“Marta, we’re doing everything we can for you.”
“I know that. I’m just tired and cranky. Things will probably look a lot better in the morning.”
“We all know it’s more than that, so let’s not fool ourselves. It’s clear we have to take every precaution until this man is caught. Tony and Lili have explained what you need in order to prepare for the opera premiere, and we’re going to make it as easy as we can for you to do that. You have to trust us.”
Even after Tony had gotten back and we were alone in our bedroom, I was still seething. How dare this man do this to me! Why did he seem to think I was his to play with? What gave him that right?
Tony came up behind me as I continued to stare out the window. “Marta, after this is all over, we’ll go off somewhere, just the two of us.”
“No security guards?” I asked, but I know he saw my hint of a smile.
“Not a single security guard, I promise.”
I pulled him down onto the bed. “Hold me.”
Someone knocked on the door. “Just wanted to let you know: room service delivered your food.”
I said something very unladylike and wondered if the duties of the burly man in the other room extended to serving our meals.
Chapter Twenty-One
The battle was lost before we even woke up the next morning, not surprising since the police in Rome held their news conference at what was four in the morning in Toronto. The world media had plenty of time overnight to decide this was indeed a major story.
Unfortunately, we didn’t hear about any of this. When Tony and I came out of our bedroom shortly before nine, two different behemoths were on duty. They did have the TV on, watching a sports channel. We usually listen to CBC radio in the morning. Because we were in a hotel, we didn’t that day. Shannon and Dan, both exhausted, had slept in.
Even my manager, Alex Bennison, whose voicemail I found out later had been bombarded overnight by requests for interviews, had gone into work at the unheard of hour (for him) of eleven.
So we walked unknowingly into the perfect shit storm.
We’d dawdled over breakfast, so I was in a huge hurry to make sure I was at rehearsal on time. I threw all my music, notes, and other things I’d need, and Frick, Frack, Tony, and I piled into the elevator. Rehearsal started at ten and it was already nine thirty-five. Still, all we had to do was go out the front entrance of the hotel, hop in a cab, and drive to the Tanenbaum Centre at Front and Berkeley, a couple of hundred-year-old brick factories the COC had renovated into their rehearsal and workshop areas. It was a matter of maybe fifteen minutes, even if the traffic was bad. I’d be there in plenty of time, right?
Wrong. Big wrong. Huge wrong.
I believe someone from the front desk called to us as we walked from the elevators to the big revolving door, but I was deep in conversation with Tony about what would happen during the rehearsals, and Frick was discussing the latest basketball results with Frack. In other words, we were not paying any attention at all. We didn’t even look outside as we came out of the revolving door.
The media knew better than to trespass on the hotel’s car area out front, but their broadcast trucks lined Richmond Street on both sides. An ocean of reporters and cameras, both flash and video, swarmed forward as we exited, blissfully unaware of what was about to happen.
To give them their due, my two bodyguards sized up the situation quickly, got between me and the charging horde, and pushed us back into the hotel lobby.
Shaking like a leaf, I asked, “What the hell is going on?”
Tony was fumbling in his pocket for his mobile. “Something must have happened, maybe in Rome.”
While he talked to Shannon, I stood there trying to gather my scattered wits. Frick and Frack were also on their phones, gathering information. One passed me his mobile. It was playing a video of something on CNN. Jeez, this was huge if the U.S. networks were covering it.
Tony touched my arm. “Shannon wants us to go upstairs and wait for her.”
“I can’t! Rehearsal will start soon. I have to be there.”
He looked at the two bodyguards, who both shrugged.
“You actually want to wade through that mess?”
“I have to, Tony.”
“Okay….”
While he talked with the two big guys, I tried calling Leonardo Tallevi. His line was busy — hardly surprising in the circumstances. I left a message saying I was stuck in my hotel. “We have no idea how I’m going to get through the media swarm. Please call back. I’m so sorry about this, Lenny!”
The guards insisted on talking to Shannon before they would agree to anything. She wasn’t any help, being totally against me leaving the hotel.
Tallevi returned my call to say he was coming personally with a van and two of his largest employees. “Don’t worry, my dear. No one will get near you.”
In the end, I had eight big men surrounding me as I got into the van. Tallevi, being used to talking to the press (although not in such overwhelming numbers) delegated himself to tell them I wasn’t going to say anything. It was all so silly on one level, but let me tell you, I have never felt so intimidated in my life.
“Ready, my dear?” Tallevi asked before we all plunged into the maelstrom.
The camera flashes were blinding, and the racket made by everyone shouting their questions was unbelievable — and indecipherable, which sort of defeated their purpose. Frick and Frack, being the largest and most experienced, formed the front of our flying wedge. I felt reasonably safe in the middle of it, but I had to squint so as not to be blinded by the starbursts of the flashes and put my hands over my ears to shut out the din. A small part of my brain told me I’d look like a blooming idiot on the news, but I really didn’t care.
People were banging on the windows, screaming questions as I was pushed into the middle of the back seat, Frick on one side of me and Frack on the other. The burly driver honked his horn loudly and began moving slowly forward. The media had no choice but to move.
As we pulled out of the hotel and turned south on University, reporters were scrambling for their cars and trucks to follow us. It must have been a right merry parade going east through the heart of Toronto’s business section on Adelaide. At the Tanenbaum Centre we turned in a driveway on Berkeley that was quickly blocked by more big men and security guards. I was hustled into the Opera Centre via the back door.
Tony told me later Tallevi was masterful in telling the media absolutely nothing. They were all pleading for something, anything about what was going on.
“Madame Hendriks will speak when she is ready. Now, if you will forgive us, we have an opera to rehearse. Thank you for your understanding.”
Meanwhile, I’d been shown to someone’s office where I could only sit, shaking. Somehow I had to pull myself together.
Eventually there was a knock on the door, and Lenny entered with Tony. I could see Frick and Frack standing like atlantes on either side of the door.
“I have spoken to the cast and crew and told them the situation. Tony has explained to me how you feel, but now I must ask you myself. Do you feel prepared to continue?”
I did not hesitate. “Yes. With all my heart, yes.”
“Then we are prepared to make this work, too. Your colleagues are, of course, appalled by what has happened, but I have asked them not to speak to you about this. Of course, if you want to say something to them, that is your business. I have also asked them not to speak with the press.”
I gave Lenny a kiss on both cheeks, followed by a tight hug. “I cannot thank you enough. Rest assured you will have my best for this production … somehow.”
He smiled. “I would expect no less from my favourite soprano.”
Behind him, Tony rolled his eyes. Every female opera singer was the general manager’s favourite at one point or another. Still, I know Lenny spoke with what he would have called sincerity.
Tallevi raised an eyebrow. “So can we begin our little rehearsal, c
ara mia?”
“Little rehearsal” my big toe. They’d been going along without me for a week now with my understudy doing the part. It wasn’t ideal, but the best we could come up with when the performance of Traviata had come along late in the game. We had a good director (Simon Stone from the UK), a great cast made up of many top Canadians (part of the benefactor’s deal), and me creating the lead role — and currently barely able to be coherent. Even with me at my best, everyone knew we were hard against it. This opera was filled with extremely tricky music.
There was another knock on the door. Shannon and Dan both immediately stepped in.
She was still against me doing anything but getting under cover, but Tony and I stood firm: the show had to go on.
“Okay,” she sighed, “if that’s your wish.” She turned to Lenny. “Is it all right if our security guards accompany Marta to the rehearsal? I don’t want her left alone for even one second.”
“But of course.”
Tony stepped in. “I want to be with Marta, too. I know how these rehearsals work. You don’t. I can keep them out of the way, Leonardo, but close enough to deal with anything.”
Shannon considered for a moment. “Good suggestion. All right. We’ll do that.”
“Three is too many,” Tallevi said. “I have to think of the other artists. Two only.”
Shannon blew out some air, clearly trying to keep her temper. “Okay, Tony and one guard at the rehearsal.”
It took a couple more minutes to get everything worked out, but eventually I left for the rehearsal hall while Dan and Shannon tried to find out what had been said by the Rome police — or anyone else. It was crucial to know what was going on.
The morning’s rehearsal was to run over blocking for the first act. As we walked to it, Tony had his arm around me.
“I know it’s stupid to say this, but try to relax and forget about what’s going on outside. I will call Alex and find out what he thinks we should do. Leonardo has also said we can rely on his promotional department for help, too. I’ll get something set up and we’ll have solutions and options for you to consider by the time the rehearsal’s finished. Okay?”
“I’ll try my very best. I’ve got to. Oh God! What a mess.”
In the end, professionalism kicked in and I actually managed to forget about my situation for whole minutes at a time.
The cast was great. I could tell all they wanted to talk about was the carnival outside, but any small talk made around me was strictly about business. I was completely aware, though, that when they were far enough away from me, my troubles were the hot topic of conversation.
Rehearsals had been going on for a week already, so my first day was all about bringing me up to speed. Simon was very clear in what he wanted and helpful whenever I had questions, mostly along the lines of “exactly what am I supposed to be feeling here?”
About an hour into the rehearsal Andrew McCutcheon showed up. Tallevi was agitatedly buzzing around our composer, so I knew McCutcheon had probably said something characteristically blunt to the media throng that had followed us from the hotel. Of course he immediately stopped the rehearsal and motioned to me.
Even though I disliked being summoned like some sort of lackey, I went over. Tony rushed over from the sidelines, but hung back at a discreet distance.
“What are you doing to our production?”
“Have you seen the news reports?”
“I have. That is why I’m here.” He leveled his piercing blue eyes at me. “You are going to be able to complete your contract, right?”
I returned his gaze steadily. “I will.”
“And this media disaster outside won’t deter you?”
“It will not.”
Lenny interjected, “Marta has assured me the production will premiere as scheduled.”
Our conversation was not in a place that gave one iota of privacy and I could see the cast and crew edging forward to catch every word.
“I hope that will be possible. You are involved in a lot of trouble right now. The Roman police —”
“Have nothing to do with what is going on here. I am an opera singer under contract to premiere your opera and I will see that through. I have done nothing wrong. This is about something being done to me, and others, and I want everyone to know,” and here I turned to look at the cast, “that I am determined to give everything I have on opening night and at subsequent performances of our run.” There was a smattering of applause as I turned back to McCutcheon. “Now if you don’t mind, maestro, I would like to continue the rehearsal. We have a lot of ground to cover today.”
Tallevi deftly peeled McCutcheon off and they walked out of the room. Tony gave me a huge smile and two thumbs up, then disappeared himself.
The rehearsal went on. I forced myself to write copious notes and a diagram for later study, trying to concentrate on crucial details to keep the static in my head at bay.
We broke for lunch around twelve thirty. Tallevi had sandwiches brought in since it was inadvisable to go outside before we actually had to. I wolfed down a rather good ham, cheese, and tomato while on the phone with Alex in New York.
“I’m going to schedule a call with a crisis specialist. I want you to listen to what he has to say. He comes highly recommended.”
“Alex, all I want to do is get rid of the media.”
“You have to send them on their way happy, then. This situation can be manipulated to your advantage if we play our cards right.”
“This is not about business. I would gladly become more anonymous if I could only see this creature who’s stalking me caught and punished.”
He sighed and I knew well what my manager’s sighs meant. We talked a bit more and he told me he was drafting a press release. He’d email it to Tony, I could review it, and then he would send it out to the media.
“What time is your rehearsal is over?”
“Four thirty.”
“I’ll tell the media the release is coming at that time. It will perhaps draw some of them off.”
“Thanks, Alex. This is all extremely trying.”
“I know it must be. Just remember: listen to the crisis specialist and do what he says.”
“I’ll try.”
“Do more than try. Call me at home later this evening. I want a complete update.”
“Will do.”
I’d had Alex on speaker phone so Tony, Dan, and Shannon could hear the conversation.
“I’d certainly recommend listening to your manager,” Shannon said.
It had to be faced. “So what’s the word on the street?” I asked.
Everyone looked at Shannon for a cue.
“The police spokesperson —”
“It was Pucci,” Dan interjected.
“This man Pucci said they are certain De Vicenzo was pushed down the stairs, they have a person of interest in mind —”
“We watched an Italian feed and I translated directly,” Tony interjected.
Shannon’s face had a disgusted expression. “Would you guys please let me tell this story? Okay. Pucci had a partial description. De Vicenzo’s friends and the restaurant staff say the suspect had facial hair: a full beard and mustache. Dan is certain this was a disguise.”
“I think so, too,” I said, suddenly flooded by the memory of that beaked mask close to my face. Even in darkness and with that cloak on, I’m pretty sure I would have detected facial hair leaking out from beneath it.
“But we do know he’s roughly six feet and slender. He’s right-handed. His voice is rather high-pitched and —”
“No, it isn’t. I heard him speak. There’s no way that whisper came from someone whose voice is light and high-pitched. Those are easy to fake. His voice is deep and guttural. Tony’s a tenor. When he speaks, what does he sound like?”
Shannon shrugged. “His voice is pretty low.”
“Exactly. Our man was faking it in that restaurant.”
“I also have some other news. The Hong Kong poli
ce are sending records to the Toronto police. Nothing is official as yet, but a little bird has told me that condo up at Church and Adelaide is owned by a shell company in Hong Kong. The owner of it may well be Canadian. We’re getting close. I can feel it.”
I blew out a lungful of air. “I sure hope so.”
There was a costume fitting at one and I used that time to also warm up. The costume department is accustomed to stuff like that and didn’t bat an eye. I had to wear four different costumes. One was pretty form-fitting, and since it was meant to show me in my sexual prime, it was rather daring. Being aware of this early on, I’d worked hard for the past six months getting my weight down and struggling to keep it there. Long gone are the days when audiences will shelve their disbelief and watch an overweight singer pretend she’s a nubile young lady. The worst example of that is usually found in the “Dance of the Seven Veils” in Salome by Richard Strauss. I’ll tell you one thing, even though I’m in pretty good shape, you’d never catch me performing that in front of an audience. Too bad. It’s a juicy part for a singer with the octane to do the role.
From two until we ran out of time at four thirty, we were back working with piano on the prologue, as well as act 1 and a bit of 2. The rest of the cast was at the top of their game, having a week’s head start on me, but even though I held on to my music as if I was in the middle of the ocean and it was a life preserver, I did better than I expected.
That was especially gratifying since McCutcheon spent the entire day buzzing around as we worked. With a score as complicated as his, this might have been useful if he had stuck to clarifying issues that arose (seeing as how he was also the conductor) and making the odd suggestion. But he had the bad habit of stepping all over everyone. Our tenor in the first act (and Naomi’s first lover) was a pretty funny guy who kept making snarky comments about McCutcheon that had us in stitches, albeit discreet ones. Through all of this, I somehow managed to keep my focus.
Reality came crashing in as soon as the rehearsal ended, of course. We went into Tallevi’s office so they could give me an update.
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