The Music Trilogy (33 page)

Jacques lay naked on the bed, spasms wracking his body. She ran to the window and called out to the taxi driver. “Come up quickly!" she cried. "Number five."

The cab driver, grateful for the money in his pocket, did not hesitate. He was at her side in seconds. He froze at what he beheld.

“Don't just stand there!" Davina shouted. "Help me. We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”

The cabby threw a blanket over Jacques and lifted him over his shoulder. He carried him down the stairs. Davina laid five hundred francs on the reception desk. "You don't know a thing. Clear?" The receptionist nodded eagerly and pocketed the money. It happened so fast she never noticed the international star.

Davina got into the back seat and the driver laid Jacques' head on her lap.

“What’s your name?" Davina asked as he pulled away from the curb.

“Maurice."

“Well, Maurice, if you get us to the hospital before he dies, you will be a thousand francs richer."

“
Oui, Mademoiselle
.” The Peugeot lurched forward. The financial promise and the simple fact that all Frenchmen want to prove that they are Le Mans race car drivers were all the incentive Maurice needed.

Jacques was turning cyanotic. Davina called to him and realized that he was not able to breathe. She put her mouth over his and breathed into him, hoping that this was the right way to give mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Maurice looked from the road ahead to the rear view mirror, wondering if he was about to deliver a dead man.

“Jacques, you son-of-a-bitch!” Davina shouted, shaking his head. “Don't you dare die on me! Don't you dare let Monique down. She needs you, Jacques! Jacques, you bastard, breathe!” Jacques gasped and muttered something incoherent. 

"Maurice, get on that radio and call the hospital. Tell them what is happening. Tell them we’re coming!"

“
Oui
,” Maurice said, wondering what
is
going on? How am I supposed to know what’s going on?

“Keep breathing,” Davina repeated. "Jacques! Monique and I both need you.” She cradled his head in her arms. “Jacques, Jacques, please…”

The doctor said a few more minutes and Jacques would have died
. “Encore un peu, et c’était fini
,” he told Davina. “
Il a de la chance
, he’s lucky.” She had saved his life, and Maurice of course played no small part in this.

“Will the Monsieur be alright?" Maurice asked her when she came out of the Emergency Room. He genuinely cared and she could see that.

She nodded.
"Oui, mon ami,"
she said, shaking his hand, "you have saved a man's life. Thank you. By the way do you know who I am?”

“Of course,
Mademoiselle
."

“Maurice do you know who I am?

Maurice gaped at the five thousand francs that Davina pressed into his palm. He wanted to share his good fortune. He was proud to have done a good deed and to have helped the beautiful lady. He would buy his family a nice present. First he would bring home a pheasant. “I have never seen you.”

“Merci, Maurice.”

Alejandro and Davina had agreed to meet at their favorite restaurant for dinner. She was already an hour late and Davina was never late. He thought she might be at the hospital with Monique. He went home to wait. Her hospital visits no longer irritated him, at least not to the extent they once had. He realized that she would stop going when she was ready. She too, after all, had been through a trauma. The doctor told him that Monique could be in a coma for years. Years. Davina could not go on like this for years.

When Davina walked into the apartment two hours after their agreed on meeting time, he was determined not to let this upset him. He had news that could be upsetting enough for her.

She threw her arms around him. “I’m sorry, my love. I’ve been with Jacques.” She told him all that had happened.

“But he will be alright?”

“He’s alive. The drugs almost killed him. He’ll have to go into therapy for several weeks. If he takes another drug, it will kill him.”

“
Amor,
I have news for you too, but for the life of me, I can’t tell if it's good or bad," Alejandro said. He took a deep breath. “I have been promoted to Consul."

"That's wonderful, my love." Her mind was still somewhere else.

"Yes, that’s the good part. The bad part is that I've been appointed to the embassy in Havana."

"What's wrong with Havana? I've heard Cuba is a beautiful island."

"Yes, that's true, but you see,
amor mio
, I cannot refuse to go.” Confused, Davina sat upright, giving him her full attention. “The problem is we can’t get married if I’m in Havana because you’re an American citizen. I can’t even let you visit me. The Cuban government would presume you to be a spy. And because your father is an American ambassador, a member of the United States Government, they would not bother to presume it. They would be sure of it.” Davina’s eyes grew wide. “The situation is quite ticklish,” Alejandro continued. “I don't know what to do. I’ve tried to figure this out. I can’t live without you,
amor
. What are we to do?" He slumped into a chair across from Davina and held her hands. They sat without speaking for awhile.

Davina broke the silence. "Are you allowed to leave on weekends?"

“Well, yes."

"Can you visit anyone, even us spies, when you’re outside of Cuba?"

“Of course, as long as it’s not on Cuban soil. You have an idea, I hope,
Amor
.”

"We could buy a house in Miami and you could fly in as you pleased..."

"
Amor mio
, that’s brilliant!"

“So we could be together.”

Alejandro took her in his arms. “My love, will you wait for me? The appointment can’t be longer than two years. Then we’ll get married?

“I’ll of course I’ll wait for my fox.” Davina knew what it meant to refuse an appointment in the diplomatic corps. It meant a demotion or ruining any further chance of promotion. "Of course I will, silly man. You know you are the most important thing in my life, don't you?"

Alejandro picked her up and carried her to the bed. They lay next to each other, neither of them speaking. A river of private thoughts occupied them both. Leaving Paris for the United States meant leaving Monique and Jacques. It meant no more daily visits to the hospital. It meant long days away from each other. It meant a new life. Neither of them had ever been to Miami.

“I am so lucky because the most beautiful woman in the world loves me.” He kissed her gently on the lips. “My love, do you remember your promise to Monique about singing?”

She had not thought about it in a long time. It was unimportant because Davina did not want to believe that her friend would not sing again. But yes, she remembered.

“It would be perfect for you, and for Jacques as well,” he said.

Jacques needed something to keep him occupied—music had the power to help him.

"You could sing while I'm in Havana, and it would certainly help Jacques take his mind off Monique and keep him busy. He has such talent and it is being wasted. You know how much he's been insisting you sing, besides, you never break a promise. What do you say?

“Let me think about it.”

“Good.”

♫

CHAPTER 9

William Walters was working at his desk at the U.S. Embassy in Paris when he collapsed. Margaret heard the odd noise and went into his office, only to find him lying unconscious on the floor. The doctors said it was an MI, a myocardial infarction, a heart attack. Dr. Briand, the attending physician, had further news for Melina and Davina. Walters also had cancer. The prognosis was not good.

Melina hoped she hadn't heard right. This was much too sudden. “Are you sure?”

The doctor nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“There are treatments, aren't there? Couldn't he go into remission?" Davina asked.

“Yes, but the cancer is in his bones. Everyone is different. Some people react well to treatment, others do not respond at all. I must stress the point that the cancer is already widespread and if we did treat him for the cancer, we would have to start treatments immediately. Again the chances are extremely slim."

Melina finally spoke. "How long does he have, Doctor?"

“It is difficult to say. Maybe days, weeks, or if the therapy is successful, perhaps several months."

Davina was not willing to take this death sentence. "But isn’t there a possibility of remission?"

“There is always a possibility," the doctor said.

Walters was in the hospital for three weeks. The once elegant, tall and handsome diplomat looked like a different man. He had lost all his hair, his cheekbones protruded from his face, giving him a skeletal look. His body seemed to have melted down to mere bones. His skin was gray and his once deep blue-gray eyes were now almost completely ashen.

Davina could hardly bear it. This was not the father she knew, the father who raced with her down the beach when she was little, and let her win every time. This was not the genius who had been sent to Greece during WWII as a young man with the U.S. State Department. Walters was a hero in Greece. He was respected by his fellow workers and by the Greek people. He brought food and supplies to the guerillas in the mountains in his jeep when no one else would or could. He got through, as the bullets flew by his face. And he fought with them on the battlefield. The Greeks dug a hole in the ground to protect the
Amerikanos
from the bullets coming their way. Walters joked later that the hole was never quite deep enough and his head always stuck out.

Melina’s parents had been one of the leading families of Athenian society. Her ancestors had been heroes and many streets were named after them. When the Germans invaded during the Second World War, they were stripped of their riches and lived on the grapes from their garden for the entire four years of the occupation. What little wealth and jewelry still existed was sold to buy an occasional loaf of bread or some olive oil.

Melina's father had been a prominent businessman and a hero of both world wars. The night the King of Greece held a gala in honor of the liberation his family was of course invited. Melina put on the only nice dress she possessed. She had sewn it herself from old scraps of silk. The family no longer had their live-in seamstress but Melina remembered a lot from watching her sew and made herself a lovely evening gown. Her matching silk pumps, which a local shoemaker had made in exchange for a handful of grapes, made her outfit stunning. But her main objective in going to the gala was the food at the buffets, and she dreamed of filling her stomach. It would take her a long time to convince her mind that her stomach was actually full.

Even in the midst of all the misery, nothing could mar the Mediterranean beauty of young Melina. Her jet-black hair was accented by her creamy white skin and her red lips. Her small waist and perfectly shaped bust made men look twice. What distinguished her from other beautiful women was her natural grace and elegance.

She was ushered into the ballroom. Her mind and eyes, as well as her stomach, searched for the buffet tables. To her joy she spotted them and almost ran, but quickly checked herself and proceeded toward the tables as slowly as she could. In her haste, she bumped into a young man, making him spill his drink on his tuxedo. His name was William Walters and looked like John Wayne’s brother.

“Oh, I'm so sorry," he said, a perfect gentleman even though this was her fault, not his.

“No, no, it was my mistake, I wasn't looking where I was going, I hope I haven't ruined your suit."

It was the beginning of a romance that would last more than forty years. After four decades they still walked hand in hand. But now, Melina realized, they never would again.

Even as Walters lay dying, his mind was sharp, but he suffered mercilessly. Davina could not understand this. Why would this man, someone who had given so much, be made to tolerate such pain? In the days before he died, he told her that he wanted a gun to blow his brains out. It was all he could think of to stop the pain.

Davina went into a rage. She was mad, mad at the world, mad at this cursed disease, mad at the medical profession for not knowing more; and mad at God because of what He was doing to her father. It was not the death so much as the pain he was forced to endure that she railed against.

When William Walters died, so did a part of his wife and his daughter. They had been a threesome for so long that neither woman could imagine life without him. It was as if he had taken a piece of their hearts with him.

♫

WASHINGTON, D.C.

CHAPTER 10

The funeral, held in Washington, D.C., was like a United Nations gathering. The president of the United States presented Melina Malandros Walters with the nation’s flag in grateful appreciation of her husband’s devotion in a brilliant career. Delegates representing several countries, politicians, and friends came. Adam Spencer, Eric Shannon, and Black Angel, not the DC-3 but the man, were there. They were joined later in the ceremony by Ruth Rosenblum.

Stefanos Koulouris, the Greek shipping magnate, was there with his children and his wife Eleni, who was Davina’s godmother. Eleni and Melina had been best friends since they were children. Koulouris’ daughter Penelope had gone to the same school in Switzerland as Monique and Davina. Although Penelope was older and had graduated before them, they remained in touch, trying to make the time in their busy schedules over the years to visit with one another and catch up. But time worked the deceit it was so well known for. It had been years since they had seen each other. The last time Penelope had seen Davina was at Monique’s wedding. Eleni had not seen her godchild in more than a year, and Stefanos Koulouris had not seen William Walters in a good five years. He regretted this because Walters had been instrumental in changing his life in ways he could not have dreamed possible.

Stefanos and Eleni stayed at Melina’s and Davina’s side throughout the long afternoon as they accepted condolences and hugs from strangers and friends who stood in the long reception line. Stefanos wore a black suit and, in his black tie, for the hope that any funeral, but especially this one, required, a diamond stud.

“You know, Melina,” Stefanos said, an arm around her shoulders, “I am with the woman I love thanks to William. I will always remember him with a saying from St. Francis de Salles:
There is nothing stronger than a gentle man, and nothing more gentle than a strong man.”

Eleni wore a long black silk tunic. Her long black hair was pulled back into a bun. She was a chubby woman, but what spoke first and foremost about her was her beauty, the classic lines of her face, the strong jaw and full lips from her Russian mother, and the wide eyes from her Greek father. She was all class and, for certain fortunate people, all love. The bond between Eleni and Melina that held them as securely as a thick steel cable had long ago extended to Davina. Eleni, who had no children of her own, had always considered Davina her child, a child she happened to share with Melina. This never gave cause for jealousy. In fact, it only made the bond stronger.

Eleni waited for the day after the funeral to tell the two women she was devoted to what they now must do, for their own good. It did not take long to convince Melina to move to Athens. As for Davina, Eleni had something else in mind. She had always hoped her godchild would have a career in music, perhaps not opera, but some kind of music. Davina was gifted in music, as was her mother. Melina and Eleni had trained together at the conservatory under the phenomenal Elvira de Hidalgo, and they started their careers as opera singers together. If Melina had not met that wonderful handsome young man William Walters, she might have continued her singing. It was love at first sight. Eleni knew Melina had no regrets, but she could not shake her belief that her godchild should take the path her mother did not.

Davina was not at all talkative. She felt numb with the grief of her father’s departure, and when she thought of the pain he was made to undergo in his final weeks, she thought of Monique, and this only made Davina sadder and angrier. She was almost unapproachable. Eleni managed to convince her to take a walk with her on the Mall in the heart of Washington.

“You know, little one,” Eleni said to her godchild, “your father was very proud of you. He knew that when you set your mind to doing something, you accomplish it with perfection. But what he thought you would eventually do with your life is make a career out of your beautiful voice.”

Davina scrunched her eyebrows and she shook her head.

“He told me so himself!” Eleni insisted. “He said he knew you would follow in his footsteps as an ambassador. You would represent your country; but you would do it with music.”

Eleni had Davina’s full attention now. “He knew you had the talent but more importantly, you have that extra little something,” she said gently, squeezing her godchild’s hand. “He always believed in you and he would be very proud if you offered your amazing gift to the world.”

Davina began to cry softly. “Daddy thought I would sing? You mean professionally?”

“Yes, little one,” Eleni cooed, wiping Davina’s tears with a handkerchief. “Nothing would have made him prouder.”

“Do you believe that?”

“Of course I believe that!”

“But do you really think I could make it?”

“Ah!
Davinaki mou
, my little Davina, that is an understatement. Take it from me, if anyone knows a good voice, it’s me.” That was true. Eleni was an opera singer. In her native Greece, she was considered a national treasure. “I would never tell you that unless I meant it. Besides, you’re my godchild, I could never lie to you.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Of course I’m serious!
Thee mou!
My God! I’ve never been more serious, little one. It would be such a waste if you didn’t sing. Besides, you promised Monique, remember? I know you’ve been thinking about it.”

Alejandro had told Eleni that he had brought the subject up and Davina seemed to consider it. Eleni was such a huge force in Davina’s life. She had been a part of her life since she was born, since Davina could remember. Her first memories were of her parents and Eleni.

♫