feet pirouetting in smooth harmony with her steadfast voice. The songstress' melody was amplified by the dim lit shell of theatre. She paused and the spotlight illumined her like a halo. Marie’s cheeks flushed rutilant. Her normally graceful feet wavered clumsily as her pitch. Her thighs clenched together till it hurt and the silhouettes of Italy’s most influential shifted in their seats. Onlookers raised quizzical brows and there were murmurs in the crowd. Gathering herself, Marie completed her song with a long, shrill note. The curtains closed with Birdsong’s falsetto and the theatre grumbled with obligatory applause. Marie scurried backstage, cursing her nerves and trembling fingertips. Her body sweated profusely causing her gown to cling precariously to her nubile figure. The metallic tang of iron stained her tongue, and licking her lips, the songstress recognized it for blood. “Che cazzo fai!” (What the fuck was that!)
Marie tensed and stood upright. She spun around and her gaze met a piercing set of blue eyes. Giovani Salvator leaned against the doorframe right of the scurrying backstage. The crew scrambled for the props necessary for the following act. They glanced sideways at Marie, looking away swiftly before they too drew Salvator's insidious ire. Giovanni sauntered forward; his lissome, almost gangly frame accentuated by a meridian-red tailored suit. The suit, peppered with faint pinstripes as thin as a widow's tears, fit Giovanni as the devil himself. Marie looked at him, her heart still racing from the blunder of her earlier performance.
"Ah, Signorina Birdsong, you did not strike me as the type to lose one's composure so easily," Giovanni's voice was a smooth and mellifluous baritone. It coiled around Marie, like a serpent searching for a hollow place to nestle and bite. Giovani continued, "You seemed so comfortable up on that stage, but that last note..." Salvator stood close enough Marie could scent him; even in her heels she'd been forced to crane her neck up. "It won't happen again." Marie folded her arms across her chest defensively, squishing her bosom purposely. Salvatore's eyes flickered south, and an impish smile turned his eyes to thin slits. "Naturally." He turned away, sauntering off into the veiled darkness of the corridor. The songstress shivered in her sequined dress. Marie could still feel his leering gaze appraising each contour of her body. She sighed; her fingers wriggled at the hem of her gown. She wasn't entirely sure what that was. In all her years of performing, she'd never felt so exposed or flushed. Looking down between the crevice of her bodice, she realized her nipples had hardened. Marie clicked her tongue in disapproval. Her flesh pebbled to rose buds and their tender shape outlined against the thin silk of her dress. The actress absconded to the vanity room knowing she’d time before her next staging. She perched herself on a velvet-cushioned barstool and crossed one leg over the other. Marie examined herself in the oval mirror. Her honeyed-complexion was nearly pallid from her unnerving. She was otherwise without blemish. Her foundationer and concealer layered her porcelain skin nearly pallid from her unnerving. She sat solemnly in the champagne-colored ambiance. The artificial light illuminated nigh one blemish. She dabbed her foundation painstakingly perfect for this performance. Her green gaze keenly accentuated by smokey eye shadow. The songstress stiffened her back and upper lip. "You can do this," she repeated to her reflection. The little mantra she'd reminded herself since venturing from New York to Italy for a career in theatre. Squinting her eyes, Marie hardly recognized herself. The lines she'd accrued in her face, like a wizened oak tree, were scarcely visible beneath her concealer. And even at 37, she'd taken remarkably good care of her shape. Marie's fingertips grazed the emerald necklace draped around her neck. With its double-strand choker, and royal green emeralds and marquise diamonds set in white gold, it was undeniably and egregiously expensive. The songstress ran her fingertips daintily along its luster, wondering how many had worn this necklace before her. Marie winced feeling a small pinch at her throat. Undoing the clasp at her nape, she removed the jewelry and lifted her chin to examine her throat.A bruise. Marie’s eyes widened with panic. Where had that come from?
She knew she could easily hide the thin, purplish welt by adorning the necklace, but was it some reaction of her skin to the silver? Was she, in fact, The Lady in Black as the theatre suggested? Marie chuckled lightly before rubbing tepidly at her throat. Her lips pursed to a flat-line grimace. Marie redid the clasp, feeling the familiar weight of the necklace around her throat.
She knew she could easily hide the thin, purplish welt by adorning the necklace, but was it some reaction of her skin to the metals? Was she, in fact, The Lady in Black as the theatre suggested? Marie chuckled lightly before rubbing tepidly at the sensitive flesh. Redoing the clasp, Marie stood before angling herself for one final look in the mirror. ‘You look sensational, Dear.’ Is what her mother would say if she was still alive to witness her daughter's late-bloomed career. “But better late than never.” The actress postured in the mirror, tilting her hips and feeling her lips tug into a smile. The room’s lights sheened off the sequins of her black dress, glittering like the jewels of her necklace, nearly blinding in their luminance. The door creaked open, and Marie whipped around, expecting to see the theatre's stage manager, but instead, it was Giovanni who filled the threshold. Maria growled. Her cheeks flushed rutilant with rage. “Have you got water on the brain?” Marie pointed towards the door. “Get out!” Giovanni returned a sheepish smile. Marie’s perfume charmed the small space—a delicate mix of lavender and honeysuckle. Giovanni stepped forward; the door closed behind him with a click. "Signorina Birdsong, may I have a word?" Giovanni arched an eyebrow, his piercing blue eyes flashed with an invitation that Marie couldn't ignore. “And stop calling me that! Signorina is not my name.” Giovanni’s eyes glinted like moonlight. His gangly frame seemed to swell in the enclosed space. Marie’s eyes flickered to the door; Giovanni’s long shadow loomed over the exit.
“No, you’re right. It doesn’t have to be anymore.”
The songstress' hands bawled into tiny fists. "I grow tired of your salacious mannerisms and vague words!" Marie marched forward determined to shoulder past him and leave the place. Giovanni seized her wrist as she walked by. Marie yelped, feeling the possessive grip of his calloused hands. Her face scrunched with fury, turning to him his face was despicably close to hers.
Giovanni stooped at the waist and the smell of cigars and liquor made Marie's nostrils flare. "You soused devil!" Marie fought to wrench her wrist from him and Giovanni yanked her closer. Marie realizing how impossibly smaller and weaker she was. "You're going to ruin my appearance!" Marie protested, appealing to logic.
Giovanni was the known and unlisted producer for this show. He'd personally selected her after a happenstance encounter at a dinner party. She'd know then what guided him. Giovanni's eager fingers eased towards Marie's already sensitive breasts. He squeezed the left one, tightly groping Marie like she might vanish. Birdsong stifled a shriek. Her body tensed instinctually. The songstress' nails clawed into his forearms; if it hurt him, Giovanni's expression showed no evidence.
His voice drawled in an unsavory baritone. "Do you realize what I am offering you?"
Giovanni's hands began to slip lower. Lower towards her most intimate places. Marie clenched her thighs together and his fiddling finger wriggled between her soft thighs for entrance.
"No!" she barked. "You're just fucking molesting me!"
Marie cocked her arm to slap him and Giovanni's caught her wrist. Marie growled and Giovanni released her, finally relenting.
"I'm proposing to wed you." Giovanni rolled his eyes and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Don't act surprised."
Marie's voice rumbled with indignation. She had, of course, anticipated his proposal, but not like this. Treating her like some common street waif, was he trying to sabotage his own production or...
"You won't need to work, Marie." Giovani's gaze returned to her face.
There it was. The faux generosity of the wealthy. "How benevolent."
Marie pulled her dress down and wriggled everything into place. "Why even bother with this whole ensemble? It must've cost hundreds of thousands!"
"A million." Giovanni smiled. "It cost a million."
Marie shook her head, feeling it might detach at any moment. "Yes Giovanni but why?" Marie's lips parted for emphasis.
"For you, of course."
Marie's torso heaved with an exasperated breath. Her dour gaze looked over the handsome Giovanni. He was an idiot. Probably only good at killing, fucking and making money. All bravado with none of the sensibilities of true gentleman, but he looked the part. Marie's eyes met Giovanni's. She blinked twice, hoping he'd disappear. Regardless, she wasn't going to make this decision now. She had an audience to entertain and Giovanni was irrefutably drunk.
She closed any distance between them. "When I am to be proposed to..." Marie ran a dainty finger along Giovanni's neck and rigid chest. "I will be seduced and enamored and you will be on one knee." Marie patted the lapels of his suit and returned to the backstage.
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She could feel Giovanni's eyes on her as she retreated, but she didn't turn back.
Giovanni's tone was low, almost menacing. "You know exactly what I am, and what I am capable of." He thrusted his arm between Marie and the doorway. Towering over her, he took a step closer, their bodies almost touching. "And yet, you continue to resist me."
Marie's nostrils flared in response to Giovanni's impetuous nature. Rearing her hand back again, she slapped him. Her soft palm collided hot with his grizzled cheek, and the sharp sound reverberated through the closeted space. Giovanni's face turned with the blow, his cheek imprinted rutilant from where she'd struck him. Marie lips quivered realizing what she'd done. Giovanni's turned to face her, and his crooked smile creased the corners of his blue eyes.
"It is true I suppose..." Giovanni chortled and his laughter jostled his shoulders. "Hell hath no fury." He raised a hand to Marie's face and she instinctively she winced and withdrew. His calloused palm caressed the side of her cheek before wandering lower toward Marie's neck. Squeezing her shoulder gently, he whispered into the shell of her ear.
"Break a leg."
The songstress slipped from the room. The door closed with a click, leaving Marie alone with a maelstrom of thoughts and feelings. Clicking her tongue, Marie cursed silently. “I’ve been nothing but a pretty fool. Haven’t I?”
Marie laughed, a short mirthless cackle; then pressing her knuckles into her head. She kneaded her temples to ease her burgeoning headache. ‘Nothing left to do but your best, Dear.’
The songstress sighed and steeled herself, stiffening the upper lip and straightening her posture. The heavy velvet curtains parted and Marie ascended the steep steps. She could feel the audience anticipation--their murmurs and sweet whispers enhanced by the theatre’s acoustics. Her footfalls padded lightly against the wooden steps and reaching the curtain Marie paused. Her fingers brushed lightly against the velvet edge of the curtains seem. She took one final, languid breath and the curtains parted. The audience greeted the songstress with deafening applause; their thunderous ovation drowned the sound of her drumming heart. Marie's scanned the sea of faces muted beneath the dark, and for a moment, she felt as if she was incinerating. Two thousand eyes bore into her tastefully revealed skin, forming a slow-burning blaze along her shoulders and décolletage. The emerald necklace sparkled in the limelight.
‘Was she truly talented or merely desirable?’
Marie’s mind whirlpooled alongside the rapid melody of her next performance.
As Marie sang the orchestra played with quiet fervor, supporting her hauntingly raw voice. Her green eyes closed, submerged in the rhythm and the songstress’ hips undulated to the bittersweet whine of the violin. Soon, Marie was spinning in circles; the whole room whirling and blurring into trailing lights and shadowed faces buried in the crowd. Her black dress flourished while she twirled. The lambent glow of the dimmed sconces gave the ballroom an amber glow. Marie lifted to her tippytoes. Her shoulders tensing as her arms lifted skyward. She’d felt like a doll before a wicked marionette.‘
The boy I love is sitting in the gallery.’ Marie mused to herself. ‘But sometimes love is not enough.’
Marie feigned a pageant smile and she pirouetted, spinning on one foot and dazzling the crowd with decades of practiced grace and balance.
The audience cheered. Their egos excited to eat from her hand as she threw them a bone – a wink, a dipped shoulder, an extended leg in her high-slit dress. Each movement more nouveau than the last, a balancing act between class and seduction. The Lady in Black, was a beautiful woman, a marvel to see because she allowed herself to be, but behind closed doors, she was something more.
Marie's movements flighted with the song. She leapt through the air in an athletic display of a Grande Jeté; then landing on her lead foot.
“I perform for me... not to make others happy,” Marie leapt through the air again.
“I choose to embrace the unknown.” The crowd clapped and whitsled.
“I am in control of my performance.”
Marie landed with a slight bend in the knees. She finished her performance with a curtsy and lifting her face to the crowd Marie noticed something slink from her peripheral. The skin beneath her left eye twitched. She smiled sheepishly. Surely, there was no one on stage with her.
With her second act finished, the theatre shifted to a romantic red glow. The music slowed and crooned; the bliss of the harmonica reverberated the space. Marie slow danced to the sensual melody, feeling herself unwind on the stage.
She allowed her hips to sway and her arms to relax as she sank deeper into the enchanting rhythm of the music. Giovanni Salvatore, the mysterious mob boss, emerged from the shadows of the theater and added himself to the audience. His eyes never left Marie as she moved with the song, mesmerized by every elegant curve of her body. The hem of her black dress crept split at her thigh, revealing the enticing sliver of her stockings beneath.
Giovanni stirred in his seat. His ardor flushed his nethers rigid. Marie continued on her rhythm. With each step, every enticing bat of her lashes, she could feel the audience's attention freeing her.
'Break a leg!' Marie hurrahed silently as she swayed. 'I'll break their hearts!'
Marie's sinuous curves tantalized in the rosy lighting. The shoulder strap of her dress slipped and the audience inhaled with a collective gasp. Marie moved and grinned to the crowd. She wouldn't be phased. Adjusting the strap as she danced, she continued without interruption.
Her sultry moves ignited a flame of desire within the audience, but none more so than Giovanni. Marie's performance consumed his every thought. His eyes trailed up her exposed leg, following the curve of her thigh and settling on the lace-trimmed garter hugging her taut flesh. The swell of her full breasts threatened to spill forth from her bodice, drawing his focus like a moth to flame.
Marie gasped, pausing frightfully still on stage. The audience, captivated by her performance, assumed her stillness another part of the act. Her bra clasp had come undone; her cheeks flushed with mortification. Marie's mounds loosened gently in her gown and she was nervous to make any sudden movements. The songstress shuffled backward in tune with the music. The stage lights on her skin felt unbearably hot, and she'd felt dizzy and nauseous.
'What is happening to me? I never get stagefright.'
Marie retreated behind the curtain line, waiting for the veil to drop so she could fix her outfit. The velvet drape collapsed to the floor and with it. Her shoulder straps snapped and Marie's dignity fell to the floor. Her glittering black dress crumpled to the ground, and ignorant to her nudity, the audience erupted with thunderous applause. One of the stage crew rushed to her with a blanket and ushered her away.
Marie walked tepidly, face flushed and legs quivering from whatever feeling was possessing her body.
“That dastardly clod!” She wrapped the thick woolen blanket around her, listening as the applause from the audience faded into the background. “I was just seconds away from being the wank of the town!”
Marie itched at her neck.‘
You’d spend a million dollars to humiliate and ruin my career, Giovanni? No, that can’t be right.’
The songstress fidgeted with the silvery necklace at her throat. The feel of emeralds beneath her fingertips made her palms itch.
‘You’d spend more.’