Haunted Tenor (Singers in Love Book 1)

by Irene Vartanoff

I gave JC a quickly smothered look of incredulity. All along he had denied that ESP had anything to do with my behavior. Obviously this was the explanation he wanted the management to believe. I went along with it.

  “Yes, sir. I had a very strong feeling that something was not right.”

  “Security has assured me that you are not a suspect in the equipment falling. What about you, JC? Are you satisfied that Kathleen is not a threat to you after all?”

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “Kathleen was not stalking me. Her ESP told her I was in danger. She kept trying to convince me. Turns out she was right and I was wrong.”

  His last words were directed at me and carried an extra meaning.

  “Then you no longer have a problem with Ms. Grant attending your performances?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Kathleen, you are reinstated with full access.”

  I thanked him. “What about that metal object that fell onstage?” I asked.

  “The piece had been bolted on the scaffolding, but the metal sheared off. No evidence of foul play.”

  “Was the piece attached with only one bolt? That sounds very flimsy,” I said, rather daringly. I was worried about all the times JC would have to stand under such equipment in the future, trusting that it was safe.

  “There had been an accident earlier yesterday, when the scenery was being moved into place. We think that ripped the other bolts out.”

  “It’s a hard angle to see,” JC conceded.

  “That’s not good enough. He could have been…” I couldn’t say it.

  JC took my hand. “I’m fine.”

  “So is the man who got scratched in the face with the other half of the broken bolt. It was only a flesh wound,” Schwartz said. “From now on there will be an extra visual inspection.”

  “That’s a relief,” I said, but something still worried me. “May I talk about the ending now?”

  “What about it?”

  “Yes, what?” JC wanted to know.

  “There’s one more performance. Are you going to revert the ending to the traditional one in which Carlo Quinto pulls Don Carlo to safety?”

  “Why would we?” Schwartz asked, puzzled.

  Because I was afraid that the ghost caused the falling metal and would do it again. Why it hadn’t happened before last night I had no clue.

  “I’m afraid of what might happen on the last night,” I said. “I can’t be any more specific than that. My ESP isn’t like ESP on television or in the movies. It’s not clear. Why take a chance?”

  “I don’t interfere with what the director wants,” the general manager said.

  “Couldn’t you change the ending in that one performance? In case the ghost is still not at rest?”

  “Ghost?”

  “That’s what my ESP was telling me. It was a ghost.” I spread my hands to deny personal responsibility for the absurdity of talking about a ghost.

  Schwartz glanced at JC, probably wondering why he had hooked up with a crazy woman. “Young lady, I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what you are asking.”

  “Maybe not exactly.” I had to convince him. “Excuse me for saying so, but hasn’t this current ending been booed by audiences and thoroughly panned by critics?”

  “We have to be daring to gain publicity.”

  By now, I knew publicity was very important. Ralph had told me that opera houses were desperate to interest younger audiences in opera. To do that, media attention was the key.

  I said, “Wouldn’t it be even better publicity to announce that you were changing the ending because the ghost of Carlo Quinto wants you to?” I shrugged. “I mean, I know it sounds flaky, but it’s kind of cool, too. Audience participation and all.”

  JC added, “We’ve already changed some of the director’s bits since the premiere.”

  I looked at Julian Schwartz hopefully. “Couldn’t you change one more?”

  The general manager didn’t take long to make up his mind. “If we did, we’d get mentions on the internet, a slew of disbelieving but amused clips on local news, and more.”

  He turned to JC. “How do you feel about changing the ending?”

  JC took his time answering. “If Kathleen is still worried about my safety, I’d prefer to go along with her. She was right last night.”

  Schwartz nodded. “I’ll square it with the director. He’ll probably want an extra rehearsal for that section, so expect to get a call.”

  He stood, and so did we. “Now you two lovebirds can get on with it.” He smiled at us as he left.

  “Can we?” I asked, as the general manager’s footsteps receded.

  “Do what?” JC asked.

  “Get on with it. I hope that the ghost is satisfied. That I will never again feel compelled by an otherworldly presence.”

  “That’s not the only thing on your mind now, is it?”

  “No.”

  “I think we should talk.”

  “So let’s talk. I’m not hungry for lunch.” I frowned at him. “I’m still waiting to hear why you got involved with me if you thought I was another stalker.”

  “Because I couldn’t resist you.” JC’s dark beauty enthralled me as he struggled to speak words that came from his own heart and not an opera libretto. “I tried. I tried very hard. You kept showing up wherever I was, and I liked it.”

  He paced Ralph’s cramped office. “How do office workers manage to stay in such confined spaces?”

  “You’re stalling,” I said in a sing-song voice. He winced. Doubtless I was off-key.

  “That I am. Talking of feelings can be very difficult. I could sing them with far more ease.”

  “If it’s in Italian, we won’t get very far. I’m still learning the basics about opera.”

  “The rest will come with time.”

  “Do we have time?” I was ready to boldly confront him.

  He took me in his arms, gazing solemnly at my anxious face.

  “I love you.”

  “Oh, JC,” I breathed.

  I wanted to kiss him, but he held me off with one caressing finger. “Forgive me for that first night two months ago. Afterward, it was too much. I had gotten too involved, too soon. I did not know you.”

  “You trusted me all along, but you thought you shouldn’t,” I said, trying to keep the happy tears at bay.

  “My heart tried to tell me it was love, but I would not listen. I went to Europe and attempted to forget you. I couldn’t.”

  “Oh, really?” I pretended to be indignant. “You could have at least answered one of my emails. You have no idea how many hours I spent composing them.”

  “They were only two lines or so. Nothing special,” he objected, clearly perplexed.

  Typical man. “Ha! Carefully edited. Brimming with meaning. Just like the words you sing.”

  JC considered that. “A fair point. I missed an opportunity to know your mind.”

  “Safely.”

  “But what if you had been crazy for real? I was trying to forget you, not encourage you.”

  “All right,” I laughed. He was so logical about being illogical. “I forgive you. Those two months were long, but they’re over.”

  “When I returned here immediately I was dying of desire for you all over again,” he shook his head.

  “That would explain why you kept telling me to keep away from you. Then kissing me,” I chided.

  He sighed. “Not my finest hour.”

  “I disagree.” I put my hand on his cheek lovingly, stroking the rough beard mingled with soft skin. “Best. Kisses. Ever.”

  JC’s eyes lit up. He set out to see if he could top himself. We closed Ralph’s office door, and we never did have lunch. We quenched a different kind of hunger.

  ***

  The usual three-day interval between operas passed very happily, although every once in a while I spared a thought to worry. As the last night approached, I was on pins and needles wondering if the ghost would return for the final performance o
f Don Carlo. Was saving the doomed prince that one time enough? Perhaps my fears were lessened somewhat by the fact that for the last three nights, I had stayed in JC’s bed. We hadn’t slept a lot. His loving touch made me bloom.

  We talked about how we each had work to do in the future, but would try to be together as much as possible. I was going back to grad school immediately, but with an eye to widening my projected career path beyond academia. JC agreed that I owed it to myself to finish. He had more singing engagements around the globe. In between, and when the season ended, he would come to me. We would be together.

  I still fretted about that last performance. “I’m worried that the ghost will appear again,” I repeated on the morning before.

  “Please, mi vida, talk about something else.” JC replied.

  Suddenly I realized that by venting about my fears I was creating a negative in JC’s life exactly when he needed to concentrate on the positive. Psyching himself up for the last performance was important. As lacking in over-the-top operatic temperament as he seemed to be, in fact he was a dedicated artist, a serious practitioner of a very complex talent.

  Still, what if the ghost returned, even more violently?

  I held my breath all through the last performance of Don Carlo. As the last scene unfolded, I felt the ghostly presence again. Why was it there? Under pressure, the director had agreed to change the ending to the more traditional one the ghost had enforced three nights ago. Why was I so tense?

  This time, the singer playing the monk as Carlo Quinto reached out his hand and pulled JC toward him, to save him from the soldiers. JC didn’t hesitate. I felt nothing ghostly in me and I did nothing.

  The big surprise was that the audience actually applauded and someone up in the balconies actually whooped when Carlo Quinto dragged Don Carlo into his tomb to save him from his father’s soldiers. There had been lots of press coverage of the planned change as a courtesy to the ghost. Thank goodness the ghost had not possessed me again, although I still felt its presence.

  Then, another piece of metal crashed down in the exact spot where JC would have been standing if he hadn’t been dragged into the mausoleum. Again. The ghost left me.

  I shrieked with horror, but wild applause covered my outcries. The clapping went on for a long time. Sean and JC both looked quizzically at me when they took their bows. I shrugged, indicating my confusion.

  I finally relaxed for the first time in weeks. The ghost was gone with that final warning. The ghost wanted Don Carlo to end with the prince being pulled into the mausoleum and saved.

  My work was done. By ensuring that Don Carlo was saved, I had saved the man I loved. Again. Finally, the tragic opera Don Carlo had a happy ending. For JC and me.

  Epilogue

  Since that night, I’ve had plenty of opportunities to see other live performances of Don Carlo, both with JC singing and with other tenors playing that role. I’d wondered if the ghost would reappear. It never has. Whatever it was, a combination of the love JC and I were meant to share and the fictional unrequited love that Don Carlo and Elisabetta never could act on, the ghost was done with us. I’m grateful.

  I completed my Ph.D. as quickly as possible, but with an interruption. We discovered a long-distance relationship wasn’t working for us. We needed more than to see each other occasionally. The passion that burned between us was too fierce to be assuaged by occasional reunions. JC and I married immediately after his opera season slacked off, even though I had more school to endure. I found a position that allowed me to travel the world with him and still work remotely. I did historical research on my Ph.D. in whatever libraries were available in the major cities of Europe and elsewhere. Slowly, very slowly, I fulfilled the requirements. Meanwhile, I gained experience writing position papers keyed to certain business needs. I even found an adjunct professorship with an online university, to support myself. Never saw that one coming, but it suited me. JC’s peripatetic life suited me, too. Sometimes, I walked out of a university library and I couldn’t immediately remember what city I was in, but I always knew I’d soon be with the man I loved. There were no ghosts possessing me. Only JC’s love.

  A Note from the Author

  Thanks for reading Haunted Tenor. I hope you enjoyed it and will tell your friends. Please consider writing a review and posting it, too.

  The opera-and-the-paranormal fun is just beginning. Sean Grant makes a return appearance you won't want to miss in Friendzoned Soprano, Book 2 of Singers in Love, available for pre-order now. See what happens when a happy-go-lucky baritone tries to keep it light with a dramatic soprano who won't settle for anything less than love. And the Tarot is involved. Click here to pre-order.

  Defiant Diva is Book 3 of the Singers in Love series. This strong heroine puts the D in diva, and there's a demon involved, too. An exquisitely beautiful romance with an amazing man offers this star mezzo-soprano a happy ending despite her defiance.

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