Eva felt tears sting her eyes and the chubby doctor, with his wisps of thinning black hair, looked uncomfortable. He lifted a box of tissues and handed it to her. Eva took a tissue and pressed it to each eye.
“Let’s set up a follow-up in a month. Give yourself a full month of vocal rest then there might be something new to see. Good?” He stood, obviously trying to get the crying girl out of his office pronto. “Get lots of good rest and perhaps things will look better in a few days.”
Eva let out a strangled sob.
“I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but maybe you should look into other careers as well, keep your options open. You’re very young.” The doctor’s voice took an almost paternal tone and Eva hated him for it.
She opened her mouth to respond but found nothing to say. What sort of training did they give doctors for talking to their patients these days? Things would look better in a few days? Look into some other career? Things would certainly not look better any time soon unless her voice magically reappeared. And of one thing she was certain, there was no other world for Eva outside of the musical one.
Ten minutes later, out on Fifth Avenue, Eva gave serious consideration to walking straight into oncoming traffic. The rain, that had been gusting down all day, was only a drizzling imitation of what it had been and Eva let the small droplets fall unabated onto her face.
Her life was crashing around her and she had no idea how to fix it. The small scratching feeling in the back of her throat had begun during her finals. She’d sung Dido’s Lament and all the while there was a sensation of vocal chords growing thick, clogging up her throat, keeping air from getting through. She sounded as if her voice box were filled with marbles.
Eva had quickly stopped speaking when it wasn’t absolutely necessary, used honey, water, cough drops, and sprays that tasted like bitter raw herbs. Nothing worked. It seemed that every day the problem got worse.
It made no sense to Eva or her teachers. She had been trained by the best instructors her whole life. She had perfect technique. She had the perfect genes. But it was no use.
The only thing she’d ever wanted in her life, besides wishing her parents alive again, was growing further and further out of reach.
Another tear slid down her cheek.
The patter of rain began to pick up again and Eva felt glad for it. She wanted the rain to hide her tears, to make her invisible to the thrusting crowds of tourists and Manhattanites around her.
She walked back to her Central Park apartment, climbed the four flights of stairs and left her wet clothes on the floor at her door.
Three days later she was still in her pajamas, listening to records of her mother when singing the title role in Aida.
A loud knock at the door pulled Eva out of her malaise and she walked over to see who it could be. Looking out of the eyehole, she saw her school friend, Bridget, standing on the other side.
Eva paused. She didn’t feel like seeing anyone, she didn’t want to tell anyone that her career was over before it had begun.
Bridget knocked again and, with a sigh, Eva opened it.
“Where have you been?” Bridget walked in without being asked. “I’ve called you like twenty times, and sent emails.”
Bridget was a few years older than Eva, she’d been a child star on Broadway before deciding to study classical opera. She was one of the most wretchedly optimistic people Eva knew, with milk chocolate skin, and a tiny body that made her look more like a teenager than a woman.
Eva, on the other hand, had always been mistaken for someone much older than her actual age. She’d grown full hips and the curvy body of a woman when she was still only a girl herself. Even as a child she had carried herself with a sense of purpose and maturity unknown to the girls her own age. Julliard had been the best thing that had ever happened to Eva. Until then she’d never known that people her own age could be just as driven, dedicated, and serious about their work. She’d also never fully understood how unique her talent was.
Bridget looked around the apartment with a sigh. Eva’s discarded clothes still lay on the floor where she’d left them three days ago. Dirty mugs of Throat Coat tea lined the coffee table and records lay strewn across Eva’s piano bench.
“What’s going on?” Bridget turned to look at Eva, “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” Eva rasped.
“And you sound worse, I thought you were going to the doctor,” Bridget sat unceremoniously on the green velvet couch that Eva had inherited from her parents.
“I did,” Eva said as she picked up several mugs from the coffee table and walked them to the kitchen.
“Bad news?” Bridget looked at Eva as she came back from the kitchen but Eva looked out of her window, away from her friend.
“Not good news.” Eva picked up a discarded scarf and wrapped it around her neck. The day was unusually cold outside for that time of year but didn’t seem to deter people from their daily romps in the park.
“Well, tonight will be good to get your mind off it then,” Bridget said as she leaned back into the couch.
“Tonight?”
“Don Giovanni? Ambrose Leroy singing Don Juan?” Bridget lifted her eyebrows. Eva and Bridget had nursed a serious crush for the famous and extremely handsome baritone. Eva had even let his recorded voice sing her off to sleep for a number of stressful weeks.
“Oh,” Eva felt a pang at the thought of watching an opera she might never be able to perform herself. Of seeing one of the men she’d most admired and adored onstage, dangling the delights of something that might be forever out of her reach.
She felt the tell-tale heat of threatening tears burning behind her eyes.
“I’m not ready.” She looked down at her pink silk pajamas but she meant the sentiment in more ways than the physical.
“So go take a shower, I’m meeting Jerome and Leslie for dinner, you can just meet us at Lincoln Center.” Bridget stood up like everything was settled. “Do you want me to help clean some of this up before I go?” She looked around at the mess.
Eva took a shower telling herself all the while that she could always cancel with Bridget afterward. She blew out her hair, put on a pair of black seamed stockings, an emerald vintage dress that accentuated her curves, then looked herself over. She looked good.
It wasn’t a terrible idea to go out tonight. She loved the music of Don Giovanni, and she loved the sound of Ambrose Leroy more. His voice was like a million warm and wonderful sensations crawling over her body all at once. She could listen to him for hours and not get hungry or cold. She shivered with anticipation as she thought about seeing him live onstage.
She would go for a walk through the park toward Lincoln Center and then she could decide once she got there. She wound a black silk scarf around her neck and tucked her bag under her arm.
It felt strange to be outside after so many days cloistered in her own world. The air was chilly and brisk. As she walked down the path she couldn’t help but feel that she was being looked at. Eva turned casually but found no one. A shadow passed her left side and she gave a little jump when she saw one of the famous Central Park horses standing a few feet away.
Eva smiled at herself and continued on, still thinking of what she would say to Bridget when she cancelled.
But Eva didn’t cancel. With every step closer to Lincoln Square and the vast glass panels of the Metropolitan Opera House she felt as if she were being pulled. As if the building itself were drawing her in.
“You look much better.” Bridget winked at Eva when she arrived.
“Green is a good color on you,” Jerome whistled as she moved in for a kiss on each cheek.
“Thank you,” Eva rasped softly into her friend’s ear.
“Bridget was right,” Leslie said from behind the hugging girls, “you sound way worse.”
Eva watched as Bridget gave Leslie a little push of remonstration.
“Sorry,” Leslie said belligerently. Leslie looked from Bridget to Eva.
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“Envy green doesn’t look so good on you,” Jerome laughed at Leslie, who blushed. Jerome had been the tall, handsome object of affection for most of the girls in Eva’s class, especially Leslie. Jerome, however, seemed only to use Leslie’s obvious attentions as a point of sport. Eva had always assumed it was his way of flirting but she wished he wouldn’t, Leslie seemed to always find something to be unhappy about. According to her, the teacher’s unfairly picked on her, Eva was unfairly lauded because of her parents, if Leslie did poorly on a performance or exam it was always because of something someone else had done to purposefully hinder her performance.
Eva tried not to take the other girl’s comment to heart. She tired her best to smile but found herself unwilling to say anything. It would, after all, only prove Leslie’s point.
“Let’s go in.” Bridget turned toward the entrance where other well-dressed opera patrons were already going in.
“I feel like the opera audiences are always disproportionately full of old people,” Jerome said too loudly. An older couple turned to look at Jerome and Bridget snapped her eyes at her friend in annoyance.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” she hissed at Jerome once the people had turned away from them. Now Eva did smile.
They’d purchased the tickets when they were still students and gotten a great deal. The seats were in the side orchestra and she whiffed heavy perfumes and spicy aftershave from the crowds of people surrounding them.
Eva felt more fully the magnetic pull she’d begun feeling all the way from the East Side. There was a special energy in the building that seemed to carry Eva all the way to her seat.
As Eva sat down she rewrapped her scarf around her neck and exhaled. The breath felt good against her vocal chords and she took a deep inhale and exhale again through her mouth.
“I’m so glad you came,” Bridget leaned over in the dimming lights.
“Me too,” Eva whispered back.
“Aw, me too,” Jerome said in a mock girlish voice, smiling at both Eva and Bridget.
Leslie leaned forward, “Shh, it’s starting.” She put a finger to her lips and widened her eyes.
The attention of the audience turned to the stage and Eva looked on with a magical sense of transportation and wellbeing. This was her favorite place in the world. This was where she wanted to spend the rest of her life.
Ambrose Leroy came to the stage with a breathtaking sound. His voice resonated through the building like a man singing into a great canyon. Eva gave a sharp intake of breath and leaned forward, she hung on his every note, his every perfect burst of sonorous sound.
Eva felt herself pulled into the man’s spell. Playing Don Juan was the perfect role for the magnetic man. She was in complete and utter rapture.
“He is perfect,” Bridget said turning to Eva as the lights came up for intermission.
“The most perfect,” Eva agreed, her mind still on the man. “He’s like a…like…” Eva trailed off as she looked at her friend’s face.
“Eva,” Bridget stared open mouthed at her friend, “your voice.”
Eva put a hand to her throat. She hummed a little chord from what they’d just heard. Her voice felt… it felt restored. Her vocal chords felt supple and flexible, ready to take flight.
“Bridget,” Eva spoke with the same trilling sounds she’d always had before her recent decline. “Do you think…maybe it’s been nothing at all, maybe I have allergies to something in the air, maybe…” the clear tones of her voice made her laugh with happiness.
“Maybe it’s psychosomatic,” Jerome leaned forward into the conversation as he made way for a woman struggling through the row.
“But I had tests, I had specialists…the best,” Eva could have burst into song at that moment of perfect euphoria. She had a voice and she was dying to test it out.
Eva spoke with exaltation all through the intermission, making her words as fluid and songlike as possible, she even hummed phrases of her favorite songs to her friends who were merrily goading her on.
“You could audition now. You were invited to more auditions than anyone else in our class,” Leslie said with a slight snap of bitterness.
“Oh,” Eva sighed and leaned back in her seat, “if it were anyone but Ambrose Leroy I would have to leave immediately and go wake all of my neighbors.”
“But it is Ambrose Leroy… and he is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. The things I could do with a man like that.” Bridget gave a lascivious look under her eyebrows.
“Most beautiful man? Let’s exaggerate,” Jerome said as he struck a pose.
The lights flicked and people swarmed back to their seats and back into the spell of Don Juan.
The final notes ended to a rush of wild applause.
“Bravo,” Jerome called as Eva bounced in her spot, clapping wildly. She applauded with abandon, as if drunk on the performance.
Eva watched as the house lights came up and people began to spread away from performance and out into the New York night.
“But I don’t want it to end,” Eva turned to Bridget.
“Back to reality.” Jerome smiled with a c’est la vie shrug.
Eva turned in the appropriate direction with her heart aching to stay. She meant exactly what she said, she didn’t want it to end, she wanted it to go on forever.
Eva had just made it to the end of the row when a man, dressed in a plaid suit, stopped her. She thought he was going to ask for directions or the name of a good restaurant but he surprised her by saying her own name.
“Eva St. Marie?” The man’s skin glowed a pale waxy color under the lights.
“Yes?” She searched his face trying to remember where she might have met him before.
“Mr. Leroy has expressed a desire to meet you.”
Chapter Two
The man gave a soft smile and Eva stared at him not knowing what to make of his words.
“Ambrose Leroy?” Bridget said from behind her.
“Yes, he’s in his dressing room… your friends may, of course, come as well.” The man spoke to Eva then looked at her three gaping friends.
“That would be… very nice. Thank you,” Eva stammered.
“Do you know Ambrose Leroy?” Bridget whispered into Eva’s ear as the two made their way past leaving people and toward a door closer to the stage.
Eva shook her head and mouthed a silent, “No, I have no idea.”
“But how does that guy know you?” Bridget hissed, pointing to the man in the plaid suit.
Eva looked to her friend, trying to think up some plausible explanation, but none came.
The group followed the man through another door and past other members of the opera and orchestra in various states of disarray.
When they went up a small flight of stairs Eva, Bridget, Leslie, and Jerome all walked into a well-appointed room. Sitting in chair with his stage makeup smeared onto a towel nearby, sat a shirtless Ambrose Leroy. He looked fresh despite his recent hours until the hot stage lights.
Eva looked at him dumbfounded. She’d thought him perfect in photos and video online but it was nothing compared to the real thing. His muscular chest and arms were stealing her focus and she tried desperately to look only at his face.
“Eva St. Marie,” Ambrose stood looking at the group, “and these must be your friends.”
Eva smiled dumbly. Possibly understanding her openmouthed gaze, Ambrose lifted a shirt from a nearby chair and put it on. The smell of sandalwood and lemon floated to her nostrils.
He was perfect in every respect. His skin was smooth, his lips pulling at a hint of a smile, his eyes glowed a deep green, and his jaw was a tight masculine line. His hair sat as a tousled bundle of light brown curls, almost golden when they caught the light.
His gaze was so powerful that she barely knew where she was or who her friends were anymore.
“This…” she extended a hand in the direction of her friends without looking at them or breaking eye contact with Ambrose. “…this is�
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“I’m Jerome.” Jerome put a hand out and Ambrose moved his eyes from Eva and reached a hand to Jerome. The two seemed to give each other a rather over masculine handshake. “This is Bridget and Leslie,” Jerome continued the introductions as he gave Eva a curious look.
“And how did you like the performance tonight?” Ambrose turned his attention to Eva again and she felt as if she were being clasping in his grip.
“It was perfect,” she said, though she could have really been saying, you are perfect.
He turned to look at her three friends with a question on his face.
“Excellent, sir,” Bridget gushed.
“Please, call me Ambrose.” He smiled and the world seemed to shatter beneath it.
“I have always been a fan of your parent’s work,” he turned to Eva again. “Your mother’s voice…well, I don’t suppose I have to tell you how talented she was.”
Eva felt her face grow flush. So, was he just a fan of her parents? Was that why he had taken an interest in meeting her?
“She sang like an angel…and looked like one too,” he continued when Eva didn’t say anything. His eyes moved over Eva’s face very carefully. “You look quite a bit like her.”
Eva smiled, “Thank you. I was young when they…” Eva looked away.
“It was tragic,” Ambrose’s voice crept over her, over her neck, down her spine.
Eva nodded then looked back at the deep green eyes.
“Your father was a master with the baton.” Ambrose lifted his eyebrows. “…And your mother at La Scala.” His face moved as if he were in the throws of ecstasy, not dissimilar to the way Eva had been looking at him all night.
“But you’re much too young to ever have seen them,” Eva knit her brows. She didn’t actually know how old he was, at least a good ten or fifteen years her senior.
“Not too young to have listened to the recordings though.” He smiled and Eva kicked herself. There had seemed something in the manner of his saying it, something that had suggested a closer connection… but of course it must have been the recordings. Perhaps he had the type of connection to her parents that she’d always felt to Ambrose himself and she had never met him before tonight.
Beta's Destiny (Rocky Mountain Shifters Book 2) Page 34
