Toward midnight, we were still saying our goodnights to everyone. Signora Lusardi gave me a bone-crushing hug and told me, in English this time, “Thank you for helping to make my evening very special. I have seldom heard better singing.”
I was somewhat taken aback until Tony jumped in. “Relax, Marta, that’s Nonna’s way of teasing you.”
She turned away for a moment, then said something in really rapid Italian. I only managed to catch a quarter of the words. Tony nodded and we actually made it to the door.
“Ciao, baby!” Frank cried to me from the end of the room. “If you get tired of my cousin, give me a call.”
His wife smacked him on the arm, but the delivery seemed to be good-natured.
Tony had his cellphone out as we stood in the doorway, looking up at a very clear sky.
“What did your nonna say to you at the end there?” I asked.
Tony looked at me for a moment, then answered. “She thought I shouldn’t be driving so she told me I should call a cab.”
I twisted my mouth to the side skeptically. “All those words just to say that?”
“Yeah, why?” he answered with a grin. “Nonna has a large and expressive vocabulary. You should hear her when she really gets going.”
On the ride back downtown — Tony insisted on coming along — he regaled the cab driver and me with stories about his nonna from when he was a little guy. He had us in stitches with one about her slugging the neighborhood bully who’d sucker-punched Tony when he was twelve, then chasing him down the street with a broom.
It seemed really natural when he reached out and took my hand.
Upon arriving at my building, Tony walked me to the front door. “I won’t ask if you had a good time, because I know you did.”
I leaned in to kiss his lips lightly. “That’s for giving me the best evening I’ve had in a long time. Your nonna is quite a special person, and you’re right: she is the best cook ever.”
He smiled. “Do you have any spare time over the next week for a struggling opera singer?”
“After that much wine, you expect me to remember my itinerary? Lordy!”
“Well, I’d like to see you if I may. We could catch a movie. I only have one performance at the opera, so I’m pretty wide open.”
He turned and started back for the cab.
“Tony, wait!” I blurted out. “Why don’t you come upstairs and we can check my agenda?”
As he turned, his face was a mixture of surprise and hope.
Men are so transparent sometimes.
When I woke up, it was just barely light. Tony lay cuddled against me, his arm draped heavily over my waist.
“You’re awake, then?” he asked, kissing my neck.
“I’m not sure yet. How long have you been up?”
“Not long. I generally wake up at seven, alarm or no alarm.”
“When do you have to be at work?”
“Not until eleven. I should probably go home for a change of clothes.”
I wiggled deliciously against him. “Are you sure about that?”
“You’re not being fair.”
“Why should I be fair? It’s not every day you get to wake up in the bed of an opera star.”
I was teasing him about something he’d said as things were getting hot and heavy on my sofa the previous evening.
Perhaps I had been too impetuous. All the wonderful music had done more to seduce me than anything Tony did. But it had been one of those special nights that happen far too seldom. Tony’s kisses had sealed the deal. I might have actually consulted my agenda if his lips hadn’t been so inviting. What followed after had me actively considering a repeat performance.
The clock was on the opposite side of the bed. “What time is it?”
Tony moved a bit, and I felt something very nice against my behind. “Nearly eight.”
Duty called, and there really was no time for dallying now. Tony still had to go back and retrieve his car.
I got out of bed. “Let me make some coffee before you go. There’s also fruit salad and croissants I could heat up.”
“That would be nice, thank you. May I use your shower?”
He looked a bit disappointed as I put on my robe. “Sure. It’ll take about ten minutes to get everything ready.”
I was waiting to pour the coffee when Tony appeared. “Do you at least have time to eat a bit?” He nodded, sitting down and I handed him a steaming mug. “Do you take cream or milk? Sugar?
“I like it black.”
“Now, something to eat?”
We sat silently as I doled out the food. The morning after a first night together can often be an awkward dance, especially when not that much water has passed under the bridge yet between the two people. Inviting Tony up to my condo had been the impetuous decision of a moment. Yes, he’d come willingly and I’d given willingly, but neither of us knew where the other stood. Were we just two people who had passed some very pleasant moments together — or was it the start of something more?
We both started to say, “About last night.”
“Ladies first,” Tony said when we’d stopped giggling.
“I was just going to say how much I enjoyed myself,” I said, reaching across the kitchen table for his hand.
“But ...” he led.
“But what?”
“You were going to say something else.”
“What are you talking about?”
He took a big breath and then let it out. “You were going to say something like, ‘It was fun, Tony, but don’t expect this to go any further.’”
Removing my hand from his, I sat back in my chair. “Tony, is this some ass-backwards way to give me the big brush-off?”
He seemed genuinely surprised. “No. Of course not.”
“Then what are you trying to say?”
“Nothing.”
“Clearly it is something.”
“I guess I got this conversation off completely on the wrong foot.”
“Really? What was your first clue?”
“Seeing the expression on your pretty face and knowing that it was all my fault.”
With those words, Tony simply melted my heart. How’s a girl supposed to stay mad when someone says something like that to her?
“And I shouldn’t have gotten testy,” I told him. “I have a beastly temper sometimes.”
“Well, even imperfectly stated, my question is still on the table,” he answered. “I was lying there this morning with you snuggled against me, listening to you breathe, and just marvelling that it had happened at all.”
“Tony, I have to be honest and ask you this: is it me the person who is special or the opera singer I am who is special?”
He speared a chunk of cantaloupe. “Maybe a little of both.”
This was all moving too fast for me to wrap my feeble brain around. What did I feel? Better to cut this conversation short before saying something I’d regret later.
Pretending to notice the time, I said, “You need to get going if you want to pick up your car before work.” His face fell and I knew clearly what he was thinking, so I added, “You’re not getting the brush-off here, Tony.”
“May I see you this evening?”
“Why don’t you call me late this afternoon and we’ll see?”
“Sure. Anything.”
He had been distractedly pulling apart a croissant while we’d been talking. As he rose he popped a piece in his mouth and took a last swallow of coffee, then we walked to the door.
Putting his finger under my chin, he eased my head up so I would have to look right at him. “The more I’m around you, Marta, the more I realize how special you are.” Then he leaned in and kissed me gently. “I’m off. Ciao, bella.”
The door swung shut and I was left standing there, suddenly feeling very alone. That didn’t last long. The lobby phone buzzed.
It was Tony. “There’s a package for you from your Internet provider. Must be your modem. Do you want me to
bring it up?”
“No, I’ll come down for it later. Get yourself to work. You don’t want to be late.”
“Hey! I do up the work schedule, remember? If you want I can come back tonight to get you set up.”
“We’ll talk later. Call my cell at four.”
I was at Lili’s for a coaching well before my noon appointment. Needing time to think and the day being warmer than the recent cold snap, I decided to walk there. I must have been pretty hyper, because I made it in ten minutes less than I was expecting.
All the way there, my mind kept flicking back and forth between Tony and the other big problem: my maybe-not-really-dead husband. It was so strange that the two things had come together at the same time.
As I waited for Lili to finish up her eleven o’clock coaching, I could not sit still and paced her living room from end to end.
Upon entering the room, she immediately stopped and asked, “What is wrong?”
“Everything and nothing,” I said, shaking my head in frustration.
“Stop being enigmatic, my dear,” Lili answered firmly. “Sit down and we will talk.”
“But I came here to sing. I need to clear my brain!”
“You will be useless the way you are now, Marta. Talk first, sing after. Would you like some tea?”
“Hell with the tea!”
“My goodness, you are in a state.” She indicated the chair opposite her own. “Sit!”
I stomped around for another ten seconds and then plopped down on the indicated chair. Lili sat very still, looking quite unconcerned as I glared at her. I didn’t know who I was more upset with: her for knowing me so damn well, or myself for being so transparent.
Eventually, I dropped my diaphragm, sucking in as much air as I could hold, then let it out slowly. Regaining some composure, I told her simply, “I’ve met a guy.”
Forty minutes later, Lili knew more than I’d known myself when I’d begun talking. She has that way about her, and I suppose that’s why she was so good as a therapist. Sadly for all those troubled souls out there needing help, she loved music more.
Along the way, tea had been made with me following Lili to the kitchen like a clinging little puppy as I poured out my story. Once the dam had been breached, I was helpless to stop the flood. If Lili felt any satisfaction at having learned to press my buttons so easily, she hid it well.
“So what do I do?” I wailed. “After everything that’s happened, I’m afraid to let this guy get any closer. My life is too much of a mess right now. Hell! I may still be married for all I know. This couldn’t have come at a worse time.”
“Haven’t you also wondered why he is not married or involved with someone already?”
“Of course!”
“Have you asked him about that?”
“No.”
“You do like him, though?”
“Yes.”
“How much? You are a person who is so proud of making snap decisions.”
“I don’t know if I’m prepared to find out how much.”
“It is perfectly clear to me that you have worked yourself into a state of immobility, Marta. You are not trying to control the situation. You are letting the situation control you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Go to Paris. Find out if your husband is indeed still alive. Then you will be able to make a rational decision about this new man.”
That sound I heard was my jaw hitting the floor. “You’re kidding.”
“No, I am not. It is the only way you will settle the situation.” Lili got to her feet and began to walk out of the room. “Now, I think we should work again on the Mozart today, once you have warmed up sufficiently,” she said over her shoulder.
I followed along meekly.
As I sat in the back seat of a cab driving south on Jarvis Street, my mind felt refreshed and clear.
It had been a great session with Lili. She had been perfectly right to treat me as she had. Everything in my mind that had seemed so muddled earlier on was now all lined up in orderly little rows.
There was a lot to plan before I could just go trotting off to Paris, but the paralysis in my decision-making ability was gone. Obstacles would be overcome, and I had an ace up me sleeve in the way I might find my husband. I now knew what I had to do.
Entering my building and walking to the elevator, it was everything I could do to keep from bursting into song. It would have been “Zippedeedoodah.” I shared the ride up with an old lady who lived down the hall from me and helped her carry her groceries to her door.
My good mood lasted until I opened the door to my apartment.
The place looked as if a hurricane had blown through. Every book and CD on my shelves was on the floor; the furniture was turned over and had been slit open. And my nice little laptop, which I’d begun to really like, was not on the coffee table where I’d left it.
I slammed the door and ran for my life.
Chapter Sixteen
I hit the lobby nearly running. Sam wasn’t in his usual spot behind the desk, nor out on the sidewalk getting a breath of air, but I wasn’t about to stop and look for him. My only goal was to put as much distance as I could between me and my apartment. The St. Lawrence Market area is a normally good place to find a cruising cab, but wouldn’t you know, they’d all disappeared. As I hurried east, I kept glancing back, sure someone would walk up and shoot me.
I was on Wellington getting close to Yonge when a cab finally appeared, but he was in the far lane. I stuck my fingers in my mouth, whistling loudly. This startled an old lady, who glared at me as she yanked on the chains of her two little yappie dogs.
The cabbie did one of those hair-raising, last-second dekes right in front of a delivery truck and stopped smoothly at the curb to much angry horn tooting by the surrounding drivers. Normally, I might have been amused.
“Take me to the Eaton Centre, Shuter Street entrance.”
I spent the entire trip trying to control my shaking hands. I’m sure the cab driver thought I was high on something.
Tony’s face broke out into a huge smile as soon as he spotted me, but it quickly turned to concern when he saw the state I was in. “What’s wrong?”
“Someone has broken into my apartment,” I said, hugging him and feeling as if I was about to shatter into a million pieces. “I didn’t know where else to go.”
Tony took my arm and moved me over to the “Genius Bar” at the back of his store, sitting me down on one of the stools.
“We will sort this out,” he said. “I just have to organize a few things, and then we’ll go someplace where we can talk privately. Okay?”
The perky young lady who’d greeted me the previous week brought over a Styrofoam cup of mediocre coffee, but it was warm and sweet and kindly meant. I drank it gratefully.
It took Tony about twenty minutes to free himself up. I could tell when he came over to me, he wanted to do a lot more than just take my hand and lead me from the store.
“We’ll find a quiet corner over at the City Grill. They’re not busy at this time of day. You can tell me exactly what happened.” He put his arm around me as we walked. “Quite frankly, you look like you could use a stiff shot of something.”
Tony obviously ate lunch there a lot, because everyone seemed to know him. When the waiter came over, he ordered a Manhattan straight up for me and a mineral water for himself. “Hope that’s okay. You told me the other night that you like Manhattans.”
Smiling weakly, I said, “You pay attention.”
“I try,” he answered, gently squeezing my hand where it rested on the table.
I’ll admit, I guzzled the drink, and Tony, with that astonishing panache some men possess, ordered another without me noticing. Making sure I just sipped the second one, I had begun feeling a little steadier, so I began to talk.
“In my second year at McGill, I was held up one night on the way back to my apartment. It had just been some young punk looking for quick cash, but
the event made a lasting impression on me. He told me he had a knife, but I never saw it. Being smart, I just handed over all I had: twenty-two dollars and a handful of coins.”
“You were very lucky,” Tony said.
“I thought the whole thing was no big deal at the time. I picked my purse up off the sidewalk and continued on to my apartment. It wasn’t until I got in the door and took off my coat that the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. I hate to admit it, but I got rather hysterical, scaring the crap out of my roommates. Over the next several months, I was plagued by horrendous nightmares and I wouldn’t walk home unless I had two or three people with me. My roommates, Lainey and Chloe, put up with it, uttering nary a grumble. They could tell how much I was suffering, and actually threatened to go out and look for the guy, armed with lengths of pipe.”
“They sound like interesting people.” Tony replied.
“You can’t imagine.”
“Okay, now I’ve got the background. Tell me what happened today.”
It didn’t take long. What was there to tell? I’d been at Lili’s for about two hours, and since I’d walked there and taken a cab back, I estimated I’d been gone just short of three and a half hours.
“I didn’t get past opening the door, but the place looks like a hurricane went through it.”
“Very wise. For all you knew, they might still have been there.”
I took another sip from my glass. “My thought exactly.”
“It was pretty ballsy of someone to go in and rob you in the middle of the day when they had no idea when you’d be getting back.”
Even though I knew it would come to this, I hesitated. “I don’t think they were there to rob my apartment.”
Tony’s face was a wonder of puzzlement, and he was silent for a good fifteen seconds.
“Does this have anything to do with those murdered reporters that upset you so much?”
He took my breath away.
I nodded. “Yes.”
Tony looked at his watch. “I can’t be away from the store much longer, and I get the feeling this is going to take a lot of time to explain. First, though, I think you should call the police. Or would you like me to do that for you?”
Masques and Murder — Death at the Opera 2-Book Bundle Page 18