Holly, who sang Frasquita, said, “O-M-G. A tech billionaire interested in the arts? My dream lover is in the building! I call dibs!”
“How much is that check for?” Louis squinted. He never wore his glasses unless he had to read a score.
“Ten million dollars,” someone said in an awed tone.
“Chump change to a billionaire,” Tish said. She was Mercédès. “The price of admission to the board.”
She was cynical enough to play Carmen once her voice matured, and she was a mezzo, too. Maybe in a few years, she’d be singing my role here. But not yet. I had another decade or two in me at the very least.
Was Dex pursuing me by becoming a board member? Or had he independently decided opera was a good cause to push? From now on, he would have the freedom of the building. He could come visit me anytime he chose. Was that part of his motivation? Gaining more access to me?
Egotistical thinking. Why not believe Dex was widening his charitable interests beyond diseases and happened to pick opera, perhaps because he’d met me?
The formal part was over, and now Dex was being introduced to Régine and to others in the administration, shaking their hands and talking to each one. Whatever his personal motivation, his access to people with new tech fortunes could funnel significant gifts to the arts above and beyond his own.
They were very much needed. I funded after school arts classes in some local schools, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Enriching children’s lives with music and art of all kinds was so important to helping them see beyond their limited circumstances. Of course my church offered free Sunday school and free summer Bible camp, too, and there were charitable organizations that organized other camps and after school programs. These efforts could never make up for living poor in run-down, crime-infested neighborhoods, but we tried.
The general manager made an announcement saying Dex would visit each of our departments, so we could all go back to work.
“I bet they have a fancy buffet set out in the inner room, no hoi polloi invited,” Tish said as we filed out.
I said, “That could be true. How far did you get in the act after I left day before yesterday?
“We practiced our dancing some more, but without you, it wasn’t easy. And we needed you in the scene with Lilas Pastias, too.”
Holly said, “Yesterday was more of the same. You didn’t miss much.” She asked how I was feeling and I said I was fine. There was no need to make a fuss over my health, but I didn’t say so.
Rehearsals resumed, but Régine was absent, and an assistant director put us through our paces and skipped to Act III. By Act III, Carmen was sick of José. He made a poor smuggler and he didn’t fit in with the gypsy men. His frequent bouts of jealousy irritated Carmen. We played the card scene. Frasquita made jokes about her romance-to-be with J. Poindexter Morgan. Mercédès followed her lead and insisted we call her “the widow Morgan.”
Harmless fun, although I noticed my demon was beginning to make itself known. I found their jokes irritating. When it was my turn to sing about the cards, my song about fate, I could not help thinking about the twists and turns life sprung on us. Two weeks ago, I had never heard of Dex Morgan, and now he was an important part of my world. His position on the board might be new, but he could influence exactly which operas and which productions were presented. As a mezzo, I did not have many star turns. I was lucky that Carmen was such a popular opera.
My voice was back. I had vocalized, practiced my singing at regular intervals at home without any issues. The assistant director did not attempt to micromanage how I sang my fate song, as Régine would have. Still could, if she came to the rehearsal room.
Michaëla sang her beautiful song about not being afraid to come looking for José, when she clearly was terrified. Michaëla was a twit character, the sweet village girl José turned away from to pursue Carmen. Making Michaëla overtly hostile to Carmen at least gave her a little more dimension. The attraction of sheer purity, Michaëla’s one quality, was a sentimentalism of the nineteenth century that our twenty-first century culture did not share. Virginity was not highly regarded today. On the positive side, we’d moved beyond virginity being a fetish that objectified women. I enjoyed her aria, regardless. My voice could never reach such high notes.
The act perked up with the arrival of Escamillo, the toreador, and the jealous scene Don José enacted with him. Our Escamillo wasn’t present at this rehearsal, so we skipped the jealousy part.
Would Dex show up here today to meet us all? As a new and very important patron, he probably was getting the grand tour of the entire building. The Potomac Arts Center rivaled the Kennedy Center in its lavishness, but had been built a couple of decades later in a warmer, more human style. No confusing and coldly sterile parallel entrance halls. The Arts Center had one semicircular public entrance, with double grand staircases and balconies for people watching. It also proudly boasted the most restrooms of any opera house in America. Not a small consideration during an intermission. Mostly, I liked the acoustics here, which had been honed carefully after architects studied opera houses around the world. A whisper from the stage could carry to the highest audience tier.
Louis and I had sung Carmen together many times, but we never took Act III for granted. Don José’s whole life hung in the balance yet again. He could have accepted their breakup and stayed in his village with Michaëla. He chose to warn Carmen he would see her again. We had to make that moment of decision gripping, not a foregone conclusion. We did our best to fully inhabit the characters, to make our music come out of the soul. I sang my few lines, nastily telling Don José to go home with Michaëla to his dying mother.
The assistant director didn’t ask us to repeat, but Louis and I asked the pianist to replay some of the last bars so we could work on our last words. When we finished, someone clapped. Dex stood at the door.
My face lit up despite myself, although I attempted to stiffen my expression and be discreet. I wasn’t sure how Dex wanted to handle our acquaintance.
Dex walked over to me and said, “He knows what he wants, Carmen.”
He introduced himself to Louis and then Frasquita and Mercédès, and the rest. Louis explained we had just finished the act.
Dex said, “If that means you all are done for the day, I’m going to take Carmen away from you. We have a date.”
Their shock was my own. Their faces reflected sudden speculation.
“We do?” I asked.
“The board members want to get to know their Carmen better, in view of some ideas we’ve been discussing. Unless you have other dinner plans?” His question was arch, as if he knew very well I’d drop other plans to be with him. I would, too.
“Oh. No, I don’t.” I shared a glance with Louis. Maybe something good for all of us? “All right. Let me gather my things.” Not romance, but business. I could handle that.
Frasquita pouted a little. “I thought you were my romantic hero.” She pointed at the playing cards. “The cards predicted one.”
Dex replied, smiling, “It’s one woman at a time for me.”
She pretended to flounce away, but they were all fascinated. Dex exuded charm without half trying, and they lapped it up.
I was glad I always dressed well during rehearsals. No matter where we would dine, my yellow-and-brown tunic and darker brown slacks were chic and acceptable. A string of large amber beads completed my ensemble. After I touched up my makeup in the ladies room, I was ready to go.
Dex had worn a custom suit for the publicity moment. A billionaire could either look like a college student or a billionaire. He had chosen the latter, with a style so far that had been invariably formal. I liked that. He looked smashing in a suit with his broad shoulders and his height. He hadn’t removed his tie, so I could expect the evening to be rather formal. Not surprising. The board members of opera houses usually were elderly and conservative.
“That was smooth,” I said as we walked away down the hall. “You know how to turn on the char
m.”
“I got a lot of practice convincing venture capitalists to back my crazy ideas.”
“And now you plan to use your skills for charity. Admirable.”
“Also to coax you to drop your defenses and become my lover.” He said baldly, as if it was on the same dispassionate level as business chatter.
I stopped in my tracks. “You didn’t just say that.”
“Aha. You used another contraction. I’m getting to you.” He smiled at me possessively. “I won’t even have to use my secret weapon.”
I tried to keep my expression cool. “What is your secret weapon?”
Dex opened the door to a small rehearsal room and ushered me in. It was empty. He closed the door and took me in his arms. “Touch.”
His lips pressed against mine with infinite softness. They coaxed and charmed. They nipped and caressed. I opened my mouth and let the tip of my tongue touch his, and then rational thought was suspended.
A few minutes later—or maybe it was a year—we drew back from each other. He smiled at me, possession in his eyes. I knew I was smiling, too.
I put out a hand and gently rubbed my lip gloss off his lips. He caught my hand with his and kissed the inside of my wrist. I breathed in deeply and felt a tingle throughout my entire body.
“Don’t.” I could barely speak. This was so totally not the place and time, yet I wanted it to be. I backed away from him. “Now I’ll have to fix my makeup again.”
His face still wore that hot, satisfied look. He knew I was his. We merely dueled to determine the time and place.
I was vulnerable to Dex, yet I must continue to resist. But how, when he could melt me with his touch?
Chapter 10
After our minute in that little room, the stilted dinner with several influential members of the board was a trial. My body screamed with excitement. I fought to calm myself and present a serene and attentive expression to the Potomac Arts Center’s most important partners. The private room in an exclusive old club’s restaurant was a stuffy setting for the equally formal but supposedly casual meeting.
The only tense moment was when one of them, a lady whose face bespoke several bouts of cosmetic surgery, asked me if I had considered moving to the soprano repertory. “Sopranos have such a wide range of roles to choose, and you’re a hometown favorite. We’d love to feature you prominently, but we can’t always do Carmen.”
I was taken aback and it probably showed on my face despite a lifetime of learning not to exhibit my true emotions easily to strangers. This was the kind of idea more properly discussed with a voice teacher and a business manager. “What an interesting idea.”
Another member said, “Shirley Verrett moved from the mezzo to the soprano rep and became much more famous.”
“Wasn’t that fairly late in her career?” asked another member, one who clearly was not as eager as the others to convince me I should change my vocal range merely because the board thought it would bring in bigger audiences.
“She was already well known before she made the switch. She sang many prominent roles.” I said, trying to keep my voice from betraying either eagerness or rejection. I knew better than to turn people down by raising objections before I had thoroughly digested what they offered. Potentially, this was about the board offering me more starring roles.
To switch from one vocal range to another was not impossible, but it required additional vocal training and a great deal of care in choosing roles. I would never be one of those silvery high sopranos like Lili Pons back in the day, whose voice sounded like sweet bubbles of air sung by birds rather than a human being. At best, I’d be a “pushed-up mezzo,” a derogatory term I’d heard applied to some singers.
Pure vocal range wasn’t the only consideration. Only a role with gravitas would suit me. Of course there were many such soprano roles, but that led back to the question of did I want to change? It was too big an issue to decide based on the board of one opera company, even though this company was in my hometown and claimed to value me highly.
These thoughts filled my head as I smiled and acknowledged their interest and murmured my agreement with their reasoning. What they were casually asking me to consider was a huge risk for my career. One I would need to discuss with my voice coach and agent.
What did Dex think of all this? I had been careful throughout this disguised board meeting not to look at him often.
It hurt to keep my eyes from lingering on him. After our few sweet moments together in that empty rehearsal room, I wanted nothing more than to be enfolded in his arms forever. I beat back that irrational notion with the inner scorn it deserved. A man of experience had kissed me. So what?
What did we have in common? What kind of man was Dex Morgan? I had not checked him out on the net, and I should have. Sometimes I neglected the tools of the twenty-first century because I was far too preoccupied with nineteenth-century operas. Was he known as a sharp dealer, or was his charity an extension of a generosity of spirit his employees had experienced? When he got rich with his startup, did he ensure they benefited along with him? Many entrepreneurs gave their original key employees ownership options, so when the owner sold the company for billions, those people got millions. Andrew Carnegie made his fortune by aiding one of the robber barons, but then Carnegie spent the money on charitable giving and set up public libraries all over the country. Was Dex Morgan of that ilk? Or was he different? I barely knew him.
All the while my thoughts roiled about Dex, I smiled and put on a gracious act for the board members. I did not attempt enthusiasm about their crazy idea. Measured consideration was the most I would give. Many opera roles considered strictly soprano today were once sung by mezzos, and the reverse as well. I already had a commitment to sing Leonora in La Forza del Destino, Verdi’s revenge opera also known as The Force of Destiny. Some mezzos had sung it without wrecking their voices. The role sat low enough not to be a huge risk for me.
So excellent was I at acting impersonal about Dex that one of the ladies kindly offered to give me a lift home. When I explained that I did not live in fashionable Northwest, but rather in Anacostia, she was even more interested. She said, “I haven’t been in Anacostia in decades, but I understand there has been a vast amount of change. Rebuilding.”
I nodded. “That is correct. My condo is a brand new building that has a spectacular view of the city.”
Dex said, “You won’t see much of the changes at night, Mrs. Childs. I’m going over to that new casino on the other side of the District line for a late meeting. My car can take Ms. Fedora home. It’s on the way.”
Somehow, my ride home was disposed of without me being given a vote. As a longtime resident of Washington, DC, being disenfranchised wasn’t anything new to me. I held my tongue. These were not people I could afford to casually offend. I was surprised that the demon had not made an appearance, but thankful, too. A de facto board meeting at a haughty old private club would not have been a good place for a demon manifestation. But then, what was?
A few minutes later, amid air kisses and many promises of wonderful things to come in the future for me and for my equally wonderful career, I parted from the society dames. They went home to their enclaves in Northwest DC or to wealthy suburbs in Maryland and Virginia. Dex’s car arrived—this time it was a limo—and we were chauffeured through areas of the District on their way up even as they cast out the poorer residents who previously had huddled there.
“Do you find privilege as oppressive as I do?” Dex asked.
I turned to stare at him in the darkness. “You noticed the automatic condescension? The tiny little world they inhabit?”
Rays from a passing streetlight revealed his cynical expression. “Of course. I grew up around people like them. They were the parents or grandparents of my playmates, or the friends of my parents. Or my own relatives.”
“You don’t like their…self-assurance?” I guessed.
“Call it smugness,” he said. “No. Not once I discovered a
wider world outside my insular neighborhood.”
“Yet you’re putting yourself back in that rarefied milieu.”
“I’m the guy searching for a second act. Sometimes it’s more efficient to participate in a system that’s already up and running than to start one from scratch.”
“Is that why you decided to give to the Potomac Arts Center?”
“You know why I did that, Daylia,” he said, with what might have been the hint of a smile in his reasonable tone of voice. “To understand what motivates you to spend your days learning reams of antique European music and your nights singing it.”
He hadn’t done it to get close to me? Something in my chest hurt.
“And also to wear down your resistance to becoming intimate with me,” he added, in the most casual manner possible.
The pain melted away. I took a deep breath. I couldn’t respond to that remark directly. It would lead me into trouble. “Yet you tease me with talk of all these career opportunities, too. Tell me which is the most important to you. No, on second thought, don’t tell me.”
“Another contraction. Proof I’m getting to you.” He leaned closer to me. “You act aloof, but you’re really interested.”
Staring at him although his face was now in shadow, I said, “I would be a fool to deny that I react to you, but we have yet to establish a basis for a relationship.”
“Is a relationship what you want?”
“Outrageous question.” I frowned at him in the dark, although perhaps he couldn’t see my expression. “Is your personal life a series of hookups—what they used to call one-night stands? Who are you, Dex Morgan?” I peered at him, but the limo was going through a dark patch and I couldn’t see his face clearly.
Dex said, “We should talk, get to know each other. Want to go with me to the casino? I’m not meeting my friend until late. Neutral territory. How about it?”
“That den of iniquity? I should say not.”
“Don’t you mean that showplace recently opened with a ton of fanfare, right on the Potomac, which is forecast to revitalize another lagging DMV area?” There definitely was humor in his tone of voice.
Defiant Diva (Singers in Love Book 3) Page 7