“So we’ve established that you didn’t have a short-lived marriage to an Italian guy who likes hats. What about family?”
I smiled in appreciation. “My mother is staying with my aunt in Georgia. My father, well, let’s just say he moved on a long time ago.”
The bar had closed and the other tenants had drifted away. It was late at night for working people. Dex and I were alone on the rooftop. I hadn’t paid much attention at first, but now I felt our isolation. Dex had left his jacket and tie in the car and his white dress shirt glowed in the darkness against his skin. Moonlight turned his hair to blue black streaks. I wanted his strong, tan fingers holding his wineglass to touch me.
Time to break up our little party or else stop dancing around and move it to my bedroom. I put my glass on the table. “I have rehearsal tomorrow,” I said. “I think you’d better call your driver.”
Dex stood, and pulled me up into his arms. “I hope you won’t mind me taking a few kisses on account.” His face neared mine and I automatically parted my lips in anticipation.
“On account of what?” I asked, my breath catching as his arms tightened around me and our lips drew close. It felt so right.
He answered by placing his lips on mine. We had an entire conversation with our lips, in which he asked again to be my lover and I told him I wanted it too, but not tonight, not yet.
It would be so easy to become Dex’s lover. We had all the desire in the world to make lovemaking exciting and fulfilling. We still didn’t know each other well enough to take that step if this was to become a serious relationship. Did I say this to Dex? Not out loud. I said it by drawing away from him, reluctantly, but with determination. I removed his hands from around my waist. “Not tonight.”
“All right, my lady,” he said. “We’ll wait.”
Dex took the elevator down by himself, while I picked up our glasses and the wine bottle and disposed of them properly. Alone, looking out at the city lights, I wondered why I was so cautious, so reserved. Emotional fallout from the unpleasant relationship with Michael Rather could not be the only reason. I was not afraid that Dex would suddenly turn into the same kind of unbalanced abuser. My career wasn’t a bar to a relationship, although my worldwide performance schedule could make life complicated.
It had to be the demon. Until the demon was exorcised, could I ever be free to love? I could not start a serious relationship while a demon repeatedly forced me to act out violently against others. Dex didn’t know about the demon although he’d heard about the rages. How could I tell him what stood in our way?
Chapter 11
The next morning my doubts had vanished. As I vocalized and prepared to go to rehearsals, I received a call from the doctor’s office. I must come in for an immediate consult. The doctor had time for me today at two p.m.
“Why not tell me the lab results now?” I asked.
The medical assistant refused. “Please come see the doctor. She wants to discuss them with you in person.”
I refused. One doctor visit was enough for a decade in my opinion. Anyway, I was too busy.
An hour later, I arrived at the public entrance to the Potomac Arts Center. I could have entered through the staff door, but tried to vary my routine as the self-defense coach suggested. I was walking in the direction of the rehearsal room when I heard my name called. I turned at Dex’s familiar voice and had to fight to keep a big smile off my face. I was that happy to see him again so soon.
Dex appeared equally happy to see me. He didn’t bother to hide the warmth in his eyes. “Here’s someone I’d like you to meet,” Dex said. “My friend, Jackie Adams. You remember she hosted the juvenile retinoschisis charity ball at her home.”
Jackie was a pale, striking blonde who casually wore what had to be a designer day dress. Instead of the cliché red, it was an unusual grey hue, and with it she’d paired an arty necklace of hand-wrought metals, the kind that easily cost thousands from celebrity designers. Despite her appearance, her big, open smile begged me to respond kindly.
Jackie explained that Dex had encouraged her to consider supporting the opera as a high-level social volunteer. “I’ve been trying to make a difference, you know, and the older socialites in DC have many roles locked up. We have that big house, but we don’t have the millions to buy my way into being on the board here and there.”
She made a shooing motion. “Dex, go away. I’ll meet you later. I want to talk to Ms. Fedora alone.”
He took his dismissal in good part, saying he’d catch up with us later.
Before I could fabricate an excuse to get away, Jackie dragged me over to a quiet corner of the bustling building with its atrium surrounded by performance halls and, on another floor, practice rooms. We sat at the tables set out for intermissions.
She said, “Dex told me some man you know came to our ball and harassed you. If you give me his name, I’ll take him off my list. I can also circulate his name among my friends who do these sorts of charity events. We could make sure he doesn’t get an invitation to an event you might be attending with Dex.”
I didn’t know what to say. “That is kind of you, but you need not make the effort. I can deal with him if he shows up.”
She eyed me shrewdly. “Carmen says the same thing in the last act, but Don José gets the better of her.”
“You’re familiar with the opera?” Not many women my age were. I was used to blank stares when I talked to people outside the music world.
“Of course.” She frowned. “Carmen is the most relevant opera to modern times without messing with the plot or the setting. Don José is a stalker, plain and simple.”
We talked about men and stalkers. Jackie said she’d had a stalker when she was younger. “I got lucky, because he was killed in a car crash. That ended it.”
I sighed. “There was a very nice lady in our church whose ex-husband stalked her. He ended up murdering her, then turning his gun on himself.”
Jackie said, “That makes it almost seem romantic, but I’m sure she didn’t want to be the victim of a murder-suicide.”
I agreed, and we talked more about how dangerous and annoying Michael was. I said, “I do not want him in my life, period. I can think of nothing less appealing than a relationship with a violent man.”
“Likely to end badly.” She nodded and sighed. Then she brightened. “Let’s not talk about endings anymore. It makes me shiver. Do give me his name. This way, if you and Dex hit the charity circuit, there won’t be any unwelcome surprises.”
I wrote out Michael’s full name on a notecard and handed it to her. She was so friendly and totally without airs or artifice, I dared to ask a nosy question. “How do you know Dex?”
“We were neighbors and we went to school together. I should say, we went to matching private schools. I was in Beauvoir and the National Cathedral School for Girls, and he was in St. Albans. There were some shared events.” She eyed my carefully neutral expression and said, “And no, there never was any romance between us. I married his best friend.”
She continued, “We must double date.” She noticed the general manager of the arts center coming down the hall. “Oh. There’s the man I came here to meet.” Jackie patted my hand. “I hope you and I can get together sometime. Maybe you bring Dex and I’ll bring Rich.” She went off in a hurry, while I remained, bemused by her energetic personality.
That morning, we had access to the stage itself. We rehearsed the complicated blocking of Act I with all the cigarette girls. Régine was again in charge, and questioned me closely about whether I had seen a doctor after my allergic reaction. I explained that I had, and was fine. “I even have a prescription for an EpiPen.”
She frowned. “You should get one of those allergy patch tests. Find out what caused the attack.”
I had no intention of following Régine’s advice outside the opera house, but I merely nodded. She could take my nod as agreement if she wished.
The rehearsal proceeded. We went over our blocking, th
e crucial decisions about who stood where, and when. In Act I of Carmen, I was part of the seething mass of cigarette girls—factory workers on a break—who surged out of their building, flirted with the idle men hanging around outside, and then went back inside. We paraded through the auditorium and then up onto the stage, and only then did I get a follow spot, a spotlight devoted only to me.
The director made us practice the promenade into the house and up onto the stage both with music and without, until the novelty wore off and we were all thoroughly sick of having to watch our steps in the canted theater aisles.
Once we were on the stage, we had to mill about artfully in a predetermined pattern so the story could progress. At one point, the other girls and the men called Carmen’s name, and that was when the follow spot picked me out in the crowd of factory girls.
I did not like where the director had placed me on the stage. I was too far back. It took me too long to get to the front to be seen. I said, “As Carmen, I should always be front and center.”
Régine heard me. She glanced in my direction, but did not reply. She turned away from me to attend to some other, minor issue. She had us do the milling about again.
Again I objected to ending up so far to the rear of the stage. “I need to be closer to the front.”
Régine said, “You’re fine.”
“No, you do not understand,” I said. “Carmen is languorous. She is never in a hurry. You have me too far to the back, so I have to hurry to get to my position in the front.”
“Take longer strides when you saunter to the front.”
We tried it again. The distance I had to walk was too great. Anger that she did not understand began to course through me. “I will be out of breath from running to get to the spot.”
Régine shrugged. “I think you’ll be okay.” She turned away from me to attend to someone else.
“Listen to me!” I shrieked. Was that my voice? No, the demon had risen inside me. I rushed at Régine, knocking the score she held to the ground. I reached out to grab her and shake her into paying attention to me.
“Get your hands off me!” she yelled. She pushed me away.
I screamed vicious words at her, not knowing what I said.
Régine put out a hand in warning, pointing her finger at me. “Stop that! Right now!”
Someone put an arm around me, holding me back from attacking her. I still shrieked.
The mist cleared from my brain. Louis held me in a strong grip. “Stop, Daylia!” he said, over and over. “Stop.”
Régine looked daggers at me. “You’re suspended. Go see a doctor and get yourself fixed up, or don’t come back. Your choice.”
Everyone was staring at me. Chorus members and stage assistants. The other singers. Some were horrified and others looked disgusted. A few faces wore expressions of pity. Pity?
The demon had brought me to the brink of insanity. My hands trembled and my stomach roiled. I wrenched myself from Louis’s arms and rushed off the stage.
Chapter 12
I had been assigned a dressing room now that we were almost ready to do our first performance. I went to it and started to gather my things. Dex opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.
“What the hell came over you?”
“You saw?”
“I was in the auditorium.”
I bowed my head. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. No one believes me,” I muttered angrily. “It isn’t me. It’s the demon.”
“A demon?”
“It’s a long story.”
“You can’t pin your crazy rage on a demon. Why do you even try?”
“Please get out of my way. I’m leaving.”
“Are you going to do what Régine wants and see a doctor?”
“I’m sick of people saying I should see a doctor. I saw one yesterday. She said I was healthy but now she wants me to come in again.”
Dex’s eyes narrowed. “When?”
“Today,” I said, mulishly. “They called this morning.”
Dex frowned and moved closer to me. “How often do you see doctors?”
“Never, if I can help it.”
“That explains you not realizing. Something is up. Doctors don’t see you one day and ask you to come in the next day. Not unless something is very seriously wrong and they don’t dare wait to tell you. When’s your appointment?”
I was stunned. Something was wrong with me? Did I have a disease? How could that be possible? Dex was waiting for my reply. It was grudging. “They wanted me to come in at two, but I never agreed.”
Dex demanded the name of the doctor, called her office on the spot, and got my appointment confirmed. After clicking off, he said, “It’s rare for a doctor to reinstate an appointment. Whatever it is, the situation is urgent.” His expression softened.
Was it because he saw fear in my eyes? I refused to be afraid. I stiffened my back. I was strong. I could handle anything life threw at me.
Dex said, “We won’t worry about it beforehand.” He reached out and took my arm. “I’m taking you to lunch at a place that serves completely organic, plain food that won’t send you into another allergy attack.”
He reached out a finger and wiped away a tear I had not even realized had fallen from my eye. “Don’t cry. We’ll figure it out.”
I blinked, trying to hold back the moisture, angry with myself for showing weakness.
“And don’t worry about Régine. She can’t fire you unless the board approves. I’ll see to it no such approval happens.”
My tears kept falling. At last, someone wanted to help me.
Dex put an arm around me. “Come on. It’s not that bad. Whatever it is, you won’t be alone.”
I stopped sniffling and dabbed at my face with a tissue, then automatically checked that my makeup hadn’t run.
Dex nodded his approval. “You look fine. More than fine. Now show your usual brave face to the world as we leave. Head up high. That’s it,” he whispered as we left my dressing room and passed a few people in the hall. They wore avidly curious expressions.
He coaxed me all the way to the main exit, where he had his chauffeured car waiting.
It was only when I was seated in his car that I realized he had touched me and we hadn’t lost it and tried to have sex on the spot. “Misery destroys desire,” I choked out.
“You mean because I’m not all over you like some kind of animal? You have to know by now it’s not just sex between us.”
I began to regain my composure. I heaved a sigh. “You’ve been right about me all along. I don’t trust many people, and I certainly don’t trust men much.”
“Because of that stalker guy,” Dex said. He cursed.
“He’s only part of it.” I sighed. “I was brought up to believe that excellence led to success. I’ve always worked hard. The wider world, with all the infighting and backbiting and the jealousies and intrigues, with all the jockeying for position, was a big shock.”
“You expected to be treated fairly. That hard work would bring its own reward.”
I silently agreed. I had worked tirelessly to achieve my preeminence as a mezzo-soprano, and I always delivered my very best. Yet, because of the unfairness I had suffered, the demon had taken control of me and all my hard work was on the verge of being destroyed.
Over lunch in the discreetly decorated old-world restaurant with its white tablecloths and unobtrusive service, Dex coaxed me to describe my efforts to find an exorcist. He showed amusement at the idea of me, a Baptist, seeking out a Roman Catholic priest.
“Demon possession is not a humorous situation,” I said.
“As an Episcopalian, I’m open to many shadings of belief. I saw The Exorcist movie as a kid. Powerful stuff. Tell me why you think you’re possessed by a demon. When did it start? Was it gradual or abrupt?”
“I know exactly when it happened. On the twelfth of February, a year ago, I was scheduled to sing at the Nat, in New York. When I arrived at the storied opera hous
e, no one seemed to know where I belonged. This was after I had been coming in for four weeks for daily rehearsals, so there was no excuse.” I tightened my lips, remembering.
“They shunted me around for three hours, telling me to wait in the cafeteria while they decided where I should go. Only by asking every singer I met did I find the voice coach assigned to me for the performance that night. Even he was surprised that I was on his list. It was as if everyone had forgotten I was coming.”
Dex frowned. “Was it deliberate?”
I lifted pained eyes to his. “I don’t know.”
“What happened next?”
“I held onto my temper and got some value from the coaching. When that was over, I tried to find my dressing room, and finally, someone in charge assigned me to one. The woman who gave me the dressing room number didn’t escort me to it; she merely stated the number in a bored tone of voice and handed me a key. She didn’t even look up at me from her desk.”
I was surprised to feel perspiration on my brow. Even a year later, that day still raised strong feelings. “The attitude of everyone involved was indifferent to the point of trying to ignore me. I went to the dressing room, but it was littered with someone else’s possessions.”
I put a hand to my forehead. “That was the moment the demon took me over. I had been abused for hours, and I was humiliated and hurt, which made me weak mentally in that moment. The demon was able to get past my defenses. He turned me into a raging virago.”
Dex asked, “Like today? What did you do?”
“I swept everything off the dressing table into a trash can and put it outside. I grabbed all the clothes and threw them in a pile in the hallway. I tossed every personal item belonging to that other singer out of the dressing room.”
“Over the top, but not demonic so far.”
I shook my head. “I’d never done something like that to anyone before, ever. Things were done to me, but I never retaliated.” I sighed. “It gets worse. The singer came for her clothes. She banged on my door, wanting some item I had missed tossing outside. I opened the door and threw it at her, calling it trash. Then I slammed the door in her face.”
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