I sighed. The demon was gone and my internal battle was over. Now all I had to do was delicately indicate that I still was of the same mind as last night. Dex was almost too hands-off today. How could I tell him?
When we stood to walk some more, Dex suggested a Nats game. “The season has just opened, but for some strange scheduling reason, they’re doing a split double header and there’s a game tonight. Want to go?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Are you considering buying the team?”
“Good one.” He laughed, then thought about it for a minute. “Guess I could, but I want to follow through on the opera idea for now.”
Dex could buy a baseball team. He was a billionaire. What that meant hadn’t really sunk in before. I’d been around wealthy patrons in the opera world previously, but I hadn’t spent casual time with them. What was important to billionaires? “What about buying into the casino?”
He shrugged. “You presented a valid argument against it.”
He’d listened to my objections. He wanted to do the right thing, not merely make money. Impressive.
“Want to go see the game?” he asked again.
“Do you already have tickets? Are we dressed correctly?” I considered my loose cotton overblouse and Capri pants. What did one wear to a baseball game?
“I’ll buy the tickets with my phone. We can pick up team t-shirts and ball caps at their concession stands and feel completely at home. Fans dress as if they’re ready to be called down to the field to play second base.”
He stopped walking and asked, “Haven’t you ever been to a major league baseball game?”
I sniffed. “Washington, DC, did not have a team when we were growing up, as you well know. Anyway, music was my thing, not sports.”
He smiled. “When relatives don’t know what to do with young boys, they take them to games. The Baltimore Orioles are just up the pike, and when the Redskins aren’t in town, the Ravens are. I’ve seen a lot of basketball, hockey, football, you name it. In college some pals and I would go into the city to see Yankees games. From Princeton, New Jersey, it’s an easy train ride in.”
“And you’d get drunk, no doubt.”
He nodded. “Absolutely. It’s thirsty work watching a baseball game.” He pulled me off the path and wound both his arms around me. “Want to see the game tonight, or shall we head over to my office? I’ve got a nice comfy couch there.”
My opening. I ran one hand up the soft collar of his knit shirt. “You might not have noticed the other evening, but from my building, you can see the Nats stadium.”
A fire lit in his eyes. He took a deep breath. “From the roof terrace? Or from your condo? Are you ready to show me where you live? For real this time?”
I made my expression the picture of demure innocence. “I wanted to last night, but you had some silly reservations about taking me up on my offer,” I said, slyly.
“Lady, you don’t have to ask me twice.” Dex whipped out his phone and called his car. We walked over to Independence Avenue to meet it, him clasping my hand tightly all the way. Soon the driver was whisking us to my condo building. Dex continued to hold my hand in a fierce grip. We didn’t talk. The time for talking was over. I had trouble breathing, thinking about what would happen next.
When the car drew up to my building, I emerged first. I didn’t look back to see if Dex dismissed his driver for the night. If I had anything to say about it, Dex would not need the driver again until tomorrow morning.
We rode up the elevator in tense silence. I’d been giddy before, but now I was taking a serious step. I hoped I wasn’t making a mistake. At my door, I pulled out my key and almost faltered. I glanced at him, and my sudden hesitation must have shown in my face.
Dex put his warm hand on mine. The crazy tingle happened again, making my body yearn for his. “Don’t be afraid. This is right,” he said, looking into my eyes.
I nodded uneasily, and opened the door. Once we were inside, Dex pushed it shut and took me in his arms.
Chapter 16
A revelation. I’d had sex before. I thought I knew about sex. I was wrong. We didn’t have sex. We made love. Every touch, every kiss, every caress from Dex edged me closer to a mystical place I’d never known existed. Dex took me to that magical place, and came with me, again and again.
Did I sing last night? Drifting between sleeping and waking, I remembered showing Dex how supple my tongue was. I wasn’t singing at that moment, not exactly. He sang for me. That was after a show of mastery from Dex that had me gasping in delight, clinging tightly to his muscular arms, safe in his strength as the whole world swirled around me in exquisite beauty.
What a lovely night we had. I woke fully and opened my eyes. Dex stood at the side of my bed, holding out a glass of orange juice. “Morning, beautiful.”
“Where did you get juice? I never keep it in the house.”
Dex took a sip, and then leaned in and kissed me on the lips. “Try it. Drink a little.”
I did, to please him. I loved pleasing him. I had pleased him last night and earlier this morning, too. The tartness of the juice made me wince. “Nasty stuff.”
“I’ll try to make it sweeter,” he said, and started to kiss me in earnest. I began to think orange juice, with the right chaser, was quite wonderful.
Some time later, I vocalized as Dex showered and dressed in office clothes that also had mysteriously appeared, perhaps with the orange juice. My throat wasn’t quite right this morning, but I would work on it. I went to my medicine cabinet for some spray. Every opera singer had a medicine cabinet filled with throat remedies. Our livelihood depended on a few folds of flesh, which we constantly worried over and pampered.
“I’d like to cancel everything I have scheduled for today,” Dex said, “but I was the one who set up the meetings in the first place.” His tan skin with its light dusting of chest hair made a tantalizing contrast to his still-unbuttoned white dress shirt. He put his arms around me and drew me close, murmuring, “Want to convince me to stay?”
I couldn’t stifle my happy smile as I reached one hand to caress the bare flesh of his chest and twined my other arm around his neck. I pulled his body against mine. My whole body relaxed as our flesh touched. “I have rehearsals today.” I kissed one cheek. “Or I will, if that friendly new board member is able to rescind my suspension.” I kissed his lips.
After a while, Dex said, “You’re using undue influence. Do it some more.”
We played for a bit, and then both decided to act like grown-ups and get on with our work. Dex finished dressing and took off, but not before urging me to eat a solid lunch. I made no promises, and continued my vocal exercises. We planned to be together in the evening and all night, but it was painful to part for now, so I tried hard to concentrate on my practicing.
In the afternoon I was back at the Potomac Arts Center as if my big blow-up caused by the demon on Friday had never happened. Dex had influenced the powers that be in my favor, although I was given a warning. The warning passed over my head because I was in such a good mood. My joy at being with Dex and being freed from the demon radiated outward to encompass everyone I encountered. People expecting me to act subdued were surprised. They quickly decided that if I was happy, they could relax around me.
So far, I’d been mostly rehearsing with comprimario singers, the supporting players such as the ones singing Carmen’s gypsy friends, and with Louis. We’d been in a small rehearsal room with only a piano to accompany us. Today we were in the largest rehearsal hall and we did a full-fledged Act II with the entire orchestra and all the players. Rehearsals with the orchestra had happened off and on without me for several days, but now it was time to pull the act together. It was a long session.
As the afternoon wore on, I began to regret not following Dex’s advice about eating. Perhaps I should have at least packed a snack. I never had done so in the past. I felt it did not suit my dignified image to pull out an energy bar while we were working. Today, though, I noticed I
was very hungry.
I also began to feel edgy and irritated at how slowly the rehearsal was progressing. A lot of business happened in this act, which started with wild gypsy dancing. Régine had us gypsies moving around the hall, checking for our taped spots on the floor, practicing our moves and our expressions. I was already experienced with castanets, and so was our Frasquita, but Mercédès needed a lot of help.
Régine directed the male chorus members who were to play soldiers interested in partying with the gypsies. That seemed to take forever, and I got hungrier as I waited for that part to be over. Finally, Régine was satisfied. She put in a call for James Haverhill, the base-baritone. James was singing Escamillo, the toreador who pursued Carmen and became her new lover after she dumped Don José.
James was also the stinker who had shot the video of me in the demon’s possession. He posted the video of me attacking Abbie Fisher at the Federal Concert Opera online. James swaggered into the rehearsal room, the boastful toreador already a large part of his personality. He aimed a look at me as he entered, silently conveying his dislike. It was mutual.
We were professionals. We hid our feelings and buckled down to rehearse our characters’ initial meeting. The toreador scene was one of the most popular in the opera. Escamillo made a grand entrance, followed by an admiring crowd of fans. As they listened to him boastfully describe his latest bullring triumph, Escamillo eyed the willing women smiling at him. Both Frasquita and Mercédès made a bid for him, but he didn’t respond enthusiastically. It was my character, Carmen, whose one word, “L’amour,” sung with exceptional richness of tone, struck Escamillo as attractive. He made an immediate advance, and we exchanged intensely significant glances, but I sang that I was otherwise promised. At that early point in the opera, Carmen looked forward to Don José’s return so they could start their affair. He was still serving out his punishment for letting her escape being taken to prison in Act I.
I had little to do in this scene except admire the toreador as he sang his boastful song and the crowd cheered him. The few words and glances exchanged between Escamillo and Carmen were unlikely to cause a conflict between James and me despite the bad blood between us. I sat and read along with the score.
James had trouble with Escamillo’s high notes. And with his low notes, too. The Toreador Song wasn’t an easy one for a base-baritone. The aria tested his ability to hit the highest and the lowest notes in his range with enough power. The issues that came up as James sang the world-famous tune were caused by the typical problems. Did he have enough support in his middle register? Was he singing from the middle, without true legato, and scooping to reach the notes? Was the tessitura too high for his natural voice? Whatever the technical problems were, he sounded terrible.
Nobody said anything about how badly he was singing. Maestro simply had James try again and again. Remembering the silly boyhood jingle Dex had sung for me, I chuckled.
James stopped in mid-phrase and glared at me. “What’s so funny?”
The musicians stopped playing. Everyone stared at me.
I should not have answered him at all. I should have shaken my head and motioned for him to continue singing. Instead, the demon rose in me instantly. He had dared to challenge me? I would show him. I sang, “Toreador-o, don’t spit on the floor-o, use the cuspidor-o, that’s what it’s for-o.” I sang it note for note where his voice was straining to reach. I was a mezzo, after all. The middle range was my comfort zone. His top notes were easy for me, and on occasion, I could also reach a note or two as low as his voice type did.
The others laughed, but as they registered James’s outraged expression, their laughter dwindled. We were not friendly colleagues joking with each other. I had deliberately sneered at him and we both knew it. No, the demon had sneered at him.
No, wait. The demon was gone. I had sneered at him.
James’s face turned an angry red. His fury was all too plain to see. He strode over to where I stood and shook his fist in my face. “Why don’t you shut up?”
I stared him down, although the demon urged me to strike him.
Régine intervened. “Now, James, a little comic relief is welcome. Why not start that phrase again?” She turned to the maestro and asked him to lead into the phrase that had given James so much trouble.
Clever of her to divert him. Also, not to try to pretty up what had just happened, or foolishly claim I had not meant to mock James. The demon had meant to, for certain.
Yet the demon was gone. I knew he was gone. I felt his absence.
Had Gayle been correct all along? Had I made up the demon as a kind of “invisible friend” to excuse nasty behavior for which I was completely responsible?
No. There had been a demon. He was gone, but a bad habit remained. I could not deny I was responsible for my actions today.
The door to the rehearsal hall opened and Dex motioned to me with his hand. “Excuse me. I need to speak with Daylia.” Régine gave him a questioning look, but nodded her assent. While the others continued rehearsing, I walked out of the room.
Dex’s expression was stern, almost frowning. I was in no mood for billing and cooing, myself. He said, “I was in the monitor room and saw what you did. Have you eaten anything since this morning?”
Sullenly, I shook my head.
He made an exasperated noise. “Come with me.” He led me to the public elevator that went to the top floor cafeteria. As I entered the elevator car, I caught a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye who seemed familiar. Could it have been Michael Rather? I didn’t want to think about him right now.
The Potomac Arts Center cafeteria was very different from the shabby basement cafés so typical of opera houses. Light and airy from walls of windows, its tables had fantastic views of the Potomac River and the city on the other side. Plus, the food was good. Before performances, the cafeteria was open to the public and served as a casual high-end eatery for the opera attendees. On other days, it stocked simple, healthy food for the staff and any random visitors.
Dex paraded me past many choices. “Pick something.”
Reluctantly, I reached into the cooler unit and took a chicken salad sandwich. Dex paid for it and sat me down at a table near the wall of windows. “Eat, Daylia. You know you need food.”
Without agreeing, I took a bite, and then another.
The food worked magic. I revived. Energy flowed within me once more. Now I could cope with the typically glacial pace of rehearsals, and with the irritation of hearing someone sing badly. There always was someone who sang badly. I heaved a sigh.
He bent a concerned expression on me. “Feeling better? Want to tell me what happened?”
I shook my head. “A hangover from the demon. That’s all.”
“The demon? But food cures it? I don’t believe that.”
“Thank you for your concern, but I can work through this little blip myself.” I was a grown woman. I did not need a man to direct every aspect of my life.
His lips tightened at my rejection. “It’s somehow related to food, to diabetes.”
I shook my head. I refused to let myself be pigeonholed as a sufferer of disease. “I do not have diabetes.”
“Fine. Call it a mere chemical imbalance.” His irritated expression telegraphed his annoyance. “But get some professional help.”
“I do not need to see another doctor.”
“If you had trouble singing, you’d see a professional right away.”
I inclined my head. He was correct. I was quick to consult a voice coach if I ever had a problem singing, or a throat doctor if I had a cold. Not any other kind of doctor, though.
Dex’s phone beeped, signaling a text. He glanced at it. “Got to run.” He stood and came around to my side of the little table. He leaned down and whispered some very naughty words relating to eating and my vocal abilities. He straightened, his glance burning. “Later.”
I heaved an impassioned sigh. We would burn up the sheets tonight. I couldn’t wait.
For now, though, I should return to the rehearsal. My body felt stronger, even though I had not been aware previously of my energy having ebbed. I’d gone along with Dex’s imperious behavior completely passively, which was incredibly unlike me. Until I ate that sandwich. Then my strength came flooding back, and I argued with him. Perhaps Dex was right that I should eat more, especially before singing.
I returned to the rehearsal hall in time to hear Régine calling in an exasperated tone, “Where is Daylia?”
“Lack of food was making me cranky,” I said, brandishing a few nutrition bars I’d bought from the cafeteria on the way out. “Anybody else in need of an energy boost? James?”
It was as close to a direct apology as I had come in a year. A milestone for me, in fact. James took a bar from my hand, although his narrowed eyes proclaimed he didn’t trust that this was the end of our war.
I had nothing to fear from James. I didn’t sing directly with him again until the end of the next act, and even then, Carmen and Escamillo hardly talked to each other. At that juncture, Don José enacted a jealous scene. Michaëla, the sickly sweet village girl, had come to interfere. So had Escamillo, but they were merely the catalysts in the messy end of my affair with José.
When we did have to sing together, possibly James would be in payback mode. Was I worried? Absolutely not. As Escamillo, he wasn’t even allowed to touch me beyond a formal hand in the last act as he led me through the city before his bullfight. James never had the wit to think up anything clever, either. I could do what I wanted to him without fear of reprisals.
I caught myself again. Such thoughts were unprofessional. The demon was gone, yet some malign leftover influence kept suggesting I enact the demon’s typical nasty maneuvers. All of a sudden, I wanted to talk to Hannah Lochte again.
James and I both were on our best behavior the rest of the afternoon. I called during a break and made an appointment with Hannah. With that done, I put my cares aside and looked forward to an intimate evening with Dex.
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