His words were comforting, yet I was still riled up about the pressure I felt. “They’ll want me to take drugs. I don’t want to.” I shuddered. “I’ve heard so much about doctors prescribing medicines that turn people into addicts. I won’t take that risk.”
“Your reluctance is understandable, yet you would be wise not to reject medicine without serious consideration. Do your research. Determine your safest course, but do it in an informed manner, not out of denial. I can still hear the denial in your voice.”
“But if I have to take drugs, isn’t that proof that the exorcism didn’t really work?”
“Don’t confuse the spiritual with the physical. Or equate secular medicine with the profane. God informs science.”
Before he ended the call, Marcus blessed me. I almost wished I were in his office so he could have used some of his popish holy water to make the sign of the cross on my forehead, too. He was a wise and spiritual man. I would do as he suggested. Stubbornness was no substitute for facts.
By some chance, the doctor whose name Hannah had given me had an opening that very afternoon. I packed up and left the opera house in a hurry to meet that late appointment. I waved at the first cab in the line and hurried toward it.
“Daylia. Wait.”
I knew that voice. I turned, and sure enough, Michael Rather stood outside the staff entrance.
Chapter 18
“What are you doing here?” I asked Michael. “No, don’t tell me. I have to run right now. No time to talk.” I turned back toward the taxi stand where there were always cabs waiting.
Michael moved to stand between the taxis and me. “You have to listen. We can’t go on like this.”
I looked him dead in the eye. “Our personal relationship is over. Please try to remember.”
“We belong together. You love me, but you’re denying your feelings.” His expression was both demanding and pleading.
I shook my head. “Go to church. Talk to the pastor. Your obsession with me is not healthy.” I made to move around him, but he moved to block me again.
“I can’t pray anymore. All I think about is you.” He moved closer.
I backed away. “You’ve got to stop this.”
A cab driver loomed up between us. “Hey, bro. Leave the lady alone.”
Michael swung a fist violently at him, but the cabbie ducked and then shoved him. A security guard ran out from the staff entrance, yelling at Michael. The guard grabbed him, but Michael pulled himself loose and ran to a vehicle double-parked on the driveway. He ignored the men’s yells to stop. “I’ll see you again soon!” he shouted at me, as he leapt into his car and tore out of the driveway.
I was near fainting from the shock of all this drama, but I managed to explain to my rescuers that I had a protective order on file and Michael had broken it by accosting me. I refused to call the police, though.
The security guard told me to get him a photo and he’d post it at the entrance to make sure Michael didn’t attempt to get in or loiter there in the future. “You should have alerted us before. Lots of fans get a little too enthusiastic about opera singers. We’ll take care of you.”
I thanked him. Let the guard believe Michael was simply an overenthusiastic opera buff. Somehow, that was less humiliating than admitting I’d briefly been involved with him and was now the subject of his sick obsession. Finally, I was able to take my cab ride, which ended with my profuse thanks to my stalwart champion.
I didn’t want to see a doctor now. I wanted to crawl back to the safety of my very secure condo and see and talk to no one. I didn’t allow myself that luxury. I’d felt too many odd physical symptoms today that required explanation. For once, I would reach out for help.
It was a wonder that my blood pressure wasn’t sky high when the nursing assistant measured it, but somehow I composed myself and my vital signs were in the normal range. Within minutes, I had another diabetes test.
When the doctor came to see me, he had the results. “You don’t have diabetes, not yet, anyway. You do have a sugar imbalance that diabetes medicine can help.”
At my instant sign of negation, the doctor smiled. “But you don’t have to take a pill if you don’t want to. You can address the chemical imbalance with simple dietary measures.” He spent several minutes explaining the whys and wherefores of the diet plan he handed me. “This is not a weight loss diet. Don’t attempt to starve yourself. You’re a healthy weight right now.”
We had a long talk. He was admirably honest about the limitations of diagnosis and treatment. I left the doctor’s office with a prescription for the most popular diabetes medicine, and with a lengthy and comprehensive diet plan. Perhaps the typical relaxation of stress on a Friday afternoon, the end of his workweek, had made this doctor more personable and expansive than any I’d visited in the past. He had seen me as an individual and not suggested I lose weight. He had carefully explained what various diet choices attempted to regulate. I could live with the diet plan he’d given me. According to him, if I followed it I wouldn’t need any medicine at all. Being treated like a thinking human being made me more willing to consider taking a heavy medicine temporarily if need be.
I wasn’t completely convinced I needed medicine. I filled the prescription, but I left the bottle of pills in my purse. Perhaps I might need it during the run of performances, and perhaps not. My stress levels were down, which should help. I wanted to prove I could take care of myself simply by exercising my usual self-control. Now that the demon had been removed from my soul, my goal was to regain complete control over my life.
To that end, in the cab on the way back to my condo, I called my agent, Ralph. “The crisis is over,” I said. “You’ll only be hearing good things about me from now on.” I touched on the exorcism and then reminded him that some last-minute publicity for my opening night in Carmen would be welcome. “I don’t believe the house is sold out yet, so anything you can do…”
“I’ve got a few possibilities, a few trees I can shake,” he said. “But I’ve been hearing some odd stories this week. Did you see a doctor?”
I’d forgotten Ralph had wanted me to claim my demon-fueled behavior at the Federal Concert Opera three weeks ago was due to being bipolar. “I did, actually. You can whisper to your contacts that I’ve recently had a health scare, but everything is fine now.”
“Are you okay?”
“It was nothing serious. A dietary imbalance.” No need to tell him how alarming my weakness during the dress rehearsal had been. He seemed happy enough to hear I’d seen a doctor. Or maybe he simply was relieved that I wasn’t talking about exorcism anymore. I should never have mentioned exorcism to him at all, but at the time, I was seeking help wherever I could find it. That was all behind me now. Ralph promised to get me some additional publicity.
I had pushed all thoughts of Michael Rather’s attack to the back of my mind, but now it came to the forefront. I shivered, remembering how instantly violent he had become when the cab driver had intervened. There had been no warning. Michael had gone from pleading with me to attempting to hit a stranger. It was a shocking escalation of behavior. The self-defense teacher had warned us that an attacker often began an assault by hitting. The surprise of being physically battered could be enough to stun the victim, making her easily subdued. The teacher had taught us some mental things to try to repel the shock, so we could act in our defense. Clearly, from now on I should assume Michael would be violent at any moment.
What else could I do? Call the police? A temporary solution at best. No one had a cure for stalking. Convicted stalkers went to prison for a few years and came out of prison just as obsessed. I’d gone over my few options with Gayle many times. Despite the discouraging statistics, she believed I should be as proactive and aggressive as possible. If I told her about this afternoon, she’d advise me to swear out a complaint and have Michael arrested and jailed immediately. Perhaps I should. Then he wouldn’t be a threat to me during the two weeks left of my work at the Potomac
Arts Center.
In the past, he had never traveled to accost me, so if he stayed away for the next two weeks, the threat he represented would subside. I hated the idea of going to the police. I disliked them almost as much as I had disliked doctors. Right now, I wanted to get ready for another wonderful evening with Dex. I did not plan to tell him anything about the stresses of my day, either. Let that be kept for some other time.
We were building a relationship. If it was to progress from the merely physical I ought to be open with him. But if I told him what happened, Dex would want me to have Michael arrested. And if I told Dex about seeing the doctor, there would be pressure to take the pills.
Dex surprised me by arriving at my condo in a state of anxiety. “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” He ran his hands down my arms as if checking for bruises.
“Who?”
“Michael Rather. I heard he accosted you at the stage entrance this afternoon. Did he touch you?”
“I’m fine.” How did Dex know about it? “Did someone repeat gossip?” True, it was a dramatic incident, but Dex had been in business meetings elsewhere all day.
“I asked the guards to be on the alert. Told them you had an overeager fan. I know you’re too independent to have a chauffeured car and your own bodyguard, but you shouldn’t be without some protection.”
My chest swelled with rage. Dex thought he was doing me a favor? “So ten million dollars given to the Arts Center buys you the right to have its employees spy on me?”
Dex was taken aback. “I merely asked the guys to keep an eye on you for your own safety.”
I shook my head. “This isn’t about my safety. This is about you wanting to run my life. I won’t have it.”
“I care about you, Daylia.”
I let out an aggravated breath. “I’d like to believe that, but in view of your efforts to control my diet, control whether I see a doctor or not, and yes, control whether I got an exorcism, I doubt it.”
“I’m only thinking of your well-being,” he said, brow furrowed as if he didn’t understand why I was annoyed with him.
“I’m in charge of my life, not you. I make my own decisions.”
His expression showed how little he liked that. “If we have a future together, we should share and discuss decisions. Communicate.”
I sighed. “I’ve been through a lot recently, Dex, and I appreciate that you’ve helped me when you could, but some things are my call, not yours.”
He sliced a hand through the air impatiently. “Let’s cut to the chase. Did you report Rather’s attack to the police?”
“No, I did not.” I put my hands on my hips. “I don’t see the value in locking him up temporarily. All I need to do is avoid him for the next two weeks.”
“Easier said than done. What if he sneaks into this building?”
“Security has his photo and knows not to admit him under any circumstances.” I gestured at my high balcony. “He can’t break a window and climb in, either. Why do you think I live on a high floor?”
“You should call the police and have him picked up. Press charges for violating your restraining order.”
“Dex, I am too busy for such nonsense. I want to enjoy what little time off I have, not spend it at a police station, fielding insolent questions about how I must be enticing Michael into his creepy behavior, and so on.”
He frowned. “The police wouldn’t do that. They know about stalkers.”
I laughed bitterly. “You’ve never been a woman at a police station. I certainly did go through such a quiz the several times I’ve reported him. My life, my choices, even my sexuality, were all subjected to doubting examination, even though a judge had issued the order and Michael was the one who had violated it.”
Dex clenched a hand in frustration. “That shouldn’t have happened.”
“But it did. I won’t go through it again, not when I believe Michael will back off as he always does once I leave town. At heart, like all bullies, he’s a coward.”
“Bullies can still be dangerous.”
“I’m trying to keep my sanity. Scaring me doesn’t help,” I said. I paced the length of my living room and then turned to face him. “Do you have any idea how much strength of will it takes to be a performer? How much effort goes into stepping out on a public stage and singing and acting with all my heart, being the most superlative artist I know how to be, while thinking that maybe this time around, someone will attack me? I can’t live like that. I won’t.”
“Then let me protect you. Don’t fight me.”
“I can’t be a piece of delicate crystal kept safe in a glass box. I have to be me, the complete me, at all times, because I can’t sing well otherwise. Don’t you understand? I give everything I have when I sing. Everything.”
I dropped into a chair and pressed my fingers against my mouth to stop more bitter words. Few people understood art. I should have known better than to think Dex might. “Please leave.”
“Leave? Why? Can’t we disagree without it being the end of us?” Dex put his hands on the armrests of my chair, leaning down to bring his face close to mine. “Don’t lock me out because I care about you and did the wrong thing.”
I looked up at him, knowing there were tears in my eyes but willing them not to fall. “It’s not only Michael. It’s everything. You want to tell me what to eat and when to eat. You want to keep an eye on me. Maybe because your former wife cheated on you. Maybe because you’re used to being the boss. It really doesn’t matter why. I don’t want you telling me how to run my life.”
He put one hand to my cheek, gently wiping away a tear that had leaked out of my eyes. “You can trust me.”
“We can’t go on like this,” I said. I made to stand. He moved back to let me. “You have to give me the space to make my own decisions.”
“I will.” He put his arms around me, but my body resisted. I remained stiff in his embrace, unresponsive.
Dex said, “Even if I make a mistake, talk to me, give me another chance.” He kissed me on the forehead as I tried to look away from him. His fingers gently turned my chin and he stared into my eyes. “I love you, Daylia. I want to spend my life with you.”
I broke away from him, on a cry. “No. I must be me.”
“I won’t try to change you. Just don’t shut me out.”
I stared at him. He offered me everything a woman dreamed of, but his impulse to make things right, to protect, and even to control would always be there, whether he admitted it or not. It was part of his male personality and socialization. I had my own conditioning, too. Could we be happy together? Make decisions and not fight over them? How could I be sure?
I put a hand to my forehead. “I need time to think. Go now. I promise we will talk after the opening performance.”
“Let me stay. I promise I won’t pressure you.” He took me in his arms again, and this time my body melted against his. “Let’s go to bed and not talk anymore. Deal?”
Fool that I was, despite all the drama of today and tonight—or perhaps because of it—I was eager for the consolation and excitement of making love with him. I wanted him. I needed him.
I said, “No.”
Chapter 19
The next two days were the longest weekend of my life. Hourly, I regretted my decision to send Dex away, yet my pride was too stubborn to call him and say I’d changed my mind. The truth was I was wary of how we were together, of how compliant I felt around him. I wanted to agree with him about everything.
Yet I didn’t feel compliant at all about the exorcism, the doctors, the food, or even how I was handling the threat of Michael. In fact, Dex and I had a basic disagreement over who would run my life. I believed I was in the right about my decisions, but in his arms I had not felt I would be strong enough to uphold them. If I accepted his offer to put aside our differences and simply be together and love each other, would I lose myself in him?
He’d offered me love and compromise, and I’d turned him down.
&nbs
p; I didn’t sleep well. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I didn’t even have the distraction of rehearsals. We were done with them, and now our voices needed rest until opening night. I did my daily vocalizing each morning, but that was all. The balance of the weekend simply was lost time. Time I could have spent with Dex, but I didn’t trust him—or if I was honest, I didn’t trust myself with him. I’d always been a resolute personality. With him, I had trouble staying adamant.
Monday morning, the day of opening night, the concierge sent up a delivery, a sweet note from Dex, wishing me well and promising to be in the first row tonight. The note came with a bottle of freshly squeezed orange juice. I took a sip. It wasn’t bitter.
I followed my usual morning routine, which always helped to keep first night jitters at bay. When I arrived at the Potomac Arts Center in the afternoon, hours before the performance, I ran into Jackie first thing.
“Daylia! So glad to see you. Guess what? Dex is giving me his seat on the board. I’m so excited,” she burbled joyfully.
“Why would he do that?”
“He’s said he’s planning to travel, so he won’t be here for the vital discussions and decisions.” She smiled. “But I will, so I’ve been chosen to replace him.”
My heart sank and I barely heard her as she went on to explain that with two school-age children, she was tied down to the DC area. What did Dex’s action mean? Had he decided I was too much trouble, and that was why he planned to cut his connection with opera entirely? Had he donated the money and gained a powerful seat on the board only to get close to me? Which was putting a decent face on it. There was a much cruder way to interpret his behavior, but I refused to sink to that speculation.
Or was he moving on because he was cutting his losses? Despite our wonderful lovemaking last week, if he knew we’d never agree on vital issues, perhaps he wanted to protect his heart. He’d said he loved me, and I’d felt stingy not to say it in return. Now I was relieved I hadn’t exposed myself emotionally on that level. Bad enough that I’d revealed my constant struggle to be the best artist I could be. An operatic career was an intense commitment that demanded everything of me.
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