EntangledTrio, page 12
One morning the sun peeked out from behind its usual gloomy gray cloud cover, so they put on their coats, gloves and boots to take a stroll around the neighborhood. Cars and bicycles crawled by, dodging piles of melting snow. The air had a fresh, clean taste Colette knew wouldn’t last long even in the brisk winter chill, so she drank down deep breaths, looping her arm through David’s with a smile.
“This is a nice neighborhood,” he remarked. “I’ve always thought of Paris as a big, bustling metropolis, but then there are sections like this that have a real small-town feel. Calm and quiet. Is that why you and Aleks chose it?”
“And because it holds special significance for us opera singers.” She pointed to another apartment building about a block ahead. It was of the same vintage as hers and Aleks’ building, though it looked a bit down at heels these days, with peeling paint and slightly rusty bars on the upper floors’ windows. “That’s where Maria Callas lived for the last few years of her life. In fact, it’s where she died too.”
“Really? Can the public take a look at it?”
“Only on the outside. Other people live there now.” She sighed. “Actually, when I first moved back to Paris, I knocked on the door and asked the lady who lived there at the time if I could look around. She seemed a bit annoyed, but let me in anyway. They’d completely redecorated the place, of course. I was so disappointed.”
David laughed, stepping back to make way for an elderly lady hauling a rolling cart filled with groceries. “That took a lot of nerve. I don’t think I’d have the courage to go that far.”
“If I’d been more sensible than starry-eyed, I wouldn’t have either. God only knows how many other people must’ve bothered the poor woman, all because she happened to rent an apartment a famous person once lived in. She probably wished me to the devil, and knowing what I know now, I couldn’t blame her.”
“Why? Have people bothered you and Aleks at home?”
“Only a handful of times in all the years we’ve lived here. Parisians generally prefer minding their own business. But I’ve seen more than a few frightening crowds gathered around stage doors, mostly in the States. For some reason, American fans seem to have a difficult time respecting boundaries.”
“Well, I’ll bet someday in the very, very distant future, your admirers will make pilgrimages here and lay flowers at your door.”
She burst out laughing. “God, I hope not! I’d be happy if they’d just buy tickets to my performances. Who cares how much they love me when I’m dead?”
“So you don’t want a big recording contract either? Or your picture on the cover of Time magazine?”
“Not really. It’s always been about the music for me. I feel blessed that I’m able to make a living doing what I love, but other than that…” She shrugged. “What about you? Any burning desire to be famous?”
“Hell yeah! I want to be the next Pavarotti. Or Domingo. I’m not picky.” His huge, toothy grin could’ve lit up the Champs-Elysees. “I want people lined up around the block waiting to hear me sing. I want to sell so many records, I blow Bocelli out of the water. Maybe then my fucking father will finally sit up and pay attention.”
“Is that the only reason?”
That seemed to bring him up short. His smile faded, his brow crinkling. “Isn’t it enough?”
“Don’t misunderstand, it’s quite an admirable goal. But doing it to prove yourself to someone rather than because it brings you personal fulfillment sounds a bit…empty. At least to me.”
He stopped and stared off into the distance, then down at the sidewalk. “That’s the difference between you and me, I guess. I’m still trying to figure out the personal fulfillment part.”
His words threw her for a moment, but she forced a laugh. “You’re not sure you’re fulfilled? Then what have we been doing these past three weeks?”
Now he looked so stricken, she wished she hadn’t said anything. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s all right. I know it wasn’t a personal remark. I was just teasing.”
She started to walk on, until he tugged her under a nearby awning and wrapped his arms around her. “I adore you, Colette. You know that, right?”
“How can I forget, when you remind me every day? Not that I’m complaining.” No, indeed—even though the mere thought of having to let him go soon pierced her heart like the world’s cruelest blade.
“You make me happy. I hope I make you happy too.”
“Of course you do, sweet boy. Never doubt it.”
He let out a relieved breath, then cupped her face in both hands and kissed her. It was the kind of heady, passionate kiss she could’ve tumbled into and never been heard from again, if only she’d relax and let it happen. But the fact remained that everyone in this neighborhood knew her as Madame Petrovsky. And while Paris was indeed a sophisticated town, a married woman kissing her lover not two blocks from her own front door was still a bit beyond the pale. Plus, Aleks wouldn’t like it.
She pushed on David’s chest until he fell back a step, blinking in confusion. “What did I—”
“Not out here, cheri. Discretion, remember?”
He went bright pink. “Sorry. I just can’t stop putting my foot in it today, can I?”
God, he was so impulsive. Even after three weeks, she still found it endearing. But one day he’d have to learn to curb himself, keep his actions and emotions in check, at least while they were out in public. One day soon, but not today.
“Good thing I know of a place where we can do all the kissing we want,” she said with a wink, then tucked her arm in his again and steered him toward home.
* * * * *
David walked through his dressing room door on the night of Carmen’s final performance, and froze. There on the vanity table sat a bouquet of white roses and purple lilies in a gorgeous cut-crystal vase. At first he thought it was from Colette and Aleks, but the card bore Popov’s bold, nearly-illegible scrawl. “Thank you for your professionalism and your marvelous singing. We look forward to having you back for Trovatore next season. With respect, Sergei.” Smiling, David leaned in for a whiff. The roses had a sweet, delicate scent that reminded him of Colette’s hair right after she washed it.
There was something else tucked inside the card’s small white envelope—a folded square of pale blue note paper from Popov’s assistant. It had David’s agent Merritt Langham’s phone number scribbled on it, along with “Please call!” underlined twice for emphasis. Oh terrific. No doubt Merritt was royally pissed at him. David meant to call, he really did, but time had simply run away from him. He hadn’t even picked up his cell phone in over a week. Damn battery was probably dead. No wonder Merritt had to resort to calling Popov’s office.
Well, it was too late to call back now. He’d do it tomorrow, no excuses. Tonight he had more important things to think about—like going onstage and singing his heart out.
First his dresser came to help him into his costume, followed by the makeup artist, who combed back his hair and painted on a face they could see way up in the balcony. Afterward, David stared at himself in the mirror while he adjusted his cuffs and made sure his jacket hung straight. Hard to believe this was the last time he’d wear this costume, or tread the boards in this particular production. His last chance to sing José to Colette’s Carmen, at least for the foreseeable future. He intended to savor every note.
But from the second David stepped onstage, it was as if he’d been swept up in a tornado. The next three hours sped by, until the final curtain fell, accompanied by a solid wall of exhaustion slamming into him. Teetering on his feet, he turned to Colette and whispered, “Feels like we started five minutes ago.”
She gave him an equally weary smile. “I was just thinking the same thing.”
The curtain rose again and the audience leaped to their feet en masse, sending up a roar that made David’s eardrums ache. The ovation lasted through the rest of the cast’s bows, as well as Aleks’. Then David and Colette came out together again, and the applause surged anew. Bouquets of flowers landed at their feet. David plucked a red rose from one of them and presented it to Colette, kissing her hand.
“How chivalrous,” she murmured, though he had to lean in close to hear her. “God, when are these people going to stop? I can barely stand up!”
Colette got called back five times, David four. The stage manager rang down the curtain for the last time with people still whooping and applauding, the noise finally fading out when he brought up the house lights.
“I haven’t seen an ovation like that in a very long time, not even in the concert hall,” Aleks said as David and Colette staggered past him into the wings. “Excellent work, both of you.” They stood staring at each other, then broke out in punch-drunk grins and threw their arms around one another before heading back to their respective dressing rooms.
Of course, there was an after-party—which David would’ve been perfectly happy to skip—but if Aleks and Colette had to put in an appearance, so did he. It was at a small, out-of-the way restaurant, like the last cast party he’d attended back in San Francisco. Aleks and Colette held court at the head of the table, laughing and chatting with Nicole and a few of the orchestra musicians. Apparently they’d gotten their second wind between the opera house and here, and although the three of them had ridden over in the same car, it seemed to have blown right past David. Wrung out, he sank gratefully into the last empty seat at the far end of the table.
Conversation whirled around him in snatches of French, German, Italian and at least two or three other languages he wasn’t familiar with—not that it mattered, since French was the only one he could follow. Speaking it every day with Colette and Aleks had given his fluency a boost. However, listening and comprehending were one thing, joining in was another. Everybody was so animated tonight, rattling on like human machine-guns. By the time David dreamed up a witty reply to one anecdote, they’d already moved on to another subject.
The food was fine, but nothing special compared to Simone’s heavenly home-cooked cuisine. Still, he forced down a few listless bites of salade Niçoise before pushing his plate away to concentrate on the excellent champagne.
Bad idea. The more he drank, the more his exhaustion weighed on him. After two glasses he was blitzed to the gills and ready to leave, but every time he tried to catch Colette’s attention, she waved him off and kept talking. She and Aleks were in their element here, the sun and moon everyone else circled. A little over an hour ago they’d considered him their equal, but evidently now he was just another planet in their orbit, insignificant and ignored.
Well, fuck that. With a disgusted grunt, he got up from the table and dragged himself out to the bar, where he ordered a glass of mineral water—and almost landed in it face-first. At last he folded his arms on the counter, resting his poor alcohol-addled head.
A few minutes later a familiar warm, strong hand gripped his shoulder. “Are you all right?” Aleks asked. “You’ve been fading ever since we arrived.”
David sat up, though it took a major effort. “Thanks for noticing. I might as well be off in another country for all Colette seems to care.”
“Ah, don’t begrudge her for playing the diva just this once. Triumphs like tonight’s performance don’t come along too often, you know.”
“And I was part of it, but it looks as if that’s already slipped her mind.”
“Of course it hasn’t. And rest assured, I haven’t forgotten either.” He’d leaned in to whisper the words right into David’s ear, brushing his lips over the lobe. The soft, prickly scratch of his beard gave David an unexpected shiver. “Henri’s waiting outside with the car. Why don’t you go on home, and tell him to come back for us in an hour? I promise we won’t stay any later, even if I have to toss Colette over my shoulder and carry her out of here.”
“That’d be worth staying for, if I wasn’t ready to drop right this second.” He heaved himself off the barstool, Aleks’ hand at his elbow. “Okay, you win. See you at home.”
He made it to the car under his own steam, but it took every last shred of energy to keep from conking out during the ten-minute ride back to the apartment. Up in the elevator, through the front door, into the bedroom, then the bathroom. He stripped off his clothes and left them where they fell, splashed some water on his face, brushed his teeth. Then the bed beckoned, its warm cotton and goose-down embrace crooning the world’s sweetest siren song.
He lost consciousness as soon as he stretched out, his last thoughts lingering on Colette and Aleks, and how this was the first time he’d fallen asleep here without them.
* * * * *
“Now that we don’t have performances to worry about, is there anyplace you’d like to go?” Colette asked at breakfast the next morning. “Outside of Paris, I mean.”
David glanced up from his brioche, blinking blearily. His brain still felt foggy from the champagne last night, despite getting ten hours’ sleep. “Actually, I need to get back to New York pretty soon. My landlord gets a bit twitchy if I don’t hand him a check every first of the month.”
“Oh.” She slumped in her seat, clearly disappointed. “How silly of me. Of course you have your life in the States to attend to. We’ve been living in our own little fantasy world these past three weeks, haven’t we?”
Smiling, he reached for her hand. “I’ve had a great time. Too bad it has to end.”
“It doesn’t. Not if we don’t want it to.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re welcome to stay here with us, if you like. Indefinitely.”
Talk about being knocked for a loop. He blinked again, taking a long sip of strong black coffee. “You’re serious?”
“Completely. The notion’s been hovering at the back of my mind for a few days now. There’s no reason we can’t make our arrangement work on a more permanent basis. The three of us seem eminently compatible.”
“Have you already discussed it with Aleks?”
“Not in so many words, but I doubt he’ll object.” She smiled. “He truly likes you. And besides, what man in his right mind would refuse such a sweet, beautiful lover in his bed every night, with not only his wife’s permission but her outright approval?”
Flattering though it was, David still had to sit back and ponder it for a minute. He’d never considered leaving the United States before—but then, what exactly was he leaving? A crappy studio apartment and a family he only saw once or twice a year anyway. He could run his career just as easily from Paris as New York.
So if Colette and Aleks really did want him to stay…well, that settled it. It was good to be wanted. So good, David’s heart was ready to thump its way out of his chest.
“Guess this means I should get back to New York and pack,” he said. “If I’m moving in, I’ll need more than one suitcase and a laptop.”
Suddenly all smiles, she jumped up and threw her arms around him. “Oh I’m so delighted! You don’t know how much I was dreading having to say goodbye to you.” She shook her head. “This is wonderful. Even if I can’t quite believe it.”
“You didn’t think I’d say yes?”
“I didn’t want to take it for granted, especially after the way I ignored you at the party last night. I’m sorry, cheri. I got so caught up in chatting with people, I didn’t notice how exhausted you were. Aleks got a bit peeved with me. He practically dragged me out of there by my hair around two in the morning.”
Now David grinned. “Did anybody get pictures?”
She rolled her eyes at him, then cast a much more critical glance around the room. “Perhaps we should think about moving to a bigger place. Aleks’ study is bound to get crowded with three of us needing the piano for practice. And I wouldn’t mind a larger dining room and maybe another bath—”
Her enthusiasm was so giddily infectious, he burst out laughing. “Sounds great, but aren’t you mixing up the cart and the horse? Let’s get me settled before we start making future plans.”
“Fair enough.” She sat back down and refilled her coffee cup. “But speaking of future plans, you now have no excuse not to sign with Dieter. Believe me, you won’t be sorry. He’ll do more for your career than Merritt Langham ever could.”
Which reminded him, he still needed to give Merritt a call. No point putting it off any longer, although now the prospect filled him with dread. Considering Merritt’s prickly temper, it was probably best to fire him long-distance rather than face-to-face, even if it did feel like the coward’s way out.
Luckily, he’d remembered to recharge his phone this morning. When Colette went to talk to Simone about planning that evening’s dinner, David stole into Aleks’ study, plopped down on the piano bench and dialed Merritt’s number. No sooner had he hit the “send” button when he realized it was still the wee hours in New York. But before he could hang up, a very gruff, groggy “H’lo?” rumbled over the line.
“Hey, Merritt. It’s me, David.” God, could he sound any lamer? “Sorry it took me so long to call you back, but—”
“Oh please, don’t bother apologizing. It’s only four in the fucking morning here.” A disgusted sigh, followed by the rustle of bed covers. “Shouldn’t complain, I suppose. If not for all your stellar reviews, I would’ve thought you’d fallen off the face of the planet. Paris must still be as wild and ribald as I recall from twenty-odd years—” His posh British accent suddenly cracked, split in half by a hacking, phlegmatic cough that reminded David of all the times he’d seen him chomping a cigar. “Sorry. Good thing we finally connected. I’ve got offers to discuss, one of them pretty damn urgent. Ever been to Buenos Aires?”
Every word, every excuse and explanation David had rehearsed flew right out of his head. “Argentina? Why would I want to go there?”
