Geila

Oct 31

Chapter 15

Manhattan, 2019

Therefore, my mistress’ eyes are raven black,
Her eyes so suited, and they mourners seem
At such who, not born fair, no beauty lack,
Slandering creation with a false esteem:
Yet so they mourn, becoming of their woe,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.

—William Shakespeare

The Wilders’ timed their New York Holiday to coincide with a performance by Addy’s dearest friend, Gelia. They had developed an unbreakable bond since childhood. Gelia was also the sister to her fiancé, Preston.

Addy would always remember the day she met Gelia. She was seven and Gelia was only five.

From the day Addy encountered the sweet, shy and sad little girl, they were destined to have their lives intertwined. Gelia was sitting all alone on the swing set in Baldwin Park. Addy, who lived next door the playground had come out to play. She was struck by the little girl’s sadness and offered to give her a push. From that moment, a magical chemistry developed and the two became immediate and lifelong friends. A bond of sisterhood was forged.

However, they were to grow into very different in personalities. Addy was gregarious, bold and disarmingly charming. Gelia was soft spoken, gentil, and commanded immediate respect due to her lovely and intelligent demeanor. Gelia was also musically gifted.

Actually, she was a prodigy.

When Gelia was three years old, she became mesmerized by YoYo Ma’s recording of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1. Her mother had found the recording at a yard sale in their Baldwin Park neighborhood. She purchased it for a quarter. Her mother would later relate that it was the best twenty-five cents she had ever spent in her life. Not only did Gelia listened to the music, but she listened again and immediately put the song on repeat. It spoke to her. One would say it possessed and permeated her spirit. She became one with it.

In a manner that was beyond the capricious wishes of a five-year-old child, she announced to her parents that she WAS going to play the cello! Her parents were stunned. They tried to help her realize the instrument was almost twice her size. Gelia was not the be daunted. Her parents bought a second-hand cello that was being discarded by the music Department of the Savannah Arts Academy and hired an instructor.

Gelia immediately grasped the rudiments of scale and form. Mr. Taylor, her instructor said he had never seen anyone learn so quickly or have such a natural ability. He was as excited about teaching her, as she was excited to learn.

Then tragedy struck.

Her father died in an automobile accident that summer. He was driving home from picking up a new bow for his daughter’s birthday. Gelia’s mother never told her daughter this detail of the accident. She wanted to spare her from any sense of misplaced guilt. However, somehow Gelia sensed her father’s accident had something to do with her but never articulated it. She picked up on whispered conversations of neighbors and family as to the circumstances of the accident. She also felt her soul being penetrated when they would look at her in a manner of pity.

It was eerie, the way Gelia processed the grief. She did not cry. She transferred the emotion into her instrument. It was there she could pour out her angst and heartache. Again, she played the YoY o Ma recording on a continuous feedback look. It was as if she was trying to infuse the passion of the work into the empty part of her being. She was trying to fill the void created from the loss of her loving father.

Gelia’s talent did not go unnoticed.

At 12, she was offered a full scholarship to the Juilliard School of Music. Her mother found it bittersweet. After losing her husband she thought having her daughter so far away would be even more painful and accentuate the loss. However, she realized it was a lifetime opportunity and consented for the child to go. One thing that Gelia’s mother took solace in was that Addy’s Great Aunt Lana Brewton still lived in her townhouse at #12 West Gramercy Park.

Lana had lived a vibrant and colorful life. Electricity sparked wherever she went. The larger-than-life personality was a sharp contrast to the painfully shy girl. There was hope that if Gelia could leave Savannah for a while, and with Lana’s influence, she could be drawn out of her shell.

Lana was on hand at Penn Station to meet Gelia when she arrived to start her studies. From the moment they meet, there was an instant connection. So vastly different in age, temperament and life experience, they somehow developed an immediate bond. Lana was henceforth Gelia’s, “Aunt Lana.”

From the time Gelia arrived in New York, Lana was steadfast in her attention and devotion to the young girl. Afterall, Julliard was only three miles from Gramercy Park. Gelia would ride the subway every weekend to see Aunt Lana. Gelia became great company for her. They would explore the city, shop and eat at all the famous restaurants and trendy new cafes. It was at dinner at the River Café in Brooklyn, she discovered the taste of pork tenderloin with fig mostardo. It was a lovely and poignant reminder of home and her next-door neighbor Miss Ann and her decades old fig tree.

They had finished their entrées and were awaiting their pear and arugula salad. It was then a distinguished and dapper elderly gentleman approached the table. He had a shock of white hair and was wearing oversized black sunglasses. Lana beamed. She had known the man for decades. As he approached, she stood up and reached out her arms. After they exchanged kisses on both cheeks, he remarked she was beautiful as ever. This gentleman, with the broken German accent asked about Lana about her charming young companion.

It was at that time Lana introduced Gelia to Karl Lagerfeld.

Lana had modeled for him in the 1970’s when he was the House of Chloe. He always regarded her as one of the most beautiful models he had the pleasure of dressing. It was no surprise that he immediately recognized the burgeoning beauty of Gelia. Lagerfeld remarked that with her striking features, jet hair and eyes, she should always wear red.

Gelia took his advice to heart and found it inspiring (not to mention, humbling). In actuality, with Lana’s influence, the beautiful young woman was becoming very stylish and sophisticated. However, her lovely personality was never altered. She was becoming a blend of Manhattan sophistication and Savannah graciousness.

Julliard was holding it’s Winter Concert and Gelia had been given a solo. She was stunned. Strangely, instead of being nervous, she was remarkable calm.

Two days before the event, Lana called her and asked her to come over. She had a surprise. A package had been delivered for her.

When she arrived, the two went into Lana’s southwest guest room on the third floor. On the bed was a rather large white box with an elaborate red bow! Gela looked at Lana and asked if was from her. She shook her head and smiled. Lana responded, “Go ahead and open it dear. You will find out soon enough.” Gelia carefully unfolded the white layers of box pleated tissue.

What she discovered was an atelier silk vermillion Channel gown. It still had the runway tags on it. Her black eyes grew to the size of saucers. The note, written in a shaky hand read, “Here’s to a smashing success. Just a little something I found hanging on the rack. -KL”

On the night of the Julliard performance, the Wilders met Lana in the lobby. Also, in attendance was Gelia’s mother and Preston. Their flight had barely made it on time. The taxi flew from JFK. Thy sent their luggage ahead to Lana’s.

In just moments, after the group had been ushered to their seats, the lights dimmed.

Gelia exited from the right wing and took the stage wearing her new gown. She was transcendent.

In every respect, she was the personification of Shakespeare’s raven eyed beauty. The audience was captivated as she moved with perfect grace to take up her instrument. She gave the audience a furtive smile. The auditorium and the applause became hushed.

Gelia held her bow and for the briefest moment and paused. She was allowing the experience to be absorbed and stored as a core memory.

Then to herself she said, “for Daddy.”

She began.

Strains of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 came forth from the young woman and her instrument. Every soul in the room was entranced (some would say bewitched).

The seventeen minutes of the performance were flawless. It was executed with a technical perfection and passion that defied description.

At the work’s conclusion, there was dead silence.

The quietness was deafening. Gelia’s heart stopped. She could not look up.

Then, en mass, the crowd rose with tearing eyes to deliver thunderous applause. Everyone in the room knew that what they heard was ethereal.

Gelia was destined for greatness.