Angelina shook her head, her thumb still playing with the beguiling jewel and lost in a bewildering mind-numbing fog.
A loud chorus of tapping rattled against the suite door, drawing Chantal away from her charge and with a feisty whisper she attacked, “Now who wants to steal Madame’s rest?!” Making a hasty beeline for the door and intent on silencing the intruder, she threw the door open and hissed, “Ssshhh, Madame is trying to sleep!”
“Pardonnez-moi, Mademoiselle,” a man in a floral shirt blinked nervously, taken off guard by the unexpected tirade. ”We have a delivery for Madame Trudeau!” the voice apologised.
Chantal raised herself on tiptoes and followed the procession behind the first delivery man and saw three other men in brightly coloured floral shirts, each holding a massive bouquet of a hundred red roses and accompanied by three matching antique vases. Chantal melted at the sight and immediately let the delivery men into the suite unhindered and decided to adorn Madame’s bedroom with the surprise.
Angelina’s face swiftly turned from shocked intrusion to delight as she watched the procession of sweet smelling Rosa floribunda Europeana fill her room. Then the head delivery man bowed and respectfully handed Madame a lavish card.
With deeply troubled eyes and a whispered, “Thank you,” Angelina took the expensively decorated envelope while Chantal barked and hustled the four men back into the hotel foyer.
As Angelina removed the magnificent greeting card from its envelope, a diamond studded bracelet dropped into her lap and stole her breath away, making it difficult to reorient her attention to the words on the note. Holding the extravagant gift and with her hand trembling, Angelina began to read.
I apologise, Chérie. I have been called away on important business but hope to be back with my angel soon. Please rest and get well. Chantal and Clayton have been told not to move from your side until I return and Doctor Bonnet will arrive by corporate jet number two and will remain at your disposal until you are completely well again. Your devoted amour, Armon.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 28
From the stage of the empty Auditorium Stravinski, Niccolo broke off in mid screech and waved his hand above his head to the sound desk tucked neatly into the back wall of the vast concert venue. “Too much feedback!” he bellowed through the microphone.
“Try it now!” a voice echoed over the intercom from the darkened sound booth.
Niccolo screeched again and this time he held up a thumb and bellowed through his microphone, “Bellissimo, signor!”
Niccolo and the Sticky Lizards were again the first act up tonight, but he had no idea how Monsieur had arranged for a relatively new group to continually command centre stage. It seemed wherever they went success and adoration followed, but Niccolo was beginning to feel edgy and wondered how long his luck could possibly hold. They needed to strike hard while they rode the wave of popularity and surf right into the marketplace, cashing in on the current buzz and making as many gold records as they could.
If only he knew how.
Before the band could launch into another rapturous practised catastrophe, Niccolo bawled once again into the microphone, “Time please, anyone?!”
“11:45!” the replies came from all over the empty venue.
“I have to go!” Niccolo announced decisively.
“But what about practice? We are only halfway through!” disgruntled band members spat.
“I’ll be back. I can’t miss an opportunity to make a name for myself,” Niccolo answered, but then considered his words and realised they probably wouldn’t be welcomed by the other band members.
Roberto, the drummer, picked up immediately on Niccolo’s intention and fired a broadside at the screeching charismatic. “How come suddenly it’s all about you, Niccolo? We’re a team are we not? Born to the streets and struggling together as brothers, sharing everything throughout our difficult lives. Isn’t that our backstreet heritage, Niccolo? Or don’t you remember the poverty of Naples?!”
Niccolo held the drummer's eyes for a long moment and then smirked. “I remember all too well the stench of poverty and I’m never going back there. My words were a little... unfortunate, Roberto, and yes, we are brothers struggling to be rid of poverty’s lifeless tentacles but we must take every opportunity to shake off the blanket of death and wrap ourselves in the life of riches."
Roberto eyed the self-assured singer as he jumped down from the stage and walked toward the exit, suspicious of his motives and certain his words were full of duplicity. “Where are you going, Niccolo? We are right in the middle of practice,” Roberto demanded, intent on inflicting his will on the escaping reprobate.
“I have an appointment to collect something, but I doubt the person will show and I feel I am just the innocent victim of a vicious scam. It won’t take too long. I will be back.”
Acknowledging he had finished with the conversation, Niccolo waved his hand above his head but didn’t bother to look back. Eventually he disappeared through the exit doors and out onto the quays, leaving the band members gossiping about his mysterious rendezvous. Quickly donning a pair of dark sunglasses and wandering down the Quai de Vernex toward Montreux, Niccolo struggled through the festival crowds, slowing his walking pace and leaving him pondering whether a taxi would have been a better proposition. Once or twice he glanced at young women passing by pointing at him, whispering and giggling then gawking backwards, trying to establish the identity of the dark haired peachy dish nonchalantly striding in the other direction.
The midday sun seemed to be more potent than he imagined for this stage of year and by the time he entered the Quai de la Rouvenaz, he was tiring and wishing he had taken a taxi. Through the aimless crowded quay, the statue of Freddie Mercury gradually gained perspective and with each step, the gregarious image pulled tighter into focus. Niccolo’s ambitious gait slowed, passing by the busy Covered Markets and bringing Mercury’s graven image—cemented upon the picturesque walkway—starkly into view. As he slowed his pace further, Niccolo saluted the convivial statue in an expression of disdain and whispered under his breath, “You will be nothing but a faded memory, Signor Mercury, but the fame and legend of Niccolo Visintino will live on forever.”
Pleased with himself and feeling secure and lighthearted in his future ambition, Niccolo increased his stride until he entered the access to Le Palais Oriental, searching the Arabian Knights' interior for a hazy face and the dubious reward. Niccolo’s nefarious rendezvous was taking an extreme risk, with the possibility of being recognised by powerful allies, keeping Niccolo on edge. This new association could be a reckless connection, damaging his ambitious desires in a perceived but innocent doublecross, yet the promise of money was just too good to turn down.
Niccolo’s steps abruptly halted, staring at a face among two faces scrutinising him with eager interest from a table set for three. A man near Niccolo’s age beckoned him to the empty seat, yet Niccolo’s frozen gaze refused to shift from the older man perched opposite his younger counterpart. The older man wore a plain grey kaftan, long brown hair, a well kempt beard and two piercing blue eyes that drew Niccolo’s attention and disarmed his nervous doubt. The older man seemed well at home among the intense Moroccan surrounds and the spicy odours emanating from every nook and cranny, but the scene was completely foreign to Niccolo’s experience. Unable to resist the enchanting charismatic smile, Niccolo’s feet began to move without his permission and forcefully deposited him into the empty seat. The young man began to speak, but Niccolo couldn’t avert his look from the older of the two, the hypnotising blue eyes seemingly searching his soul and pointing out to his conscience every misdeed he’d ever committed.
“Mr Visintino?!” the young voice tried again with a little more volume this time.
Niccolo begrudgingly turned away from the smiling blue eyes and focused on the young voice.
“I see by your success with Sfidare il Male, you took my advice.”
“Advice? Oh, yes, it did w
ork a treat,” Niccolo admitted, glancing back at the older man but playing it down and not wanting to give anyone credit for any part of the Sticky Lizards' new song.
All eyes suddenly locked onto the older man’s unexpected clamour, bursting into raucous laughter as Niccolo attempted unsuccessfully to hide the glory.
“I see your band brothers were a little suspicious of your poorly timed disappearance, Niccolo.”
Niccolo stared at the bearded man, his mouth hanging open in shock, but he quickly brought the surprise back in check and tried to play his hand.
The younger man spoke, interrupting Niccolo’s gawk. “This is Robere Maccabaeus, Niccolo, and there isn’t much he doesn’t know,” the younger man introduced with obvious respect.
The older man ignored the young man’s attempts at flattery and continued on as if the young man hadn’t spoken, “Treachery, Niccolo, has many friends. But honesty, like his cousin integrity, stands alone.”
The profound words stuck in Niccolo’s mind and like a rattling washing machine, he churned over their meaning.
“We have a gift and a proposition for you and your band,” the younger man spoke. “First the payment you required for letting me... interfere, I think was the word you used when you and I met last.”
The young man placed a briefcase on the table and lifted a bulging envelope from within. Niccolo’s eyes were huge, watching in complete disbelief as an enormous sachet was placed in front of him.
“Fifty thousand euro I believe it was.”
Niccolo swallowed hard. The monetary figure had been a sudden impulse to rid himself of the annoying young teenager when he had approached Niccolo during a practice session and offered his suggestions for Sfidare il Male. Not only had the suggestion worked, but the crowd went wild with the young man’s ideas.
“It’s all there, Monsieur Visintino. Please count it if you so desire,” the teen urged.
“N... no, its alright,” stunned into silence Niccolo peeked inside to the wad of cash.
The blue eyed older man nodded to the teenager across the table and the young man spoke again, “I have several recording contracts here for you to choose from with the big four recording labels to cut as many songs as you wish. All it needs is your signatures.”
Niccolo stared in disbelief at the four separate official looking contracts, all signed by company executives with a blank space beside the artists’ signatures.
“I assure you they are quite real and I have a direct line to the executives if you want verification,” the teen pulled out an elaborate smartphone and offered it to Niccolo, but he waved the gesture away. “Although a recording contract maybe just a little premature at this point. I have direct access to the Eurovision people, too. One phone call and the Sticky Lizards will be a worldwide overnight sensation.”
Niccolo’s cheeks were red, trying to comprehend what was happening. “W... why would you do all this for me and my band?”
The blue eyed man’s face suddenly beamed and a charismatic smile tugged on Niccolo’s heartstrings, leaving no doubt the older man was completely trustworthy.
“It’s simple, Niccolo. God has chosen you and has His hand upon you for success. All you have to do is let the young maestro here write your music for you. It will be along your usual style and you will have the final say and the power of veto. Just so you can see that we mean what we say,” the older man nodded and another bigger bulging envelope was placed on the table in front of Niccolo. “One hundred thousand euro as a gift in good faith, Niccolo.”
Niccolo almost fainted as the new packet emerged. “I... I will have to speak with Monsieur Trudeau about this,” Niccolo stuttered, looking for a means of escape but his eyes wouldn’t leave the two bulging envelopes flaunted in grasping distance from his fingers.
“Armon Trudeau will agree wholeheartedly when he sees the success you will generate and the door sales. Your music style will not change, although it will be greatly enhanced. We are committed to God’s will, Niccolo, and helping you to achieve His will for your life.”
Before Niccolo could stop his lips from moving, he found himself agreeing to the older man’s terms before thinking through the consequences.
“Excellent, Niccolo! But just a little warning...”
Niccolo’s eyes were like saucers, thinking he had walked into a trap and now the door was being slammed behind him.
“In future, you will need more than dark sunglasses to hide from your fans, and walking alone in a public place will be a thing of the past.”
Niccolo smirked, pushing out the chair with his knees and grabbed the two envelopes from the table, feeling both pleased and unsure of what he had just done.
“Wait, before you leave... your gift, Niccolo,” the blue-eyed man nodded at the teen.
A slightly blurred black and white photograph of a pretty young woman in her early teens was placed on the tablecloth and it caught Niccolo’s attention immediately, staring at the long, curly black locks, the fine cheekbones and obvious sculptured features. The tired background looked vaguely familiar too, but he couldn’t place it.
“Who is this young girl?” Niccolo ventured and his curiosity piqued, but he had no idea why.
“Her name is Vincenza Morola, Niccolo, and her number is written on the back. Why don’t you give her a call and introduce yourself?”
*~*~*~*
Chapter 29
At the back of the Auditorium Stravinski’s fifth floor, the band-break-room walls reverberated with bad blood. Niccolo had been gone for over an hour now and Roberto had almost convinced the remaining band members to mutiny and leave Niccolo to practise on his own. Just as the deciding vote to enact the coup swung in favour of Roberto, the entry door crashed open and Niccolo’s confident stride broke in, startling the secretive warring factions. Niccolo, distracted by the new deal, didn’t notice the stern faces and announced an excited greeting, eager to explain the new sponsor and the deal he had offered.
Still bristling with the attempted coup, Roberto listened, unimpressed and with a quick glance around at the faces enthralled by Niccolo’s rhetoric, he tried to gauge the support for his argument. “So, we just let somebody we have never seen or heard of before, write and choreograph all of our material!” Roberto argued. “You fell for a line, enticing you with phoney recording contracts, Niccolo. And what of our current sponsor, Monsieur Trudeau? Do you think he will just step back and let you do this?!”
“I know it sounds too good to be true, Roberto, but Monsieur Trudeau doesn’t need to know. They have assured me our style will not change and it will be difficult to pick that someone else has written our content. All we have to do is sing, play and collect the rewards,” Niccolo hesitated, thinking carefully about his next thought before releasing it into public airspace. “They’ve already proven their ability with Sfidare il Male, and look how the crowds are reacting to that!”
A disgruntled murmur erupted across the group. “What do you mean, Niccolo? I thought the new number was all your idea?!” Roberto folded his arms across his chest in defiance, demanding their lead singer explain.
Niccolo sighed deeply, knowing he had to quickly come clean and divulge his treachery if the band were to accept the new proposal. “A young signor approached me during practice break one day a few weeks back and offered me some ideas, but I fobbed him off. Nevertheless, I was curious and tried some of his suggestions and they fitted perfectly. Even the guitar and drum feud was his idea and the crowd chewed it up and swallowed it, looking for more.”
Astonished faces, fanned by Roberto’s challenging attitude, informed Niccolo he was about to be lynched if he didn’t find a way to convince the band this proposal was a good idea.
“Does it really matter what we sing or who writes it, so long as it sounds good and the crowd buy it? Lots of famous bands have their content written and choreographed for them,” Niccolo could see he had chosen the correct words and won an important battle. The young band members were nodding
agreement and starting to side with him against Roberto.
“So what do these people get out of it?!” Roberto glared as the band members eagerly waited for Niccolo’s reply and ready to cross the floor again if his answer wasn’t sufficiently convincing.
The question broadsided Niccolo. He hadn’t even considered what their motives could be. “Fame and a cut of the profits, I guess.”
Niccolo’s answer fell flat and the support turned in favour of Roberto again, leaving Niccolo frantically searching for a clincher and then suddenly he had the answer.
“I have a promotional gift from our new silent sponsor and I’m sure it will convince you of their sincerity,” Niccolo reached under his jacket and removed the larger envelope and placed it on the table, but kept the smaller one carefully hidden from view. “There, open it and see if this man is not good to his word.”
Roberto tore open the envelope and spilled piles of 100 euro bills onto the table, immediately drawing the band members around the counter in an astonished frenzy.
“Have you ever seen 100,000 euro before, Roberto?”
*~*~*~*
Band practice that afternoon seemed stifled and lifeless as the band members concentrated on the small divided fortune instead of the evening’s performance. One hundred thousand euro divided by six suddenly didn’t seem so awesome, while many thoughts of treachery stretched across musical minds, suffocating the natural rhythm and delivering a noticeable decline in the band's performance. Niccolo called for a break, signalling the sound desk and almost immediately, the auditorium dropped into stunned silence. It was obvious the band were struggling, but Niccolo had no idea how to reverse the lethargy he was feeling too and instil the energy needed. Lowering his skinny frame to the stage floor and taking a seat on the drop off, his legs dangled over the edge, swinging in time with the distraction eating at his mind. He reached inside a shirt pocket and removed the black and white photograph given to him by the blue-eyed man and studied the graceful lines of the girl and her stunning dark haired features.