“Travis tells me you’re co-producing this tour,” she said.
“Yeah.” No way was I going to reveal the trouble and financial risk I’d gone to for this production. She’d think I was nuts or a fool…which I was, by all rational accounts.
“Why are you doing this, D.J.?”
“The Foundation needed a project and this came to mind. I had a break in my schedule, so I thought I’d help out. I’m on the Foundation’s Board, creative director. That means I have to put my ass on the line every now and then. Get involved, y’know, once every year or two.”
“You’ve lost your drawl, I’ve noticed.”
“Five years in Europe will do that, I suppose. I met your daughter last summer in Naples. She was with that…your ex. Is she here with you in Austin?”
We spun and when Eva missed a step, we had to start over. I had to remind myself, counter-clockwise.
She nodded. “Yes, I have Sara in a pre-school during the day. At night, the residence inn where we’re staying has a sitter’s service so evening rehearsals or performances won’t be a problem.”
“What about the tour? Who’ll take care of her then?”
“Vonnie’s taking off spring quarter to be my nanny. She’s attending UT in Houston. She’s a music major.”
So far, our foray into civilized, adult conversation was going well. This is good, I thought, with a glimmer of hope. At least, she’s not kicking me in the shins or spitting in my eye.
“How’ve you liked singing for Houston?” Meaning, the Houston Grand Opera. One of the most prestigious companies in the U.S.
“Very well. I’ve played a variety of roles, strong, leading soprano, heroine-type roles. I bought a house in Kingwood, a half-hour north of the city. What about your roles?”
I harrumphed self-deprecatingly. “I seem to be typecast as the heartless cad. Y’know, the Lieutenant Pinkerton kind of guy.”
I looked at her then. Her expression was sardonic mixed with a nuance of…what? I couldn’t decipher. She looked away, watching the other dancers as if talking to me suddenly bored her.
A minute passed while I racked my brain trying to think of something neutral to say to her, all the while trying to keep up the flow of our steps.
“Y’know, you and Sara can stay at my folks’ flat. It’s not too far from here, in the McKay building on First. I’m staying with my brother, Matt. As far as I know, my parents’ place is currently vacant. They’ve been at the ranch since Christmas—”
“No, thank you,” she interrupted brusquely. “We’re fine at the inn.”
“Really, it’d be more comfortable—”
“NO, D.J. Thanks for the offer but NOOOO.” She’d stopped dancing, so abruptly that I stumbled and had to catch myself. A couple of the men passing by us laughed at my clumsiness and offered to take my place.
All of the tension of meeting her, trying to please her, tiptoeing on eggshells just snapped my patience, I have to confess. I bent over her so that our faces were close and I could whisper…rather, hiss at her without causing a ruckus.
“Still the proud, stubborn prima donna—” Shit! That came out before I could stop it.
“And you’re still the same pushy, domineering male who has to get his way with everything.”
“I am not! I’ve learned to give and take—”
“What, the Italian women didn’t let you walk all over them?”
“You’re such a ball buster—” I clamped my mouth shut, mentally kicking myself for walking right into her verbal trap.
Already, she’d pulled herself away from my arms and was staring at me oddly, as if confused and angry all at once. Then, her hazel-green eyes widened as realization dawned on her lovely features.
“YOU—you’re behind all this! ALL the money I was offered to play Hannah? Nate was lying…YOU put him up to THIS? You wanted me under your thumb again! “
Well, damn, what could I do now? Bob’s attention was drawn our way, as were the curious looks of most of the other dancers.
“Oh dear, is there a problem?” Bob minced over and asked us.
Eva’s piercing eyes never left my face as her chest rose and fell. Apparently, she was summoning all her self-control to keep her composure. A flush rose from her neck to her face and her mouth fell open an instant before she shut it again.
“No problem,” she told Bob evenly, her teeth clenched. “Just a revelation.” She pulled her eyes away from me, glanced at Bob and touched her forehead. “I’m so sorry, I have a headache. I think this is all for me today. So sorry, I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
A superlative actress, she even had me almost fooled by her shift in tone. Almost. The truth was out. She hated me!
“I’m terribly sorry, Miss Villa. Do go home and rest,” Bob said, playing his part in placating the lead soprano.
When he left to attend to the others, Eva’s expression underwent a dramatic change before she turned her resentment my way. I steeled myself, expecting a barrage of hateful accusations and protests. Instead, with a hint of moist eyes, she wrenched off the diamond ring from her right hand and thrust it at me.
“I wouldn’t want to feel TOO OBLIGED. Don’t worry, I’m a professional. You’ll get your money’s worth and THEN SOME.”
“What does THAT mean—”
But she’d already spun on her heeled boots and was storming off. What could I do but put the ring in my trouser pocket and wish I’d kept my big, fat mouth shut.
So much for our first day of rehearsal. I left, too, feeling like crap the entire time it took me to drive back to Matt’s condo. After my first two drinks of scotch, however, I was beginning to think differently.
Hell, it could’ve gone worse. She could’ve up and quit on us, signed contract or not. Then I would’ve sued her pretty, little ass for breach of contract! Ever the pragmatist, Eva Villa was never going to let THAT happen.
By the third scotch, I realized that I was as much in love with her as I ever was. Body and soul. Damn!
Chapter Nine
Eva zipped shut the largest of her suitcases and stepped aside. After the bellman picked up her bags and left, she sat on the sofa again with Serena. She poured a sherry cocktail for her guest and for herself, then leaned back and sighed.
“I was so mean to him. If only I’d been able to read this memoir THEN, I wouldn’t have given him such a hard time. There’ve been so many IF ONLY’s in our relationship. I suppose I reacted based on what I knew and felt at the time. I suppose my vanity was wounded. I thought I’d been hired and paid so well because of my extraordinary singing and acting abilities. So when I learned that, for all intents and purposes, that D.J. was behind— had in effect pushed through this production mainly to win me back, well…I guess I was mainly insulted. Flattered and excited, too, of course. But mainly insulted. D.J. thought I could be bought off so easily. That’s what hurt my pride and vanity the most…”
Her eyes were drawn to the wall-size window again, its drapes open to reveal the scene outside. She went to the window, her drink in hand, forgotten now as she worried about the weather.
The snow was falling heavily now, the cars parked below in the street blanketed, nearly obscured. People hurried to and fro, like little, huddled action-figures. Snowflakes hit and stuck to the window. When Eva rubbed the heel of her fist against a flake, it melted and disappeared. Biting her lower lip, she pushed away from the window, crossed the room and made a phone call to the concierge.
“This is Eva Villa in the Roosevelt suite. Please find out about the departure of American flight four-sixteen to Dallas. Call me…Yes, thank you.”
Emily was watching her, appearing concerned, too.
“Hope you’re not stuck here.”
“Me, too. My husband’s expecting me to arrive in Dallas at five, then on to Austin by seven. He’s picking me up at the airport.”
The girl’s face split into a wide grin. “Your husband? Darren McKay?”
I nodded, smiling.
“My mother thinks he’s a single guy. I wasn’t sure you were still with him.”
“Tell your mother I’m very sorry but…well, she can STILL fantasize about him. I do…when I’m away from him. This time it’s been six weeks…too long.”
“Did he come up to visit you while you were singing here at the Met?”
“Only twice, then he had to go home…for a series of tests. But let’s not talk about that. Let me try to explain how and when I knew it was hopeless to resist what was happening between us again.” She checked her watch. “We have time.”
Serena slipped out of her pumps, folded herself on the overstuffed sofa and clutched a large pillow to her chest. A look of expectant pleasure suffused her features.
“Oh yes, I’m dying to know.”
* * * *
For the first three weeks of rehearsal, I maintained an air of polite, professional distance not only with D.J. but with the entire cast. I was there to do a job, after all, and my contract salary was more than I’d ever been paid before. Seven-thousand per performance, a per diem and all traveling expenses paid during the tour. For that kind of money, I’d kiss Fidel Castro on both cheeks and iron his fatigues.
The money I earned in three months would retire the mortgage on the Villalobos farm in addition to creating a savings account. How could I afford NOT TO? I owed it to my family and myself to give us some financial security.
D.J. knew how poor I’d been in college, how I’d grown up. He knew I’d go to hell and back for a little financial security. Paradoxically, I was both grateful and resentful. Grateful for the chance to earn so much money and resentful for D.J.’s easy manipulation of me. Still, I was first and foremost a professional and I had a job to do to the best of my abilities.
And so I behaved as though my confrontation with D.J. that first day of rehearsals had never happened. It appeared that D.J. was doing the same, being cordial and extremely respectful, even solicitous toward me. He, in essence, was behaving like the
D.J. I’d known during our tour of Great Britain. Something was behind this stellar deportment, I figured, like making sure he’d recoup his investment in the production. He wasn’t even flirting with the six Can-Can dancers or that brunette playing Baron Zeta’s young wife, Valencienne. The little minx was throwing herself at both D.J. and the bass singer playing Baron Zeta.
One day at Wardrobe, I was consulting with Travis, the director.
“So, my dear, what do you think?” Travis asked me. The wardrobe mistress was hovering over a beautiful, black tulle and lace gown, encrusted with jet beads, displaying its off-the-shoulder bodice, the tightly cinched waist and flared bouffant skirts. “You’ll wear a hairpiece of black ostrich feathers—nothing overpowering but turn-of-the-century stylish. It’ll stand out beautifully against your lovely hair. An upswept hairdo, don’t you agree, Maryann?”
Maryann, the wardrobe mistress, nodded vigorously. “And black opera-length gloves, sparkly jewelry—ropes of diamonds, perhaps. Hannah IS very rich…”
“But she IS a widow,” I reminded them, “don’t you think jet jewelry, which I understand was quite popular during that period, would be more appropriate than diamonds…?”
“For the MERRY widow…?” Travis demurred, one hand stroking his chin. He exchanged dubious looks with Maryann.
“I LOVE the gown. It’s perfect,” I added, “as is the rest of the costume but…” I paused as D.J. approached us.
“What do YOU think, Darren?” Travis posed, “Do you think Hannah Glawari should wear diamonds in Acts I and III? Or would they make her seem mercenary, unfeeling about her widowhood. Eva suggested jet jewelry instead.”
This debate was taking up too much time, but costumes were important to presenting a character and eliciting the kind of emotional response from the audience one desired. Personally, I wanted to rehearse the duet in Act III with the orchestra at least several more times. D.J.’s and my timing was a little off as we struggled to dance and sing and swoon into each other’s eyes, all simultaneously.
D.J. bent over the gown adorning a mannekin, its skirts spread out by the master costumer. Then he gave me a long, appraising look.
“I agree with Eva. Maybe a single strand of jet beads would be better. Even though she IS a merry widow, she shouldn’t be seen as preening or gloating over her wealthy, single status. There’ll be lots of older men in the audience—my father, included—who would feel that a widow dripping with diamonds would be the equivalent of stomping on her late husband’s grave.”
Without thinking, I smiled appreciatively at D.J.’s reply.
“Yes, that’s exactly right, D.J. We want the audience to sympathize somewhat with Hannah, not resent her. She’s really not a cold-blooded woman—”
He stepped a little closer to me and pulled something out of the trousers of his custom-made Italian suit. Many things had changed about D.J.’s appearance over the years, evidently. Silk suits, expertly cut to enhance his broader shoulders and slightly heavier chest pads, were his daily wear. In place of the longish curls of six years ago, his dark brown hair was worn in a skullcap of cropped waves, a look which highlighted his handsome, chiseled features even more. He kept his skin lightly tanned with daily runs, I’d learned, and his long legs were even more muscular than they used to be. In appearance, he seemed older, more experienced, more manly. But was he wiser? I wondered about that.
Just gazing at him was enough to give me heated palpitations, which I was careful not to betray in any way. At night, just before drifting off, however, when my defenses were down, I found myself yearning for his touch. Remembering our nights and mornings of hot lovemaking, I’d fall asleep, clutching my pillow.
He held out the emerald-cut, diamond solitaire ring I’d given back to him just three weeks prior.
“Speaking of jewelry, Eva, I never wanted this ring back,” D.J. said plainly. “It was a gift. It’s something that Hannah would wear…as a reminder of her husband. Don’t you think, Travis?”
Travis stepped back, open-mouthed, clearly reluctant to get involved in a personal dispute between D.J. and me.
“I—I,” I began, instinctively wanting to protest. When I glanced up at his face and the open, boyish hope I saw there, I quashed all my misgivings. “Thanks, D.J. I’ve always loved this ring.” I didn’t tell him that I wore it on my right hand even when I was married to David.
Travis and the wardrobe mistress glanced at each other knowingly, then masked their expressions with studied blandness.
Painfully aware that their personal relationship was on public view, I was quick to cover up.
D.J. smiled, then turned to Travis and Maryann. “The jets with a little bit of sparkle are THE answer, don’t you think?”
Travis and Maryann heartily agreed and after the wardrobe mistress and her assistant whisked the mannekin away, they settled down to work.
Four hours later, after having run through Acts One and Two of The Merry Widow in the Lyric Theater with the full orchestra in the pit and Fernandez conducting, D.J. and I were stymied.
There would be no prompters for any of the performances, and so, naturally, all the dialogue and lyrics had to be memorized. The lyrics to the “Words Forbidden Waltz” were not the problem, and neither was the beautiful but simple melody both of us had to sing. D.J. and I were having difficulty maintaining our waltz steps while making precise revolutions around a circular settee and a large, potted Queen palm. We couldn’t look where we were sweeping and spinning because we were supposed to be gazing, lovestruck, into each other’s eyes. And singing out at full voice.
Pausing mid-song, we found ourselves momentarily behind the palm, half-hidden from the conductor and orchestra. Of course, everyone backstage could see us. The music had stopped as Maestro Fernandez realized we were no longer singing or dancing.
I was exasperated. “What’re we doing wrong?”
D.J. let go of me and scratched his head. “I guess I’m having trouble looking into your eyes and dancing ar
ound this damned tree and singing at the same time.”
“Me, too.” I burst into giggles, followed in laughter by D.J. “This is too ridiculous. We should be able to do this, D.J.”
Still laughing, he bent over and brushed an errant tendril away from my forehead. The graze of his fingers on my face made my cheeks burn.
“Look, why don’t we try this,” he suggested, smiling, “one thing at a time, then pull them all together. We’ll start off dancing, do one turn around the tree, then add the singing. Meanwhile, we look just over each other’s shoulders, not directly into the eyes. Okay, shall we try that?”
I nodded. “Yes, good idea.”
D.J. signaled to the maestro, called out their plan to waltz around the palm tree and settee once before beginning our duet. Fernandez shook his head and grinned, accomodating us.
We said our lines of dialogue, completely in character as Danilo and Hannah, then as he swept me into his arms, I looped the skirt ribbon over my wrist and took a step back. We danced smoothly in tempo to the orchestra, studiously gazing over each other’s right shoulders. Nearing the downstage area again and hearing our musical cues, we continued dancing.
Danilo began. “Words forbidden, hope long hidden…Love, be mine…Strings are playing, softly saying…love, be mine…”
Thirty measures later, it was my turn.
“Every glance revealing, thoughts I rare would speak…Turn to me, mein herr, to find the love you seek…”
Entranced, actually listening to the words I was singing, I let my voice float up and down over my middle range…so effortlessly that it seemed the crystalline notes were carried in the air by a disembodied creature. All the while, I felt Danilo’s arms envelop me, felt his long legs guide me, spinning, spinning…it was so dreamlike. Tremendously romantic.
Born to Sing, no. 1 Page 14