Sparks.
Friends.
“I’d like us to be friends, too,” I finally told her. It was something I rarely said, and never this quickly.
As I stared across the table at Kate, stared over the glowing wick of a dwindling candle, I was reminded of Casanova again. If nothing else, he was a very good judge of a woman’s beauty and character. He was just about perfect.
CHAPTER 58
THE HAREM cautiously shuffled toward a large living area at the end of a winding hallway inside the mysterious, loathsome house. The place had two floors. On the lower one, there was only a s
ingle room. Upstairs, there were as many as ten.
Naomi Cross walked cautiously among the women. They had been told to go to the common room. Since she had been there, the number of captives had ranged from six to eight. Sometimes a girl left, or disappeared, but there always seemed to be a new one to take her place.
Casanova was waiting for them in the living room. He had on another of his masks. This one was handpainted with white and bright green streaks. Festive. A party face. He wore a gold silk robe and was naked underneath it.
The room was large and tastefully furnished. The floor was covered with an oriental rug. The walls were off-white and freshly painted.
“Come in, come in ladies. Don’t be shy. Don’t be bashful,” he said from the back of the room. He had a stun gun and a pistol and struck a dashing pose.
Naomi imagined that he was smiling behind the mask. More than anything she wanted to see his face, just once, and then obliterate it forever, shatter it into tiny pieces, grind the pieces into nothing.
Naomi felt her heart skip as she entered the large, attractive sitting room. Her violin was on a table near Casanova. He had taken her violin and brought it to this awful place.
Casanova was waltzing around the low-ceilinged room like the host of a sophisticated costume party. He knew how to be classy, even gallant. He carried himself with confidence.
He lit a woman’s cigarette with a gold lighter. He stopped to talk to each of his girls. He touched a bare shoulder, a cheek, caressed someone’s long blond hair.
The women all looked stunning. They wore their own beautiful clothes, and had carefully applied makeup. The scents of their perfumes filled the room. If only they could rush him all at once, Naomi thought to herself. There had to be a way to take Casanova down.
“As some of you may have already guessed,” he raised his voice, “we have a nice surprise for tonight’s festivities. A little night music.”
He pointed to Naomi, and beckoned her to come forward. He was always careful when he brought them together like this. He had his gun in hand, holding it casually.
“Please play something for us,” he said to Naomi. “Anything that you’d like. Naomi plays the violin, and very beautifully I might add. Don’t be shy, dear.”
Naomi couldn’t take her eyes off Casanova. His robe was open so that they could see his nakedness. Sometimes he had one of them play an instrument, or sing, or read poetry, or just talk about their lives before hell. Tonight it was Naomi’s turn.
Naomi knew that she had no choice. She was determined to be brave, to look confident.
She picked up the violin, her precious instrument, and so many painful memories swept over her. Brave… confident…, she repeated inside her head. She’d been doing that since she was a young girl.
As a young black woman she had learned the art of acting poised. She needed all the poise she could muster now.
“I’m going to try to play Bach’s sonata number one,” she quietly announced. “This is the adagio, the first movement. It’s very beautiful. I hope I can do it justice.”
Naomi shut her eyes as she brought the violin up to her shoulder. She opened her eyes again as she placed her chin on the rest and slowly began to tune the instrument.
Brave… confident, she reminded herself.
Then she began to play. It was far from perfect, but it did come from her heart. Naomi’s style had always been personal. She concentrated more on making music than on her technique. She wanted to cry, but she held back the tears, held everything inside. Her feelings came out only in the music, the beautiful Bach sonata.
“Brava! Brava!” Casanova shouted as she finished.
The women clapped. That was permitted by Casanova. Naomi stared out at their beautiful faces. She could feel their shared pain. She wished that she could talk to them. But when he brought them together, it was only to show off his power, his absolute control over them.
Casanova’s hand moved and lightly touched Naomi’s arm. It was hot, and she felt as if she’d been burned.