"Where did you learn to sing like that?"
"I've been singing since I was a child.”
He cuts me off with a flick of his hand.
"Spare me. Training is one thing. But that—" He gestures toward me, sharp as a conductor’s baton. ”That sound came from your gut. From your soul. You can’t fake it."
My breath catches. "Mr. Rudin, I?—"
"You know the aria. Every inflection. Every breath. Why?"
"I'm minoring in vocal studies. I sang the role of the cabin boy in our production of Moby Dick at NYU last year."
He studies me for a beat, then lowers his voice. "Listen carefully. From now on, you’ll learn everything Fabiana sings. Every cue. Every step. You understand?"
My heart skips. "Are you saying I would be Fabiana's understudy?"
His eyes flash. "In effect. But let's keep this between us for now. Be ready."
With that, he grinds his cigarette under his heel and strides away, leaving me trembling, the words “be ready” echoing in my chest.
CHAPTER 34
TARA
Isit on a red velvet chair in the Dreamland Theater, watching Fabiana Farr sing the title role of Moby Dick.
As Mr. Rudin ordered, I take notes about every aspect of her performance. Fabiana is the ultimate classic opera diva. Totally old school, every gesture calculated for maximum dramatic effect.
Though I'm thrilled to be her understudy, I vow to do things differently if I ever get the opportunity to take her place on stage.
But would Idareto be different if this opportunity came to pass? Critics would be in the audience. If I expressed myself too freely, veered too far from tradition, they might think me raw rather than seasoned and experimental.
For a fleeting moment, I'm torn by indecision.
Perhaps it's best to follow convention until I'm at the height of my fame, then I can afford to take chances.
Then again, who am I kidding?
The Grand Dame herself swears she never gets sick. Would never miss a day, even on her deathbed. She attributes it to her steady diet of cod liver oil, apple cider vinegar, and red cabbage.
I sigh. Fantasies are fantasies. Especially where the opera is concerned.
My phone buzzes. It's Cameron. My pulse quickens just at seeing his name on Caller ID.
“I have a gig. Want to come?”
A gig?I bite my lip as I stare at the screen. What is he talking about? His concerts are promoted years in advance.
I quickly scroll through a popular Nantucket event website, but I don’t see any notice of his upcoming performances there—or on social media.
"I have some exciting news for you too," I message him. I can't wait until he hears I’m an unofficial understudy for the great diva Fabiana Farr.
Before I can text the news, another message pops up: “Meet me out front at two o'clock.”
Well, I guess that news will have to wait. By the time the Rolls-Royce purrs up in front of the opera house, I'm brimming with questions.
Tara!" Posey exclaims, launching herself into my arms for a hug and kiss. Edison inserts himself into our embrace, nudging his cold black snout against my neck.
