Roman Song

by Brian Kennedy

  The three of them saw one another very little during those weeks in Venice. Their conversation had become slow and awkward, as if they were strangers meeting for the first time again. After the performance one night, they did discuss the subject of the future. Tosca was scheduled to take a break for an unknown amount of time straight after the Venetian run. The management had made no promises about the future of the company, even though they had done well wherever they went. Brendan mentioned that his agents were suggesting various auditions in London, but Alfredo said he was dying for a proper break. Marla decided not to be too specific about her hopes, but she insisted that they should meet up in London soon. They had become so close since that first company dinner, less than a year before. The thought that they would be parting in a few weeks hadn’t really occurred to any of them until that moment.

  That night, Alfredo, already very drunk, brought another bottle of wine to his room and drank three-quarters of it in bed. He was miserable at the thought of not seeing Brendan. He had even harboured thoughts of inviting him to stay at his new house in Rome, and he kept going over and over it in his head - how much fun they would have had as he showed Brendan all around the city where he had been born.. .Alfredo instinctively knew that Amelia’s sudden presence spelled disaster for that plan.

  Marla, too, had been hatching a plan. Once the run was over, when she and Brendan were back in England, she was going to make her feelings for him known. She was old-fashioned enough to believe he was worth waiting for, and she had never made an obvious move. She heard her mother’s voice telling her that ‘a lady never approaches a gentleman in matters of the heart’. Countess Amelia threatened to upset everything, but Marla was determined that Brendan was going to be hers, and no scheming stranger of a countess was going to stop her from becoming Mrs Marla Fiscetti. Marla was a romantic woman at heart, and she was convinced it would be one of the greatest love stories ever told: the tenor and the soprano, unable to resist each other.

  Marla knew Alfredo was miserable, but she wasn’t quite sure why. As much as she loved him, she sometimes felt as if he didn’t want her around, as if a kind of boys’ club mentality appeared late at night if Brendan produced a cigar and a pack of cards. Alfredo had noticed that Marla had been acting strangely, but they had never broached the subject. Brendan had noticed that something was wrong. One evening, as he and Marla met on their way into the theatre, he bent to kiss her cheek and said, ‘My dear Marla, where have you been? I haven’t seen you or Alfredo all day. I thought maybe you’d eloped together.’

  Marla looked genuinely annoyed. ‘Where on earth did you get that idea?’

  Brendan followed her towards her dressing room, where her assistant was dutifully waiting with make-up and hairpieces to begin the transformation process. He caught up with Marla and held both her tiny arms. ‘Marla, I was only joking! Forgive me if I was rude, but what’s the matter with everyone? Surely you know I was only playing with you?’

  ‘What do you mean, everyone?’

  ‘Well, Alfredo has been acting strange too. He’s hardly eating. What’s got into him?’

  Marla realised her mistake in overreacting, and the touch of his hands made her heart beat harder. She tilted her head and managed a smile. ‘Oh, Brendan, don’t pay any attention to me. I’m just on edge today because I slept badly last night. I don’t know what’s wrong with Alfredo. Normally nothing comes between him and his food. It must be a dip in energy. It’s been a long tour, we’ve had a few full weeks in a row, and I think we’ve all had our fair share of alcohol.’

  Brendan looked relieved. ‘That must be it. I was just worried. I’ve been spending so much time with Amelia, I might not notice if something was wrong. What do you think of her? Did you have a chance to talk to her, that night at the mayor’s party?’ Marla’s heart felt as if it was speeding out of control at the mere mention of Amelia’s name, but she managed to answer without her voice wobbling. ‘The mayor took up most of my time. I hardly got to talk to anyone else, really. Amelia certainly seems quite charming - and so beautiful, too.’

  Brendan, delighted that Marla was interested, began talking excitedly about how wonderful Amelia was and how he hoped that the others could get to know her too.

  Marla’s heart sank. ‘You’re obviously very taken with her,’ she said, ‘and by the sound of things, she’s equally taken with you. But what are you going to do? Doesn’t her ship leave just after our time here ends? That’s less than two weeks away.’

  She suddenly realised that she had given herself away by knowing when the cruise liner was leaving port, but Brendan didn’t notice. He leaned against the wall by her dressing room door, dropping his gaze to the floor. He looked confused and lost in thought. ‘I know she’s leaving, and to be honest I’m not sure what to do. I know it sounds insane, but I feel like I’ve known her all my life. She really is extraordinary. You’ll all love her when you get the chance to spend a bit of time in her company. Will you have a drink with us tonight, after the show?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Brendan. I feel particularly drained today, and I’ll be even more tired after the performance—’

  ‘Oh please, Marla. Please.’

  He looked at her with such hopeful eyes that she couldn’t stand it. ‘Well, all right. Maybe a glass of something in your dressing room.’

  Marla’s dresser coughed amongst the hairpieces, and she was grateful of the excuse to end the conversation. As she was closing the door, Brendan said in a quieter voice, ‘Marla, you and Alfredo are like family to me. I do so want you both to like her.’

  She stroked his shoulder affectionately, hiding her horror. ‘Yes, like family...lovely. A drink, then, in your dressing room after the show. Alfredo will stay too. We’re sharing a lift home.’

  Brendan skipped down the stairs to get ready, and Marla closed her door and leaned against it with her eyes tightly shut, not wanting to see her own devastated face in the brightly lit mirrors.

  The growing tension hadn’t harmed their performances. Indeed, they all were singing better than ever. For Marla, it was even easier to be in love with Mario Cavaradossi on stage because she had finally admitted to herself - too late - that she was in love with Brendan Fiscetti off stage. It was safe to open her heart on stage because she was playing someone else. Admittedly, Brendan was too, but a little part of her had always hoped that he might feel the same way as his character. She had pinned her hopes on their romance blossoming gradually, as the tour progressed; it had never occurred to her that Brendan might meet someone else.

  She also had no idea that her main rival, up until that point, hadn’t been female. As Brendan moved gradually further and further away from his co-stars, Alfredo had fallen more deeply in love than ever.

  Suddenly, there were only two days before Amelia’s ship left Venice. Brendan knew he had to do something. He knew Amelia had grown anxious too. Although they made love at every opportunity, he felt her growing unease and unhappiness as much as his own.

  When that evening’s performance ended, he took Amelia back to Café Florian, the first place they had visited together. They were shown to a large private booth at the back. She was about to speak when he put his finger to her lips.

  ‘Amelia, I’ve spent all day plucking up the courage to say this. I don’t want you to answer until I’ve finished, okay?’

  He was more serious than she had ever seen him in the fortnight they’d known each other, and she nodded nervously.

  Brendan began slowly, ‘You and I have known each other just a little over a week and a half, but I feel like I’ve known you for years. And I can’t bear the thought of you leaving on that ship - of not being with you. I need to know if you feel the same way about me.’

  She nodded again.

  ‘Amelia, my love...’ He cleared his throat and fumbled in his pocket. ‘I bought this for you today because I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. Amelia, darling, will you be my wife?’ All at once everything seemed to fall in
to slow motion. Amelia had known she loved him within hours of their first meeting, but nothing could have prepared her for this moment. There he was, the most handsome man she had ever seen, seated across from her, nervously opening a dark blue velvet box, offering her a sparkling solitaire diamond ring and a new future. She felt like pinching herself to see if she would wake up back in her husband’s empty mansion. But it was all real, and she burst out crying.

  Brendan panicked, thinking that he had upset her. He pulled her closer, stuttering, ‘Oh Amelia, I’m so sorry - it was stupid of me—’ She reached up and caught his shoulders. ‘Yes,’ she said while he was still talking a mile a minute. ‘Yes.’ He stopped in his tracks. ‘What?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’

  ‘You will?’ he said incredulously. ‘Oh, my God in heaven!’ They kissed until they were both out of breath. Brendan helped the ring onto her finger and kissed her neck, laughing like a schoolboy. ‘My darling,’ Amelia said, wiping her eyes, ‘I can’t believe it. I’ve never been so happy in my life.’

  ‘I decided yesterday that I just couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. If you’d left on that ship, I think I would have jumped into the water and swum after you. Are you sure you like the ring? We can change it if you’re not happy.’

  Amelia looked at the precious stone and wept again. ‘I couldn’t love it more.’

  ‘Oh God, I want the whole world to know that I’m the luckiest man alive! Shall we go and tell Alfredo and Marla?’

  ‘Darling Brendan, can we wait until tomorrow? I need to let it sink in. I just want to be with you tonight, on our own. Is that all right?’

  She smiled at him and Brendan smiled back, his hands on hers. At that moment he would have done anything for her.

  That night they looked into each other’s eyes as they made slow love. Afterwards they held each other in contented warmth, whispering conversation. He hummed a melody to her while she rested her head on his chest, but they never reached the end of the song: exhaustion swept over them and they surrendered to it like babies, legs and fingers entangled as if they had been born that way.

  Alfredo thought he was going out of his mind. He and Marla had hardly seen Brendan at all that final week, aside from onstage. If the lovebirds, as they’d both taken to calling Brendan and Amelia, came back to the house at all, they were always either in Brendan’s room or down at the bottom of the garden, kissing or snoozing. Alfredo, like Marla, managed to reassure himself with the misguided thought that once Amelia’s ship had sailed with her on it, things would return to normal.

  That morning, Alfredo had overslept and was feeling particularly fragile at the breakfast table. The army of empty wine bottles on the kitchen dresser made him feel even worse. He knew his drinking had got out of control, and he blamed it on the stress.

  Marla breezed into the room in satin pyjamas, a head scarf and perfect eyeliner, making straight for the coffee. ‘Why are you so pale?’ she asked.

  Alfredo exhaled and pointed to the queue of empty bottles. Marla was about to suggest a cure when they were interrupted by the now-familiar laughter that always announced Brendan and Amelia. The lovebirds had obviously been up for hours, looking fresh and pristine. Even Marla looked a bit jaded next to them, and they made Alfredo feel worse than ever. He began pouring coffee into two more cups, but Brendan produced a bottle of champagne. ‘I’d like you to join me and Amelia in a toast.’

  Marla raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s the special occasion?’ she asked carefully. Privately, both she and Alfredo were hoping that it was a send-off for Amelia.

  Brendan laughed as he popped the cork and began filling the glasses. Then he composed himself and declared, in his best voice, ‘My dear, dear friends, we wanted you to be the first to know. Last night I asked Amelia to be my wife, and she has done me the honour of accepting.’

  He raised his glass in the air, and Amelia followed. ‘We’re getting married on the ship,’ Brendan said triumphantly, ‘the day after our last performance of Tosca - this weekend! We asked the captain at breakfast, and it’s all being arranged as we speak.’

  Marla stood stock-still, like a rabbit caught in headlights, unable to speak or move. Alfredo swallowed hard and reached for his glass too quickly, knocking it over. He grabbed a cloth and began to wipe everything in sight.

  Amelia looked mortified, but Marla snapped out of her trance and began attempting congratulations, pulling Alfredo to his feet. His glass was refilled, they clinked their glasses together and drained the contents, hugged Amelia and Brendan and admired the ring. Then, when the moment had passed, Alfredo and Marla went back to their beds, pulling the covers over their heads to blot out the day.

  The fact that they were upset wasn’t lost on Brendan, but he was sure that, given time, they would come around to the idea. He couldn’t imagine anyone not loving Amelia. They were just in shock, he told himself. They were concerned that it was all moving a bit fast, but that was because they were such good friends. One day they’d all laugh about it together.

  The news spread quickly through the theatre that evening. Members of the cast kept coming up to Brendan and Amelia, congratulating them and marvelling at the romance of it all - in Venice, of all places, too! Brendan was walking on air, and Amelia couldn’t contain her joy as she showed off her ring. The theatre manager arranged an after-show party. Though Marla and Alfredo were united in their lack of enthusiasm, they knew they couldn’t opt out. They cheered and applauded and drank champagne with the rest of the cast and crew, avoiding Brendan’s eye, until they found chances to slip away. Marla went to an after-hours club with some of the chorus - normally she never even spoke to them - and Alfredo went home.

  He found the house dark except for the embers of the fire. He didn’t bother turning any of the lights on, but instead headed straight for the kitchen, found a bottle of brandy and drank glass after potent glass in the frail moonlight. Then he staggered up the stairs to his room, taking the brandy with him. He stopped at Brendan’s door and leaned against it to steady himself. It opened under his weight and he fell into the dark room, landing awkwardly on his side. He managed to sit up, miraculously still holding the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other. ‘Typical,’ he muttered. ‘For most people the glass is either half full or half empty. Mine is completely fucking empty.’

  He stood up, and the room began to spin. He cushioned his fall on the side of Brendan’s enormous, undisturbed bed and struggled under the blankets. The brandy bottle and the glass had crashed to the floor, but Alfredo was too far gone to care. He caught the familiar scent of his friend’s cologne on the pillows, and he called Brendan’s name until the world was no longer recognisable. He hugged the overstuffed cotton pillow as if it were the man himself, and it was finally enough of a comfort to allow him to sleep.

  Half an hour later, the gate rattled as Brendan asked his taxi to wait - ‘I only want to pick up some clean clothes, I’ll be back in a moment’ - and walked up the path, fishing for his key in the dark. He had expected to see some sign of life, and when he didn’t, he decided that Alfredo and Marla must still be out drinking somewhere. He ran up the stairs and flicked on the light in his room.

  His bed was occupied. Someone was under the covers, snoring like a hibernating bear. For a second Brendan wasn’t sure what to do, then he called out, ‘Hello? Hello? Who’s there?’

  When he got no answer, he pulled back the blankets and recoiled. Alfredo was curled up in a foetal position, unconscious beside a pile of thick, dark vomit.

  Brendan shook his shoulder and Alfredo gave a muffled groan. Brendan pulled him off the bed and tried to get him to stand up, but his legs had turned to jelly and he collapsed awkwardly into his friend’s arms. Brendan dragged him towards the bathroom, turned on the cold tap and splashed some water on his face, and Alfredo began to open his eyes.

  He thought he was still dreaming. The last thing he remembered was wrapping himself around a pillow, wishing it were Brendan, and now
he was waking up in his arms for real. Brendan began to wipe the dried vomit away from his face with the wetted corner of a towel. ‘Good God, Alfredo, look at the state of you! What’s wrong? And why were you in my bed? You’ve been sick all over the place, and there’s broken glass on the floor.’

  Alfredo tried to focus on him, but he was still extremely drunk. Their faces were closer than they had ever been off stage. Before he knew what he was doing, he tried to kiss Brendan on the lips, but Brendan turned his head away and Alfredo’s lips met his cheek.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Brendan shouted, dropping him onto the lid of the toilet.

  Alfredo’s words were very badly slurred. ‘I love you, Brendan, I always have. I can’t bear it any more - it hurts too much. Please don’t leave me for her.’ He hugged Brendan clumsily around the waist, sobbing into his stomach.

  Brendan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He pushed Alfredo away roughly. ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Alfredo? You’re drunk, you idiot. Stop it before you say any more nonsense you’ll regret tomorrow.’

  Alfredo’s sobs rose, and the anger left Brendan’s voice. He knelt down beside his friend, one hand steadying his shoulders, and said more quietly, ‘Alfredo, I can’t believe this. I love you like a brother - but I just got engaged to Amelia, for Christ’s sake. We’re about to be married. I even thought you might consider being...well, I didn’t want to ask you like this, but I thought you might consider being my best man. I just don’t understand where this has all come from.’

  Alfredo was crying into his hands, too embarrassed to look up, but he managed to reply, ‘I can’t help the way I feel.. .for you. Oh God, I’ve been in love with you from the second we met. I didn’t plan it, you know. Who plans these things? Did you plan to fall in love with that...that...that fucking ginger bitch?’