LIONEL GLANCED AT THE NOTEPAD and tapped his pencil on the piano. He crumpled up the paper and tossed it in the garbage. He walked to the bar and poured a glass of scotch. He sat on the wood bench and stared at the empty page.
* * *
After Juliet left he heated a snifter of brandy and climbed into bed. He tossed and turned for hours but couldn’t sleep. Finally he slipped on his silk robe and padded downstairs to the library.
He devoured Baudelaire and Rimbaud and Descartes. He read Plato and Socrates and The Odyssey. Suddenly he saw the leather binding and raised gold letters. He drew Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe off the shelf and curled up in the leather armchair.
He flipped through the pages and remembered when he discovered the book in boarding school. He remembered being so consumed by the knights and battles and impossible love he forgot to take a Latin test. He remembered knowing he wanted to write words that would make someone stop everything they we were doing and that would last six hundred years.
Now he tossed the book on the walnut desk and walked to the living room. He emptied the ashtrays and collected the newspapers. Then he sat at the piano and took out his notebook.
If he couldn’t tell Juliet he loved her, at least he could make sure she didn’t lose her job. He would write the songs and fulfill his contract. But he watched the sun rise over the hills and sighed. The words were drivel and he couldn’t write two lines without wanting a scotch or a cigarette.
He remembered the years that lyrics came as easily as breathing. There were enough women with glossy hair and pink lips to make him think love was possible. He would come home from eating chateaubriand and drinking a full-bodied cabernet and think this was the one.
He would scribble all night and sleep past noon. But the next night when he took the woman to Tour d’Argent or The French Laundry, he realized she laughed too loud and had never read Somerset Maugham.
He heard a knock on the door and called, “Come in.”
“I’m disturbing you,” Juliet said. She wore a floral dress and white sandals. Her hair was held back by a beaded headband and her eyes sparkled. “I should have called.”
“I was doing a little cleaning.” Lionel hastily arranged magazines on the coffee table. “I gave Gloria the morning off to visit her sister.”
“I have some wonderful news.” Juliet sat on the striped silk love seat. “I have a friend named Gabriella. Her family owns Casa Isabella in Puerto de Sóller. The first time I heard her singing in the kitchen I couldn’t catch my breath. Her voice is high and clear and I knew she could be a star.
“But she’s been dating her boyfriend, Hugo, for five years and didn’t want a recording contract. They were going to get married and open a restaurant.
“Her grandmother asked me to send Gideon the recording anyway so I did.” Juliet fiddled with her necklace. “I felt terrible going behind Gabriella’s back and she was furious. But yesterday she discovered Hugo might not be telling the truth so she wants to accept Gideon’s offer and go to Los Angeles.
“When I tell Gideon he’ll be so thrilled, he’ll let you out of your contract.” Juliet’s cheeks flushed. “You won’t have to write any songs.”
“What did Hugo do?”
“He bought a ticket to Paris and took out half the money from their bank account without telling her,” Juliet replied.
“Are you sure you want do that?” Lionel asked. “If I don’t fulfill my contract, you might lose your job.”
“When you hear Gabriella’s voice, you’ll understand.” Juliet smoothed her hair. “It’s like discovering Diana Ross or Barbra Streisand.”
Lionel placed his shot glass on the marble bar and straightened the cushions on the sofa.
“I have to run an errand, will you join me?”
“Where are we going?” Juliet asked.
He slipped on his blazer and grabbed the car keys.
“Somewhere magic.”
* * *
They drove into the Tramuntana Mountains past Selva and Camairi. They passed lemon orchids and churches with tall spires. Lionel turned down a gravel road and saw the huge iron gates and sandstone buildings.
“The first time I came here I wanted to turn around and go back.” He opened Juliet’s car door. “I’ve always been afraid of heights and the air is so thin I felt like I couldn’t breathe. But I looked up and I’d never seen such a blue sky or white clouds.”
“Where are we?” Juliet followed Lionel down an arched pathway lined with gold crosses.
“The Lluc monastery is the oldest monastery in Majorca,” Lionel explained. “In 1242 a boy name Lluc found a black statue of the Virgin Mary in the forest. He took it to the priest in Esconca, but the next morning it was gone. He went back to the forest and discovered it in the same place. This went on for days; every time he moved the statue it found its way back to the forest.
“In 1260 the monks built the Lluc monastery in the spot where he found the statue. It has been a monastery ever since, and people come from all over to walk in the gardens. The chapel of the Black Virgin is one of the most beautiful chapels I’ve ever seen.”
Lionel drew her into the chapel and gazed at the domed ceiling and stained glass windows. He saw the polished mosaic floor and gold altar. He gazed at gilt candelabras and huge paintings lining the walls.
“The statue of the Black Virgin is hidden behind the altar.” Lionel stopped in front of the statue. “Legend has it if you ask her for something she will answer.”
Lionel led Juliet back into the hallway. They crossed the courtyard and stopped in front of a whitewashed building. He tapped on the door and waited for someone to answer.
The door opened and he saw a man wearing a long robe and leather sandals. Lionel clapped him on the shoulder and handed him a brown parcel. He took Juliet’s hand and they walked quickly across the cobblestones.
They emerged in an interior garden with rose bushes and a wide oak tree. Green trellises were covered with pink bougainvillea, and there was a sundial and a marble fountain.
“Father Jorge was a serious smoker before he became a monk.” Lionel sat on a stone bench. “Once a month I bring him a carton of Marlboros and he allows me into his private garden. I love the chapel of the Black Virgin, but it’s hard to talk to God when you’re jostling tourists carrying cameras and backpacks.”
“I didn’t know you were religious,” Juliet murmured.
“How can anyone not believe in God? It’s like not believing in Leonardo da Vinci. Do you think the flowers and trees got here by themselves? Somebody had to have a grand vision,” Lionel asked.
“I’ve always thought confession is ridiculous, why on earth would I tell my failings to a stranger in a black box who never gives advice? I’d much rather visit a psychiatrist. But there is nothing more humbling than sitting on this bench and contemplating the blue sky and green mountains.”
“I just thought…” Juliet hesitated.
“Thought what?”
“That if you didn’t believe in love anymore, you didn’t believe in anything.”
Lionel leaned forward and kissed Juliet softly on the lips.
He felt her kiss him back and suddenly the earth was spinning. He felt the sun on his shoulders and a light breeze on his back. He kissed her harder and tasted honey and cinnamon.
He tucked a hair behind her ear and took her hand.
“Where are we going?” Juliet asked.
“Somewhere a little more private.” Lionel looked up at the blue sky. “I have the odd feeling someone is watching.”
* * *
They drove silently back to Casa Rosa, and Lionel opened the car door. They raced up the stone steps of the villa and entered the living room. Lionel walked to the closet and pulled out a basket of CDs. He put on Some Girls by the Rolling Stones and sat next to Juliet on the striped silk love seat.
They listened to the Beatles and Foreigner and Boston. He introduced her to The Darkness and she pulled out Imagine Dragons. Lionel rustled up a carton of orange juice and two turkey sandwiches and they played John Butler and Mumford & Sons. He watched Juliet wipe mustard from her mouth with a napkin and talk about Jack Johnson and thought his heart would explode.
Finally they moved to the library and searched through the shelves. He read verses from The Waste Land, and Absalom, Absalom! and The Raven and Other Poems. She recited the first paragraph of Lolita and read the last page of The Great Gatsby out loud. He saw the evening sun filter through the window and the smooth curve of her neck and kissed her softly on the mouth.
“I think I have to take you home,” he murmured.
“But we haven’t read Ethan Frome or The Old Man and the Sea,” Juliet protested.
“If I didn’t have a conscience I would take you upstairs into the bedroom.” Lionel loosened his collar. “I would unzip that lovely floral dress and fold it carefully on the chair. I would unsnap your bra and marvel at the creamy texture of your breasts. Then I would pull you down on the bed and kiss you as if the night would last forever.” He paused and ran his hands through his hair. “But even God took six days to make the world; we can’t expect to accomplish everything in one night.”
* * *
Lionel walked to the marble bar and poured a glass of brandy. He twirled the snifter in his hand and inhaled deeply. He walked to the piano and sat on the wood bench.
He pictured Juliet’s glossy brown hair and blue eyes and pink mouth. He remembered the way her mouth turned up at the edges when she laughed. He opened his notebook and began to write.