Page 2 of The Tenor's Shadow

“Shouldn’t you be off somewhere weaving hemp knapsacks?”

“You…you…your high notes aren’t even that good!”

Unable to help himself, Anthony burst out laughing.

“Now we both know that’s not true,” he said. “If you think that, your hearing must be as off as your sense of taste.”

Michelle’s face turned beet red. She shrieked in frustration and hurried back to the wings.

Before exiting, she spun around and locked eyes with Barry, who was frozen in terror. Anthony could feel him vibrating from ten feet away.

“Are you going to let this flash-in-the-pan insult me like this?” Her tone was deadly.

Barry stared at her. “I…”

As he trailed off, she threw up her hands. “Asshole,” she grunted under her breath as she disappeared backstage.

Barry turned back to Anthony, deep exhaustion showing in the lines of his face.

“Antonio…”

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” Anthony took the tone he used when he knew he had the upper hand, and disagreement was not an option. “My assistant can give you names of some local costume designers that will have no problem working around the clock to polish this turd into something tolerable.”

“I won’t fire Michelle.”

“I’m not asking you to fire her. I’m telling you that a different designer is making my costumes.”

“Antonio…”

“Otherwise, you might find that I’ve come down with bronchitis on opening night.”

Barry’s eyes went wide. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. That was the signal for Anthony to wrap this up. The audience was getting restless, and he’d played with his toys for long enough.

“Jennifer!”

Anthony’s personal assistant appeared instantly, as if by magic. A tall woman in her mid-twenties, she had a demeanor more like a wealthy heiress than a PA. She threaded through the chorus of men milling about the stage, her high heels clicking against the boards as she made her way to Anthony.

“What?” She didn’t even make eye contact, instead typing furiously away at her phone, commenting on a picture of a bulldog puppy in a cat costume.

Anthony shook his head, smiling. He’d never been able to get her to act professionally, but she was too good at her job for it to matter. He hoped she was working on his social media accounts and not hers, at the very least.

Who was he kidding? He loved how blasé she was. It was endlessly entertaining, especially when people underestimated her.

“Take Barry here up to his office and give him the info for our Chicago costume designers.” Anthony gave the still-speechless man a once-over. “Stop at my dressing room on the way and pour him a glass of whiskey.”

“Fine.”

Jennifer headed off at a clip, with Barry trailing helplessly behind her. As they disappeared into the darkness of the wings, Anthony turned to the company, plastering on his most charming smile.

This was what he excelled at. Was he temperamental? Sure. But he also knew how to keep people happy. He could get away with the occasional tantrum if everyone felt special.

“My friends, I’m so sorry for the disturbance. I know this dress rehearsal didn’t go the way you’d expect. You are all consummate artists, and it’s an honor to create this new production with all of you.” It wasn’t a lie. Anthony had seen how hard they’d worked. “If you’ll indulge me, please join me at the bar tonight. Drinks are on me.”

A murmur ran through the company. The reaction was mostly positive, which didn’t surprise him. He was an expert at damage control. It wouldn’t be a cheap night, but it was worth it to not have to wear what’s-her-face’s hideous costumes.

He turned to the pit. “Maestra?”

The conductor’s face exuded a frustrated world-weariness, mostly directed at him. Anthony didn’t mind. He’d gotten what he’d wanted. The conductor picked up her baton, and the orchestra launched into the cabaletta of “Si, ritrovarla.”

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