Free Bantam of the Opera by Mary Daheim Page B

lyrical voice floated effortlessly into the farthest reaches of the house. As far as Judith could tell, Amina Pacetti’s claim that the soprano was in decline did not appear to be true.
    In the background, the servants prepared the table with food and drink. Renie had her opera glasses trained on the action. “Hey,” she said in a low voice, “is that Tippy de Whoozits as one of the supers? Gray and white maid’s costume, big frilly thing on her head.” She passed the glasses to Judith.
    Judith focused. Even with the opera glasses, it was difficult to be sure, but the young woman arranging champagne bottles on the supper table certainly resembled Tippy. “Could be,” said Judith, handing the glasses back to Renie. “Maybe that’s one of the perks.”
    Tippy, or her look-alike, melted in with the other supers. A moment later, Mario Pacetti and another man entered the salon. Pacetti was impeccably dressed in a black frock coat and a ruffled white shirt.
    â€œHe’s lost weight,” Renie whispered. “Or else he’s wearing the world’s tightest girdle.”
    Judith gave a slight nod, then caught Pacetti’s first notes: “ Mar-che-se …” She frowned, thinking of the rock.
    The revelers began to seat themselves at the table. Pacetti was next to Garcia-Green. A tiara sparkled on the soprano’s head; white camellias descended from décolletage to hem. Wine was being poured; plates were passed. Inez and the tenor who was playing Pacetti’s friend were doing most of the singing. It seemed to Judith that Inez’s exaggerated gestures with a huge ostrich-feather fan did much to obliterate Pacetti from the audience’s view. At last, he sang again, five short notes. Judith looked up at the supratitles. “Yes, it is true.” She wondered…
    Everyone but Pacetti now seemed to be taking turns singing as the guests exchanged flippant remarks. Inez was giving Pacetti a coquettish look as she poured him a glass of wine. The tenor made a gallant toast to the soprano. Everyone seemed to be urging Pacetti to sing a drinking song. He demurred, then surrendered. The rousing notes of “Libiamo” bounced off the opera house walls. Judith smiled; the set piece was one of her favorites. At the conclusion, enthusiastic applause erupted. The singers turned to the audience as if toasting their listeners, then drank.
    Renie nudged Judith. “Lucky us, both Pacetti and Garcia-Green are in good voice. I’m anxious to hear Sydney Haines when he comes on in Act II.”
    â€œThat’s right, the father doesn’t appear until then,” Judith whispered back. “I was waiting for him to show up at the party in a Yellow Cab.”
    The choristers milled about the stage in various attitudes of convivial party attendance. Pacetti and Inez were left alone to argue over love and pleasure. From offstage came the sounds of another, smaller orchestra. Everyone began heading for the center door, presumably to dance. Or so Judith deduced from the supratitles.
    Inez Garcia-Green staggered and uttered an exclamation. Her guests evinced concern, but she sang her reassurances.
    â€œDon’t worry about me,” murmured Renie, loosely translating the opera singer’s phrase. “She sounds like my mother.” Judith grinned.
    Inez sat down, a hand to her impressive bosom. More concern, more reassurances. At last, everyone exited from the stage except the tenor and the soprano. Pacetti was ardent; Garcia-Green, cynical. They were close together, Inez in her chair, Mario at her side. Renie passed the opera glasses back to Judith.
    â€œLook—they’re kicking each other.”
    Judith adjusted the glasses again. Sure enough, it appeared that Mario Pacetti was trying to stomp on Inez Garcia-Green’s feet. She, in turn, was attempting to strike his shins from under the voluminous tulle hem of her ball gown.