Page 53 of Passion’s Song

“Seven,” April answered, ignoring the flutters that continued to motion around her belly.

“I’ll pick you up at your place at six thirty,” he said. “See you in a few hours.”

* * *

Damien stood near a piece of artwork he wouldn’t have been able to identify if the artist were standing right next to him, telling him exactly what it was. It was one of several indescribable pieces in the New Orleans Museum of Art’s famed Sculpture Garden. As far as he could tell, the metal structure resembled a dozen monkeys humping each other in the orgy to end all orgies.

But deciphering artwork wasn’t his purpose here tonight. Like everyone else who’d braved the humidity of this sweltering summer evening, Damien was here to hear the harmonious sounds of one of the most intriguing classical musicians to make their way back to New Orleans.

As he stood several yards away from the dais that had been constructed in the middle of the gardens, Damien’s attention vacillated from watching April glide the bow vigorously across the cello’s taut strings to the mesmerized faces of the crowd who had gathered to hear her.

He was simply in awe of how far she’d come. He could still remember attending her very first concert, a poorly attended function at a small local theater in Baton Rouge. The only classical music he’d heard up until that point was in snippets used in movies and television commercials, but it was during April’s first concert that he’d first started to appreciate it.

Her music had come to mean so much to him since that time. It was how he centered himself when life started to feel unbalanced. For years, when he felt himself getting stressed out, he’d slip in one of April’s CDs, pour himself a whiskey and just let the music soothe him.

Just as she had the very first time he’d watched her play, and every single time since, April held him spellbound. Her delicate fingers plucked gently at the strings, releasing a melody in the air that captured the essence of the night.

“Amazing, isn’t she?”

Damien turned to find Michael Berger standing next to him.

“Yes, she is,” Damien answered with a smile. “She’s one of the best.”

“John Hiraku came into the office on Monday as excited as a kid in a candy store after meeting her at the Roosevelt this past weekend. He had no idea she was a native New Orleanian. She truly is a treasure to this city.”

“I agree,” Damien said.

His attention still squarely on April, Michael Berger folded his arms across his chest. “I’ve been researching the area you mentioned when we spoke at that autism fund-raiser a few weeks ago,” he said. “There’s a good bit of land available there. I’ve had my people looking into the work that’s been done on the levees surrounding the Industrial Canal.”

“The Army Corps of Engineers has done excellent work rebuilding them,” Damien said. “The levees are all at or above national standards.”

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been told. It makes the area more attractive than I first thought it would be.” He looked over at Damien, his brow raised, the barest hint of a smile stretching across his thin lips. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. Alexander.”

With that, Berger strode over to the statue of a nude woman clutching a blanket.

Damien wasn’t sure how he should feel about the businessman’s parting remarks. He’d been in this weird place ever since the day he and April toured the Ninth Ward. On the one hand, he was more excited than ever about plowing ahead with his plans to build the residential complex, but he no longer felt the same way about how exactly the space should be used. Witnessing with his own eyes the various projects taking place around the neighborhood had affected him in a way Damien never thought possible.

April’s piece finished with a hauntingly beautiful last note. It was followed by a thunderous applause that surprised him. Not that she didn’t deserve the rousing ovation, but Damien would never have expected it from the type of people attending the gala. Obviously they recognized that they were in the presence of greatness and couldn’t control their enthusiasm.

He watched her accept vigorous handshakes from several guests. She looked absolutely stunning in her gown of gold satin overlaid with black lace. The delicate trim of the sleeveless gown edged along her bust, cradling her perfectly sized breasts.

Damien forced himself to redirect his thoughts. If his brain remained on this trajectory he would need to find a quiet place away from the guest where he could get the situation burgeoning in his pants under control. As the crowd surrounding April finally thinned, Damien made his way to her.

“You’re the belle of the ball tonight,” he said.

Her light laugh carried in the same way her music had. “I don’t know about that,” she said.

“I do. You’ve charmed the pants off just about everyone here. They all want to be close to the amazing April Knight.”

“Including you?” she asked.

“Definitely me,” Damien answered.

She moved from the cello stand and took him by the hand. “I can use a breather,” she said. “If I have to smile again in the next ten minutes, I’m afraid my face will crack.”

Chuckling, Damien tucked her arm in the crook of his and started down the path surrounding the museum grounds. The night was still humid, but the closer they got to the water, the cooler the air became. They walked along the bridge that edged the south end of the museum.

“This is good for now,” April said. She rested her arms on the balustrade and stared across the lagoon.