Born to Sing, no. 1

by Donna Del Oro

  And I was such a fool to believe he could change—

  The brunette emerged, huffing, her face beet-red. She jerked tightly the sash of her robe and flounced off down the hallway. Stunned, I hesitated outside his door, and knocked.

  “What IS this, Grand Central Station?” D.J. shouted angrily from inside.

  “D.J., it’s me,” I announced boldly. Whatever I’d just witnessed, I was ready for an explanation.

  When I entered, D.J. was standing there, buck-naked except for a large, black towel wrapped around his waist that covered him down to just above his knees. Dark hair matted his muscular chest and one manly underarm as he raised one hand to brusquely rub the flesh-colored pancake makeup off his creamed over face. He was bending over the dressing table mirror, his nicely rounded rump sticking out. I was vacillating between fury and misery.

  “Hey, sweetheart, you hungry?” He looked preoccupied, impatient.

  Eva inhaled deeply. “Why was SHE in here?”

  “Evidently, half the cast thinks they can walk in on me while I’m undressing,” he said peevishly, absorbed in wiping off the dark eyeliner around his eyes. He threw a large cotton ball in the trash, followed by two more. On the table, sitting atop a styrofoam head, was the wig he wore as Danilo.

  “Lock that door, Evie, and don’t let anybody in—I don’t care what the emergency. That little scamp came in and tried her number on me, trying to stir up trouble. She thinks to get Paul to fall for her, she has to get me to sleep with her. She even opened her robe as a lure. I must say, I liked that matching set of black-lace bra and panties she was wearing. What do you say, I get you a pair? Your birthday’s next week. You’re turning…what, twenty-nine?”

  It took me a moment to digest what had just happened, what D.J. was saying and by his surly mood, what I’d just witnessed, myself. After synthesizing it all, the truth began to emerge. It all made sense. Realizing I’d been holding my breath, I finally exhaled. Meanwhile, D.J. was straightening up, discarding another cotton ball with disgust.

  “Some days, I feel sixty-nine!”

  “I’ll NEVER get used to this damn pancake—” He broke off, the expression on her face registering with him at last. “Oh, hey, wait a minute. You don’t think—”

  He spun toward me, grabbing my forearms before I could back up. His breath played upon my face as he leaned over close, his deep blue eyes raking over me furiously. Despite his sudden outrage, D.J. looked a little comical. One eye was wiped clean but the other, close-up, his exaggerated stage makeup like a raccoon’s. Danilo’s one darkened eye was now piercing through her.

  “I don’t know what to think, frankly,” I lied. What I’d been thinking hadn’t been flattering. Now I was feeling remorseful that I’d jumped to such hasty conclusions.

  “Evie, I told her if she tried a stunt like that again, I’d fire her and have her understudy in the chorus take her place for the remainder of the tour. I swear it, that’s what I said. She left in a tiff. She wasn’t here more than thirty seconds, tops!”

  “Did it ever occur to you that she’s chasing YOU, not Paul?” I proposed hotly. Paul was the good looking bass playing Baron Zeta, but he wasn’t nearly as dashing or sexy as D.J. It’d been apparent to me for weeks that the little tart was after MY MAN. It infuriated me but what could I do? The chit was under contract.

  “Oh, hell!” D.J. swore.

  He grabbed me to him roughly and kissed me on the mouth. His hot tongue reassured me that he meant what he said. All my heartachy worries and petty jealousies caused nothing but unnecessary misery.

  Oh, Eva, I scolded herself, do yourself a favor and TRUST HIM. TRUST THE MAN.

  “I was about to take a shower and get the rest of this eye-goop off. Come join me. We won’t have to shower later tonight if we…do it now.” His tone of voice had gone from crisp impatience to insinuating lust in seconds. His lopsided grin was definitely lecherous.

  His hands were wantonly groping my denimed behind, one hand on each cheek, massaging me enticingly. He pulled his head back to gauge my reaction, bending his knees a little and opening his legs so that his groin could rub expertly against my lower belly.

  Oh, he was good at seduction, no doubt about that. A little nagging voice in the back of my mind plagued me: Maybe he turned the girl away because he knew I was coming to meet him. Maybe he’d met the little tramp at other times, when I’d had to leave early. Maybe…

  He winced with pleasure, that all too familiar look suffusing his handsome face and glazing over his stare. His eyes closed and he groaned, all the while moving his deft hands to my jeans zipper.

  “C’mon, shower time. Dinner can wait.”

  * * * *

  Eva placed a hand over her mouth while she giggled at the memory. But the thought of her jealous nature quickly sobered her.

  “My jealousy was always a problem for me. I know it bothered D.J., too, that I was so insecure, so distrustful of him that I often questioned his whereabouts. He called me a control freak, said I’d never control him so I should quit trying. He was right, too. I could never control him but I knew he went out of his way to reassure me that he would not stray. I wonder sometimes if my obsessive jealousy drove him to perform in Europe, just to get away from me…but again, that’s my own insecurities making me feel this way.” She shook her head. “It’s a terrible thing, jealousy. I’ve worked hard over the years trying to overcome it. I truly have. It hasn’t been easy having such a man for a husband. But, of course, I wouldn’t trade him for anyone else.”

  Serena gawked at her revelations.

  “Miss Villa, do you realize who you are? You’re one of the most famous American divas in the opera world. You’re beautiful, even at your age—oops, didn’t mean it like that.” Serena’s hands flew up to her neck and she made a gesture like, Strangle me now, please.

  Eva chuckled and dismissed her faux pas.

  “Thank you…I guess. Seriously, though, being a diva on stage with all the perks and attention off stage doesn’t mean the old childhood inferiority complex can’t reach up and take hold every now and then. We all have our insecurities…even D.J. He always felt like he never measured up to his father’s expectations for him. Like his opera singing was too sissified for his father to even take seriously. It always hurt him…even though he rarely spoke of it. In a way, that insecurity drove him to succeed. Just like mine drove me.”

  Serena frowned. “Yes, I can see that. It comes across in his memoirs. So what about San Francisco was the turning point for you? What about the city made you take the big leap and decide to marry D.J.?”

  Eva’s gaze drifted off, unfocused on the nearby wall. “It happened one Sunday morning.”

  The following morning, a bright, sunny but piercingly cold Sunday, the four of us—D.J., Sara, Vonnie and I—were walking in the pedestrian walkway across the famous, orange-painted Golden Gate Bridge. Or rather, three of us were strolling and one was riding atop D.J.’s shoulders. The wind was blowing fiercely in from the ocean despite the shockingly beautiful, cerulean blue sky. We kept looking skyward, D.J. pointing out to little Sara the five jets that raced across the heavens, sending down thunderous strikes every time they passed above them.

  It happened to be the beginning of Fleet Week, when Navy battleships and aircraft carriers sailed into the bay and the Blue Angels streaked across the sky, entertaining the crowds with their daredevil, precision flying.

  We paused to exclaim as a battleship passed under the Bridge, narrowly missing the bridge’s undercarriage of steel by several feet. Little Sara cried out in delight while D.J. held securely onto her tiny hands. The little girl’s reddish curls whipped all over her head in the near gale-velocity wind, blinding her. Her hands were clutching onto D.J.’s chin and perched atop D.J., she looked like a little pink bear in her down-filled jacket and pants.

  I turned away from the sight of the passing ship to tug on Sara’s variegated, knit cap, tying it underneath her chin. I smiled up at D.J., who seemed to
be enjoying his role as stand-in daddy.

  “This wind’s unbelievable,” I said to him.

  “Bad for your voices, isn’t it?” Vonnie chimed in, sweeping the hair out of her face.

  D.J. appeared unperturbed. “It’s okay. We don’t sing til Wednesday. Portland’s next?” His attention was drawn to another screaming pass-over of the Blue Angels. He pointed upward, crouching down as if the jets were going to graze them. Sara laughed at D.J.’s mock fright and one little hand slapped playfully at his cheek.

  “Don’t be scared! They can’t hit us!”

  “Are you sure, Sara?” D.J. cried out again, sending the little girl into peals of laughter.

  Four weeks into the tour, D.J. and I were more than a little tired. So were Vonnie and little Sara although both my daughter and sister were having the adventure of a lifetime, seeing different cities, eating a variety of food, visiting well-appointed hotels, room service at the touch of a button. And Sara was getting to know D.J. which pleased me most of all. Every sign from them told me that they were becoming good friends, that even one day, perhaps, they could love each other like father and daughter. It made my heart skip a beat just looking at the two of them, enjoying each other.

  I shook my head as my long ponytail was caught by a gust of wind, slapping me in the face. In Los Angeles, we’d treated Sara to a day at Disneyland. In San Diego, it was Sea World—oh heck! Despite all the adventures, I’d still be glad when the tour ended. Being a young, single mother trying to accumulate enough money to feather my nest was tough. My opera career was now my secondary concern, a dream long held but now fading in importance. In all truth, I wanted a stable home, a husband, a family…then a career.

  My priorities were changing.

  I watched D.J. swing Sara off his shoulders and set her down on the pavement. He put up the collar of his black leather jacket, straightened his back and rolled his shoulders, as though easing out a cramp. Sara had been riding his neck for the better part of an hour, ever since they arrived here from the gift shop and parking lot. We’d crossed half the length of the bridge and were on our way back. His cheeks a bright pink, he met my eyes and smiled.

  We were happy to be together. I felt like we were slowly coming together as a real family. I could tell D.J. felt the same way.

  There weren’t many people in the pedestrian walkway bordering the bridge’s high stone rail guards. Mostly tourists like ourselves. The view of the city skyline to our right was magnificent. Alcatraz and Angel Island were brownish-gray mounds to our left, the infamous prison island especially sinister looking. Below us, as we stopped by one stone pillar to take it all in before heading back, were the harsh, turbulent currents that made this bay a daunting experience for amateur sailors.

  “We should take a ferry ride to that north shore—”

  “Tiburon,” D.J. supplied, “Spanish for shark,” he added for Sara’s benefit. “The coaches leave at two. I don’t think we’ll have time. We still have to pack.”

  A little boy about Sara’s age ran by, ahead of his parents, carrying a stick. A plastic gray shark, its mouth agape, revealing two rows of white, jagged teeth, dangled from the end of the stick. This immediately caught Sara’s eye.

  “Look, D.J. There’s a shark. Can I have one of those?”

  “Sure, honey,” he replied, ruffling the white pom-pom on the crown of her pink, knit cap, “when we go back to the gift shop.”

  “D.J., I think the ferry rides are an hour long,” Vonnie said, tugging the front of her pea coat together. “They sell hot chocolate on those ferries. I know, I read about it in the hotel brochures. They leave every half-hour, so if we hustle and pack and take a cab to Pier 39, we’ll have just enough time to catch the noon ferry. The round-trip fare isn’t much.”

  D.J. checked his watch as he leaned against the stone rail guard. Vonnie checked the time on hers.

  “It’s eleven. We’d have to really haul ass—oops, sorry, Evie. I keep forgetting to watch my language around the little tyke. Sorry, Sara—” He twisted around full circle, darting looks up and down the bridge’s walkway.

  I broke off my gaze at the Blue-and-Gold ferryboat that was now motoring westbound under the bridge. I glanced around the stone pillar.

  “Where’s Sara?” I asked him. She was nowhere in sight.

  My stomach tumbled over, then leaped into my throat. Frantic, I grabbed Vonnie’s jacket sleeve.

  “Where’s Sara?” I shrieked.

  “Oh, God—” Vonnie cried.

  The three of us looked down the walkway, northward, then southward. The little boy with the dangling, plastic shark was walking between his parents, bobbing his stick up and down. D.J. ran up to them and gesticulated, his voice drowned out by the wind sweeping across the bridge.

  On the other side of tall, steel railings cars sped by in both directions. She couldn’t have climbed over that railing, I assured myself, nor the stone railings that prevented pedestrians from falling into the bay. The railings were at least four-feet high, too high for a little girl Sara’s size to clamber over. There were jumpers every year, I knew, who committed suicide off this bridge into the icy, treacherous currents below but the railings were adult-size.

  Unable to catch my breath, panic started to set in. Someone took her! Oh Christ Almighty, someone took her! It couldn’t be true! It couldn’t! My stomach cramped, a stab of pain shot through me as my mind tried to deal with it all. No, that couldn’t happen! Not to sweet, little Sara!

  In a frenzy, my arms folded over my middle, I began crying.

  “Sara! Sara!”

  D.J. jogged northward for about fifty yards, then came back to my side.

  “She can’t hear you,” he reminded me, seizing my arms in an attempt to control my panic. “Evie, stay here. In case she comes back. Vonnie, you run across that way—” He pointed to the north end of the bridge. “—I’ll go back to the gift shop. Maybe the idea of buying one of those little sharks made her think she could get one…”

  “Yes, yes, I gave her a dollar today so she could buy some mints. Yes, go, D.J.!”

  His eyes betrayed his own fears. When I nodded, he took off running to the south end of the bridge, from which we’d begun our stroll.

  Overcome with a numbing, paralyzing terror, the likes of which I’d never known before, I covered my face with my gloved hands. And prayed.

  Dear God…dear God…

  Continuously, I prayed, hunched over, my hands covering my face, forehead resting against the cold stone pillar. Afraid I’d collapse if I didn’t, I leaned all my weight against it and prayed. Dear God, bring her back to me…please, dear God…bring her back to me…

  Was it fifteen minutes? A half-hour? I lost all track of time. Then I thought I heard Vonnie shout. Looking up, I saw Vonnie jogging back, pointing in the direction she was facing. There was D.J., trotting back, slowing a little under the weight of little Sara in his arms. She was bouncing up and down, looking alarmed, frightened at the ruckus she’d caused.

  I launched myself from the pillar and rushed to meet them. I hugged the two of them as tightly as I could, not letting them go. I let the tears freely flow, not caring what passersby might be thinking.

  “Oh, Sara! How could you do such a thing?”

  “I’m sorry, Mommy…” Little Sara burst out crying, seeing how upset I was. “D.J. found me,” she sniffled, “He said he’d buy me the shark but first we had to come back here.”

  I looked at him, full in the face. His sapphire-blue eyes were filled to the brim, his flushed cheeks wet with shed tears. He DID care for the child! AND for me! No way would D.J. allow anyone to see him weep unless he truly cared—

  I raised myself and kissed his cold face, then kissed Sara, then D.J. again, continuing to hug them tightly. Relieved beyond words, Vonnie joined in on our group hug.

  “Oh, D.J.,” I breathed, and rose up to kiss his cheek again. We truly were a family. “Thank you!”

  * * * *

  Eva paced acro
ss the sitting room, unable to sit one minute longer. She wanted to get on that plane to Dallas immediately.

  “That night, after we arrived in Portland, D.J. asked me again to marry him. I said yes, I’d be honored. Then he asked me if I wanted another engagement ring—I was wearing this emerald-cut diamond on my right hand. I took off the ring and put it on my left hand. Told him no, I didn’t need any other ring but that one. On our wedding day, we exchanged gold bands. We had them inscribed. Look.”

  Eva removed her band and handed it to Serena. The engraved inscription on hers was: My darling Evie, with everlasting love, D.J.

  “The engraving on his ring reads: Love Forevermore, Eva.”

  The girl reporter gave the ring back to her.

  “Lovely.”

  “Believe me, that day in San Francisco cemented our relationship. Not that we haven’t had our problems since then, mind you. But that day was a reminder to us of what was really important in our lives. Not our careers…although I probably couldn’t breathe if I couldn’t sing. D.J., too, was different after that…more focused. Such a simple thing as losing your child for the space of fifteen minutes can shake you up and make you realize how vital your family is.”

  “Yes, I know what you mean. My little boy is everything to me. He’s what makes me very cautious about who I date. I want a man who’ll be a great role model for him, not just someone who’ll give me pleasure. You know what I mean?”