She stepped back then, putting her hand on his chest, and faint color stained her cheeks. She couldn’t believe what had happened, and yet her glance was half-possessive. For a moment they stood like that, something whirling rashly between them and swaying both of them in its violent compulsions.
“I shouldn’t have done that, Simone.”
She smiled. “I can’t believe it happened.”
Colin stood, his eyes fixed on her, and then he turned his head slightly to one side. “I’d better go now.”
“Will I see you again?”
Colin stared at her. “Yes,” he said quietly. “You’ll see me again. Good night.” He turned and left the room. She stood still until the door closed, then raised her hands to her cheeks. “Why did I let him do that?” she whispered. But she knew that she would do it again, and the thought both troubled and thrilled her.
Chapter sixteen
Rosa Calabria stood in the wings, watching as the company performed the opera that had come to mean so much to her. She had been in poor condition and facing a bleak future when almost, out of nowhere, Colin Seymour had appeared and offered her work. Now as she watched him singing, her heart grew warm, and she turned to Marie Devois, who stood beside her, awaiting her entrance.
“I’ve never heard a more beautiful voice, Marie.”
“No, I haven’t either.” Marie turned. She was wearing the simple dress for her role of Juliet, and there was a beauty about her that could not be denied. “If ever a man had everything, Colin’s the one.”
The two women listened as Colin’s voice rose and filled the opera house with power, volume, and sweetness. Marie tilted her head to one side, and a smile turned the corners of her lips upward. “The way the women chase Colin is a shame, but I can’t complain, because I’m doing the same.”
“Why, it’s your role in the opera, Marie.”
“That’s only part of it.” Marie laughed and ran her hand over her hair. She turned to face Rosa and said with a sudden intensity, “I’m going to have him, Rosa.”
“What do you mean?” Rosa asked, although she had little doubt.
“I mean he’s a man any woman would want, and I’m going to get him. He likes me a great deal already.”
“That’s a different thing from what you’re talking about, Marie.”
“Oh, come on. You’ve been around for a long time. You know what it’s like with a man and a woman. You’ve had lovers enough.”
“Don’t remind me of it,” Rosa said, shaking her head with an air of sorrow. “I wish I could go back and erase some of the things I’ve done in my life.”
“You can’t live in the past. I’m not going to. This chance has come my way. I’m going up in the world with the help that Colin can give. He’ll be going to New York after this is over, I expect, and then Europe. I want to go with him, and I want to be more to him than just the singer in the operas.”
The aria that Colin was singing was winding down, and Marie smoothed her dress and prepared to make her entrance.
“Why don’t you leave him alone?” Rosa said.
“Why would you say that? He needs a woman. Every man does.”
“He needs more than just a woman. He needs someone who loves him.”
“I can make him love me. I want him, and that’s enough.”
With those words Marie moved out of the wings with confidence. Rosa watched sadly. “She wants him—and she’ll probably get him too. Men are such fools!”
After the usual visitors had left from backstage, Marie dressed quickly in street clothes. She stepped out of her dressing room and waited until Colin left his. She said to him, “Well, it was a good performance tonight.”
Colin smiled at her and nodded. “It was, wasn’t it? You did excep-tionally well with the aria.”
“Why, thank you, sir. Kind words, indeed, from the master. You know, I’m starving tonight. Let’s go get something to eat.”
“That sounds good. Any special place in mind?”
“Most places are closed, but Luigi’s will be open. Let’s go get spaghetti, and they have the best wine there.”
The two left the theater and walked to Luigi’s, which was only three blocks away. Luigi Pastrimi greeted them fulsomely. “Come in— come in, the stars of the great opera. An honor to have you in my place.”
“We’re late, Luigi,” Colin smiled. “Could you scrape up some-thing for us?”
“For you, only the best. Come, I have a table over here. It will be very nice.”
The two followed the short, chunky Italian to the table. He seated them and took their order personally. He scurried off, and Marie said, “You must feel very good about the way the opera is going. A full house every night, with no end in sight.”
Colin put his hands flat on the table and studied them before he answered. He was tired. Singing for hours at a time was as depleting as digging a trench. “I am happy,” he said, “but mostly for Armand.”
“You miss him a great deal, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do. I think of him every day.”
Marie covered his hand with hers. “That’s very sweet. I know he would have been very proud of you.”
“I hope so. He did more for me than anyone in this world ever has.”
Marie squeezed his hand. “You’ve brought honor to his name.” She leaned back as Luigi brought a bottle of wine and poured for them.
“You’ll like this wine. It is the very best, my lord.”
“You know I’m not a wine drinker.”
“Oh, come on,” Marie smiled. “You’ll hurt Luigi’s feelings.” She lifted the glass and held it out. He picked up his own and clinked her glass with it. She said, “A toast to the best tenor in the world.”
Colin laughed. “I can’t drink to that, but I’m glad you think so.” He merely sipped the wine and put it down. He listened while Marie did most of the talking. She was excited, he could tell from the way her eyes danced and the way she moved her hands in eloquent ges-tures. He had been rather proud of his choice, for she had blossomed as the opera had progressed.
Finally he said, “You know, Marie, you’re one of those singers who just gets better all the time.”
Marie looked down, then back at Colin. “Thank you, Colin. You don’t know how much your approval means to me.”
“Well, you certainly have it.”
When the meal came, they ate hungrily and lingered over it until finally Colin said, “It’s getting late. We have a rehearsal tomorrow at ten. I’d better get you home.”
The two rose, Colin paid the bill, and they left the restaurant. In the carriage, all the way to Marie’s apartment, Colin seemed to be deep in thought. She finally asked, “What are you thinking about?”
“Thinking about? Oh, I don’t know, Marie. I’m just tired, I suppose.”
“You’re working too hard. You need something to relax you.”
He laughed. “I’ll relax when I get too old to sing.”
“I don’t think that will ever happen.”
The carriage stopped before Marie’s hotel. She had taken a much nicer place than the one she occupied when she first started the opera, for she was well paid. She turned to Colin and said, “Come up with me.”
Colin was taken off guard. “It’s very late, Marie.”
Marie put her hand on his arm. “I’m lonely tonight,” she whis-pered. “Please come, Colin.”
The invitation in Marie’s eyes was clear. Colin had seen a great deal of such flirtation since his success. Women sought him out, but he had kept his distance, using his work as an excuse. But as he sat in the carriage, he was aware of Marie as a woman and not as a singer. She had a challenge in her eyes, making her a more complex and unfathomable woman than the one to whom he was accustomed. Indeed, she was beautiful and robust, with a woman’s spirit and fire.
There was no curtain of reserve in her eyes so that her invitation struck him hard. He was a man with all of the hungers and desires of a healthy man in the pr
ime of life, and at that instant he felt vulnerable. The urge to go with her and to take what she was offering became stronger, and he struggled against it. There was the impulse to satisfy the rich, racy current of vitality within this woman, and he knew that he could not conceal this from her.
She leaned forward and put her hand on his cheek. All the curves of her healthy, supple body were plain to him, and the desire in her eyes stirred him. Her lips, very red, broke into a quick smile, and she whispered, “I like you very much, Colin, and I have the feeling that you like me too.”
“I do like you, but—”
“What’s wrong? Why don’t you take what you can find in this life? It’s short enough.” She leaned in farther and kissed him. At that instant he was aware only of the warmth of her lips, the fragrance of her perfume, and the softness of her form as she lay against him.
“Come with me,” she whispered.
With almost a physical surge of strength, Colin shook his head. He again felt that tug in his soul. “It wouldn’t be good, Marie. I’m not in love with you, nor you with me.”
“That can come,” she said. But she saw that his shoulders stiff-ened and knew that she had lost. “Don’t think less of me, Colin. I’m just lonely.”
“I don’t think less of you, Marie. We’re both tired and worn out. You go get a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you at rehearsal in the morning.”
“Yes. Good night,” she said.
Colin watched as she descended from the cab and walked toward the door. He knew that most men would have taken what she offered, but something held him back. He felt like a fool and struggled with his faith in God and his human aspirations and desires. Finally he snapped, “All right, driver, you can go now.” Settling back in the seat, he felt the strain of the moment that she had brought about, and suddenly he knew that he had escaped somehow from something that he did not fully understand. Taking a deep breath, he whispered, “A close call, Colin, old boy. You’d better be careful. There may be more of them.”
Colin had stepped offstage, leaving the second tenor who played Mercutio to sing the solo that always brought large applause. He stood beside Rosa Calabria. “He brings the house down with that every night.”
“He’s good. Not as good as you, of course.”
“You always make me feel appreciated, Rosa.”
As Colin listened to the tenor with pleasure, he felt a touch on his arm and turned to find Rosa looking at him with concern in her face. “What is it, Rosa? Something wrong?”
“Not with me, but I have to tell you something, Colin. You’ve been such a good friend to me, so kind, and I’m worried.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
“Why, there’s nothing wrong with me.”
“You’ll probably hate me when I tell you this and think I’m just a jealous woman, but be careful of Marie.”
Colin nodded and said almost grimly, “I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes, but thanks for being concerned.”
“Men can be very weak where women are concerned. I wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to you, Colin. You’re too good a man to be ruined by a woman.”
“Marie’s all right.”
“She’s hungry for success. She’ll do anything to get it. You’d be her ticket.”
“Do you dislike her so much?”
“No, not at all. I was just like her. That’s the reason I know what she’s got on her mind.”
“I think I’ve already found that out, but I haven’t been a fool, and I won’t be. Not with her. Probably in many other ways. There’s my cue.”
The second tenor finished his solo, and Colin reentered the stage. It was the scene where he and Mercutio talked about love, and as he spoke, Colin glanced at the audience and saw Simone sitting in the third row. Instantly everything else seemed to fade out. By the look on her face, he knew she was remembering how he had kissed her. He himself had been thinking of the embrace and knew that it would stay with him a long time.
Finally the curtain closed, there were the usual curtain calls, and afterward the visitors went backstage. To Colin it seemed that at times, handling the visitors diplomatically, always with a smile, and thanking them for coming, was more taxing than performing the opera. He was glad to see Bayard and Simone together, and when they compli-mented him, he took it as gracefully as he could.
“I suppose you get tired of people telling you how wonderful you are,” Bayard smiled.
“Oh no, that’s always good to hear, but I don’t ever know what to say.”
“What do you mean?” Bayard, looking puzzled.
“Well, I mean someone says you have a beautiful voice. What do you say, Bayard? Do you say ‘Oh yes, I do’?” He saw them smile at this and shrugged. “Or do you say, ‘Oh no, I don’t,’ in which case you sound like you’re asking for more praise?”
“What do you say?” Simone asked.
“I say, ‘Thank you.’”
“Probably best,” Bayard said, nodding. “Look, old man, we’re going out to eat, Simone and I. If you don’t have another engagement, perhaps you’d go with us.”
Simone saw that Colin hesitated, and she wondered what it meant. Perhaps I’ve scared him off, she thought. Half the women in New Orleans are after him, and the way I kissed him, I suppose he thinks I’m another of them. Her cheeks reddened at the thought as she saw he was watching her. “You’re probably busy. I know you get many invitations,” she said.
“No, as a matter of fact, I have no engagements. Let me change, and we’ll go out someplace.”
The restaurant that they finally found open was a small place, full of the rich scents of meat sauce, crab boil, sautéed shrimp, cheese, and salami. The fried oysters and sliced tomatoes and onions they ordered as a first course were delicious. Simone had deep-fried, soft-shelled crab and shrimp salad with a small bowl of étouffee. The men ordered shrimp gumbo and oysters on the half shell. Accompanying the meal were rolls, sausages, and cheese. All were liberally dosed with sauce piquant. During the meal Simone relaxed, and the men got along famously. Bayard was an entertaining speaker and kept them both laughing with stories of the year he had spent in Paris studying painting.
They were only halfway through the meal when Bayard glanced up to see a party entering the restaurant. He straightened in his chair when Leon Manville, from Claude Vernay’s circle, came in with three friends Bayard knew slightly. Simone saw Leon at the same time.
“Who is that?” Colin inquired.
“Oh, just a fellow that used to be a friend of mine, of sorts.”
Colin picked up on the distaste in Bayard’s voice and studied the man carefully. He remembered seeing him then. He had been with Claude Vernay at the duel in which Armand had been shot. His eyes narrowed, and at that instant the anger and bitterness that he had man-aged to put away for a while came back. “I remember him,” he said.
“I hope he doesn’t come over here. I never liked the fellow,” Bayard said quietly.
But he was disappointed, for Manville approached the party and said, “Well, hello, Bayard. How are you, Simone?”
“Hello, Leon,” Bayard said rather shortly. “How have you been?”
“Fine as silk. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Colin looked up at the man. He was tall and muscular with dark brown hair that fell across his forehead. He had strange, hazel-colored eyes, and there was no warmth in them.
“This is Lord Beaufort. My lord, this is Leon Manville.”
“I remember him,” Colin said coldly.
“I remember you too. There wasn’t any ‘lord’ about it the last time I saw you. You’re the singer, aren’t you?”
“Among other things,” Colin said.
Simone felt the tension and said, “Excuse us, will you, Leon?”
Manville looked irritated. “You’re getting too good to speak to your old friends?”
“I’ll have to ask you to leave, Leon
,” Bayard said quietly, standing as he spoke.
Leon Manville glared at Bayard, then turned his attention back to Simone. “You always were a proud one. I don’t see anything to be that proud of.”
“Do I have to ask the manager to speak to you?”
“Why don’t you speak to me yourself, Bayard? We’ve been drunk together enough. You remember that woman we fought over in Algiers at Mamie’s Place?”
“I don’t want to discuss that.”
“I’ll bet you don’t. I haven’t seen you lately. Have you gotten too holy to speak to your old friends?” Manville’s voice had grown louder, and his companions looked uncomfortable. Simone said, “Please, Leon, go to your table. We don’t want any trouble.”
Manville leered. “You’d give a man trouble, Simone. I always thought there was something under that manner of yours. You’re no different from any other woman. All you need is a strong man to bring it out of you. Maybe me.”
Colin saw the color rise in Simone’s cheeks. He jumped to his feet and said, “That will be enough. Leave us alone now.”
“And what’ll you do if I don’t? You opera singers are a bunch of ladies, from what I hear.” Manville stepped behind Simone and put his hand on her shoulder. He squeezed it, and she tried to move away, but he gripped her too firmly. “Why don’t you come with me, Simone? I’ll show you a better time than these two.”
Bayard shouted, “Take your hands off her, Leon!” He moved for-ward, but Leon, a strong, powerful man despite a beer belly, struck him in the chest. The blow drove Bayard backwards, and at that instant Colin stepped forward.
Colin saw triumph in Manville’s eyes and knew that this was what the scene was all about. It was directed at him, not at Simone or Bayard. “Turn her loose,” he said, but instead of doing that, Manville swung his hand to slap Colin in the face. Colin moved out of the path of the blow and and grabbed Manville’s wrist. He gave it a twist that brought a sudden cry of pain. Colin kept the pressure on and swung Leon around, and when he was standing free of Simone, he released the wrist and stepped between Manville and Simone and Bayard. “I said, that will be enough.”
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