Aunt Celina sighed. “I did my best to help that craziness.”
“I know you did.” I hugged her. “Thanks so much for everything.”
Aunt Celina had the ear of every politician, gangster, and billionaire in the city. She’d come close to saving our jobs. She’d held a secret fundraiser at her brothel, The Candy Shop, and invited her friends and clients. They’d raised fifty thousand dollars. It hadn’t been enough to save us.
The idea of starting a new symphony fell through. There was no backing or interest in another orchestra. While residents and tourists liked classical music, the city was the prostitution capital of the U.S. No one had time for anything else but sex. Running a brothel was illegal, but the mayor and governor didn’t mind. They simply demanded VIP treatment at the establishments and a thick envelope at the end of the month.
Aunt Celina gestured to the eviction letter. “You’re three months behind on rent. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You worked your butt off raising millions so I could keep my job. I wasn’t going to then try to beg you for money to pay my rent.”
“Well, I don’t give away money, Eden. I’ve learned that lesson too many times. You would’ve earned it.”
I stirred.
She rolled her eyes. “Not as a prostitute.”
“I know, but—”
“You’re waiting until you’re desperate?”
“No.” I widened my eyes. “I’ve just had my focus on finding a job. Any job at this point. I’ve applied everywhere. And then I’ve searched outside of music. Maybe cleaning—”
“Cleaning?!” Aunt Celina grabbed imaginary pearls. “We don’t clean, Eden. What about applying to jobs in music?”
“Of course. I’ve interviewed and sent my resume out for small gigs at museum events, music teacher positions, and even out-of-state symphonies.”
“Out-of-state? No. You’re not leaving here. I love having you in Belladonna.” Aunt Celina placed her hands in her lap and held them tight as if she was restraining herself.
“I’m waiting to hear back from any of these positions. Something will come up.”
Aunt Celina scanned the table covered in newspapers and extra copies of my resumés scattered over music sheets. “You have no money at all?”
“I have a negative account. My credit cards are maxed out, and Dad is as broke as me.”
“I’m sure he is. Building a church on a mountain can be expensive, especially when no one knows what religion you are or—”
“Auntie, he’s mourning, and… losing it a little.”
“I’m sorry.” She blew out a long breath. “It’s a damn shame that you’re struggling, but you have options. You can always earn some money with Auntie.”
“Thanks, Aunt Celina, but Dad doesn’t want me anywhere near your brothel, and he’s having a rough year.”
She waved the comment off with her manicured nails. “He thinks you’ll get possessed by a demon.”
“That’s exactly what he said.”
“You’re working for me, and that’s it. I won’t give you the money. I’m not a bank. Your grandmother always said that one must work for everything they get. Handouts make you lazy.” She dug her hand into her pocketbook and pulled out two hundred-dollar bills. “You’ll work for me. This is your advance. Get something nice and come by.”
“Work for you?” Laughing, I raised my eyebrows. “Doing what?”
“Playing that sweet little violin over there.” She pointed to my wall and opened her mouth in shock. “Where are all your violins?”
I had a huge collection of old ones—carved wood, glass, metal. There were thirty in total. No one could play them. They were handmade for décor.
I didn’t glance at the wall. “I put the violins on eBay. A few people have bid for them. I’m hoping to have the first two months of rent by the end of the week.”
“Jesus. Those were your babies.”
“It is what it is.”
Worry covered her face. “And Eros? Did you sell him too?”
Eros was my favorite violin, named after the young and playful god of love. The only instrument I’d played for the past five years.
The real Eros was the son of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty. At the most basic level, Eros represented the source of attraction. The craving for sexual love. The force behind all creation. And that was what I yearned for my music to be—the source of creation, the very symbol of love, and even sexual craving.
Aunt Celina gazed around the living room. “If you sold Eros, then I’m going to lose it.”
“No way. He’s in the bedroom.” I leaned back on the couch. “I couldn’t sell him anyway. The violin isn’t mine. It’s a Stradivarius, worth close to a million. I had the violin loaned to me by one of the symphony’s wealthy benefactors. I have to return him.”
“When?”
“Two weeks.” I twisted my shirt with my fingers to keep from losing it even more. “But I may be able to talk to the benefactor about extending the loan. He’s supposed to pick it up at the theater.”