Born to Sing, no. 1

by Donna Del Oro

  We eased into our duet as if we were speaking to each other softly, so in love that we almost dared not overwhelm our hearts with such emotion. The building crescendo was subtle and when our voices crested, the orchestra swept us over the peak. The melody ended with a lingering climactic note.

  Hannah and Danilo kissed downstage, center. But it was anything but a stage kiss. Long, deep and stirring, D.J. and I were locked in each other’s arms long past the last note, our characters forgotten.

  We didn’t even hear Travis clapping his approval from the first row. When our heads pulled back, we were both grinning. Transported back in time.

  “Do you remember…?” D.J. whispered to me.

  Thinking of our first stage kiss as college singers, I nodded.

  “What is it with us? Every five or six years we seem to have a need to come together and ruin a stage kiss. Why is that?”

  He chuckled, still holding me on stage. “I’d like to make it every six minutes, not every six years.”

  My smile wavered. I was truly frightened. “I don’t know, D.J. So much has happened…”

  “Bull,” he whispered gently. “How ‘bout dinner tonight? You, Sara, Matt and me?”

  I thought how delicious his kiss had just been. In all truth, I had to admit I wanted more. Much more.

  “Vonnie can babysit. How ‘bout just you and me for dinner?” Two dark eyebrows arched above his sapphire-blue eyes. I guess my reply had surprised him. “Unless you’d prefer others—”

  “Huh, you’re kidding,” he challenged. A predatory gleam had entered his eyes.

  We pulled apart then, as Travis announced the Finale number. In seconds, we were joined on stage by the other principals, the chorus and Can-Can dancers. No time to talk. The Finale was the perfect romantic cap to the story. Upbeat and lyrical.

  At the completion of the rousing Finale, we all practiced our bows and curtsies for curtain call. Our hands linked, the cast glanced around at each other for comfirmation. Travis and his assistants, stage hands and support staff, were all applauding wildly.

  “Man, if we don’t have a hit, I’ll eat my shorts,” D.J. muttered happily. By God, he had tears in his eyes!

  Something tugged at me deep inside, making me want to cry, too. I think I realized in that very moment what I’d tried so hard over the years to deny. I was still madly in love with D.J. McKay and despite our hurtful history, I wanted him more than I’d ever wanted anything in my entire life.

  Even more than my career?

  I wasn’t sure about that…

  In unison again, all of the men bowed. The women curtsied once more. I glanced again at D.J., my heart beating wildly with both joy and fear. I didn’t want to be hurt again—Dear God, I didn’t want to be hurt again—and yet I wanted to leap into his arms and let him carry me away. I kept thinking, Girl, what are you doing?

  Too late. He’d already swept me away.

  Again.

  * * * *

  “Just like that,” Serena breathed dreamily, “you two got back together.”

  “It wasn’t quite like that,” Eva said, breaking off when the girl’s cell phone jangled. She whipped it out and flipped it open.

  “Sorry, my boss,” she explained, jumping off the sofa, indicating she’d take the call in the bedroom if that was alright with Eva. Eva nodded.

  Love was sometimes quick in returning…or rather, resurfacing. Her love for D.J. had never stopped, had just lain buried for awhile. And when it resurfaced, it was like a missile rocketing out of its underground silo.

  When the reporter returned, Eva continued although she was keeping a close eye on her watch. She’d leave as soon as the bellman called to report the arrival of her limo, courtesy of the Met.

  * * * *

  It was a cool, drizzly evening when D.J. came to pick me up. He’d met my younger sister, Vonnie, twice before. The first time had been at our college graduation, after D.J. had flown Vonnie and my mother up to Austin from Tyler. This was his graduation present to me, and what a surprise it was! The second time was, of course, at my father’s funeral.

  Yvonne was a little taller and slimmer than I. Close to six-feet and a size eight, she could be called a willowy brunette. Her hair had the reddish highlights of our father’s, just like mine. Her eyes an almost turquoise-blue, the eyes of our half Danish, half French mother. I thought Vonnie was far prettier than I, and just as dedicated a student. A natural musician, she was playing a child’s sized guitar by age four. Now, at UT-Houston, music was her major, with a specialization in composition. I fully expected her to become a famous songwriter and performer some day.

  Vonnie greeted D.J. like a prodigal son, heartily welcoming him to our Residence Inn suite. I had the inn install a rollaway, twin bed for Vonnie while I shared the double bed with Sarah. On the road, we’d ask for similar arrangements. A situation made awkward now that D.J. and I were getting closer.

  Of course, it might not last, I told myself, holding onto my cavalier attitude like a good ol’ Texas tough gal. One never knew with D.J. He could get bored with me and begin flirting with the pretty brunette in the cast. I didn’t want to get my hopes up.

  “Where you going?” Vonnie asked D.J. as she and Sara ate their salads. I’d insisted on making a salad to go with their sausage-and-cheese pizza, feeling like we had to maintain some semblance of normalcy even though it sometimes felt like we were camping out.

  “Dinner, maybe a movie,” shrugged D.J., gazing at the little girl next to Vonnie. Seemingly on cue, Sara looked up, momentarily distracted from her gobbling up the mozzarella cheese that encircled one little finger.

  “Hello,” she said, dimpling as she smiled at D.J.

  “Hello, Sara. Do you remember me? I met you and your father one day in Naples. Naples, Italy…last summer?”

  She scrunched up her little shoulders and smiled whimsically.

  “…no, I guess not. That’s okay.” He met my eyes across the dinette table and was apparently a little embarrassed. No doubt remembering his last meeting with David and my daughter the past summer in Italy.

  I’d heard later that same day from David how that crazy lunatic, D.J. McKay, had assaulted him in broad daylight in the Napoli Hilton, right in front of Sara and her nanny, how armed policemen had broken them up just as David was landing a good uppercut on D.J.’s jaw. Upset, I’d called Nate Bernstein, only to hear a totally different, more innocuous version of what’d transpired. Belatedly, I learned to be skeptical of whatever David said about D.J. Even during those years when I wasn’t involved with either man, the two rivals were at each other’s throats.

  Oh well…Would D.J. ever be able to accept Sara and love her as his own? If he couldn’t, our WHATEVER-IT-WAS didn’t stand a chance.

  “I’ll call you, Vonnie, if it looks like we might be…late.” From the sudden, lusty look D.J. shot me, I decided to amend that. “Or if I decide to stay out all night…”

  Vonnie glanced at us both, surprise filling her face. “Well, sure…I guess. Do what you have to do.”

  D.J. and I were no sooner in his car that we found ourselves enfolded in each other’s arms. Deep, wet kisses followed, forcing us both to rein back our galloping desire.

  “D.J., not here.” We were in the inn’s parking lot, for heaven’s sake. Vonnie and Sara were inside, just yards away.

  In a flash, he pulled up the car-phone, attached to the console by a cord. Remember, this was pre- cell phones.

  “Matt, D.J. here. Can you disappear for four or five hours? Now. Tonight. Yeah, yeah. See you in the morning. Thanks, bud.”

  He looked at me, cupped his hand around the back of my head and pulled me close for another deep kiss.

  “You sure ‘bout this, Evie?”

  Heck no, I wasn’t sure but I nodded, breathless, anyway.

  * * * *

  Eva stopped her account to take the concierge’s return call. Yes, thank God, the flight to Dallas was expected to take off on time. When she put the phone down
, she excused herself and disappeared into the bedroom to gather her wool coat, scarf, gloves and satchel bag. Her other carryon rested on one of the entryway chairs, waiting for her. Serena was busy taking more notes, it appeared, and sipping her sherry.

  Taking her time, Eva refreshed her makeup at the bathroom mirror and combed her hair. The remainder of that evening with D.J., she couldn’t relate aloud to the reporter. It was too personal…but oh, the memory was as vivid in her mind as if it happened yesterday.

  On the way to Matt’s place, a two-bedroom condo in a downtown Austin tower, D.J. stopped, ran out and got some Chinese food-to-go. Twenty minutes later, we were wrestling with each other on the carpet in Matt’s condo, struggling to shed our clothes, the food forgotten in a paper bag on the floor. We surrendered to whatever it was that had taken control of us and came together, joining in one frantic coupling. Naked from the waist down, we rolled on the carpet, and stopped to kiss. When that didn’t satisfy us, we began to rock and pump in sync with each other’s rhythms. I closed my eyes, letting sensation overtake me completely, letting the waves of pleasure roll and break over me like a hypnotic sea. My eyes leaked tears but I had no willpower to hold them back. Together, we moaned and rocked until our senses blocked everything out except for the sound of his breathing, the fill of him inside me, and the surges of pleasure deep within my core. His release and mine were like clashing cymbals.

  When finally he collapsed over me, I opened my eyes. I wanted to weep but checked the impulse. As much as I would ever know in my life, this moment with D.J. would be the epitome of joy, especially after almost six years of missing him. I didn’t want to spoil it with sentimental female tears.

  “My lord, Evie, why’ve we waited so long?”

  “Maybe we’re just plain stupid. Stupid and proud.” That bit of flippant sarcasm made him chuckle. Our past pain stood between us, I felt, and filled me with guilt. “We have a lot of talking to do, D.J. I need to explain what happened to me, how foolish I was, why I married David—”

  I moaned as he nuzzled my neck and gave me a love-bite. My protest was feeble and I didn’t push him away.

  “Don’t. Hannah’ll have to wear a choker of pearls instead of a string of jet beads. Please, no bruises.”

  “Ah, hush, Evie. Makeup’ll cover it,” he murmured against her hair, “I want all the world to see you’re taken. You’re mine.”

  “Am I?” I challenged.

  Raising himself on his elbows, D.J. narrowed his eyes in a mock threat.

  “You better believe it. I’m not letting you get away this time, Evie. Fair warning. Whatever it takes. You marry me and you get to share in this show’s profits. If there are any.” He bent his head over her and pushed the neckline of her sweater down so he could gain access to her upper breasts. “We can talk later…”

  “Still trying to buy me off, D.J.?”

  “Buy you, seduce you, trap you. Yep. Is it working?”

  He mumbled something else, which came out garbled and unintelligible, before applying himself assiduously to the task of pleasuring me all the more.

  Despite his light, carefree tone, I knew he was in total earnest. That was D.J. His most serious comments were often delivered in an off-the-cuff, cavalier manner.

  “We’ll see,” was my comeback.

  “Good enough…for now.”

  Chapter Ten

  “That was the paper,” Serena announced, ending another call with a snap of her cell phone. “They want your story for tonight’s printing. I’ll have to dash back to the office VERY soon.”

  “How many words?” Eva was mildly curious.

  “They want seven-hundred-fifty, with a photo. They’ll use one of your publicity photos if that meets your approval. If not, I’ll call back and we can get a photographer up here in a flash—”

  “Oh no,” Eva said, rolling her eyes, “I’m not prepared for that…and there isn’t time.” An impromptu photograph that would be in the New York Times morning edition—no, thank you! Her hair was a mess, Eva having taken down her French twist and combed out a rather limp-looking pageboy. She’d smashed down her hair with a cloche to match her coat. Besides, she expected the bellman’s call any minute now.

  “Are you okay? You’re all flushed,” Serena declared. Her new fox coat was resting in her lap and she was absently stroking its fur as though it were a pet cat.

  “I’m fine, just reminiscing,” she said hurriedly, reluctantly closing off the memory she’d just had of their lovemaking in Matt’s condo. Harking to the present, she glanced at the phone on the end table, wondering when the chauffeur assigned to her would arrive. There was still plenty of time despite the heavy traffic during a snowstorm.

  Serena put the fox aside and hunkered over her notebook once again. Pen in hand, she concentrated on wrapping up this interview although she seemed reluctant.

  “I know you have to leave soon, Miss Villa. I wish we had more time—there’s so much more I’d like to ask you. But for now…when did you eventually marry Darren McKay.”

  Eva grinned. “At the end of the tour, August fifteenth. The Merry Widow tour was an enormous success. After the wonderful reviews we received in Austin, the publicity machine went crazy. Every single performance was sold out after that. By the time we arrived in Philadelphia, the coordinators were clamoring for us to extend the tour by another two weeks. We were tempted, to be sure, but frankly, the cast and crew were all exhausted. Being constantly on the move, packing and unpacking, playing in new theaters, always adjusting the sets and blocking to the size of the stage, adjusting your voice and projection to the dimensions of the theater—it all takes an emotional and physical toll. Anyway, a week after we closed, D.J. had to fly to Prague for Madame Butterfly performances. This time I went with him, right after our wedding.”

  “You honeymooned in Czechoslovakia?”

  “In Prague, yes. A lovely, old city, by the way. It was wonderful,” Eva gushed. “We spent our free time wandering the old, medieval town. We visited Anton Dvorak’s tomb. Coming back, we stopped in Vienna and went to the opera. What a magnificent opera house they have—nothing like I’d ever seen before. The most famous of the opera world have played there. The royalty of Europe have sat in their boxes. The acoustics are incredible.”

  “What was your wedding like?” Serena asked, furiously taking notes again.

  “We let D.J.’s mother plan everything, down to the napkins bearing our names and the flower centerpieces at the reception. Yes, by then Liz McKay had resigned herself to a poor Tejano’s daughter as her new daughter-in-law. She wasn’t thrilled, I could tell. She probably thought we wouldn’t last. In any event, she was pleased that I asked her to plan the whole affair. I couldn’t do it for we were still on tour. It turned out to be one of the biggest social events in Austin that year.” Eva had to stifle a short laugh. “It was a wedding that I never imagined would actually happen. I didn’t care what she chose or decided to do. If Liz had told us to ride down the aisle on donkeys, I would’ve done it. By then, I was just as determined as D.J. not to screw up our second chance.”

  “What made you decide to, y’know, give him a second chance. I know you still had your doubts about his family and his…uh, ability to be faithful.”

  “About his family, no. At that point in my life, I didn’t care whether they accepted me or not. I think that…insoucience came with maturity and self-confidence. His faithfulness—and my insane jealousy…Oh yes, that continued to be a demon I’d have to deal with.” Eva smiled ruefully, ashamed to admit to such weakness of character, but she was past the point of such pride. Let the young wrestle with such things as vanity and pride, she thought.

  “What tipped the scales in his favor?” Serena persisted.

  Eva looked up at the suite’s crown-molded ceilings, recalling their hotel room with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “San Francisco.”

  * * * *

  After our Saturday night performance at the War Memorial Ope
ra House, I rubbed off my stage makeup and hurriedly changed clothes, preferring my blue jeans, sweater and heeled boots. We were planning a late dinner somewhere in Fisherman’s Wharf, a romantic meal for two since Vonnie and Sara had been content to stay at the hotel and watch a Disney movie.

  My heels tapping down the linoleum-floored corridor on my way to D.J.’s dressing room, I pondered my sister’s situation. Vonnie was twenty-four, had another two quarters of college to finish her bachelor’s degree, and was in a troublesome relationship with an overly possessive young man. Her boyfriend of six months was a rocker with his own band, had more tattoos and piercings than he had teeth, and seemed to take Vonnie for granted most of the time. She was supposed to be available at his beckoning to watch him play, with little regard for her studies and her own music. When I’d offered her the job of babysitting little Sara while we toured the country, Vonnie had glommed onto it in sheer gratitude. Probably looking for an excuse to extricate herself from that bad-boy choice of hers.

  My thoughts were interrupted when I spied the brunette playing Valencienne enter D.J.’s dressing room, wearing nothing but a silken robe over her underwear. My reaction was immediate. My heart dropped, my stomach convulsed. I stopped abruptly. Tears began to mist behind my eyes as my throat and nasal cavities clogged up. Leaning against the opposite wall for support, I tried not to think the obvious: D.J. was at it again.

  He couldn’t help it. Women threw themselves at him. Sure, he’d tossed off a cocky reply when I’d asked him about his romantic adventures in Germany and Italy over the past six years, something to the effect: Well, I wasn’t a monk if that’s what you’re asking.

  Heartsick and misery squeezed my chest like a vise. My breathing became shallow and tortured. There was nothing I could do to stop him. He was as rakish a womanizer as the character he was playing, that Count Danilo. And I was just about to tell him how superbly he’d sung the “Maxim’s” number, Danilo’s entrance song. It was a lively melody, played and sung with animation and verve. The lyrics related the bon vivant’s dedication to the Fatherland but at the end of the day, the playboy’s preference was unwinding with as many “shady ladies” as possible. I thought to commend D.J. for playing it so exuberantly when, in fact, he’d been playing to type.