Page 18 of When Stars Collide
“Cherubino. We mezzos are famous for our breeches parts.”
“Women playing men?”
“Yes. Cherubino inMarriage of Figaro. He’s a horndog. Sesto inLaclemenzadi Tito.Hansel inHansel and Gretel. My friend Rachel owns that role.”
“Hard to imagine you playing a guy.”
“I pride myself.”
He smiled. Her passion for her work and loyalty to her fans were unmistakable. Passion was what drew him to people, their enthusiasm for their jobs or their hobbies—whatever gave their life joy and meaning, whether it was making a great marinara sauce, collecting Louisville Sluggers, or singing opera. Nothing bored him more than bored people. Life was too great for that.
She scratched the back of her calf with the toes of one grubby foot. “I’m sure you receive gifts.”
“I got a good deal on a Maserati.”
“I’ll have to mention that to Rupert. Anything else?”
“The occasional loan of a vacation home, plus more liquor than I can drink and too many restaurant meals comped. It’s ironic how often people who don’t need money get the breaks, while the ones who could use a helping hand come up empty.”
She regarded him thoughtfully. “Not exactly the viewpoint of an entitled jock.”
He shrugged. “There’s a big link between genetics and athletic ability. I got lucky.”
She studied him a moment longer than necessary before gazing at her feet. “I need a shower. I’ll see you in the morning.”
It felt like the end of a good date, and he had a crazy urge to kiss her. An impulse she obviously didn’t share because she was already on her way to her bedroom.
He opened the terrace doors and stepped outside. He felt restless, itchy. The Diva was too cavalier about these gifts for his taste. He’d had to deal with a couple of overzealous fans like Rupert, and one of them had turned into a verified stalker. He drummed on the terrace rail, turned back inside, and went to the piano. The note that had come with the flowers lay faceup on top.
La Belle Tornade,
You are my gift from the gods.
Rupert P. Glass
Thad grimaced. The crumpled envelope the desk clerk had given her when they’d gotten back to the hotel lay next to the florist’s card. She must have forgotten she’d set it down.
This envelope was postmarked Reno. He wasn’t prone to opening other people’s mail, but his instincts told him to make an exception.
He pulled out a single sheet of plain white paper printed with block letters.
This is your fault. Choke on it.
The Diva’s bedroom door opened. “What are you doing?”
“Opening your mail.” He held up the note. “What’s this about?”
She glanced at it as she snatched it from him. “The opera world is full of drama. Stay out of my mail.”
“This is more than drama,” he said.
She lifted her chin, but he noticed her hand was shaking. “It’s personal.”
“I’ll say.”
“It doesn’t concern you.” She turned toward her bedroom.
He cut in front of her. “It does now. If you’re involved with crazies, I need to know in case we run into any of them in the next four weeks.”
