The fourteen days that followed my initial meeting with the house manager and conductor were nothing short of chaotic. My imperfect sleep schedule became significantly worse, so much so that Madeline made a habit of walking through the back garden from her house to ours in order to point her cane at me and firmly suggest I should go to bed, typically when she woke before dawn and knew I had not slept in nearly a full twenty-four hours.
"You will make yourself sick," she fretted.
"You worry far too much," I grumbled in response.
Another gesture with her cane toward the back door usually ended the argument and off to bed I went.
I spent my days creating a catalog of my work, including both published and unpublished pieces, and then after supper I sat in the back garden as the sun set and listened to the crickets as I made separate lists of symphonies, arias, overtures, and waltzes in an attempt to simplify my selections.
I agonized over Le Blanc's words at our meeting and wondered if I would be able to create an evening of music that my audience would find enjoyable and that critics would not pick apart. He had been correct in stating that I had not attended performances save for one viewing of Mauro and Jewel. I read the published reviews and knew how critics felt about modern and traditional operas, but I truly had no idea what audiences thought of my work or what they would want to hear.
Often I sat staring at the fireflies blinking their way through the evening air, crippled by the thought of a full house sitting in bored silence, women fanning themselves while men checked their watches. I pictured the front rows empty for the second act, the occupants taking to their carriages during intermission as they decided to end their evening early.
What if, I asked myself? What if they hate every note? What if half the audience asks for a refund?
My task became all the more urgent.
"You have lists in alphabetical order?" Julia asked one evening as she thumbed through a stack of papers I had placed under a rock so that the wind didn't blow them into the garden.
She had seated herself beside me as I worked beneath the hiss of the gas lamp, moths darting and diving at the light. "And also in order of when you first composed them?"
"Yes," I mumbled. Nothing seemed to flow well from one composition to the next as I played the music in my head and became increasingly disappointed. Part of me wished I had dismissed Adrian and Madeline's concerns and allowed Antonio Le Blanc to select the music on my behalf. If the performances were considered a complete disaster then at least it wouldn't be completely my doing.
Thoughts of Don Juan Triumphant crept into the forefront of my mind. I'd already endured one disaster in my lifetime. Surely there was no room for a second incident?
"And what are you writing now?" Julia asked as she pointed at my list with numerous notes, arrows, and strikes through titles.
"A list of my personal favorites," I said. "Then I intend to cross-check the lists and eliminate some of my choices based on popularity with the crowds and overall attendance of each opera."
Julia blinked at me. "How long do you think this will take you?"
"Two hours," I guessed.
"How long have you been working on this?"
"Since this morning."
"You've taken one break for supper and even then you had your notes beside you."
I opened my mouth to speak, but there didn't seem to be anything suitable to offer in my defense.
"Husband," Julia sighed. "I think you are taking the enjoyment out of conducting with your endless lists."
"Perhaps," I absently agreed. "But the performances must be extraordinary."
"Given the amount of time you've dedicated to it thus far, I have no doubt it will be well-received."
I paused in the middle of writing 'Lisette's Waltz' at the top of my list. It was the only piece of music I knew for certain I wanted the orchestra to play. The sun had set and I was certain Paris had been dark for ten minutes at most. "What time is it now?"
"After midnight," Julia answered.
At last I placed my ever-growing stack of paperwork into a folder and turned my head from side-to-side and cracked my neck. "They want a full list by Friday morning," I said. "Three hours worth of music."
"It will fall into place," Julia assured me. She stood and took the folder from my lap. "Come to bed."
"But-"
Julia slipped through the back door, folder tucked under her arm. Her footsteps became more distant and at last I stood, having no reason to stay outside a moment longer.
Bessie, who had been curled up by my feet, stood and gave a full body shake before she looked up at me as though I had gravely inconvenienced her by moving.
"You've been asleep this entire time," I reminded her when she yawned as though I had somehow prevented her from a full twenty hours of sleep.
Bessie trotted inside ahead of me and straight to the foyer where she sat beside her leash on the hook and wagged her tail.
"Tomorrow," I promised. "First thing in the morning you have my undivided attention."
She sighed and ran up the stairs, joining the other woman in my life I felt I had disappointed since our return from holiday.
"Papa?"
I paused at the bottom of the stairs at the sound of my daughter's voice. "Lisette, you should be sleeping."
"You didn't tuck me in. Again."
I winced at her words. "Forgive me, Lisette."
By the time I reached her bedroom door, Lisette had situated herself in bed with Aria cradled like a baby in her arms. The cat looked less than amused, but made no attempt to squirm away.
"Are you almost finished with your music for the theater?" Lisette asked between kissing Aria on the head. With her one good eye, Aria stared at the open bedroom door.
"Almost," I answered. "It's due to be submitted on Friday morning, so I have until this evening to make my selections."
"Do you know what I would do?" She purposely kicked the coverlet down to her shins and let Aria go. The cat immediately jumped from the bed and raced from the room.
"What would you do?"
Lisette closed her eyes and pursed her lips. "I would do this," she said, furrowing her brow as she feigned being deep in thought. She gestured with her index finger as though she searched for something on an invisible page and nodded. "This one, this one, and this one." Her hazel eyes popped open. "And that is what I would do, Papa."
"Perhaps I should have you select which arrangements are performed at random. That would certainly make for an exciting evening."
"I would if you asked me."
"I know you would." I pulled the coverlet up to her chin and kissed her forehead. "Get your rest."
"Are you going to get your rest?" she asked, opening her eyes again.
"I have promised your mother I would go to bed for the night."
"Papa, once your list is submitted, do you think you could read another book with me?"
I had not forgotten my promise of resurrecting our book club, but my commitment to the theater had taken precedence over every aspect of my life and reading anything other than music and titles of compositions had fallen to the wayside.
"It would be my pleasure."
"Do you think it will be soon? I miss reading together," she said.
"Tomorrow evening," I promised. "Whatever book you select, I will gladly read with you."
"I have one more question."
"I will do my best to give you a suitable answer."
Lisette pursed her lips and looked from one side of my face to the other. "Which ear is your bad ear?" she asked.
"The left ear."
Lisette smiled, clutched onto my right shoulder, and whispered, "Would you teach me how to play the piano?"
I smiled to myself and pulled back. "Have you played before?"
Lisette frowned and shook her head. "Am I too old to learn? I am almost ten years of age."
"You are precisely the correct age."
"How old were you when you learned to play your violin?"
"I was twelve when my uncle taught me."
Lisette's hazel eyes bulged. "Twelve?" she exclaimed.
One foot already in the grave, I considered saying. Instead I simply nodded. "I will look through my music and find something suitable for you to learn."
At last Lisette seemed satisfied and closed her eyes. Once she settled comfortably in bed, I stepped out of her room and closed the door. Briefly I glanced into Alex's bedroom and found him sound asleep. He had occupied his free time outside of lessons with writing letters to his uncle, Hermine Leach, and Amelie Batiste, all of whom had responded swiftly. It delighted Alex to no end to send and receive letters and practice his penmanship.
Julia was still awake when I dressed for bed. She watched me in silence and waited for me to join her before she spoke.
"Turn onto your side," she requested.
I stared at her for a moment. "On my side?"
She nodded.
I did as my wife commanded, turning in the direction she pointed. With my back to her, I stared at the wall, unsure of whether or not I was being reprimanded for the lack of attention I had paid our family.
My shoulders became tense, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I felt my pulse quicken and my insides tighten with apprehension.
Before I could ask for an explanation, Julia moved in closer and nestled her knees in the crooks of mine. She drew her arm around me with her hand flat against my chest and her face buried against my shoulder.
The closeness came as a welcomed surprise. In all of my years, being asked to face away from someone had not ended favorably. As punishment I had often been forced to stand for hours with my nose to the wall, and as an adult in Persia I had been bound and flogged.
But Julia was the exception to a lifelong rule. I felt her breaths against the back of my neck and my shoulder, and as the seconds passed, I became aware of the knots in my neck from hours spent bent over lists and how I clenched my teeth. My hands were still in fists and my back rigid.
"Breathe," Julia murmured.
My eyes closed, my muscles relaxing as I grew accustomed to the way in which she held me. I felt a sense of security I had never experienced before, and all of the anxiety that had plagued me for the last two weeks became inconsequential.
All of my life I had craved being wanted, being cared for in ways I had been denied. I had longed to feel a gentle caress, the stroke of fingertips against my scalp, or a tight embrace.
"There," Julia whispered. "That's better."
"I should be comforting you," I said under my breath, feeling foolish in my desires. These were the needs of a desperate child, necessities I should have outgrown long ago.
"You do." She kissed my shoulder. "But tonight, I want to comfort you. Will you allow me this simple pleasure?"
I nodded, wanting the moment to continue for as long as possible.
She kissed my shoulder again and hugged me tighter, her arm wrapped around my body as if she could not bear to let go. There were no words suitable to explain how she made me feel, to express how much I truly needed to feel her presence. I laced my fingers with hers and drew her hand to my lips, gently kissing her palm.
Music swelled in my mind, the sweeping, graceful opening to the performance I would conduct in a matter of weeks, a musical piece I had yet to write but knew it thrummed through my veins. There had been only a handful of times in my career as a composer that music wrote itself in my head, and twice now it had been because of my wife.
I rolled over to face Julia and raked my fingers through her hair, then planted a kiss on her forehead. "The very first notes the audience will hear belong to you and you alone."
Julia wrinkled her nose. "To me?"
I nodded. "You are unequivocally more vital than the breath in my lungs or the blood in my veins. It seems quite fitting that you would inspire my work."
"You've written something new?"
"Not yet, but I will. I can hear it in my head, awakened by your presence. All I need to do is commit it to paper."
"Now?" she asked warily.
"I will not soon forget this melody."
Julia grinned at my words. "I've missed hearing the confidence in your voice when you speak of your music. You've been so consumed by this performance the last few weeks that you've not been yourself."
"The selection of music must be perfect," I explained.
"I know, and it will be, but if I'm being honest, it feels like I've lost part of you since we returned from our holiday."
Her words came as an unexpected blow. I knew I'd drowned myself in my compositions, but I hadn't expected anyone else to notice. "I apologize if I have neglected you and our children since we returned home. It was not my intention to put so much time into this project."
Julia pulled me closer and rested her forehead against mine. "I'm not asking for an apology.
"You forget I spent years listening to you play late into the night," she whispered against my lips. "The sweetest, most magical music I'd ever heard drifted through the open windows nightly. You poured yourself into your music back then just as you continue to do so now."
"Back then was different."
"True. I could sit with Lissy in my lap and listen to you for hours, escaping into the beautiful world you created just for me. But of course you had no idea I considered your music my little paradise. Or how much I looked forward to those private concerts."
I stroked the shell of her ear and smiled to myself. "You flatter me."
"You deserve flattery," Julia replied. "You deserve a full theater and praise for your genius and talent."
"You deserve more than I have given you since we returned home."
Julia nodded in agreement. "You've already purchased the most beautiful emerald green dress for opening night."
"Have I?"
"And you insisted I get the gloves that match."
"Ah, that does indeed sound like something I would say."
Julia chuckled to herself. "I will share you with the rest of Paris, but only for a few months and then..." She bit her lip and narrowed her eyes. "Then you are all mine again. Agreed, dearest husband?"
"Completely, my darling and patient wife."
Her eyes fluttered shut and I closed mine as well, and for a long moment there was silence, save for our breathing and the melody of crickets in the night. I held her close and felt her hug me tightly, and the sensation was both comforting and exhilarating.
I focused on her breathing and the rise and fall of her chest against mine, the way her fingers gently stroked the middle of my back, the pads grazing over old scars beneath my clothing, healed wounds I had never wanted her to find.
"I wanted to play for you," I admitted. "Every time I noticed your silhouette by the window, I hoped you paused to hear my music."
I felt her smile, her lips brushing mine. We kissed softly, slowly, as if we had an eternity to simply enjoy one another's company. She was my paradise, my unexpected joy. She made the broken parts meld together, the sadness and uncertainty ebb and the unfamiliarity of true joy flow.
"I will always play for you," I promised. "Unless you tire of my music."
"Impossible, but tonight I have only one request," Julia sighed against my cheek. She kissed the corner of my mouth in the darkness.
"Anything. Jewelry or a hat to complement your new dress and gloves, perhaps?"
"As tempting as that sounds, tonight, all I want is for you to stay in bed and kiss me."
