The Neapolitan woman pulled into a spot marked RISERVATO, just sitting in the car for a few minutes. This was big, and even though she wasn't the one performing, it was her music going to be played in the centuries-old operahouse. The acoustics were beautiful, she knew, but... To have a piece be performed for the very first time in hundreds of years... The musicians didn't even know who it had been written for. They didn't know it had been written for anyone, they didn't even know that the C. R. VARGAS in the corner of the pages was even alive, coming to hear her music played.
She felt pressured. The director of the orchestra was going to have her say something about the piece, and she really wasn't sure what.
With a big sigh, she opened the door of the Aventador, standing up and adjusting her shirt, feeling a bit self-conscious about the faint scars all over her skin. Not like anyone would see it, anyways. Fixing her hair and brushing her bangs back from her face, she chewed on her lip a moment, then closed the door and locked the car, slipping her phone in her pocket after making sure it was off.
Time to go and watch her music shine.
Heading inside the hall, she smiled to herself at the bemused expressions of the orchestra members as they had that strange feeling they recognized her from some dream a long time ago. Shaking hands with several people with a great big apologetic smile as they asked if they had met her, she denied every question of ever having met her with grace, laughing it off as she made her way to the room where she knew the director would be.
"What do you mean she isn't here yet?" The anxious voice of the man drifted into the hall, where upon looking into a the room from where it came, she found a pacing man in a long black dress coat, on the phone waving his hands in the air. "She has to be he-" He spun around, looking at the woman in the doorway, a flustered babble issuing from his lips as he realized who she was. "Signora Vargas, my bad, my bad, I apologize!" he laughed, shutting the phone. "I was just speaking of our pianist, she hasn't arrived yet!"
Catalina laughed softly, shaking her head. "That's a pity, isn't it? I almost thought you were getting worried about me not coming at all." Of course someone wouldn't show up, wasn't that always how it was with orchestras? Someone almost always got sick. "I'm sure that your pianist will show up shortly, I believe she is on the premises, in effetti." Smiling, she folded her arms across her chest. "So you want me to speak tonight, introduce my piece?"
The conductor's nod was eager and quick, a persuading smile taking over his face. "You have never had it played before, sì? So why wouldn't you introduce it the first time it has ever been played, signora? You could even direct, if you like." She could tell that he wanted her to direct, as was common. Even if she was a woman.
So what was she to do? Were they horrible and he just didn't want the blame? Catalina chuckled softly. "Would you like me to, signore? I couldn't take your orchestra from you like that." Of course she could. But she'd be polite about it. "Could I hear them play it, first?"
Desiderio Cavanni's nod was instantaneous, and quickly he brushed past her, nodding politely to excuse himself, calling the orchestra together. Perfect. Catalina smiled softly, following a bit after. The stage was mostly set up and people were already arriving, but they could wait- she would only make it more worthwhile.
After a delay of perhaps three minutes, the musicians were in the room that they practiced with, confused but still willing- and ready- to play. "We are going to run the entire piece down one last time," Cavanni announced, lifting his baton in the air and waiting a moment before starting his quiet count. "One, two, ready..." A flustered woman entered quietly, obviously the late pianist. Before the girl could say anything, Catalina covered her mouth, lifting one finger to hush the woman.
"Pace, piccola.Listen closely." she whispered, dropping her hand and pulling her inside and shutting the door quietly, nodding to Cavanni.
His hand fell, starting the sound of the low brass' first, low chord.
Too loud. Her lips turned down a little, but made no comment. Late. Her frown turned a bit deeper.
As the director bit his lip nervously, she sighed, beckoning him with a finger. Leaving his podium to let the band continue to play, he went to her side. "Sì, signora?" he whispered.
"You disappoint me. Let me show you how it's done." Going to the front of the band, she lifted her hand, cutting off the sound. "Buona sera, a tutti." She didn't give anyone a chance to reply, firing off their flaws quickly, leaving their eyes wide. "Now, let us try this again, and don't make me cringe." Lifting her hand, she didn't even give a countoff, simply starting their sound gently, signalling to the tubas to be louder, less french horn, a tiny bit more trombone and a lot more contrabass clarinet.
This was much better. Vibrato on the flutes, there, be a bit louder, piccolo and E-flat clarinet. More tenor saxophone, miss bass clarinet, could you give a bit of a richer tone? Smiling a bit, she hushed the band, telling the flute soloist to be much more outspoken, the guitar to be a bit more smooth. This is concert, not some alternative rock American thing. Really.
After a good fifteen minutes of working hard to tune their flaws, she ushered them from the practice room, smiling as if nothing happened at all. "Go play, no?"
And play they would.
The ex-kingdom proceeded to the box Cavanni had reserved just for her, watching the orchestra play from the best spot in the house. They did fairly well on their several other pieces. She knew that they practiced quite a bit, and her music was the latest that they had picked up. A quick, steady march, a flitting fairytale-like dance, a bouncing jig, a smooth, slow waltz... it was all so unoriginal, so bland and no story to any of them. Almost as if written by a middle-schooler.
"And, to a great shock to our orchestra," Cavanni called over the mike with a nervous laugh. "We have a piece that was given to us only about four months ago, but it was just so beautiful, we had to say yes."
Catalina stood, proceeding downstairs to the side of the stage as he rambled on about the piece. Really. You're boring them, child. "We actually have the composer of this piece to speak about it for us!" he finished, waving her out with a nice big smile; the smile was matched with her own as applause crashed through the operahouse. "This is Signora Catalina Romano Vargas, the composer ofBia Sogni, Mia Dolce!"
The man gave her the microphone, kissing her cheek and recieving one in return. "Grazie, signore," she laughed, a personality that rarely emerged in her voice there, in the curve of her lips, the sparkle in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the open way in which she stood. "E grazie, a tutti!" she laughed into the microphone, waving cheerfully at the people starting to cease their applause. "I really have to say, that I'm not really sure what there is to say. This is the very first performance of this piece and I'm so glad that this amazing orchestra has managed to play it so well in such a short amount of time. I hope you all like it, really, and I hope that maybe out there somewhere are the people it was written for, but I never got an RSVP so I'm not sure. You two, you're safe for now," she teased the two people she knew weren't there. "I can't get you all lit up with a spotlight if I don't know where you are!
"But that being said," she continued, smile turning a bit melancholic. "Maybe I ought to tell you why I didn't get an RSVP- This piece was written for two people who passed away before it was fair. One was a man very dear to me, and I hold him close to my heart still." Her hand went to the cross about her neck. "He saved my life more times than I could possibly ever count, and when I lost him, I died inside. I really did." More literal than these humans would ever understand. "His name was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, and he was my boyfriend.
"And the other person was just the most precious darling you could ever dream of, happy all the time and the greatest person to be around when you were down. She was my daughter, named Chiara Vittoria Vargas." A sniff from one of the woman in the first few rows made the ex-kingdom smile. "Don't cry, signorina, life goes on." Catalina wasn't sure who the words were for- herself, or the woman almost in tears. "And now, you can all know what their dreams were like. This is Bei Sogni, Mia Dolce."
And beautiful dreams, they were, Catalina thought as she took the podium, beginning to conduct the band with grace, no urgency in her actions at all. A fluid sound, like a stream dripping lazily through a bed of rocks, a tuft of dandelion seed drifting on top of the clear blue water... It sounded even more beautiful in the huge concert hall than it had in the band room, now with the percussion, harp, and piano in the game as well. Catalina almost didn't notice the end of the musical soliloquy, but when it did end, she paused, listening to the melancholic but sweet last chord hanging in the air as if by a thread of memories.
Her lips moved silently, her blue-green eyes closing for a few moments as she let her hand fall to her side, deaf to the applause absolutely welling over the the auditorium's capacity, and she was sure that the entire city would be able to hear it.
"Sweet dreams, my loves..."she whispered. "Beautiful dreams, my sweet..."