Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [63]
“I need to work on my breath control.”
“Yeah, honestly, you do. But that’s what a vocal coach is for.” Again, he shook his head. “You really hit your notes. Do you have perfect pitch?”
She nodded.
“If you and I ever bred, we’d produce a flock of little kids who’d walk around with their hands covering their ears because everything in life would sound off-key. Really good job, Yasmine. Just incredible.”
She was beaming. “Anything else?”
Gabe said, “No, not really.”
“What do you mean by not really?” Yasmine sat beside him. “I’m a big girl. I can take it.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “What’s on your mind? If you don’t tell me, I’ll be anxious.”
“Well . . . you need to figure out what to do with your hands.”
“Absolutely. I know I’m a little stiff when I sing.”
“Kinda.” Gabe cleared his throat. “If I had to say anything critical, the one thing I’d say is . . . you sang the notes . . . but not the words. I mean, opera is theater. You know what you’re singing?”
“I know the translation.”
He said, “ ‘Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem herzen—the vengeance of Hell boils in my heart!’ The Queen of the Night is so consumed with hatred for her rival, Sarastro, that she is willing to sacrifice her own daughter to satisfy her lust for revenge. I mean, I can totally see my dad doing something like that. Like him saying, ‘Here, Gabe, whack this guy or I’ll disown you.’ ” He stared at her intense face. “You’ve gotta channel into someone like that. You’ve gotta channel pure unadulterated hatred.”
Yasmine nodded.
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t sing beautifully. You did. Almost too beautifully. When I hear the ha, ha, ha part, to me, it always sounded kinda like maniacal laughter . . . not like ha, ha, ha, happy laughter.”
She nodded dutifully, something smoldering in her eyes.
He looked at her. “You’re pissed at me.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. I’d be, too. We have egos. No one likes critiquing.”
“No, I’m not.” Her eyes filled with water that streamed down her cheeks.
What was I thinking? Gabe said, “I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“I’m glad you did.” She was trying so hard not to lose it. “At least I know you’re honest.”
“That I am. Sit on my lap.” When she complied, he kissed her tears. He said, “I want you to promise me something, okay?”
“What?”
“No matter what happens, you’ll continue with your voice training. You have too much talent not to continue on.”
“I promise.”
“No, Yasmine, I mean really promise. You’ve got to do more than just take some lessons. You’ve got to realize your talent . . . put yourself out there even if it means ruffling some feathers. I mean I know how hard it is to defy your parents. Hell, I should talk. I’m afraid of my dad. And I wouldn’t ever ask you to do it . . . not even for me.”
She looked up at him.
“I mean, let’s face it. Boys come and boys go, but a voice like that. It’s forever. It’s a gift from God. More important, you can’t see your face. You’re so happy when you sing. It’s a natural. It’s what you are.”
She was quiet.
“You’ve got to promise me that you’ll continue with it, okay?”
She shrugged.
“What?”
“You don’t understand. Nice Jewish Persian girls don’t become opera singers.”
“Why not?”
“Because they don’t. It’s just not done, okay. I’m sorry my sister ever said anything about a stupid CD.”
He blew out air. “Yasmine, there’s nothing wrong with being a doctor. My mother is a doctor. She sacrificed everything including me to be a doctor. But that was her dream. Maybe I’m wrong, but I don’t see it as being your dream.”
“I don’t know what my dream is.” Her eyes grew wet. “I’m only fourteen. Right now my only dream is to be with you.”
Gabe smiled. “You know what? That’s my dream, too.” He brought her mouth to his and kissed her soundly. Within seconds, their tongues were dancing. He started unbuttoning her blouse as she tugged upward on his T-shirt until both of them were naked from the waist up. The feel of her chest against his sent shivers down his spine.
She was sitting on his erection, constantly shifting positions and that only made it