Birth of Adam (Artificial Intelligence Book 2) (7 page)

“Cello in the middle,” Adam replied.

She wanted to ask him how he’d known what she was thinking, but then realized he had basically been born in her thoughts, so it was perfectly natural he could correctly predict what her brain would ponder.

When they finished, she stood up and applauded enthusiastically. She was very annoyed by all the seated people around her. The young students were superb. They deserved a standing ovation. She was pleased to see that other than the dead weights in the center, most people stood and gave them their due. She glanced back, trying to find Andrew.

“Andrew is in the balcony, first row, left side.”

She spied Andrew, with tears streaming down his face, applauding his son.

She sat down as the youngsters left and the next set of musicians entered. These were students from the music program, some of whom she recognized from Dr. Branson’s musical theory class. Yet to her ear, while more precise, they lacked the passion of the young musicians. When they’d finished, she applauded but did not stand.

Jules leaned toward her and spoke over the applause. “I see you have an ear for quality, or the lack thereof.”

“I thought the young musicians quite remarkable for their age,” she replied.

“They were indeed. However, most will falter before reaching adulthood. I’ve seen it happen so often that I refuse to stand for anything other than greatness. The promise of greatness is not sufficient.”

Given how hard he sat down in his chair, she decided his rule was a blessing to anyone seated beside him. She smiled at her observation, then realized Jules was watching her intently.

“You are recalling I stood for your performance last week. Before your head swells, you should know I also stand when my leg cramps.”

She laughed at his effort to take back an unintended compliment. “I didn’t know you stood at my performance, but I do hope your leg is better now.”

His eyes narrowed a bit, but he seemed pleased by her answer. “How old are you?”

She was about to reply a woman never tells, but Adam recommended she tell him. She leaned in and whispered her age in his ear. She could see both surprise and disappointment in his eyes. She gave him a slight shrug of her shoulders and returned her focus to the next set of musicians entering. This group of six were all quite good and each had a moment to shine as a soloist. When they finished, Amanda rose but applauded with less enthusiasm than she had for the youngsters.

She noticed Harold and Geoffrey stood this time. They evidently thought the performance brilliant. She didn’t understand why the music had left her untouched.

When she sat back down, Jules leaned in and whispered, “They are the product of mathematics. Technically perfect, but still lacking. Do you know what they lack?”

“Imperfection,” she replied, then feared he would think she was being a smart-ass.

He smiled. “Exactly!” He seemed very pleased with her. “You have an excellent ear.” He turned her head sharply to the left so he could see her right ear. “Is that a hearing aid?”

“Tell him I’m security,” Adam advised.

“No, it’s so I can hear my security person.”

Since the next set of musicians were ready to start, he couldn’t question her further on the matter, and she hoped he’d forget it entirely.

She could tell by the drumming of his fingers that he was agitated. However, she thought it might be the musicians and not her answer. One of the cellos was not tuned properly. When they finally finished, she remained seated. Oddly, everyone else except for her and Jules stood and applauded.

“Is everyone deaf?” Jules demanded of no one in particular. Then he glared at her. “And why are you clapping?”

“Because the cello stopped.”

He smiled. He opened his mouth and then closed it. “After this recital, I’m taking someone out for a celebration. I want you to come as well.”

“Say yes,” Adam instructed.

“All right,” she replied.

Satisfied, he turned to the man on his left, who had just sat down, and demanded, “Why are you applauding that nightmare?”

Only two of the musicians left the stage and, unfortunately the off-key cello remained.

“Damnation,” Jules cursed, and leaped from his seat, barreling down the row, crushing feet and knocking people in the backs of their heads. Once freed from the row, he stormed to the edge of the stage and demanded the cello come to him. After a very brief and one-sided conversation, the red-faced musician returned to his seat and re-tuned his cello to blend harmoniously with the other two.

Jules returned to his seat with supportive applause from quite a few in the crowd, so evidently they hadn’t been the only two tortured.

Mark Hammer entered the stage and the audience instantly burst into applause. He accepted it with ease as he turned to his musicians and asked for a second tuning. Satisfied, he walked to his mic, set low for his violin, and leaned over to speak. “Does it sound all right to you, Mr. Bavard?”

Jules smiled and nodded that it did.

Amanda could tell the moment Mark noticed her, because his smile widened. She found it impossible not to return his smile. On stage, all his egocentric self-adulation seemed appropriate.

With a soft count and a nod to the three musicians, Mark took control of the audience and gave them pleasure so fine that at times it was almost painful. The emotions he evoked astounded her senses, leaving her with no will of her own. Her soul was open for him to pull, torment, and enrapture as he wished.

She had no idea how long he played. She lost all track of time, but when the music ended, she felt exhausted, yet cleansed, and new, as if spiritually reborn.

Everyone rose and not only applauded, but a great many Bravo’s could be heard above the raucous noise. Jules yelled in her ear, “Finally, something worth standing for.”

Mark Hammer took eight bows, and finally Dr. Wilson said he’d play once more for those who wished to stay. Everyone sat down, and those who had been attempting to leave scampered back to their seats.

Dr. Wilson had a second mic brought out onstage. “I’m about to spring an unexpected surprise on one of my students, but hopefully she will forgive me.” He then looked at Amanda. “Amanda, will you come up here onstage, please?”

“Go,” Adam ordered at the same time Jules grabbed her arm and propelled her down the row. Given no choice, she made her way onto the stage, where Dr. Wilson met her.

“I want you to sing
The Windsong
,” he explained.

“They don’t want to hear me!” she protested as Mark approached, smiling at her. “They want to hear him,” she added, then grinning at Mark.

“And they will. He’s going to accompany you.”

“Accompany me? That’s like having God do my laundry!”

“Or Adam answer your phone?” Adam said in her ear. “I don’t mind, and he doesn’t either, so shut up and sing.”

Mark touched her arm. “Don’t worry. You know the music. You can do this.”

She sighed and agreed. Applause burst forth when she nodded. She was surprised—she’d expected the audience to boo her away.

“Should we tell them we haven’t practiced this before?” she asked Mark as he led her to the center of the stage.

“This is going to be so beautiful that they would just think us liars,” he assured her, and positioned her in front of the mic. “Can we get a mic check, please?” he asked, then suggested she sing a bit of the beginning as a warm-up.

Amanda had never warmed up with two thousand people watching, so she began cautiously, but when Mark’s hand settled on her back and Adam assured her that she sounded great, her tone strengthened and her body relaxed.

“Sounds good to me,” Mark declared. Many in the audience agreed as well.

She had always been accompanied by a piano before, and the beauty of Mark’s violin captivated her so much that she had to force herself to focus, else she would have missed her entrance. She had no idea how she would compete with his mastery, but discovered she didn’t have to. Her voice blended perfectly with the violin into a single voice of inhuman beauty and depth.

When the violin dropped into its own voice, which harmonized and occasionally clashed against hers, she did not falter. She remained true, certain Mark would do the same. The final note she held forever, hating to release it, not wanting this perfect moment to end. She held it for so long that it slid into silence with no apparent end, and happily with no loss of tone.

The audience stood in unison, and the applause was deafening. Mark took her hand and walked her around the microphones and bowed with her, then kissed her hand and presented her to the audience.

The response of the audience was far beyond anything she had experienced at her own recitals. She was completely overwhelmed, and was thankful Mark was there to lead her off the stage. Once backstage, admirers mobbed him. She would have slipped away and found Andrew, except he held tight to her hand even as he accepted hugs and kisses from the myriad girls who encircled him.

Unable to leave, she reined in her newly born infatuation and observed to herself Mark probably exceeded Chad’s dating numbers by double. Hell, he could have twenty girls tonight if he procured a supply of Viagra.

A warm hand settled on her back. She looked up in time to be kissed on each cheek by Jules. Upon discovering she was presently attached to Mark, Jules said something to him, and Mark released her hand, but not until he’d kissed it and smiled at her.

Jules led her out to the audience, where Harold, Geoffrey, Dr. Wilson, Mrs. Wilson, and Dr. Branson stood in a group. When she and Jules arrived, Harold spoke. “My dear, I apologize for ever believing you had improperly been given a grant.”

“Don’t apologize to me! It’s Dr. Wilson and Dr. Branson you gravely insulted,” Amanda replied.

Harold turned to Wilson and Branson, who were smirking. Before he had time to apologize, the university president approached the group.

“I’m waiting,” Wilson declared, and nodded to the president.

“I have evidently ‘gravely insulted you’ for implying you had placed Miss Carrington among the grant recipients for the wrong reason. I should not have judged the situation without hearing her, and I was completely wrong to suggest you and Dr. Branson would ever be swayed by anything other than your love of music.”

The president smiled, then leaned forward and held his hand out to Amanda. “It was a pleasure to hear you again, Miss Carrington.”

Amanda smiled and shook his hand.

He then looked at Harold with disappointment. “That was a very nice apology, Harold. I’m only sorry it was necessary.”

“As am I,” Harold said, then looked at Mrs. Wilson. “I suppose I owe you an apology as well.”

Mrs. Wilson glared at him. “Don’t bother. I’ve never liked you, and I finally have a good reason that not even Sam can chide me for.”

Dr. Wilson kissed his wife’s temple and smiled. “In this matter, I will never scold you again,” he promised.

Mark arrived and shook everyone’s hand except for Mrs. Wilson, whom he kissed on each cheek. “You look very beautiful.”

“Well, if you will excuse us, gentlemen, we have a late dinner reservation,” Jules declared, and tried to lead Mark and Amanda away, but Dr. Wilson stopped them.

“Amanda, give me your word you will not sign anything without having a lawyer read it first.”

“I promise.” He looked so worried, she added, “I have a very good lawyer who would never forgive me if I did otherwise.”

“May we go now?” Jules asked with obvious annoyance in his voice.

As Amanda, Mark and Mr. Bavard left the concert hall, her driver, Andrew, stepped forward.

“Oh, my driver,” she exclaimed, and explained to Andrew they were going to a restaurant.

“I’ll take you,” Andrew insisted.

“I’ll see Miss Carrington home,” Jules assured him.

“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s my job to drive Miss Carrington about and see her safely home. The limousine is very comfortable.”

Jules sighed and nodded his agreement.

Upon stepping outside, Jules stared at the Bentley parked at the curb. Once they climbed in, he eyed Amanda. “Clearly you are not a starving musician.”

“No,” she admitted.

He sighed and looked at Mark. “I had planned to take you out to celebrate a fine performance before heading off to Europe. However, I must apologize, because I really need to learn a bit more about Miss Carrington’s history, and I don’t dare allow her to head off to Europe without determining whether I wish to represent her.”

“Well, if you’re asking me to bow out so you can interrogate her alone, I’m going to refuse, because I want to know more about Amanda as well,” Mark replied. “After all, we are going to be roommates.”

While Amanda was shocked by his claim, Jules appeared ready to blow his top.

“Aren’t there other girls in the twelve going?” he growled.

“There are, but they all hate her. Everyone hates her...except for me.” He looked at Amanda. “What we talked about before still stands, but unless you decide to move out of the dorms and find your own lodgings, I’m your roommate.”

“I advise you accept his offer,” Adam said.

She shrugged as if she didn’t care. However, she noticed Jules wasn’t particularly happy with her response. “I’ll talk to Dr. Wilson,” he promised her.

“Don’t bother,” she said. “Mark is correct. They do hate me. Assuming I have a say as to what goes on in the room and who’s allowed to enter, I have no problem with Mark as my roommate.”

“Absolutely,” Mark assured her.

“I’m sorry, Mark, but under the assumption that all goes well tonight and I sign Miss Carrington, I don’t want you screwing with her head.”

“Jules, I have no intention of screwing with Amanda’s head, nor do I think she’d allow that to happen.”

Jules turned back to Amanda. “You are not to fall in love with him.”

Amanda smiled. “I promise to resist.”

“You say that now, but he hasn’t tried to seduce you yet.”

“Actually, I tried to seduce her after the first time I heard her sing,” Mark admitted. “She’s proven herself fully capable of resisting my charm. If you want her focused on her music, then I am without question the best person to have her room with.”

Jules looked at her in shock.

“He’s too young,” she explained.

“Do you have proof you’re thirty-seven?” Jules demanded.

Amanda handed him her driver’s license.

He tossed it back. “So why are you in college learning music this late in your life?”

Replying was very easy, since Adam told her exactly what he wished her to say. “While I’ve always loved music, my father decided I lacked a voice, and thus I was ordered to find a different career. So I became the wife of a rich man and lived a very dull life. He was considerably older than I was, and when he died, I changed my identity and started over. And that information cannot leave this car,” she added.

“What was your husband’s name?” Jules asked.

“I cannot answer that.”

Jules sighed. “You’re thirty-seven years old. I cannot present you as an ingénue with no history. You have to have a history to account for those years!”

“Well, the truth isn’t going to help in this situation. If you want me to have a credible history, then make it up. Honestly, I’ve no more qualifications than an ingénue.”

“Maybe you should simply consider changing her age to something younger,” Mark suggested. “Hell, she doesn’t look more than twenty-five.”

Jules frowned. “How many people actually know you’re thirty-seven?”

Adam thought this an excellent solution, and assured her all electronic data in the school’s records was being changed, as well as her bank accounts, social security, tax and motor vehicle records.

“I’ve told you, Mark, Dr. Wilson and Claire.”

“That’s it? Then how did Harold know you were older?”

“I’m not sure, because I never heard the rumor. But he didn’t actually know my age.”

“I may be at fault there,” Mark admitted. “I was trying to explain why it made sense for a freshman to receive a grant. I said Amanda far exceeded the age of a freshman and needed to get on with her career.”

“This could work,” Jules said. “But it might blow up in our faces, since your passport and driver’s license will still have your true birthdate.”

“I can get those changed.”

Both men stared at her in shock.

“I have friends who can do that,” she assured them.

“She does have friends,” Mark said as he hugged himself.

“Then we’ll handle it that way. As of now, you’re twenty-five years old. So how do we explain what you’ve been doing over the last five years?”

“How about private training with a Russian master?” Mark suggested. “Everyone seems to be training with unknown instructors these days.”

“Doskoff,” Jules said. “He died last year, so he can’t refute your claim, and he was known to teach students on the sly if they had sufficient money, which clearly you have. You will need to study up on the man so you’re familiar with his habits and philosophy. Fortunately, he loved talking about himself, so there is considerable documentation.  I’ll bring you some material tomorrow.”

“Tell him not to bother,” Adam said.

“I can obtain the information.”

“Amanda, deception is not something to be taken lightly,” Jules advised.

“I know, and that’s why I want my person to do it. Collecting the data could lead to an unwanted trail and questions about why you wanted the information. My person can collect it without anyone knowing. He’s also very good at putting material together so I can learn it.”

“If you’re certain this person is reliable...”

“You may quiz me tomorrow afternoon, and if you aren’t satisfied with my answers, then you may obtain your own material and beat me senseless with it.”

Arriving at the restaurant, Jules and Mark each placed a hand on the small of her back. “Back off, Romeo,” Jules growled, and Mark withdrew his hand.

Throughout dinner, Jules listed in excruciating detail what it meant to be handled by him. When he’d finished his monologue, she had no idea how to reply. There had been a million things she objected to, but Adam kept telling her to be quiet. Evidently Jules wasn’t expecting a reply, because he then turned to Mark and discussed how he expected Mark’s life to go over the summer. It was just as unreasonable and invasive.

“You may be seen in public with beautiful women, but you will not be seen drinking anything other than wine, and never more than two glasses. You will provide a urine sample every week. You will always wear a condom when engaging in sex, and absolutely no oral sex.”

Mark glanced at Amanda seated between them, and suddenly Jules was warning the same applied to her. “AIDS is rampant among the arts, and I will not lose talent because of ignorance. AIDS is transmittable through oral sex. If I ever hear you have engaged in such reckless behavior, I will drop you in a second! Do you understand?”

She nodded, as Mark’s hand slip into hers beneath the table and squeeze it in gratitude for not mentioning his clear disobedience of that order the last time he’d been with her.

“I would prefer you not engage in sexual activity at all, but if you must, then be selective and insist upon a condom.”

“I’ll abstain,” she offered.

“Good. That’s the crux of what my contract says. I’ll bring it by tomorrow morning for you to sign.”

Adam laughed. “He’s a sly fellow. He’s certain you won’t be able to get a lawyer to read it on a Saturday, and you leave on Sunday. Tell him fine.”

“All right.” Noticing Mark’s frown, she leaned in and whispered in his ear, “My lawyer works on Saturdays.”

Mark smiled and squeezed her hand in approval.

Jules didn’t appear pleased with their sidebar, but refrained from demanding to know what they were discussing.

Evidently tiring of threats and micromanaging their behavior, Jules turned to what had pleased him about the night’s performances and what had terrified him.

“When I realized that damn cello was to remain—”

Mark laughed. “I’d already decided to perform a re-tuning before I began. I couldn’t believe it when you leaped up and called Joe over. You had him so mortified I feared he wouldn’t be able to play.”

“The fool is tone deaf. He played through an entire piece out of key!” Jules’s hand waved about in agitation. “Even Amanda refused to stand and applaud at the end, and she stood for almost everyone, including those young amateurs.”

“They were very good, and please don’t insult them when we’re around Andrew. His son was one of those very talented musicians.”

“Who’s Andrew?’ Jules asked.

“My driver.”

“One of those children belongs to your driver?”

“Yes,” she replied proudly.

“Those are ghetto children. Your driver is so poorly paid that his children are being raised in the ghetto?” Jules challenged.

“I engaged him for the evening,” Adam explained

“He was hired by my friend to drive me about for the night.”

“He seemed very protective for a hired cab,” Jules challenged.

“Yes. He promised my friend, who bought him a ticket to the recital so he could hear his son play, that he would keep me safe and protected.”

Mark observed the man standing against a wall watching them. “Well, he takes his promises seriously.”

“You rented a Bentley and a driver to take you two blocks from your dorm to the music center?” Jules asked.

“I would have walked, but my friend, Adam, decided I needed transportation.”

That caused a multitude of furrows to etch themselves upon Jules’ brow. “Adam who?”

Adam laughed in her ear. “Need a last name. Think carefully, because I’ll be stuck with it from now on.”

“Webb,” she replied.

“I like it,” Adam assured her.

“I don’t recognize the name.”

“No, you wouldn’t. He’s a bit of a recluse.”

“Oh, take me out and introduce me,” Adam insisted.

“But I can get him on the phone if you’d like,” she offered, and pulled out her phone. The phone appeared to be off, so she said, “Phone on. Call Adam Webb.”

Instantly, Adam appeared. “Amanda, dear, what a pleasant surprise. I hear you and a very fine violinist performed a duet at the end.”

“Yes, I was kidnapped and made to sing,” she teased. “I would like to introduce you to the young man who shared his encore with me.”

Mark leaned in and frowned at the sight of Adam’s gorgeous face. “Hello, sir.”

“It was kind of you to share your stage with Amanda.”

“It was my honor. I’ve never played better than I did with her.”

“And this is Jules Bavard.” She turned the phone to Jules.

“Good to meet you,” Jules cautiously replied.

“Well, I’m pleased with the company you’re keeping, Amanda. Mr. Bavard is the best in the business. Sir, I believe if you paired Mark and Amanda together, you could create mass appeal for classical music.”

“Well, let us see after the summer in Europe. I’ve seen promising talent break under the demands.”

“I’m quite certain Amanda won’t break, and my money is on Mark as well,” Adam insisted, then declared he had business to attend to and disappeared.

“That’s my friend,” Amanda explained.

“Where did you meet him?”

“Through my husband.”

“His face is familiar, but the name isn’t.”

“You might be thinking of an actor,” Mark observed. “He resembles the former James Bond...Pierce something.” Mark smiled at Amanda. “You didn’t hire a famous actor to pretend to be your friend, did you?”

Amanda sighed. “Given my inability to make friends at school, I can see why you might think that.”

“Why do you have trouble making friends?” Jules demanded.

“I don’t know.”

Jules looked at Mark.

“She’s aloof, very beautiful even without makeup, has a body to die for, incredibly talented and she doesn’t actually try to make friends. When she speaks, she tells you nothing about herself, so it’s hard to get in her head. And on occasion, she talks down to you like you’re five years old.”

“I think that’s enough reasons,” Amanda snapped.

Jules glared at her. “This is a serious problem. If you get a reputation for being difficult to work with, no one will want you.”

“And if your fellow musicians hate you, they can sabotage your performances,” Mark added. “For example, did you notice how the audience liked you much better tonight?”