Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens (2 page)

“Which opera are you in?”

“I’m in four of the five productions this season. I’m in the chorus in
Tosca
and
Cesar Chavez
, I’m one of the three ladies in
The Magic Flute
, and I’m singing the role of Hermia in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. I’m also covering the Shepherd Boy in
Tosca
.”

“What’s that mean?” said the Bird Woman, blinking through her feathers.

“A cover is someone who learns a role so they can step in if the performer can’t go on for some reason.”

“Like an understudy,” said Gina.

“Yes, exactly.” Vi smiled at her.

“That sounds like a lot to learn,” said the Bird Woman.

“Well, it is. We’re kept very busy with rehearsals every day. The busiest time was right before opening night, when we were learning two productions at once. After that it got a little less hectic.”

She answered a few more questions, then took another sip of water and nodded to Wendy, who turned a page in her notebook.

“I have another aria for you,” said Vi. “‘Crude furie’ from
Serse
by George Frideric Handel. This is again a breeches role: Serse is the emperor Xerxes, and he’s been plotting to marry the woman he loves, but she loves someone else and through various misadventures she winds up married to her true love. Serse is enraged, and in this aria he calls on the Furies to inspire him with their venom. He wants the world to turn to ash and the sun to be eclipsed by the heat of his fury. I’m sure we’ve all had days like that.”

As the guests laughed, Vi took her place and squared her shoulders. Wendy played the introduction, and Vi launched into Serse’s tirade, eyes flashing. It was a longer piece, but she had the stamina for it, and she was magnificent.

Crude furie degl’orridi abissi

Rise up, furies, from horrid abysses.

If the mood of the aria was a little troubling for me, the beauty of the music and the obvious enjoyment of my guests made up for it. Vi received a standing ovation, which shortly dissolved into a cluster of people around her, eager to embrace and congratulate her.

I remained in the hall, watching Vi’s success. A few of the guests began to depart, and I thanked them as they came out. The tea was breaking up.

Victor Solano drifted toward me. There was no getting near Vi, and he probably saw her frequently at the Opera’s campus anyway. I thought it tactful of him to refrain from intruding on her moment in the spotlight, and gave him a smile as he came into the hall.

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Solano. I hope you enjoyed the tea.”

“Very much, especially that Aria Cake.” His gaze shifted to Julio standing beside me, and took in his chef’s jacket over the usual loud print pants (giant music notes today). “Are you by chance the creator?”

I sensed Julio stiffen ever so slightly. “Yes,” he said.

“Inspired work. Congratulations.” Mr. Solano offered a hand, and after a tiny hesitation Julio shook it.

“Thank you.” Julio glanced at me. “That reminds me, I have something to give Vi before she goes. Please excuse me.”

He strode down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving me and Mr. Solano with Kris between us. I turned to Mr. Solano with a smile.

“This is my office manager, Kris Overland. Kris, this is Victor Solano. He’s a soloist at the Opera this year.”

“Lovely to meet you,” said Kris, shaking hands. “What roles are you performing?”

“I’m singing Scarpia in
Tosca
.”

“And that’s quite enough for one season,” said Mr. Ingraham, joining us. “I look forward to it,” he added, nodding to Mr. Solano.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?” said the singer, eyes narrowing a little.

“At the Patrons Council dinner two years ago,” said Mr. Ingraham. “Good of you to remember.”

“I remember your face, but I confess I’m terrible with names.”

“Ingraham. Thomas.”

“Ah, yes.”

I knew Mr. Ingraham was an opera-goer, but I hadn’t known he was a Patron. That meant he gave them a chunk of change every season. I wished I could do the same—then told myself I
looked forward
to the day that I would be able to. An exercise in positive thinking.

The Bird Woman chose this moment to lead her gaggle into the hall. With a glance at Mr. Ingraham, whom I trusted to entertain Mr. Solano for a moment, I drew her toward the front door. She only came up to my shoulder, and her hat rather eclipsed her. She had a matching purple cardigan buttoned over her pink and lavender flowered dress.

“I hope you enjoyed the tea, Mrs. Olavssen.”

“Yeah, it was great. Boy, that Violetta sure can belt out a tune!”

I heard a choke of masculine laughter behind me, quickly transformed into a cough. The Bird Woman glanced toward Mr. Solano, then dismissed him with a shrug and headed for the gift shop across the hall.

“Wish they’d been in English, though. I couldn’t understand a word of it.”

“That’s why she told us the story,” said one of the gaggle.

“Yeah, but it would be better in English.”

To my relief, she disappeared into the gift shop, trailing her friends after her. Kris gave me a sidelong glance. “I’ll see if Dee needs help,” she said, and followed the ladies into the gift shop.

I rejoined the gentlemen. Mr. Solano’s eyes crinkled with amusement.

“One of our regular customers,” I said.

He nodded. “She’s delightful. The world would be less without eccentrics. I can say that, because I am one.”

“Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes. All artists are.”

“But the most successful ones are revered for it,” said Mr. Ingraham. “Don’t run away, Ellen. I have something for you.”

I had been about to go back into the parlor, but stayed. Mr. Ingraham pulled an envelope from the breast pocket of his tweed jacket and put it in my hands. “Happy birthday, a little early, from me and your aunt.”

I glanced at Mr. Solano, then peeked inside the envelope. Two printed tickets nestled inside, and I squeaked as I recognized the distinctive architectural silhouette that was the SFO’s logo. I pulled them out to read the details. “
Tosca
! Oh, Mr. Ingraham, thank you!”

“I hope you and your guest will join me for dinner before the performance,” he said.

“You’re tailgating?”

“But of course!”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

I was so pleased I couldn’t resist hugging him, even though I didn’t know him that well. He chuckled and patted my back.

“May I bring something?” I asked. “Some Aria Cakes?”

His brows went up. “I was about to say no, but now I’ll have to reconsider. Those were quite good.”

I smiled at him, as pleased by this compliment as by his generous gift. When a noted food critic says your work is quite good, that’s something to celebrate. Not that it was
my
work; Julio deserved the credit, but it was still an accomplishment for my tearoom.

I turned to Mr. Solano. “Now I’ll get to hear you sing! I wasn’t certain I’d manage it this season.”

He bowed slightly. “Happy birthday, whenever it is.”

“Thank you.”

In truth, I’d planned to buy a ticket this season. I treated myself to an opera almost every summer, but the tickets were expensive and this year I’d been torn between wanting to see Mr. Solano in
Tosca
and Vi’s solo in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
. Now I didn’t have to choose; if I was lucky, I could do both.

Even better, I could bring a guest to Mr. Ingraham’s party. A date, possibly. Would Tony be interested?

My heart jumped at the thought, and I shied away from it. I couldn’t think about that right now. I needed quiet, and privacy, for that.

Aunt Nat and Manny came out of the parlor, Nat in a light blue cotton dress with a full skirt and puffed sleeves, complemented by a necklace of bird fetishes, the ensemble slightly fiesta-looking. Manny wore a jacket and bolo tie over light trousers. They both grinned at me.

“I see Thomas has sprung our surprise,” said Nat.

I hugged her, burbling thanks. “I can’t wait! I haven’t tailgated in years.”

“Not even at a football game?” inquired Mr. Solano, all innocence.

I shook my head, smiling. “Not a football fan.”

“How un-American. To be honest, I’m not either.”

By this time, most of the guests had left, and Vi and Wendy came out to join us in the hall. Vi went straight up to Mr. Solano.

“Thank you so much for coming.”

He smiled. “I wouldn’t have missed it. You were in fine voice.”

She grinned, pink with pleasure. “Thank you.”

Rhonda Benning and my girlfriend Gina ambled out together. Gina, her dress a white print splashed with big sunflowers, complemented by a gauzy, white, broad-brimmed hat, caught me in a big, Italian hug.

“What a lovely event! Congratulations!”

“Thank you, but the kudos go to Julio, and to Vi for being the pièce de résistance.”

“Oh, yes!” Gina turned to Vi. “I loved what you sang, although I half-expected something from
La Traviata
.”

“Well, I turned out to be a mezzo-soprano, much to my mother’s dismay.”

“Not true!” said Rhonda in mock indignation. She smiled with pride, and I saw the same laughing light in her eyes that so often shone in her daughter’s. Rhonda was darker than Vi, and not quite as tall, but the bones of their faces were the same.

Vi introduced her mother to Mr. Solano, and while they were chatting, Mr. Ingraham came up to me to say goodbye. “I’ll call you about the details for
Tosca
.”

“Yes, do. And I meant it about the cakes—I’d be glad to bring some.”

“Let me look at my menu, but I have a feeling I’ll be taking you up on that.”

Nat and Manny left with him, and I slipped into the parlor. The last of the guests were departing. I thanked them for coming and walked them out, passing Iz in the doorway. She had a large tray for collecting china, a signal that the party was over.

Vi and her mother, Gina, Wendy, and Mr. Solano were all that were left. As I joined them, I saw Julio hovering a little way down the hall, a pastry box in his hands, watching Vi.

“Mr. Solano,” I said, “is this your second season at Santa Fe or your third?”

“Fourth, actually. My first role was Escamillo in Carmen, nine years ago, early in my career.”

Julio slipped up and touched Vi’s elbow, drawing her away. From the corner of my eye I saw him give her the box. They exchanged whispered words.

“I don’t think I saw that,” I said. “I must have gone to something else that year.”

“My performance was not terribly memorable, but it was my first time in Santa Fe, and I was absolutely hooked. I would have come back every summer if I could.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here this year.”

“As am I.”

Vi rejoined us. Julio had disappeared again. Mr. Solano looked Vi up and down.

“Well, fledgling. Back to the salt mines?”

She nodded, then turned to me. “Thanks so much, Ellen!”

“Thank you. We’re the ones who benefitted.”

“So did she,” said Mr. Solano. “It’s good for her to sing out.”

“You forgot to mention the apprentice showcase,” Wendy said to Vi.

“Oh! Well, I’ll be doing
Serse
again.”

“I’d love to hear it again,” I said. “The apprentice concerts are always delightful. I can mention them in the tearoom’s newsletter, if you like.”

“Yes, thanks!” Vi said. “I’ll send you all the details.”

Hugs and farewells, and she was off, with her mother and Mr. Solano in attendance. I glanced into the parlor, where Iz had already loaded her tray. I knew if I tried to help her she’d shoo me away, so I turned to Gina.

“Want more tea?”

“Thanks, but I’ve got a meeting with a client,” she said, moving toward the front door.

I strolled along with her. “Well, thank you for coming. I know opera isn’t your favorite.”

“Shh! An Italian who doesn’t like opera? Sacrilege!”

“You might enjoy the apprentice showcase. It’s inexpensive, and if you haven’t seen the opera house it’s a great excuse.”

“I’ll think about it. I don’t suppose you wear football jerseys to the tailgate?”

I laughed. “No.”

“Opera costumes?”

“Not unless you’re
really
eccentric.”

The Bird Woman chose that moment to emerge from the gift shop, carrying a large shopping bag and blinking at us before heading for the door. I had to stifle a laugh.

“Well, you’ll have to explain all the customs to me,” said Gina. “Ciao, dearest. I’ll call you.”

“Ciao.”

I watched her go, the afternoon sun electrifying her sunflowers as she strode down the path to the street, passing the slower-moving Bird Woman with a friendly smile. I watched her get into her hot red Camaro, then went back inside.

On the way to my office, I looked into the kitchen. Julio was gathering up his things, about to head home.

“Brilliant job, Julio. Thanks.”

He flashed me a smile as he slid his coffee thermos into his backpack. “It was good to see Vi. Great to hear her sing. Thanks for letting me listen in.”

“Of course! I only wish you’d taken a bow.”

He shook his head. He didn’t much care for being fussed over in public.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

He hefted his pack onto his shoulder. “Sure. Why?”

I recalled the unease I’d sensed earlier, but it had just been for an instant, and I didn’t know how to explain my concern, so I just smiled. “No reason. See you tomorrow.”

He headed out the back door, and I went upstairs to my office. Tucked beneath the sloping roof of the upper floor, it was cozy and dark compared to the airy, light-filled center hallway. I turned on the stained-glass lamp and sat at my desk to admire my birthday gift.

I took the tickets out of the envelope and held them in my hands. Opera tickets had always been a treat for me.

My parents had supported the Santa Fe Opera for as long as I could remember, and from the time I was twelve (the dawn of young-ladyhood, as my mother had called it) they had consulted me each year on the choice of which opera the family should attend. My brother, three years older than I, had never been that interested. He was not musically inclined, and often bowed out of the annual excursion to SFO. Aunt Nat had come, though, as had Uncle Stephen while he was alive.