GYPSY SERENADE

By SANDY COCCIA

She wants music, color, and excitement-the life of a gypsy. Her father wants her protected-and hidden...

At just 10-years old, Camilla's life is turned upside down when her mother is tragically murdered. Her father, high-end financier, Charles, is bitter and blames himself for not safeguarding his wife from her Romani heritage

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rainbows Edge Films Book Division
• Release date: May 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9798986235516

Book preview

Dedication

Dedicated to all the creative people in this world who go against what they should be doing and are brave enough to do what they are passionate about! Keep on bringing your music, colors, art, and dance to the world.

Dedicated to my kind and amazing husband, Clayton, because of him, I have the freedom to be a full-time writer, filmmaker, and artist.

"Let the music open your heart

Let the colors bring you life

Let the dance set you free"

Prologue

A

young girl of ten lies on her side in an oversized bed, fluffy embroidered pillows all around and silk bedsheets tucked tightly around her tiny body. Her long, shiny black hair drapes across her shoulders, forming a striking contrast to the white lace bedcovers. Her eyes, usually emerald green, are now glassed over with a smoky tint. As tears start dripping down her pale ivory skin, she stares at the farthest wall of the room. There, tucked away in the corner, is a finely crafted violin, elegantly carved with mother-of-pearl inlaid flowers on the bottom. The violin is a shiny burnt orange in color, except for the barber-pole inlaid purfling, which is an iridescent ebony. As she looks at the beautiful instrument, her eyes go from the meticulously carved base up to the strings, all in perfect condition, up past the neck of the instrument, where a large crack down the middle causes the top of the instrument to lie limply to one side. The once perfect violin, made with the deepest love and passed through the ages into her hands, now lies crippled and lifeless.

Caught up in the shock of what she is looking at, her tears start to flow more, and she whispers under her breath, Daddy, why? Distracted by her emotions, she does not notice the door to her room opening and her father walking in toward her.

Hey, honey, are you still awake? he asks, settling down beside her on the bed. She turns her head away from him to avoid his advances, hoping he did not hear her whispers. He tries unsuccessfully to hug her, to no avail. He is persistent and continues his efforts by gently pushing her hair away from her face, leaning over, and giving her a sweet kiss on the cheek. His efforts are only met with more resistance as she pulls herself away, curling up as close to the other side of the bed and as far away from her father as she can.

Camilla, please look at me. I’m sorry about the violin. Losing his patience now, he reaches over and roughly grabs her left shoulder.

Ouch, you’re hurting me! she cries.

Listen, I will get your toy fixed tomorrow! His daughter’s cries only make him angrier.

Camilla turns her face to him, mustering as much courage as her small size allows. It’s not a toy. Mommy gave it to me. It’s not a toy! she says, straining her little voice now.

Grabbing both her shoulders and shaking her roughly, he demands her to listen. Stop it, stop it! I will not lose you too. I will not lose you to that… Will not let you waste your time on that crap, not like your m— Before he can finish his sentence, he stops, controls himself, and slowly loosens his grip on her shoulder.

Listen, honey, I will take your violin to Mr. Hempshaw tomorrow, and he will fix it for you, and everything will be ok again, ok? He tries his best to calm his daughter down, but his kind gestures do not matter. For Camilla, the damage is done.

Camilla looks at her father with a blank and empty stare. He is now a stranger, frightening her but commanding her obedience, and not wanting any further trouble, she simply acknowledges him. Ok, Daddy.

That’s my good little girl. Now go to sleep. He reaches over, giving her a token kiss on the forehead, and pulls the blanket up around her tiny body.

Walking out of the bedroom, he has the urge to explain and comfort her, but instead, he only turns around and gives his daughter a final good night, somehow knowing nothing would be the same again.

We only have each other now. That is all we have, Camilla. Good night, daughter.

Camilla does not respond. She quickly turns around and back in position to continue her watchful vigil of the broken violin.

It’s all I have left of you, Mommy. All I have left is my Johnnii she whispers, drifting off to sleep.

Chapter 1

Ten Years Later

C

amilla lay in her large canopy bed, looking over at the corner of the room. Her hair was still long and shiny black, now feathered stylishly and lying against her alabaster skin. Despite how striking her hair and skin were, her best feature was her eyes, an unusual bright green and an open window to her soul. There in the corner lay her violin in the same position, the shiny maple a little duller and the soft velvet inserts of the case that cradled the instrument a little dustier. She looked over at the violin. Nothing had changed; it was still broken and hanging limply on its side. The violin was the first thing she saw every morning and the last thing she looked at every night, day after day for the last ten years. Despite regular arguments with her father—who told her to get rid of that piece of junk, to which she always responded, When are you going to take it to Mr. Hempshaw to get it repaired as you promised?—the argument always led to the same back-and-forth with no resolution.

Her thoughts went to the last argument they had, one of the loudest and most violent. She recalled the conflict that happened yesterday as her father was getting ready to leave for his job as the president of the largest bank in town, Global Bank and Trust. As the CEO, Charles had the title, the prestige, and the high salary such a position offered. His job gave him and his daughter all the comforts in the world: a large house to live in, the best private schooling for his daughter, and all the social life one could want with their status in life. But as much as he tried keeping her entertained with a grand lifestyle, all the money in the world could not buy his daughter’s happiness. She still favored the simple, broken violin over him.

They often fought over lifestyles, what was important, and their different views on careers, but ultimately, it always ended with the violin as his target. If only she would grow up and stop hanging on to that piece of junk, that toy. Then doors would slam and they would go to separate rooms in their large mansion. Eventually, they would find each other again, muster up a fake apology, and never get to the real source of each other’s upset. Instead, all their problems were swept under the expensive Persian rug.

And then the usual mundane conversation…

I need to go to the bank now so I won’t be home for dinner, but Paola will prepare your supper whenever you want to eat.

And her casual answer: Ok, have a nice day, Father.

But this time, it was different. Camilla could no longer hold in her sarcasm. This time, she looked coldly at her father and said sarcastically, Oh, of course, I so look forward to having a nice family dinner with the staff. I am sure they can’t wait to hear all about my day.

That’s it, shut up, her father yelled. Look, I have had it with your nasty tone of voice and constant unappreciative attitude. I have taken care of you and in quite a high style for a single father, he said as he walked around, showing off all the fancy items surrounding them.

Then he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly toward him, looking through two angry green eyes. CRACK! He hit her hard across the face. 

Camilla shrieked in terror. He had not gotten that angry or touched her since she was a child. She stood frozen, trapped, forced to listen to his angry speech.

You need to grow up and live in the real world—no more fancy dreams and moping over that broken violin. You cannot fix a broken heart by fixing a broken toy. I’ve had to get on with life, and it’s about time you did too. You get rid of that piece of crap cluttering your fancy room. You get rid of it tomorrow, or I will do it for you. Do you understand? He shook her again as Camilla had a frightened look on her face reminiscent of her childhood. Do… you… under…stand. He slowly controlled his voice and enunciated each word, becoming angrier and angrier with every word. All she knew at that moment was that she was helpless to do anything, and as long as she couldn’t do anything about it, he controlled her. As his control grew stronger and stronger, she heard a strange, unrecognizable voice coming out of her mouth. Yes, Daddy. I will, Daddy. I will get rid of it tomorrow, I promise. And so, it was done just like that. Her father knew one thing about his daughter: when she promised something, she kept her word, no matter the cost.

Just as quickly as it began, it was over—all the anger, all the upset. The fake apologies came. Her father was happy he had gotten what he wanted all these years.

There, was that so hard to say? he asked. You’ll see you can get on with your life, and we will both be much happier. I am sorry I had to be so rough on you, but you know it is for your good. Now have a nice evening, and I will see you when I get home. He kissed her on the cheek, grabbed his briefcase, and walked out the door.

This horrible scene from the night before replaying in her head was thankfully interrupted by a knock on her door. Miss Camilla, are you awake? came the voice of Paola. Paola was the cook for the household and was very good at her job. She had started as a housekeeper for below minimum wage, which was what her father did with all his staff. He would start them out with one set of work responsibilities and schedules and then continue to increase their workload and hours with no difference in pay. Any complaint was met with a dismissal, and the position was replaced by the line of applicants he always had waiting in the wings. However, he was always more lenient with Paola. She was one of the rare employees that had legal status in the United States, unlike many others who would mysteriously disappear after a phone call from ICE. The previous cook left under those circumstances, and in desperation, Paola was asked to take on the cook position until a replacement was found. Although she had no formal training, she ended up having a natural talent, so she retained the position. Though she loved her work, her one complaint lately was that she was only cooking for Camilla and her father, as it was a rare occasion when they had dinner parties like they used to. She would constantly offer them food and was relentless about not letting Camilla leave the house without agreeing to the day’s meals.

Yes, Paola, I am up. You can come in, Camilla responded.

Miss Camilla, you look so tired. Did you not get a good sleep last night? Paola queried as she opened the blinds to let in the sunlight. You need to brighten up this room. I fix you a good breakfast and some fresh coffee, yes?

Of course, Paola. Let me get dressed and I will be right down. 

Paola walked out and closed the door behind her. Camilla stretched and rubbed her eyes. Paola was right—she was exhausted, having had very little sleep last night, tossing and turning over the fight with her father. Although she could if she wanted to, Camilla never took advantage of being a lazy rich girl, and she did not have that luxury today, so she got out of bed, washed, and dressed as usual.

As she went down the stairs to the dining room, she passed her father. They stared at each other for a brief moment, and then he broke the silence with, Smells like Paola has, as usual, made a good breakfast. To Camilla’s surprise, he put out his arm. Shall we? The jest lightened the mood, and Camilla accepted and was escorted down to breakfast.

The large table was set as usual with a lace tablecloth, two settings of shiny china, and two chairs. Despite the luxurious setting, Camilla always felt it was cold and impersonal. Camilla usually ended up eating at the outdoor table in the fresh air, but this morning it was a bit chilly, and with her father gracing her with his presence, she put up with eating there.

Paola poured them each a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and a hot cup of coffee. I made eggs Benedict and I have the O’Brien potatoes I know you like, Mr. Huntington.

Thank you, Paola, I am unusually hungry this morning. What about you, my dear? he said, looking at Camilla, who was staring down and sipping her coffee.

Father, I don’t seem to be too hungry. Paola, I will just have one of the English muffins without the rest, please.

However, as usual, Paola insisted on serving Camilla a better breakfast. I give you half a serving and just one small scoop of potatoes, ok? she said as she took the liberty of filling her plate.

Camilla looked up at her and