CHAPTER37
Ian woke to a golden light streaming through the windows. He rose to a seated position and sleepily surveyed the empty parlor. He did not notice the kitten until Sienna complained about being dumped on the floor.
He picked up the kitten, carried her into his bedroom, and deposited her on the bed. He checked the time, then stripped and entered the shower. The day was beyond astonishing. His professional life had held to a standing rule that shaped much of his routine.
Before any live performance, throughout his entire career, Ian had never slept either well or long. Solo guitar recitals, duets, concerts with full orchestras, it made no difference. Whenever he did manage to drift off, his dreams were dreadful. Broken strings, conductors shouting, audience booing and departing in mid-performance. Discovering he had forgotten his instrument or his pants. Worst of all were dreams where his first teacher, Monsieur Lachard, climbed onstage and publicly berated him for demolishing a perfectly good piece of music. Nervous exhaustion had simply become part of his playbook.
He took his time showering, reveling in the feeling of being so refreshed. Afterward, he wrapped a towel around his middle and stepped out onto his bedroom’s balcony. Miami seemed at its most tropical in the late afternoon. A gentle sea breeze carried hints of blooming flowers and sounds of laughter from far below. Then he heard voices enter the parlor, and he retreated inside.
He dressed carefully, watched by a kitten who had taken up position on his pillow. She washed herself and observed him donning Kiki’s finery. The festival director had thoughtfully supplied him with gold cuff links, two silk bow ties, black socks, and Italian slip-on loafers. All in his size. The lady was nothing if not comfortable with details.
Aromas of food wafted under his closed door as he knotted his tie, a talent he had mastered after much practice. Sienna mewed and padded across the bed toward him. She had smelled it, too.
Ian opened the connecting door and told the kitten, “I can’t carry you. Not without showing up with cat hairs on my tux.”
She sat on the bed’s corner and mewed.
“It’s not happening, Sienna. Use your own legs for once.”
Kari said from the other room, “She’s being shy because Graham and Rafi are here.”
Ian told the kitten, “Normally, that would get you a pass. Not today.”
Kari walked in. Ian needed only one look to declare, “Wow.”
Graham’s voice filtered in from the parlor. “Nothing beats the wow factor in my book.”
Ian said, “You look stunning.”
“It’s by Fendi,” Rafi called. “Soon as I pulled it from the rack, I knew she’d look fabulous.”
Graham countered, “Actually, what you said was, she’d stop traffic. Which she did.”
Rafi appeared in the doorway, looking so pleased he might as well have invented her. “Nobody does discreet elegance like Fendi. Single-breasted jacket with stand collar and fitted waistline. The sides and sleeves are silk, and the front is cashmere. Ditto for the skirt.”
Kari appeared sheathed in a blue-gray cloud. One that clung to her form and accented everything while being conservative, an impossible combination.
Ian told her, “It’s like it was made for you.”
“Thank you, Ian.”
Rafi said, “And look at you.”
Kari smiled at him and asked, “Who are you, and what have you done with the man sharing my suite?”
“Oh, him. I forget.”
She picked up the kitten, then used her free hand to pull Ian forward. “Let’s eat.”
Kari’s two managers were dressed in gabardine slacks and jackets of woven silk. Rafi’s outfit was blue and gray; Graham’s autumnal russets. Graham stopped preparing a plate from the chafing dishes warming on the bar counter, inspected Ian, said, “Very nice indeed.”
They dined on grilled flatiron chicken breasts and crisp vegetables and unadorned rice. No sauce, no bread, no butter. Lemonade or sparkling water to drink. Fresh fruit salad and green tea for dessert. Ian ate lightly and enjoyed every morsel. Through their meal, Sienna remained in Kari’s lap, mostly hidden by the table’s edge, mewing softly when it was time for more chicken. He thought the care they showed over his preconcert meal was a gift, and said so.
Graham said, “You’re far from the first nervous Nellie we’ve coaxed and prodded toward a performance.” He smiled at Kari. “Present company excepted.”
“He doesn’t look nervous to me,” Rafi said.
“No,” Kari agreed. “He looks divine.”
