“Why is it every young person thinks anyone past the age of sixty
has achieved canonization? Do you think we've forgotten what it's like to be
young and in love?”
“No,
I'm sure you'll never forget,” said Bella with the utmost sincerity. “But
sometimes I think men in this day and age have forgotten what romance is about.
They reduce everything to sex. I think that's why John doesn't interest me—no
finesse.” She shrugged. “Besides, I keep sensing my life is going to take a
different direction.”
“A
turn inspired by the ghost of a certain amorous tenor?”
Bella
laughed. “Gran, you are incorrigible. But yes, I suppose Jacques LeFevre's
ghost does intrigue me. Yesterday I heard him singing 'Love's Old Sweet Song'
again. I searched throughout the wings of the theater, but couldn't find him.”
“Are
you certain it was LeFevre?”
Bella
nodded. “Oh, yes. His voice is . . . Not to put down Papa or Grandfather, but
it's like nothing I've ever heard.”
“I
just know he wants to take you away with him,” Gran teased, winking at Bella.
“But you cannot run away with that rascal unless you first sing for me.”
Bella
spoke drolly. “Gran, if Jacques LeFevre ever snatches me away, I promise I'll
still find a way to sing for you.”
***
That
night at dress rehearsal, the new, royal blue velvet curtains parted at the St.
Charles Opera House to the sound of scattered applause. Bella stood toward the
back of the stage along with other members of the chorus; behind them rose a
painted backdrop of a Victorian park in the moonlight. Beyond the proscenium,
the refurbished auditorium gleamed with its fresh paint and new seats covered
with posh blue velvet upholstery.
At
center stage, Victor Daly and Anna Maria Bernard embraced standing inside a
small, ornate gazebo. Both were bedecked in Gay Nineties attire—a stunning red
gown for Anna Maria, a striped sack coat, straw hat, and spats for Victor. Once
the clapping subsided, the conductor led the orchestra in a spirited refrain,
and the couple began their lilting duet of “After the Ball.”
Bella
felt her spirits soar at the sound of the lovely old waltz. The dreamy music so
roused her spirits that she almost felt swept away to another time. She was
certainly dressed for the adventure. Wearing a frilly white Victorian blouse
and a long lavender skirt, with Gran's brooch pinned at her throat and one of
her birthday roses in her hand, she was fully costumed for her “Bird in a
Gilded Cage” number, which would be performed next. Although the auditorium was
only sparsely occupied with members of the press, opera patrons and local
dignitaries, the spectators did appear enthralled, Bella noted with
satisfaction.
On
cue, she launched into the buoyant chorus with the others. At the conclusion of
the number, the spectators clapped and cheered, and the soprano and tenor took
their bows.
So
far, so good, thought Bella. Now if I can just make it through the
kaleidoscope without freaking out completely!
Hearing
the familiar, spooky strains of “Love's Old Sweet Song” and watching the lights
go down, Bella braced herself, preparing to take her place in her cage. She
hated crossing the stage during scene changes, for the kaleidoscope effect
invariably wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. She had hoped practice would
help her overcome her vertigo, but instead, her confusion seemed to increase
every time the shower of light began.
Bella's
stomach clenched as she heard the chandelier crank into motion. She watched the
colored spotlights bounce off its many prisms. Eruptions of light battered her
like a sudden hailstorm. For a moment she stood transfixed, swept by dizziness,
struggling to regain her balance, her bearings.
As
the rest of the company dispersed, Bella watched her cage swing out toward
center stage, heard the squeaking and creaking of the ropes and pulleys. She
wasn't relishing the prospect of climbing into it amid what appeared to be a
meteor shower.
has achieved canonization? Do you think we've forgotten what it's like to be
young and in love?”
“No,
I'm sure you'll never forget,” said Bella with the utmost sincerity. “But
sometimes I think men in this day and age have forgotten what romance is about.
They reduce everything to sex. I think that's why John doesn't interest me—no
finesse.” She shrugged. “Besides, I keep sensing my life is going to take a
different direction.”
“A
turn inspired by the ghost of a certain amorous tenor?”
Bella
laughed. “Gran, you are incorrigible. But yes, I suppose Jacques LeFevre's
ghost does intrigue me. Yesterday I heard him singing 'Love's Old Sweet Song'
again. I searched throughout the wings of the theater, but couldn't find him.”
“Are
you certain it was LeFevre?”
Bella
nodded. “Oh, yes. His voice is . . . Not to put down Papa or Grandfather, but
it's like nothing I've ever heard.”
“I
just know he wants to take you away with him,” Gran teased, winking at Bella.
“But you cannot run away with that rascal unless you first sing for me.”
Bella
spoke drolly. “Gran, if Jacques LeFevre ever snatches me away, I promise I'll
still find a way to sing for you.”
***
That
night at dress rehearsal, the new, royal blue velvet curtains parted at the St.
Charles Opera House to the sound of scattered applause. Bella stood toward the
back of the stage along with other members of the chorus; behind them rose a
painted backdrop of a Victorian park in the moonlight. Beyond the proscenium,
the refurbished auditorium gleamed with its fresh paint and new seats covered
with posh blue velvet upholstery.
At
center stage, Victor Daly and Anna Maria Bernard embraced standing inside a
small, ornate gazebo. Both were bedecked in Gay Nineties attire—a stunning red
gown for Anna Maria, a striped sack coat, straw hat, and spats for Victor. Once
the clapping subsided, the conductor led the orchestra in a spirited refrain,
and the couple began their lilting duet of “After the Ball.”
Bella
felt her spirits soar at the sound of the lovely old waltz. The dreamy music so
roused her spirits that she almost felt swept away to another time. She was
certainly dressed for the adventure. Wearing a frilly white Victorian blouse
and a long lavender skirt, with Gran's brooch pinned at her throat and one of
her birthday roses in her hand, she was fully costumed for her “Bird in a
Gilded Cage” number, which would be performed next. Although the auditorium was
only sparsely occupied with members of the press, opera patrons and local
dignitaries, the spectators did appear enthralled, Bella noted with
satisfaction.
On
cue, she launched into the buoyant chorus with the others. At the conclusion of
the number, the spectators clapped and cheered, and the soprano and tenor took
their bows.
So
far, so good, thought Bella. Now if I can just make it through the
kaleidoscope without freaking out completely!
Hearing
the familiar, spooky strains of “Love's Old Sweet Song” and watching the lights
go down, Bella braced herself, preparing to take her place in her cage. She
hated crossing the stage during scene changes, for the kaleidoscope effect
invariably wreaked havoc with her equilibrium. She had hoped practice would
help her overcome her vertigo, but instead, her confusion seemed to increase
every time the shower of light began.
Bella's
stomach clenched as she heard the chandelier crank into motion. She watched the
colored spotlights bounce off its many prisms. Eruptions of light battered her
like a sudden hailstorm. For a moment she stood transfixed, swept by dizziness,
struggling to regain her balance, her bearings.
As
the rest of the company dispersed, Bella watched her cage swing out toward
center stage, heard the squeaking and creaking of the ropes and pulleys. She
wasn't relishing the prospect of climbing into it amid what appeared to be a
meteor shower.
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