Roses for a Diva by Rick Blechta

Author:Rick Blechta
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dundurn Press
Published: 2014-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

The curtain came down and the audience roared. The stage manager gave me two thumbs up as I got myself off the floor after having expired a couple of minutes earlier.

Ettore was beaming as he took my hand. I latched on to the evening’s Germont (Martin Smith from the UK) and we took the first of many curtain calls.

Everyone in the cast was in a jubilant mood as we left the theatre. The producers had supplied water taxis to take us from La Fenice to the Danieli. Dan felt that was safe enough for me. He’d follow discretely behind in his own taxi.

I was sitting in the back of one boat with François LaPierre, the director, on one side and Ettore Lagorio on the other, with everyone around us chattering about how splendidly it had all gone.

Canalside, Carnevale was in full swing. With the final few days upon Venice, it was party central and we passed many laughing groups fully decked out in the traditional costumes: women as Columbina and men as Bauta, Pantalone, or Volto. We passed someone in a gondola dressed as the Medico della peste, the mysterious Plague Doctor, with a long black cloak, tri-corner hat, and the mask with the long beak and pince-nez glasses that always gave me the willies.

Someone commented that we should have worn our costumes. “We would have fit right in.”

I wanted to soak in my only night of freedom in Venice, and the weather had cooperated. February can be frightful, with high tides causing flooding throughout the city. The Venetians handle it with aplomb, donning rubber boots and putting out temporary elevated walkways through Piazza San Marco, but it’s still messy. The weather had been fine all week, and that night it felt almost warm. High in the sky above us, a full moon rode some scattered clouds.

“It is so nice that you can come out with us this evening, Marta,” Ettore said as we passed the bridge over the canal next to the Doge’s Palace. “You have hidden yourself away all week.”

“It’s this damned opera I’m premiering next month. I don’t know how I’m ever going to memorize my part. It’s long and it’s complicated, and fiendishly difficult.”

“Are you sure it has nothing to do with the mysterious gentleman who is always somewhere around?”

My heart almost stopped. “What gentleman?”

LaPierre said that some of the cast and crew had seen me having breakfast with him in my hotel. He patted my arm. “Don’t worry. We do not make the judgment.”

Not wanting to give rumours any oxygen, I told them, “That’s Dan. He’s a ghost writer who’s helping me with my memoirs. He’s been with me on this whole trip.”

“But why have you not introduced him?”

“He wants me to forget he’s there. He says it will give him more perspective on how I live my life. Don’t worry, he’s a good friend of my husband.”

I could tell they weren’t really swallowing my story, but it was better than telling them exactly why Dan was with me.

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