Friendzoned Soprano (Singers in Love Book 2)

by Irene Vartanoff

  We walked past the steps where people rented boat rides. Sean cocked his head, inquiring. I shook mine. No boat ride today. We continued on toward the aquarium.

  “I came home from Europe utterly defeated, wanting to be consoled. Instead, Mr. Wonderful went in for the kill. He wanted me to ‘loan’ him a very large sum of money.”

  I glanced at Sean, who was frowning. My story was hardly pretty, and it was about to get uglier. “At that instant, I knew he was a liar, and maybe a crook. I said no. He got angry. I’d never refused him anything before. He hit me.”

  Sean cursed.

  I grimaced at the memory. “He must have thought hitting me would subdue me. He didn’t know his violence put him in the same class as the stepfather I hated. He used to hit me. He hit my mom, too. It was a very brief period in our lives although it went on too long. Mom wised up and we got out.”

  I stared out at the water, watching evening creep over Baltimore. “I left and refused to see Mr. Wonderful again.”

  “Good for you.” His tone was almost a growl.

  I put my hand to my throat. “But that wasn’t the whole story. I was so upset, so angry at myself for being a fool again that I immediately went on a binge. As soon as I got away from him and checked into a hotel.”

  I made a gesture indicating my body. “Everybody can see that I love food. What they don’t know is that I also hate food. The singing fiasco and then the breakup churned my emotions so much I sought instant relief in food. It’s like punishing myself for everything bad that happens to me.”

  I laughed, completely without humor. “People who aren’t addicted to food have no idea how crazy food addicts can be. Bingeing is the worst. When we binge, we don’t enjoy the act of eating. We simply stuff food down our gullets as fast as humanly possible. Some people binge and purge. Not me. It would endanger my teeth, or maybe I’d aspirate and die, or maybe it would mess up my ability to sing. Whatever I overeat has to go through my system, and bingeing overloads it.”

  I sighed. “I won’t go into the details. There was no gourmandizing, no pleasure involved. I ate until it felt like something in my gut broke. Suddenly, I was in intense agony. I called 911. In the ER, they accused me of fasting and then eating too much too quickly. Turned out I was dehydrated from the long flight back from Europe. Bingeing on top of that produced the same effect.”

  By now we’d passed the aquarium, weaving in and out of the crowds. I pressed one hand against my cheek, remembering that awful night in the ER.

  “They wanted to pump my stomach, which is almost as disgusting as puking, but I wouldn’t let them do it because I was afraid it would damage my throat. I was hysterical with pain and fear. They warned me if my guts burst, damaging my throat would be the least of my problems. But I held out.”

  I glanced at Sean with no humor in my expression. “It went on for hours and hours and hours. But I didn’t want to hurt my throat, so most of my crying and carrying on was actually sotto voce, because, stupidly, through it all, I wanted to save my voice. Because I had a performance the next day.”

  I snorted. “Ridiculous, huh? Was that stupid, or what? The next day, I was too weak to get out of bed. They had to give me intravenous fluids.”

  He made a sympathetic noise, but didn’t speak.

  We came up against the end of the promenade, at a place with large bollards separating it from a parking lot. I rested against one and turned to him.

  “And that’s the sordid story. As soon as I could, I called my therapist, and we had a monster therapy session. I decided I had to fight everything on all fronts at once. The first thing that went was relationships with men who didn’t care about me. The second was being too cooperative in my professional life and not looking out for myself sufficiently. Not letting directors and opera managers walk all over me. Not taking the wrong assignments. Not letting other singers push me around. And the third, which was really the hardest, was not to binge again. Like, ever.”

  I sighed. “But I haven’t been able to live up to any of it, not really. I’ve let myself get involved with you even though you told me you only wanted a friend. I’ve taken every opera job I could, just to keep my mind off how hard it is to eat sensibly and lose weight. And I still find myself hesitating when someone wants to roll over me.”

  I faced Sean again. “When you surprised me last Monday night after Aida, you saved me from a binge I had lined up. I’d had an absolutely horrible day. Daylia Fedora had done her best to sabotage my singing, yet I hadn’t confronted her. I felt like a weakling. James Haverhill came on to me, as he always does, showing how little he respects me. And all that built on top of the Times slighting me that morning and you rejecting me as a possible lover. When you did that, I thought, if I wasn’t so fat, you wouldn’t have friendzoned me.”

  I had laid myself bare. Sean looked…regretful. As if he finally was beginning to understand the depths of the pain I felt.

  There was more to tell him, so I plowed on doggedly. “But I was wrong, wasn’t I? It’s not just me being unable to conquer all my weaknesses at once that’s the problem. You’re mixed up about how you want to behave with women. I can’t help you there, except to say that if you ever did get serious with a woman, or at least, if you ever were willing to get serious with me, I would not for one moment tolerate you having dates with other women.”

  “I wouldn’t want you to,” he said, looking pained. “I don’t want to be with other women.”

  I ignored his second sentence. “I’ve poured out every ugly thing I can about myself. I don’t have any more secrets.”

  He said nothing.

  I got more and more nervous.

  Finally, he sighed and said, “I’m honored that you confided in me. Truly.” He dragged one hand through his hair. “I have to think about all this. I know I’m the one who said we have to talk. How I feel right now is confused. At least I can promise I would never harm you physically. Never.”

  He dropped his hand. “I’ve admired you from afar for so long. But I have nothing to offer you. You’re a supremely talented woman and you don’t need me.”

  I may have turned pink with delight at his praise, but I tried not to show it in my facial expression. Everything depended on what he would say next.

  Sean said, “I’ve shied away from heavy emotional involvement because I have to devote myself to my work. Girlfriends have come and gone because my focus was always on my singing career, not on them.”

  He looked straight at me, his eyes revealing pain. “With you, it’s been different from the start. I saw you perform a couple of years ago and I was blown away. I followed your career, and I asked people who knew you, like JC, my friend who brought you to my party, whether you were involved with anyone. You always were.” He grimaced.

  “I’m a self-confident guy, but I knew you were way above me. I was thrilled that you came to my party. I hoped we could start something, but I was entangled with Sabrina then. I missed my chance with you, and I regretted it. I broke up with Sabrina.”

  He’d been crushing on me even when I was super fat? He’d wanted to be my lover a year ago? How could this be?

  Sean’s words continued to pour out as if a dam had burst. “You know where my career is. I’m taking any job anyone offers me, hoping to hit the big time in a bigger way. I was thrilled that we’d be singing together here in Tosca. Then I put my arms around you in the design room, and my feelings got all confused.” He paced in front of me.

  “Holding you was…overwhelming.” He smiled a little. “You are one hot armful, babe. I’d thought about you for so long, and there you were, and you were vulnerable and sad, and angry, too. Maybe you even needed me. And then at lunch you were so honest. You wanted to start something with me. But I’m not good enough for you, not yet. In a few years, I’ll be at the top. I know it. I can feel it coming. Then, I’ll have something to offer you. You don’t seem to understand how truly great you are. But I see it. You deserve the best life can give you. The b
est I can give you, only I can’t give it now. That’s what I thought, and that’s why I told you we had to be friends. I didn’t know how we could become lovers.”

  Sean pressed his lips together tightly. “I didn’t mean to cross the line. I meant to stay on my side of the friendzone, but each time we were alone together, I crossed it anyway. I sent mixed signals. I thought I could still be the same happy-go-lucky guy I had been, but the more I was around you, the more the pull toward you got passionate and intense. But still I had nothing to offer you.”

  He stared at me with those hot eyes. “I want to forget all that. Put it aside. Be lovers because I want you so much.”

  He bowed his head. “But I can’t do it. You’re so much more honest than I am, and I can’t hurt you that way. I see I can’t ask that of you. I don’t have the right to toy with your feelings.”

  He stopped pacing. “Now you’re going to get mad at me all over again. I have a late date with Julie. Just to set her straight,” he quickly added, but the damage was done.

  Chapter 18

  Sean had a date tonight?

  His sheepish expression confirmed that I hadn’t heard him wrong. I couldn’t even say anything for what felt like a whole minute. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I was stunned.

  I tried again. “You amaze me.” My voice dripped scorn to hide my awful disappointment. “You can’t stop playing with more than one woman at a time.” I stopped myself from saying more, because what was the point? I’d shown him all my vulnerabilities, and he had a date with another woman.

  “It’s not like that. You’re deliberately misunderstanding me.”

  I’d been a fool, revealing my most agonizing secrets. No more. “Go have your date with Julie, but then don’t come back to me.” I practically snarled when I said, “I’m done.”

  “Don’t be that way.”

  I ignored his pleading tone and turned away. I walked quickly inland from the promenade to the nearest street corner, intent on hailing a cab. Tears leaked out of my eyes and I didn’t care.

  Sean didn’t follow me, more proof that he knew he was in the wrong. His need to talk to me hadn’t been urgent enough to break his date with little Julie. The deeply personal secrets I'd revealed about myself weren't enough, either. He was still playing, wanting one toy and not willing to give up another.

  That night, I woke crying from a dream in which Sean and I were making out heavily in a bed, but then he got up and left me. I begged Sean not to leave. My subconscious was warning me I was on the road to be that loser woman all over again. As if that fear wasn’t totally on my mind when I was awake.

  Somehow, I hadn’t felt like bingeing after I’d walked away from Sean. Maybe because for once I knew I was in the right, and I deserved better.

  ***

  Monday morning was busy, with the costume lady, Madeline, personally coming to my dressing room to deliver all the clothes I was to wear. She made me try them on one last time and tutted again because the gowns were all fitting a little looser. I restrained myself from a fist pump. I’d been under a lot of stress the last few days and still lost weight. In my playbook, that was a score. The very slender first act costume with its tight, revealing little green jacket that made me appear to be all breasts actually seemed to flatter me today.

  The New York Times reporter, Tim Fox, arrived in time to ask me a few questions before my first call. He had permission to wander the entire theater while I was occupied. I hoped he wouldn’t form a negative opinion about me, but there was no guarantee. I wanted this feature article, regardless.

  I went to the stage at the moment I was due, and not one second earlier. I didn’t want to give Sean a chance to start a serious conversation when I had work to do. Overnight, I’d thought about our talk during our stroll along the Inner Harbor and decided he’d been sincere, although incredibly clumsy. His feelings for me—whatever they might be—went beyond his life experience and he didn’t know how to behave. Double-booking dates with two women in one evening was immaturity, not callousness. I forgave him. I didn’t want to be angry with Sean, no matter what the outcome of our involvement was.

  Franco was already on stage, singing his big first act aria, “Recondita armonia,” when I arrived in the wings. My turn to go on next. Sean arrived a minute later and I tensely acknowledged him with a half nod, hoping he wouldn’t say anything to upset me. We listened silently to the beautiful sounds Franco made and I tried to ignore how my hand yearned to reach out and touch Sean. His arm. His chest. His lips.

  When it was nearly my moment to go on, Sean leaned in close and whispered, “Don’t let him tongue kiss you.” I flashed him an incredulous look. He grinned at me.

  I went on, grateful that if we couldn’t be lovers, we could still be friends. I sang out “Mario, Mario!” but my foolish heart was saying “Sean, Sean!”

  I did my extended flirtation love scene with Franco, and then left. When it was time to return to the stage and meet Scarpia, Sean had submerged his sunny personality and he showed me the dangerous, sexy side, the side I longed to submit to but dared not let myself. Scarpia took my hand, and I drew back in haughty refusal when he attempted to kiss it. Sean shot me a Scarpia-filled look of passionate intention. He planned to get me, the look said. I didn’t have to work hard to achieve the disdainful refusal on my face or in my singing.

  Then it was time for me to vanish, and for Scarpia to sing his menacing “Te Deum,” with the chorus swelling in volume behind him. Of course I stayed to listen. In my opinion, he nailed it. Sean kept his powerful voice under excellent control, with a ripe, dark tone well suited to his villainous role. He’d go far. I applauded with everybody else when the act finished.

  The auditorium held a couple dozen technical people working on getting everything right. We all were asked to return to the stage for the director’s notes. Richard was very specific, but he merely underlined what we’d gone over. He asked for no new tweaks, which was a relief. My mind was too full already.

  I hurried back to my dressing room, not wanting to linger near Sean and be vulnerable to his charm. Madeline had gone all out for my Act II costume. I donned a deep red velvet gown that skimmed my silhouette, then topped the dress with a massive ruby necklace, a tiara, long drop earrings of rubies, above-the-elbow white gloves, and various jeweled bracelets that made me look like the total diva Tosca was supposed to be.

  I dawdled in my dressing room until my second call, giving Sean time to get onstage to begin Act II. Then I came onto the scene, perplexed at Scarpia’s note, full of my recent triumph in front of Rome’s royalty and highest level of society.

  Sean was in full villain mode. He made me shiver when his Scarpia stared at me lasciviously. My Napoleonic era costume exposed a lot of my breasts, and his eyes seemed to devour the sight of them. I loved how he looked at me. I only wished that in real life his feelings for me could be as intense as his desire.

  The scene played out, with my doomed lover Mario, the police henchman, Spoletta, and with Scarpia’s constant, successful efforts to herd Tosca toward the inevitable sexual submission he desired. I twisted and turned, but couldn’t escape his burning looks, his constant maneuvers to entrap me. Finally, he had me on my knees before him, begging. As I knelt before him, in Sean’s eyes I saw a hint of memory of the last time I had been on my knees before him. And a hint of something more. An intention to bring me to my knees again? I shivered at the thought, and resisted, as Tosca and as myself. I sang my woeful “Vissi d’arte” a few minutes later, careful not to look at him before making up my mind to bargain with my body for my lover’s life.

  Killing him was hard. My feelings were so mixed up. I hadn’t separated out Sean from Scarpia in this act and I was afraid it showed. Of course Sean did not help. After I’d killed him and I was putting a candle and a cross near his head, he winked at me. I pinched his arm, and hoped no one would notice.

  Finally, I ran off stage, and the act ended. Richard called us back for his notes. “T
osca, you used the hesitation after all. Well done.”

  I couldn’t help glancing at Sean. He sent me a Scarpia-type look that just about singed my overly exposed breasts, and my heart beneath them. After Richard dismissed us, Sean managed to get next to me. “You shouldn’t have killed me, Tosca, baby. You knew I could have shown you a good time.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I was also glad he didn’t want the whole world to see how intense the feelings were that flowed between us. “Next time, I’ll kill you quicker.”

  Sean’s work for the day was over, unless Richard or the maestro asked for additional rehearsals after the dress ended. They could, but it wasn’t likely. They hadn’t stopped us even once in Act I or Act II.

  I had another act to get through. I quickly changed costumes and returned to the stage. Franco was in fine form as doomed Mario. He sang his heart out in “E lucevan le stelle.” The beauty of his longing to live brought tears to my eyes.

  Sean was suddenly next to me. “Save those tears for later. I hear it’s a fake firing squad.”

  I turned toward him automatically. Sean smiled at me, and my heart bloomed. I was captured in the moment. He murmured how fantastic I was as Tosca, how beautifully I sang, how wonderful I would be in this act. Then we heard my musical cue, and he gave me a tiny push toward the stage.

  I rushed to my Mario on a wave of pure bliss. I quickly modified it to include fear that the bliss would not come true. Such was the height of my feelings, it wasn’t a problem to act madly in love with Franco’s Mario, to be hopeful of our wonderful escape from this evil city to somewhere safe, and to ignore his subliminal expression of the belief that he was doomed.

  It wasn’t a long act. Mario got the best part of it, showing the piteousness of being a condemned prisoner bargaining with his last possession for a pen and paper to write me a farewell. Once Tosca was on the scene, that sad beginning to the act resonated despite my excitement and my promises that everything would be okay after all. Something inside Mario knew Tosca was wrong.