Her beloved Aida appeared. Yes, her slave, but also her closest friend. The sister of her heart. So why the hell was Radamès looking at Aida that way?
And why was Sarah starting to cry? Thad loved beautiful, talented women. He’d taken one look at Sarah, and every other woman he’d known had ceased to exist.
Aida might as well have plunged a knife into Amneris’s ribs.
*
Something was happening onstage. Thad could feel it. He saw it in the way the audience sat straighter in their seats. The way they leaned forward. One woman covered her mouth with her hand. Another caught the back of the seat in front of her. A man in the next row tilted his head to the ceiling as if he couldn’t bear to see what was about to unfold.
Olivia loomed above everyone. Fierce. Tortured. Vicious. She had all the power while her slave had none, which made her manipulations even more unforgivable. He wanted to tell her not to use the power she’d been born with. Not to betray her friend. Friends should stand together. That guy wasn’t worth either one of them. Thad understood exactly what extreme jealousy felt like. Everyone sitting around him understood. But she was too trapped to see how this would play out.
He could see it.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up.
*
Betrayal and vengeance. Olivia fumed. Fuck the consequences! No one else in Egypt cared about consequences, and Amneris didn’t, either.
She seethed. She raged. She begged and pleaded. Radamès was to marry her, love only her!
Finally! Egypt’s victory over Ethiopia and Radamès’s victory parade. He’d been given the hand of the princess of the land in marriage for his service. Amneris’s hand. Not his beloved’s.
But Radamès wasn’t having it. And Olivia wasn’t having him not have it.
Radamès made his fatal mistake. Treason.
Pigheaded, stubborn bastard only wants what he wants.
So be it.
The Judgment scene . . . The famous Judgment scene. La Belle Tornade’s colossal tour de force. She begs him to defend himself. He won’t. She cajoles. Threatens.
Give up Aida, my beloved, and marry me. In return, you’ll live! And trust me on this. Nobody in the kingdom will make you a better offer. Marry me, and we’ll rule all of Africa together, right along with ESPN and the NFL. All you have to do is renounce her, and I’ll save you!
But he would rather die.
The knife twisted. Amneris’s love turned to destruction. She would have her revenge, and in the fire of her hatred, she watches him being condemned to die.
Wait! Hold on! I take it all back. She cries out. Her cry shakes the stage, blisters the audience, echoes right down Michigan Avenue, and shoots across the lake into eternity.
Too late, cupcake. He’s doomed.
No! You can’t do this! He doesn’t deserve to die! She curses her father, curses the priests. She caused this, and she curses her own jealousy as she watches her beloved being led alive into the vault where he will be entombed forever.
With his love.
Although she doesn’t know that.
She collapses on his tomb, pleading for peace. But she’s too late. There’s no peace for her without him.
Curtain.
*
Brava! Brava! Brava!
It was a triumph.
Later the critics would write:
“The luminous varnish of Shore’s legendary voice swept effortlessly from honeyed, pianissimo hushes to fortissimo screams of blistering rage.”
“Shore was incandescent, capturing the astonishingly brilliant high C-flats that only a handful of mezzos have been brave enough to attempt.”
“‘A lui vivo, la tomba!’ was crystalline perfection.”
“Shore claimed the role of Amneris as few have ever done. Decades from now, an old man will tell a young opera fan, ‘Ah, but if only you could have heard the great Olivia Shore sing Amneris.’”
La Belle Tornade was at the top of her game. Doing what she lived for.
And it wasn’t enough.
22
Olivia went through the motions of greeting her guests backstage, all the while hoping Thad would appear. She’d delivered the performance of a lifetime and longed to share that with him.
Flowers arrived, more well-wishers poured into her dressing room. Mitchell Brooks had tears in his eyes. Sergio held her so tightly he nearly crushed her ribs. It wasn’t until the last guest had left and she’d removed her makeup that she accepted the fact Thad wasn’t coming backstage to see her.
Sarah appeared, dressed in street clothes with her face scrubbed. She’d dodged Olivia after the final curtain, and now she regarded her warily. “Don’t be mad at me. It was his idea.”
“I know it was. His latest version of making me sing on one leg.”
“What?”
“Never mind.” She saw no reason to go into Thad’s theory about elite athletes choking under pressure from various mental blocks. That kiss had given her something else to focus on besides waiting for her voice to fail her. She was fairly certain she could have delivered a strong performance without their shenanigans, but she couldn’t deny that the sight of the two of them locked together had been the perfect image to plant in her brain and carry with her onstage.
She smiled at Sarah. “I hope you enjoyed every second.”
“You’re not upset?”
She pulled on the purple hoodie she’d worn to the theater. “I know you both too well to have bought your act for even a second, but it did seem to go on longer than necessary.”
Sarah’s grin was pure mischief. “He really is a good kisser.”
“And I’m sure you are, too. Don’t try it again.”
Sarah leaned against the doorjamb. “You killed it tonight.”
“I’m not the only one.” Sarah had sung her heart out. Never had their onstage chemistry been so electric.
Sarah ran a hand through her hair. “He didn’t come backstage, did he? He’s probably afraid you’ll kill him.”
“I doubt that.” Thad would surely have known she’d see through his performance, and it wasn’t fear of retribution that had kept him away.
“You’re a strange person, Olivia,” Sarah said. “Any other woman would be clawing my eyes out right now.”
Olivia smiled. “I know who my friends are.”
Sarah shoved her hands in her jacket pockets. “I called Adam’s sisters and told them everything.”
“I can’t imagine that was an easy conversation.”
“They needed to know the truth. Maybe now they can start living their own lives.”
Olivia hugged her. “You’re a good woman, Sarah Mabunda.”
“Likewise, Olivia Shore.”
After Sarah left, Olivia gathered up her things. Thad was furious with her, and yet he’d cared enough to do this. She hesitated, and then texted him.
I didn’t buy it for a second.
Figured you wouldn’t but it was worth a try. And Sarah’s hot.
Duly noted. And thank u.
You’re welcome.
I’m on my way home. Meet me there?
No.
As she left the theater, she waited for more from him, but it didn’t come. When she got back to her apartment, she tried again.
Are u asleep?
I was.
Can we talk?
No. And I’m turning off my phone.
*
She had another horrible night’s sleep. When she got up the next morning, she didn’t bother reading the reviews. She knew exactly how good she and Sarah had been. No one else’s opinion mattered. She had to see Thad.
I need to talk to you.
I’m not up for it.
I won’t beg.
No need to. I’m blocking you.
He was blocking her?
No!
*
She got dressed—all in black to show him she meant business—and set off for his condo, only to come up against one more person intent on ignoring her.
The concierge reminded her of a snotty Ralph Fiennes. “He isn’t in, Ms. Shore.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
The concierge regarded her from behind the curve of his reception desk. “He didn’t.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?”
“I don’t.”
“When did he leave?”
He glanced at his watch as if he were late for an appointment. “We’re not permitted to give out information about our residents.”
“I understand. But Mr. Owens and I are dear friends. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”