mellifluous lyric tenor pouring from him like a golden stream. But that was before he hit the duet’s first high note—or rather, tried to. His voice wavered, wobbled and finally cracked.
The poor man looked mortified but recovered quickly. He even managed to hit the missed note dead on in the duet’s subsequent verses. No doubt it was just first-day jitters. It could’ve happened to anyone , Colette told herself. Even me. Especially me.
* * * * *
“I thought it went fairly well today,” she remarked to Aleks over dinner at home that evening. “At least I didn’t faint from sheer terror.”
“See? Didn’t I say you had nothing to worry about?” He picked up his glass of wine and swirled it, then took a healthy sip. “There were a few other things that seemed a bit rough though. Unnecessarily so.”
“Believe me, I’ve witnessed much worse at first rehearsals. But I did feel for poor Alberto. It’s embarrassing to miss a note like that in front of everyone.”
“Did he seem a bit…stiff to you during the Seguidilla ?”
“His singing sounded perfectly fine.”
“That’s not what I meant. You were supposed to be seducing him, but he behaved as if he were petrified. Literally. A good breeze would’ve snapped him in two.”
She sighed, setting her fork down. “Aleks, you haven’t conducted opera in a long time. It’s not like a symphony or a concerto. Things aren’t going to be perfect after you’ve run through it once, or even two or three times. In fact, it’ll probably never be perfect—there are just too many variables. There’s music rehearsals and staging rehearsals and costume fittings and—”
“I see your point. So I’m being too difficult a taskmaster, am I?”
“You could ease up a bit. At least for the first week.”
“Very well. Since this is your field of expertise, I bow to your better judgment.” A tiny smile, and then he returned to scowling into his Pinot noir.
Colette took a few bites of her salad, chewing slowly. Finally the continued silence became too much to bear. “There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there? Tell me.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Aleks…” She did her best not to sound exasperated, but it truly was an effort. “If it concerns the production, I want to know.”
He sighed and put down his glass. “I’ve heard some rumors about Bernini. Namely, that he has a drinking problem. And a gambling problem. And a mistress-with-two-children problem.”
Her eyes widened. “Well, I can’t speak to the other things, but he didn’t seem drunk today, just nervous. Like at least one other person in the room.”
“I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you wouldn’t take it seriously.”
“There’s nothing to take seriously. They’re rumors . And even if they are true, it still doesn’t make them any of our business. People could tell plenty of stories about us, you know.”
Now he gave her a sharp look. “Indeed.”
* * * * *
The next couple of music rehearsals went much better. Colette finally let herself relax and enjoy playing with the score, making the role her own. Aleks was right—as far as her own performance went, she had nothing to worry about.
But that was before staging rehearsals started the following week. That evening she arrived home exhausted and with a pounding headache, then marched right into Aleks’ study, dropping into the chair in front of his desk.
Aleks glanced up from his seat at the piano, instant concern crinkling his eyes. “What happened?”
“Bernini doesn’t want to do anything. Every time Sophia asked him to emote or move around the stage, he just glared at her.”
He sighed, ambling over to perch on the edge of his desk. “Perhaps I should have a word with Popov.”
“It won’t do any good. Alberto’s one of those old-school singers who thinks all he needs to do is stand there and bathe the room in his beautiful voice. And it is still beautiful. He won’t
The poor man looked mortified but recovered quickly. He even managed to hit the missed note dead on in the duet’s subsequent verses. No doubt it was just first-day jitters. It could’ve happened to anyone , Colette told herself. Even me. Especially me.
* * * * *
“I thought it went fairly well today,” she remarked to Aleks over dinner at home that evening. “At least I didn’t faint from sheer terror.”
“See? Didn’t I say you had nothing to worry about?” He picked up his glass of wine and swirled it, then took a healthy sip. “There were a few other things that seemed a bit rough though. Unnecessarily so.”
“Believe me, I’ve witnessed much worse at first rehearsals. But I did feel for poor Alberto. It’s embarrassing to miss a note like that in front of everyone.”
“Did he seem a bit…stiff to you during the Seguidilla ?”
“His singing sounded perfectly fine.”
“That’s not what I meant. You were supposed to be seducing him, but he behaved as if he were petrified. Literally. A good breeze would’ve snapped him in two.”
She sighed, setting her fork down. “Aleks, you haven’t conducted opera in a long time. It’s not like a symphony or a concerto. Things aren’t going to be perfect after you’ve run through it once, or even two or three times. In fact, it’ll probably never be perfect—there are just too many variables. There’s music rehearsals and staging rehearsals and costume fittings and—”
“I see your point. So I’m being too difficult a taskmaster, am I?”
“You could ease up a bit. At least for the first week.”
“Very well. Since this is your field of expertise, I bow to your better judgment.” A tiny smile, and then he returned to scowling into his Pinot noir.
Colette took a few bites of her salad, chewing slowly. Finally the continued silence became too much to bear. “There’s something else bothering you, isn’t there? Tell me.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“Aleks…” She did her best not to sound exasperated, but it truly was an effort. “If it concerns the production, I want to know.”
He sighed and put down his glass. “I’ve heard some rumors about Bernini. Namely, that he has a drinking problem. And a gambling problem. And a mistress-with-two-children problem.”
Her eyes widened. “Well, I can’t speak to the other things, but he didn’t seem drunk today, just nervous. Like at least one other person in the room.”
“I shouldn’t have told you. I knew you wouldn’t take it seriously.”
“There’s nothing to take seriously. They’re rumors . And even if they are true, it still doesn’t make them any of our business. People could tell plenty of stories about us, you know.”
Now he gave her a sharp look. “Indeed.”
* * * * *
The next couple of music rehearsals went much better. Colette finally let herself relax and enjoy playing with the score, making the role her own. Aleks was right—as far as her own performance went, she had nothing to worry about.
But that was before staging rehearsals started the following week. That evening she arrived home exhausted and with a pounding headache, then marched right into Aleks’ study, dropping into the chair in front of his desk.
Aleks glanced up from his seat at the piano, instant concern crinkling his eyes. “What happened?”
“Bernini doesn’t want to do anything. Every time Sophia asked him to emote or move around the stage, he just glared at her.”
He sighed, ambling over to perch on the edge of his desk. “Perhaps I should have a word with Popov.”
“It won’t do any good. Alberto’s one of those old-school singers who thinks all he needs to do is stand there and bathe the room in his beautiful voice. And it is still beautiful. He won’t
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