No Place Like Rome

by Julie Moffett

  Instead of entering the auditorium, Slash directed me down a small corridor. At the end, a security guard stood in front of an unmarked red door. Without even asking who we were, the guard quickly murmured a few words to Slash, opened the door and ushered us through.

  We were backstage. A harried guy ran past me carrying a handful of costumes and another snarled at me as I accidentally stepped on a wire on the floor. Another group of people were rearranging a heavy piece of scenery while the lights dimmed and then brightened. A large red velvet curtain cast the stage in partial shadows. I barely had time to register all the activity before an enormous woman with a flowing white dress and long dark hair fashioned in sausage-like ringlets spotted us, then threw herself in our direction.

  “Giovanni.”

  She pushed past me, nearly knocking me over, and engulfed Slash in a hug that completely hid him from sight. After a moment she began raining kisses on his cheeks and forehead, leaving a trail of red lip marks all over his face.

  A guy passing by must have seen the look on my face. “Don’t mind Larissa.” He jerked his head. “It’s all about the drama.” He pulled out a clipboard, jotted something down, and moved off to the other side of the stage.

  At some point, Slash finally extricated himself from Larissa’s enthusiastic embrace and turned her toward me. She wore heavy white powder make-up on her face and neck, and her ample bosom mostly spilled out of a tightly cinched low-cut gown. She had a line of dark hair along her upper lip.

  Slash took a handkerchief out of his breast pocket and began wiping the lipstick off his face. “Larissa, I’d like you to meet Lexi Carmichael. Larissa Dantenelli is an old friend of mine from Milan.”

  “Hi.”

  Larissa gave me a thorough and not-so-friendly perusal. “Hmmph.” She let then let loose a stream of Italian. After a moment, she paused and glared at me.

  Slash smiled. “Larissa says she is honored to meet you.”

  “Yeah, right, Giovanni.”

  His smile widened.

  Turning her back on me, Larissa hooked her arm with Slash’s and they spoke in low voices. Well, mostly Larissa spoke and Slash listened. After a moment, he nodded and then said to me, “She wants me to speak to her brother for a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  With that, Slash walked away from us and disappeared behind another group of people. Larissa turned her eyes on me with laser-like intensity. I wasn’t the best at reading social cues, but I didn’t have to be a psychologist to see the utter dislike in her expression.

  “So, your name Lexi?” she asked in heavily accented English.

  I glanced in the direction Slash had disappeared, praying he’d reappear momentarily. “Yes.”

  “You American?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why you here?”

  Was this a trick question? “To see an opera.”

  “You no talk much.”

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  Larissa gripped my arm with velociraptor-like fingernails. “I want to know how well you know my Giovanni.”

  I squeaked and tried to pull my arm away. “Could you clarify what you mean by ‘well’?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me. I know what you up to.”

  “You do?”

  She dragged me toward the red curtain with the strength of a sumo wrestler. I didn’t know what she had in mind, but I tried to dig in my heels. I soon realized it was a futile effort as she outweighed me by at least one hundred and fifty pounds.

  “Giovanni never bring woman to the opera before. Not to see me. His eyes for me only.”

  I tried to wrench my arm from her clawed grasp. “Look, Larissa, you’ve got entirely the wrong idea about me.”

  “Do you know who I am? I world-famous soprano. People worship me. My talent is rare. It takes woman like me to be worthy of man like Giovanni. We were meant for each other. In the soul.”

  “Sincerely...good luck with that.”

  “I don’t like you,” Her face reddened and the tone of her voice took on a strange musical vibration.

  “Jeez.” I craned my neck, looking desperately for Slash. Why the hell had he left me alone with this singing psycho?

  “You not woman enough for him.” She gestured toward my breasts with a contemptuous harrumph. “He needs a full woman.”

  I’m not by nature a rude or insulting person, but I’m sensitive about the size, or non-size, of my breasts. Besides, her fingernails were making half-moons in my skin and I don’t like being touched by strangers.

  “Technically, Larissa, you’re full enough for the both of us.”

  Larissa gasped as if I had just made the most discourteous comment in the entire free world. Maybe I had. But now I was mad and she still wouldn’t let go of my freaking arm.

  Her face started to turn purple beneath all the white powder and she raised her fist like she was about to punch me.

  I tried to step back, but she held fast. “Whoa, lady. Really? You’re going to take a swing at me?”

  Her answer was to shove her meaty fist at my face. I ducked, but she yanked hard on my arm, pulling me into her. I toppled against her with surprising force. She may have been built like a sumo wrestler, but the force of my body propelled us directly into the part of the heavy curtain. All too late, I realized what was happening.

  “Shit,” I yelped with my face squashed against her bosom.

  I clawed at the front of her dress with one hand, trying to get away. Unfortunately, at that exact moment, Larissa fell backward on her ass, her considerable weight taking me with her. The bodice of her gown ripped beneath my fingers with a sickening sound as the two of us fell through the opening of the curtain and hit the stage hard. We rolled across the floor like two bowling balls in a tangle of limbs. Larissa screamed as we catapulted off the stage and into the orchestra pit. For a split second my life flashed before me. People shouted, a practice scale cut off in mid-blow and then my hip and shoulder hit something hard.

  For a moment I lay still, the breath knocked out of me. People were scrambling over me and a musical stand nearly brained me as it fell. When I could finally sit up, I saw two men helping Larissa to her feet. She was wailing. One boob hung out of her ripped dress and her hair was a mess. It appeared that the cellist had broken her fall. He stood, adjusting his glasses and looking a bit shaky, but it was clear he’d live. The cello, on the other hand, was a complete loss.

  Someone helped me to my feet, too. I did a quick internal check, wiggling my head, hands and feet. My hip and shoulder hurt like hell and my vision was a bit blurry, but nothing seemed injured other than my pride.

  “Miss, are you okay?” someone asked and I blinked twice to get my vision back to single objects. A young man with thin hair and acne scars looked at me worriedly. “What happened?”

  I ran my fingers through my hair, plucking out what was likely a piece of a violin bow. “Ahhh...I’m not sure.” I looked down at the music stand I’d hit and saw the sheet music scattered across the floor. “Sorry.”

  “At least you missed the violin.”

  “There’s that.”

  I glanced over at Larissa who was wailing, waving her arms and doing everything except gnashing her teeth. I’m pretty sure she was enjoying all the attention. The stage manager and several technicians stood up on the stage yelling down at the people in the pit while the rest of the orchestra crew scrambled around the pit, trying to fix things. The audience was on its feet,
trying to figure out what had happened.

  “Cara?” I looked up. Slash stood on the stage, gazing down at me in surprise.

  I gave him a thumbs-up and a little wave. Better to put a positive spin on things. “Hey, you.”

  I couldn’t say anything more because I was drowned out by the stage manager, who was shouting that Larissa be taken to the hospital.

  “Never.” She grasped the shreds of her bodice to her breasts. “The show must go on.” She marched right past the orchestra director and with a glare at me, swept up the steps and disappeared backstage. I glanced back at Slash, who frowned and crooked his finger at me.

  Jeez.

  I apologized once again to the acne-faced musician and met Slash at the bottom of the stage stairs.

  “This way,” he said, guiding me to an auditorium side door and out into the lobby. “Are you hurt?”

  I adjusted my shawl, which had become tangled around my neck, revealing a bit too much of my non-cleavage. “Mostly my pride. My hip hurts a bit.”

  He slid his warm hand down over my hip, rubbing his fingers in small circles on the spot. His touch was electrifying and hot. I forgot all about the hurt.

  He has the ability to do that...make me forget about everything except him. We’d met last summer when we were thrown together by a set of unusual circumstances involving computers, terrorists and biotechnology. For some reason, he keeps hanging around and has a really bad habit of appearing in my life at the most inopportune moments. I don’t how to handle him or what he wants, if anything, which isn’t surprising since I suck at social convention. So I’m just me and let things be what they are, which, to say the least, is baffling when it comes to Slash.

  “Feel better, cara?”

  My gaze met his and I nodded. “A little. My shoulder hurts, too.”

  He slid his hand beneath my shawl, lifting it a bit so he could kiss my shoulder. I tried not to jump at the incredible sensation of his lips against my skin. “You’ll likely have a bruise.” He adjusted the shawl and smoothed it down.

  “I’m lucky I didn’t break my neck.”

  “You’ve also got some scratches on your face. What happened?”

  I stiffened. “In my own defense, Larissa grabbed my arm and swung at me first. I tried to get away, but she had a death grip on my arm and when she fell, there was no stopping her.”

  Slash raised an eyebrow.

  “Okay, I may have mentioned something about her weight. But she grabbed me first, insulted my, ah, body shape and said she didn’t like me. She’s convinced I’m trying to steal your affections. When I tried to set her straight, she punched me. I fell into her and we rolled across the stage and into the orchestra pit.”

  Slash coughed. Once. Twice. Then to my surprise, he started laughing. Not a small laugh, but an honest-to-God belly laugh. I stared at him in astonishment.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “As usual, I’m at a loss for words with you, cara. Truthfully, I’ve never known anyone brave enough to take on Larissa. But did you have to do it at the Kennedy Center in front of a full house?”

  “I did not take her on. This was so not my idea. You left me alone with her.” I gave him an accusing look.

  “Si, but for less than five minutes.”

  “It felt like hours.”

  A smile twitched at his lips. “Let’s go find our seats.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Are you serious? Go back in there after what just happened? Look at me.”

  I wished I hadn’t said that. He gave me a slow, thorough perusal from head to toe that made me feel hot and shivery at the same time.

  He touched my hair. “Do you really want to go home? I’ll take you.”

  I didn’t think it a particularly good idea to stay, but here I was, all dressed up and hanging with Slash. I really needed to expand my horizons and by God, I wasn’t going to let some overwrought drama queen ruin my personal growth. Yes, my hip and shoulder throbbed, but since I wasn’t going to die anytime soon, I might as well stay.

  “No, I’m good.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’ve got my game face on.”

  Slash smiled again and then led me to a set of stairs, which I climbed carefully in my heels. An announcement that the show would continue with just a ten-minute delay was being piped through the loudspeakers. We met a man at the top who took our tickets. He stared at me.

  “Are you alright, miss? You took a hard fall.”

  My cheeks heated. Jeez. Apparently I’d been the main feature at the pre-show. Maybe I’d make the front page of the Washington Post.

  “I’m fine, thanks.”

  Slash pressed something into his hands and he opened the door for us. We had very nice, very private box seats.

  “Wow.” I forgot all about my embarrassment. “This is ace.”

  Slash motioned to a seat and I sat down on a red-velvet chair. He divested himself of his suit jacket, laid it on the back of his chair then rummaged around in the pockets. To my surprise, he handed me a small pair of binoculars.

  “Binoculars? What do we need these for?” I turned them over in my hand.

  He sat down beside me. “You can get a closer view.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted a closer view, especially of Larissa, but I dutifully lifted them to my eyes and began to play with the adjustments. Not surprisingly, the binoculars were hi-tech digital. I became so fascinated with them I almost missed the opening number.

  Slash lowered the binoculars from my eyes. “Relax and enjoy.”

  He draped his arm around the back of my chair, close, but not actually touching my shoulders. Still, I could feel the heat from his arm. It distracted me. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do. Was his closeness just Slash being Slash or did it mean something else? I decided I shouldn’t obsess over it and lose focus on the opera, so I folded my hands in my lap and settled in to enjoy the show.

  The opera began with Larissa strolling on stage and singing. After a few minutes, I leaned over to Slash. “I don’t understand a word.”

  “It’s in Italian, cara.”

  I knew that, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have understood it had it been in English either. So, what was the point? It was frustrating. I wanted to like the opera. Opera was an artistic, meaningful form of creativity. I was all for creativity. I like musical expression. So far, however, I wasn’t getting this music. Maybe it was missing the rhythm or mathematical cadence I needed. Maybe I couldn’t relate to it because I didn’t understand the lyrics. Or maybe I was just too distracted worrying about my small boobs and wondering if Slash even noticed I had any. Not that it mattered between people who were just friends.

  I glanced sideways at Slash. He didn’t seem to be having a problem with the opera. Apparently, he got it. A true Renaissance Man. Me, on the other hand, I’m more the stereotypical geek girl.

  Computers and code.

  Gaming and pizza.

  The girl with the really small horizon.

  I tried not to sigh. The opera continued and despite the fancy costumes, incredible sets, and amazing range of the vocalists, I started to get antsy. Luckily I had the handy-dandy hi-tech binoculars on my lap. I fiddled with them and then suddenly I remembered something.

  “Slash, is your real name Giovanni?”

  He kept his eyes on the stage. “No.”

  “Larissa called you Giovanni. I heard her.”

  “Cara, my name is no
t Giovanni.”

  “Then why did she call you that?”

  “It’s a nickname.”

  “Giovanni is not a nickname. A nickname is Bill or Kate.”

  “Shhhh.”

  Larissa clutched her bosom and sang a note so high I was pretty sure my head would explode. I wanted to stick my fingers in my ears, but I was pretty sure this would be considered anti-opera etiquette.

  Leaning back in my chair, I picked up the binoculars and focused in on Larissa’s upper lip. Yep, the mustache was still there.

  Slash rustled beside me, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and reading something on it. “I’m sorry, cara. I’m going to have to step out for a few minutes. You’ll be okay?”

  “Sure. As long as you don’t leave me alone with any more opera singers.”

  He kissed me on the cheek, but a corner of his lips caught my mouth. It seemed that he lingered a bit too long and then he was gone. My heart pounded, my pulse raced.

  Jeez, calm the heck down, Lexi.

  It was just a friendly kiss between friends. Did friends kiss? My mother air-kissed everyone she knew. But Slash’s lips had touched my mouth—no air involved. Plus, I didn’t think my heart was supposed to do the tango from a “friendly” kiss.

  Five minutes stretched to ten and then twenty. The opera dragged on and without Slash beside me and I totally lost track of what was going on. Not that I had a clue to begin with. It looked like I wasn’t going to become much of an opera connoisseur any time soon.

  I’d started tapping my feet against the box in time with the cello (the newly replaced one, I guess), wondering what the heck had happened to Slash, when the door open behind me. I turned and saw a huge bald guy dressed in tan slacks, a short-sleeved white shirt and a green tie. He came in and sat beside me. Without saying a word, he crossed his tattooed arms across his stomach and started watching the opera.

  I stared at him for a moment and then cleared my throat. “Sorry, but that seat is taken.”