The Phantom Diaries (9 page)

I was happy to hear they were all favorable.

The director, however, remained businesslike and unmoved. “That’ll do for today. Be here again at the same time tomorrow.”

After a quick nod, I headed to stage right to gather my things and was pleased by the comments and compliments I received.

“You’ve really capture the soul of Adelle,” one said.

Another came to pat me on the back. “I can’t believe they actually found someone who sings better than Marie.”

One of the young extras gazed at me in admiration and I winked.

With a start I turned to the piercing sound of a distant hiss. I gazed up at the balcony from where the sound seemed to come from, but no one was there.

“You okay?” a young actress asked.

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

Still staring up at the balcony, I waved the actress away. Perhaps all the music had left a buzzing in my ears. Taking in a deep breath, I steeled my nerves and prepared to gather my things when the hissing sound came again, this time from right over my shoulder.

I spun around to find no one there. Panicked little breaths replaced the deep breaths I’d been forcing myself to take. My steeled nerves melted away and a strange sense of foreboding enveloped me. The air was suddenly dense and moist, with a pungent odor that left me feeling nauseous.

With my coat bundled up in my arms, I ran out, knowing I looked foolish, but not caring. I had to get out of there. In my haste, I rounded the corner to the lobby and promptly ran into a young man.

Finely dressed, handsomely styled and with a distinguished air that made him seem much older than his face indicated, he calmly steadied me and smiled. It was a pleasant, if not well-practiced smile that left me a tad uneasy.

And when I realized that I had spilled his coffee all over his fine Italian camel hair coat, my unease became downright mortification.

“Oh, my God.
 
I’m so sorry. Look at what I did to your…” Though logic told me it was useless, my hands nonetheless set to wiping the stain away.

“My dry cleaner enjoys a challenge. Don’t worry about it,” he said. His voice was gentle and melodious, and his smile brought a mischievous and boyish twinkle to his eyes. His sandy hair was stylishly streaked with gold and I wondered if it was the natural effects of the sun or his vain intent.

“This is beyond cleaning. I’ve ruined your coat. If you step outside like this people will think you’re a bum. We could go to wardrobe and I’ll get a coat for you.”

He chuckled. “I hardly think walking around the streets of New York in an 18
^th
century coat would be appropriate, though I think the meeting I’m heading off to would probably be more interesting. I could be the aristocratic lord who desperately needs his peasants to pay up.”

“Of course. How silly of me.” I smiled and my nerves slowly stopped jumping about. He was amusing and I could almost say I instantly liked him. Though his clothes and manner of speaking gave him an air of such distinction that I never would have thought myself capable of conversing with him, he had a charming way about him that made me want to stay close.

“We have a coffee machine. I could get you a new coffee.”

“Thanks, but I don’t really have much more time. I just stopped by on the way to my meeting to see who the new singer was. I’d heard a replacement had finally been found. And apparently she is quite a beauty to behold.”

I blushed and didn’t know what to say. He was so handsome, so debonair, so out of my league. “I’m the new Adelle.”

He leaned in close, looked me straight in the eye and said, “I know.”

The turmoil in my belly was almost too much to bear. I could smell his cologne, expensive and intoxicating.

“You have a voice to bring men to their knees. Wherever have you been hiding such a talent?”

“New Orleans.”

“Ah, yes. That most certainly explains the bewitching effect you have on men. The mystery and carnal heat of the bayou runs through your veins.”

He smiled and I had the impression he was mocking me. When he extended his hand out to me, I simply stared at it and tried to understand what he was about.

“I’m Aaron Aragon, by the way, and I’m thrilled to make your acquaintance Miss Annette.”

As I put my hand in his, I quickly reviewed our brief conversation in search of when I’d given him my name. I felt certain I hadn’t, but the first few moments were such a blur, I couldn’t be sure.

The pressure of his hand around mine was firm and insistent and he seemed to have no intention of letting me go. His eyes held a determined gaze on my face and I knew I was once again blushing. Whenever was I going to rid myself of such an adolescent reaction to men?

“I believe I may have a few moments to spare for that coffee after all,” he said as he gazed at his watch and gave my hand a gentle squeeze.
 
“However, the coffee here leaves much to be desired.
 
There’s an excellent coffee house not too far away.”

“I… I really don’t think… I…”

His amusement rumbled in his chest and he moved in closer. I pulled back, but his grip on my hand tightened and his free hand found its way to the small of my back. My lips parted in hunger while my heart thundered in fear.

With the self assurance of a man accustomed to getting his way, he brought his lips to my ear and whispered, “I’m harmless; all my friends tell me so.”

I tried to smile, but my lips were frozen in place. He was so close I could feel the warmth of every breath and I see the golden specks in his hazel eyes.

“I have a lifelong fascination for the theatre, the arts and, more specifically, the opera. I’d be forever grateful to hear your view on this new, or should I say old piece of operatic genius.”

My mind ran from one excuse to another, looking for a way to tell this dreamy stranger that I couldn’t just walk out of here with someone I didn’t at all know.

“I’ve had a long day,” I finally managed to utter; though in a voice so weak and unconvincing, I knew he’d easily see through the lameness of the excuse.

“Perhaps if I state the true nature of this little meeting I’d like to have with you, you’d feel more at ease.” He pulled away and released my hand, leaving it cold and longing to return to his grasp.

Intrigued, I simply stared at him, wondering what he could possibly have to say that would convince me to leave with him.

“You see, I’m the great-grandson of Rupert Aragon.”

He looked at me expectantly.

After a seemingly endless moment, I finally had to prompt, “And?”

Both amused and surprised, he cocked a brow and spread his arms out around him. “Rupert Aragon established one of the first opera houses of New York back in mid 1800s. His son, Bastien, went on to build the old opera house uptown, which unfortunately was brought to the ground by a rather suspicious fire, and then had this grand opera house built. For years it was run by Gaston, my father.”

I gasped and was more flustered than I could ever remember being. I’d spilled coffee on the owner of the opera house and had virtually insulted him with my refusal to have a mere coffee with him. How gauche. How un-southern. How completely and utterly stupid of me not to know who he was.

“Don’t kick yourself,” he said as he took in my distraught gaze. “Few people know.”

“But you…”

“Yes, I own this opera house.”

His smile remained warm, but something in his eyes had changed, had darkened. His gaze seemed to say that his ownership of the opera house extended to me. He owned me.

The little princess in me thrilled at the thought, while the mature young woman I’d become was appalled.

Without saying more, he put a tender hand to my elbow and guided me out like a true gentleman. He walked with the ease of a man who knew he could own the world, and when we entered the small coffee house, he made me feel as though we’d just entered his private home.

I was captivated. Though he appeared to be only in his mid-twenties, he carried himself with the grace and dignity of a man far older.

With a simple little cup of espresso before him and a huge bowl of café au lait for me, he prodded me with questions.

“So how does a girl from New Orleans manage to find her way to the New York Met?”

“My mother is the childhood friend of one of the women in the wardrobe department. Perhaps you know her; Roberta Henley?”

He shook his head.

“Well, Roberta and my mom met when they were little girls. They both grew up in the same orphanage in Europe.”

“My, that’s fascinating.”

“It wasn’t as bad as you sometimes see in the movies, but it wasn’t very pleasant either.”

“I’m sure.”

“Mom had a pretty independent streak even back then. She was five years younger than Roberta, but she’s the one who kind of protected her. She’d sneak food from the kitchen to make sure Roberta always had plenty to eat.”

“That’s absolutely fascinating.”

“Yeah, apparently Roberta tended to get into a bit of trouble and was often sent to her room without supper. And by getting into trouble, I don’t mean anything serious. Just your regular, run of the mill trouble little kids are apt to get into. Only at the orphanage they didn’t really take it too well and they’d lock you up in your room for the slightest transgression.”

“Fascinating.”

“As they got older, they both took to stitching and mending the other kids’ clothes and soon the orphanage hired them to do the work on a regular basis. Of course they weren’t paid. All they got in return for the hours they spent hunched over old socks and torn dresses was a piece of fresh fruit every once in a while.”

“Fascinating.”

“When they were old enough, they came to America. Over time they went their own ways, but they’ve always kept in touch.”

“Fascinating.”

Hmmm, I thought. He certainly wasn’t bringing much to the conversation, or was I rambling too much? I looked at him and his eyes were glued to my lips. Was the story of my mom and Roberta really that fascinating? I hardly thought so.

“Since they had invented this machine that could transport them from New York to New Orleans in a matter of seconds, they could just bat an eye and be at the other’s side.”

“Fascinating.”

Insulted beyond words, I straightened my shoulders and un-kinked my neck with a tense glance to the tables around us. I took one final sip of my café and stood.

“Where are you going?”

“You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said.
 
Fascinating. Fascinating. Fascinating,” I said, in an ugly mimic of his side of the conversation. “Is that all you can say?”

He glanced around at the other patrons and I realized I was making a scene. “Please sit down,” he gently requested. While his voice was soft and inviting, the determination in his eyes belied how important it was that I sit again.

Too angry to be soothed by his calm words, I refused to be intimidated. Owner of the opera house or not, I would not allow him to be so outrageously rude. “I apologize,” I said in a tone that was just as determined as his gaze, “but I have a dinner date and I’ve already allowed myself to run late in order to accommodate you.”

“Accommodate me?”

“I won the role of Adelle through hard work and dedication and am presently giving everything I have to the rehearsals. I don’t believe I owe you the story of my life nor my company as you sit there sipping of that tiny thing you call a coffee.”

“Annette, please calm down.”

I pulled my jacket off the back of the chair and quickly pulled it on. As I flipped my hair out from under my coat, I saw his eyes dance with amusement. It left me seething all the more. How dare he?

“The next time you stop to ask a lady to have a cup of coffee with you, learn some manners. Or perhaps expand your vocabulary to include other adjectives. It would make your attempt to feign interest more convincing.”

“You’re misunderstanding me terribly and I would love nothing more than another opportunity to show you just how sorry I am. You’re right, I’ve acted dreadfully.”

“You sure have.”

With a jerking motion that I knew was far from ladylike, I pulled my purse off the chair and swung it onto my shoulder. “And while you’re at it, why don’t you order a real coffee?”

I stormed out knowing that my last comment was gratuitous and mean. But I was so angry, so outraged, so… argh. Men.

Chapter 11

Having wasted precious minutes with Mr. Arrogant, I hurried home to change before rushing out to meet Chace in front of the Met.

“Wow, don’t you look all fired up,” he said in greeting.

He seemed happy with my choice of snug jeans and form fitting button down shirt. Of course with the weather getting mighty chilly in the evenings, I’d traded in my leather coat for a warmer woolen one.

“I’m sorry if I’m a bit late,” I said. I pecked him on the cheek and hooked my arm in his.