Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part II

Chapter 113.1: 1968, Georgina

113.1: 1968, Georgina

"He was called 'the Professor'. That's why my father let me take piano lessons from him."

"Si, si." The blue-green eyes of the Italian boy next to me were focused on me in the dark, the moonlight from the large hotel window reflecting upon me.

"He was a priest."

Laughter. The boy was laughing.

"What? What's so funny about that?"

Frankie sat up a little bit, resting on his elbow next to me. He kissed mine.

"I can't imagine you in a church," he sighed, falling back on his pillow, the moon reflecting on his teeth.

"Well, it was another life. I can't imagine me in a church anymore, either."

"True. Another life." He looked towards the window for a moment, then back to me, a small smile still on his face.

"Yes. I started taking piano lessons from him when I was six. My father liked the piano. He played a bit himself, but was too drunk to show me anything. So, he found this priest. He thought because he was called 'the Professor' that he must be a genius or something."

More laughter. I laughed, too. It was ridiculous, anyway.

"Anyway." I coughed a little, to quiet myself. Frankie snuggled a little closer. "It wasn't until I was twelve that he figured out the truth. That it was only a nickname. He went wild. Pulled me from the lessons. He thought the guy was some quack. It was only because I begged him that he let me back."

"You had to beg him? That's cruel." Frankie sighed again.

"Well, only because he was so drunk that he didn't understand what I was saying. I think my being out of lessons depressed him. I think maybe it was better for both of us when I started again. But, this time, I was the church organist."

"The organist! Well, that I don't believe!" Laughter, again.

"Yup. At twelve years old. I was a prodigy."

So much laughter. I petted his hair.

"Then what happened?"

I let out a long sigh. A different tone. He straightened up.

"Well, he died, didn't he? My father. He had a drunk driving accident when I was thirteen. My mom told me he killed a pregnant woman and her daughter. But that's a long story."

"Oh." Sad tones. I petted his hair more. "That's cruel."

"It is." I didn't know what he meant. It didn't matter. None of it mattered. It was long gone. I didn't want to think about it. Didn't know why I brought it up. The same shock was filling me. That sudden pause. My mom's face. Her flashing eyes, angry mouth. He killed a pregnant woman! Your father! You want to be just like him now? Go ahead! Strange tears were pricking at the edges of my eyes-

"Anyway," I continued quickly, erasing her face.

"Yes."

"That's all there is."

"Oh."

"I wish I could say happy things."

"It's okay."

"Okay."

He rolled over, hugging me around the stomach with one arm. His face was in my hair, his breath on my ear. I watched the clock on the bedside table. It was 1:31 am. I tried to make my thoughts weaker, tried to shove them away. Finally, my thoughts became nonsense thoughts. A candy shop, picking out mints. Pink ones, please. Blue ones, please.

"I want to see my father before we go." Words in my ear.

Green ones.

"I want to say good-bye." Smaller words.

Small paper bag.

"I want to see my father, too." My small words, in a dream.

A small, wet kiss on my ear.