To his surprise, The Diva pulled on a smile. “You’re welcome, Thad.” And then, to the reporter, “He wouldn’t believe me when I said he had half his lunch stuck in his front teeth. A shame to let a ham sandwich spoil those shiny, white veneers. I’m sure he paid a fortune for them.”
His teeth were all his own, but that didn’t mean a thing. The Diva had grabbed the ball out of his hands and run it into the end zone.
*
That night, after the obligatory client dinner, Thad met some of his LA buddies in the hotel’s rooftop bar for a late-night drink. He didn’t invite The Diva to come along, even though the bar’s ivy-covered pavilion and great views were more her style than last night’s venue.
He hadn’t seen these guys in months, and he should have had a great time, especially since Garrett didn’t show up. But after last night, the evening felt anticlimactic, and he was in bed by two.
*
As Olivia’s best friend Rachel Cullen and her husband Dennis settled under a blue umbrella on the hotel restaurant’s patio the next day, their hands met, and Olivia regarded them wistfully. “You two are disgusting.”
Rachel squeezed her husband’s hand. “You’re sooo jealous.”
“An understatement,” Olivia replied. “You found the only man on the planet who was born to marry an opera singer.” If Olivia could find his clone, she might be able to have a lasting relationship.
“Best job ever,” Dennis said.
Olivia gazed at her friend. “I hate you.”
Rachel gave her a smug smile. “Of course you do.”
With her silky, ash-blond hair, generous curves, and girl-next-door features, Rachel could have passed for the neighborhood’s prettiest soccer mom, while Dennis Cullen’s unruly mop of brown hair, big nose, and wiry build made him look more like a musician than his wife, although he made his living working temp jobs in IT.
Olivia and Rachel had met over ten years earlier at the Ryan Opera Center, the prestigious artistic development program at Chicago’s Lyric Opera. In the old days of opera rivalries, two mezzos competing for the same roles would never have become such close friends, but at the Lyric, mutual support and collaboration weren’t only encouraged but were expected. They’d formed a tight bond, helping and commiserating with each other as they’d worked side by side on the mezzo repertoire. Olivia was the more gifted singer and performer, but instead of being jealous, Rachel had become Olivia’s most enthusiastic cheerleader.
As the years had passed, Olivia’s career had soared, while Rachel’s merely remained respectable, but that hadn’t interfered with their friendship. Olivia continued to recommend Rachel for roles. They laughed and cried together. Olivia had been at Rachel’s side when her mother had died, and Rachel had held Olivia’s hand through Adam’s horrible, soul-wrenching funeral, something neither of them would ever forget. As Olivia studied the menu, she pretended not to see her friend’s concerned look. Rachel was intuitive, and she knew more was wrong than Olivia was letting on.
Their server appeared. Dennis ordered a chopped Thai salad for Rachel and crab cakes for himself.
“He even orders for you,” Olivia said as the server disappeared.
“He knows what I like better than I do.”
Olivia had a flashback to Adam, who used to ask Olivia to order for him because he couldn’t make up his mind. Being around Dennis could be painful. His dedication to Rachel’s career formed a distinct contrast to the resentment Adam had worked so hard to suppress. Dennis was an opera singer’s dream husband.
Rachel unwrapped her napkin. “Tell me the story of how you and Dennis met.”
“Again?” Olivia said. “I’ve told you the story a dozen times.”
“I never get tired of hearing it.”
“She’s like a child,” Olivia remarked to Dennis. And then to Rachel, “Should I start before or after he hit on me?”
Dennis groaned.
“Before,” Rachel chirped.
Olivia settled in. “I’d just started my period, and I had crazy bad cramps—”
“And a sugar craving,” Rachel added.
“It’s my story,” Olivia protested. “Anyway, I decided to soothe myself with a Starbucks Red Velvet Frappuccino.”
Rachel, whose sweet tooth continued to plump up her curves, nodded. “Very sensible.”
“I’m standing in line and this crazy-looking musician type tries to strike up a conversation.”
Rachel poked her husband. “You were totally hitting on her.”
Olivia smiled and proceeded with the unnecessary story. “I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but he was persistent. And kind of cute.”
“And not a singer,” Rachel said. “Don’t forget the best part.”
“A techie, as I learned even before the barista finished making my Frappuccino.”
“Which he gallantly paid for.”
“And which made me feel obligated to talk to him. The rest is history.”
“You’re skipping the best part. The part where you gave him my phone number without asking my permission, even though he could have been a serial killer.”
“Which he wasn’t.”
“But I could have been,” Dennis said.
Olivia smiled. “I liked him. Unfortunately, I couldn’t keep him for myself because I was still under Adam’s spell.” The table sobered, and Rachel’s look of concern returned. Olivia assumed an overly bright smile. “Bottom line. I loved being maid of honor at your wedding last year.”
Rachel nodded. “And you sang the most beautiful ‘Voi che sapete’ anyone has ever heard.”
Their food arrived. Rachel was in town auditioning for a role next winter at the LA Opera and they began trading opera gossip—a tenor with too much head voice and a conductor who refused to give Rossini the room to breathe. They talked about the amazing acoustics at Hamburg’s Elbphilarmonie and a new biography of Callas.
Olivia envied the pride Dennis took in his wife’s accomplishments. Rachel’s career always came first, and he arranged his own work around her schedule. Unlike her life with Adam. Only now did Olivia see that Adam had been suffering from depression. He’d had trouble memorizing a new libretto, and his periods of insomnia alternated with nights he’d sleep for twelve or thirteen hours. But instead of getting him to a doctor, she’d broken up with him. And now he was having his revenge.
This is your fault. Choke on it.
Rachel grimaced. “Did you hear that Ricci is singing Carmen in Prague? I hate her.”
Olivia refocused. “‘Hate’ is a strong word.”
“You’ve always been nicer than me.”
Sophia Ricci was, in fact, a lovely person, although Olivia had gone through a brief period of resenting her because she’d once been Adam’s girlfriend. That wasn’t, however, the reason for Rachel’s complaint. Sophia was a lyric soprano, and whenever a lyric took over one of the few leading roles written for a mezzo, it always stirred up resentment. “Maybe she’ll get laryngitis,” Olivia said, and then retreated. “I’m being awful. Sophia’s an amazing talent, and I wish her well.”
“But not super well.” Rachel extracted a cashew from her salad. “Just enough so the critics write something like, ‘Sophia Ricci’s “Habanera,” while competent, can’t compete with the commanding sensuality of Olivia Shore’s exquisite Carmen.’”
Olivia smiled fondly at her generous friend. More than anyone, Olivia understood how much Rachel would love to perform Carmen in a top-tier house like the Muni, but those invitations never came her way.
“I’ve taken over Rachel’s social media,” Dennis said. “Exposure is everything. Look at all the mezzos in pop music—Beyoncé, Adele, Gaga. Those women understand how to use social media.”
A too-familiar face appeared across the patio. Thad spotted Olivia and headed toward their table. As Olivia performed the introductions, she noticed that Rachel had that half-dazed look so many women seemed to adopt whenever Thad Owens came into their view.
“Please.” Rachel gestured toward the empty seat at the table. “We’re almost done eating, but feel free to order something.”
“I just finished lunch.” He looked at Olivia. “A couple of sports reporters.”