Page 56 of The Tenor's Shadow

Chapter 18

Anthony

Maestro Alamilla continued to be an enormous pain in the ass, but in the wake of what Anthony had survived, he couldn’t seem to stay angry at the man. He felt sorry for his co-star Adrijana. The language barrier had exacerbated the conductor’s martinet attitude, and he was constantly correcting and belittling her. Anthony made a point of giving her encouraging smiles whenever they sang together. She seemed grateful, and her perseverance in the face of all the criticism was impressive.

Three major events enabled Anthony to let the Maestro’s abuse roll off shoulders. His upcoming debut in New York. His deepening affection for Freddie. And his newfound friendship with his dresser, Gabriela.

She was an absolute delight. Thank God she spoke English so well. That meant she could gossip, and she was great at it. He’d had a costume fitting after a particularly frustrating rehearsal with the Maestro, and she’d validated his complaints about him.

“Gilipollas!” she shouted. “He was always bad, but ever since his chorus boy fiancé broke up with him last year, he’s been a monster.”

“Oh, do tell.” This was the kind of thing Anthony loved.

Gabriela bent to help the costume designer tie up Anthony’s boots. They were made of worn leather and had a surprisingly high heel. “Everyone says Rafael left because the Maestro couldn’t…um, what’s the English? Get it up?”

Anthony giggled. The costume designer Ignacio, a fey, elderly Spaniard in a pinstripe suit, shot Gabriela a murderous look, but she just rolled her eyes.

“He doesn’t have any English,” she whispered, tilting her head toward the old man, “so don’t worry. He can’t understand you.”

“How old is Rafael? Maestro Alamilla must be sixty-five.”

“Rafael got the job right after university. The Maestro was a guest instructor there. And he isn’t sixty-five. He is seventy-five.”

“Holy shit!” The costume designer slipped a white fabric belt around his waist, closing the burnished silver buckle. “To each their own, but that’s quite the age gap.”

“It was a tremendous scandal among the choristers.” Gabriela winked and smiled. Anthony loved how much she loved drama.

“I’d imagine.”

Ignacio stepped back from Anthony, gesturing dismissively. Anthony checked himself out in the mirror.

“You’re dashing.” Gabriela squinted, reaching out to the back of his neck. “But do you think maybe the collar…”

“It needs to be tighter, yes!” Anthony grinned. He was finally working with someone who knew an inkling about style. “And the jacket wants a brighter lining.” He glanced at Ignacio, who looked on, stone-faced. “Will you tell him?”

“Of course.”

Gabriela and Ignacio proceeded to have a heated argument in Spanish. Although Anthony understood little of it, Gabriela was a tiger. The old man didn’t stand a chance. Eventually, he threw up his hands and walked away, one end of his measuring tape trailing behind him.

“Is everything okay?” Anthony asked.

“He’s mad, but he’ll do what I say. Everyone does.”

“Ooh, I like you.” Anthony smiled, then squinted at Gabriela. “Never use that on me.”

In the days leading up to opening, Gabriela and Anthony became inseparable. She was good at her job, methodical and calm, as well as being an inveterate gossip. With Gabriela and Freddie by his side, Anthony was unfazed by the Maestro’s criticism. In fact, he was more confident than he ever had been.

Opening night came soon enough, and when the curtain rose on the first scene, a thrill of excitement rushed through Anthony unlike anything he’d experienced since his early days as a young artist. Opera La Rambla was full, hundreds of eager faces surrounded by lush velvet and gold-plated furnishings.

Freddie sat in the front row, dapper as all hell in a tailored black tuxedo, towering over the little old ladies on either side of him.

This was new. Anthony had someone there who supported him, who loved his art and his talent not because he was a rising star, but because Freddie loved him, warts and all.

Was that right? Did Freddie love him? This whole mate thing was confusing. On the one hand, it was like something out of an old romantic movie, as if an army of violins could come on at any time to underscore the big moments of their relationship. On the other hand, did Freddie even get a choice? Would he have wanted to be with Anthony without it? Anthony hoped so, but he wasn’t sure.

He thought Freddie loved him. He knew Freddie would always protect him, that he would always be there for him. Did he love Freddie?

He felt something, something that he’d never experienced before. A longing and a need, but without the desperate heaviness of youthful infatuation. This was light and buoyant. Anthony didn’t worry about Freddie’s devotion waning. He knew it wouldn’t.

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