Page 6 of Semblance

“It’s not creepy at all,” I replied. “I’m thrilled that someone appreciates all my hard work. Sometimes as an artist it’s hard gauging your own performance. It’s great to have a little validation once in a while.”

“So here’s the deal,” Calisto said. “I want you to play for us at this celebration. I’m willing to pay you ten thousand dollars for a single night’s worth of music.”

I choked on my wine.

“Aria, are you alright?” she asked.

When my airways were finally cleared of fluid, I responded. “Did you just say you’d give me ten thousand dollars for a single night?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “Ten thousand dollars. It’s a very good offer. Try finding that kind of money without having to take your clothes off in some sort of fashion.”

I had to be dreaming. I should have been ecstatic, jumping on the tables while doing fist pumps, but once again the skeptic in me strangled my excitement.

“If this party is as important as you say it is, why don’t you get someone famous, like Marc-Andre Hamelin or Krystian Zimmerman?” I asked. “I’m seriously a peasant who can barely afford a Kit-Kat for lunch.”

“Because I don’t want either of those two,” Calisto replied. “I want you.”

“And these guests of yours won’t be disappointed that an undiscovered nobody musician will be playing at this grand event?”

Her smile was sly and full of mischief. “Here’s the beautiful thing,” Calisto said. “I’ve already made you a star in this inner circle of ours.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I created a story about you, one that may be on the fictitious side,” Calisto said. “Right now you’re known as the Golden Virgin, a mysterious pianist who lives a life of chastity so that your music is as pure as your heart.”

“But I’m not a virgin,” I said.

“Just pretend.”

“I dunno,” I replied. “I’ve never been a good liar.”

“When’s the last time you had sex?”

It was a rather blunt question to ask. I was fairly private when it came to my personal life and felt uncomfortable discussing it with someone whom I met ten minutes ago. I was also embarrassed to admit that my sex life was as dry as a sand dune over the past two years.

Having no money didn’t exactly give me the freedom to go out and meet people worthy of dating.

“I guess it was an intrusive question to ask,” Calisto said, after a brief moment of awkward silence. “I’m fairly open about my indecent escapades. The last time I had sex was yesterday with a Chilean carpenter who was installing hardwood floors in one of my condos. He looked like Johnny Depp with muscles. I came twice that night.”

“Uh…”

“I thought I’d share that with you, just so you understand that my question to you had no cruel intentions behind it.”

Oh, what the hell. What harm was it in telling Calisto about my dismal and chaste personal life.

“Two years,” I said.

“Two years?”

“Yes.”

“Perfect. You’re practically chaste anyways. I’m sure you’ll play the part of the Golden Virgin well.”

“So this story telling of yours, does that make you a habitual liar?” I asked. I was always cautious around storytellers. I hated being the fool.

“No,” Calisto replied. “It makes me a habitual marketer.”

“I see.”

---