The Stars That Tremble (10 page)

M
IKE
wasn’t that surprised when Sandy showed up for dinner the next night. Mike immediately put Sandy in charge of ordering delivery in order to postpone the inevitable conversation. Then they sat on the sofa and Emma babbled on about the movies she and Isobel had seen the previous night. Sandy listened gamely while Mike got up and poured drinks for everyone.

He’d been thinking about Gio all day. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this preoccupied with a guy. It had been a few years since he’d even spent a whole night with someone. There was definitely something about Gio, though.

Sandy gave him an odd look when he walked back into the living room.

“So how did your night go after you left?” Sandy asked.

Mike rolled his eyes toward Emma, trying to convey that he didn’t want to talk about this in front of her.

Too late. “What did you do last night, Daddy?”

The tricky thing about having a teenage daughter was that she was still his little girl, but she talked like a grown-up. She’d seen enough television that she had some understanding of how grown-ups behaved when they went out. Mike had even had the sex talk with her, although his face had been on fire through the whole thing, and he’d had to get his sister Becky to come over and help explain a few things. Bottom line was that he knew she probably understood some of what he did on a night out, but that didn’t mean he wanted to discuss his personal life with her. She didn’t need to know anything about it, he’d always thought, unless he was serious enough about a guy, which he hadn’t been since Evan. And even if he did find The One, she didn’t need to know about his sex life.

“We went to dinner with James the doctor,” said Mike, “and Dave and Angelo. Then we went dancing.”

“I’ll say,” Sandy said.

“Shut up,” said Mike.

“Did you meet a man?” Emma asked.

And there were images of Gio again, parading across Mike’s mind like a movie trailer. There were flashes of memory: dancing at the club, dancing in the plaza at Lincoln Center, the intense sex they had when they got to Gio’s, holding each other in bed, having sex again when they woke up at 3:00 a.m., showering together that morning. Mike was even a little sore, but he relished it, hanging on to the soreness like a memory.

God, Gio. Mike couldn’t wait to see him again.

“Not exactly,” he said to Emma.

“So?” said Sandy. He gave Mike a thumbs-up and then a thumbs-down.

Mike grunted and gave Sandy a thumbs-up.

“You know, Daddy, you’ve been alone too long. Isobel and I talked about this.”

Well, that was alarming. “You did, did you?” Mike said, trying to use his best dad voice.

“Izzy’s mom got remarried last year,” Emma explained to Sandy. Mike knew that already and liked the new husband a great deal. “Izzy didn’t like when her mom was lonely. You’re lonely, Daddy. You should find someone.”

“It’s not that easy, Em. I can’t just walk outside and find a man.”

“Why bother?” said Sandy. “Maybe you’ve already found one.”

Mike tried to give Sandy a death glare, but Sandy just laughed.

“I’m fine, sweetie,” Mike said, “but it’s nice of you to be concerned.”

Halfway through their meal, Sandy got a call from James, which got Mike off the hook, at least. After Sandy left, Mike went about cleaning up. Emma followed him into the kitchen.

He could see that she was about to say something he wouldn’t like, so he said, “Hey, do you have more recordings of Mr. Boca singing?”

The question seemed to take her off guard. “Ah, yeah. Not
Turandot
. That was, like, his signature role, but I have a different recording of that one. Do you want to borrow my iPod again?”

“Can you put a couple of songs on mine?”

“Sure. Are you—why do you want them?”

The skeptical look on her face—one eyebrow up, lips pursed—was almost comical. Mike would have laughed if he wasn’t trying so hard not to get caught.

Instead, he tried to play it casual. “Just curious. He’s your teacher. He doesn’t sing anymore. I want to know what his voice was like. Those videos we watched had crappy sound quality.”

Emma narrowed her eyes at Mike like she didn’t believe him. But she said, “Where’s your iPod?”

“On my dresser.”

Emma disappeared while Mike did the dishes. When he was done, he sat on the couch and flipped on the TV. She walked out of her room and handed him his MP3 player. “I changed the filenames, so just look for ‘Boca.’ There are three songs. One from
La Traviata
, one from
La Bohème
, and one from
Il Barbiere di Siviglia.
”

“All right.” He tried not to let his surprise at her Italian pronunciation show. She sounded so odd when she said the titles of those operas. “Thanks.”

“He does like you, you know. His face changes when you come to pick me up.”

Mike sighed. “Yeah, I picked up on that.”

“Just saying.” She sat next to him. “He’s a tough teacher, but he seems nice otherwise.”

Mike put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. He wanted to say that he liked Gio right back but didn’t want to say that out loud.

After Emma went to bed that night, Mike stripped to his boxers and climbed into bed. He put on his headphones and scrolled through the menu on his MP3 player. He found the songs Emma had put there. The first had a musical introduction, violins playing a pretty melody, and then all of a sudden, Mike’s ears were filled with a sound that took his breath away.

Giovanni Boca sang an aria, and Mike had never heard anything like it. The sound was emotional, it was rich, it was angelic. It was the sort of sound that would carry over the heads of every person in the Metropolitan Opera House, perhaps over every person in the city. It was beautiful and heartbreaking, and Mike could hardly believe that the Gio he knew had once been capable of making such sounds. It made his plight all the more wrenching, because Mike knew Gio would never again sing like that, and it was really a crime that he couldn’t.

He listened to the next song and the next. And when the songs finished playing, Mike played the first one again. He fell asleep that night with the old Giovanni Boca in his ears and the new Giovanni Boca in his heart.

“T
HIS
place has a theme,” Mike said as he sat down across from Gio.

Gio had persuaded Mike to spend his lunch hour at a café near Lincoln Center. It was kind of a tourist spot, with autographed headshots of famous opera singers adorning one wall—there was one of Gio on the bottom right—and music notes painted on every conceivable surface. Something about this place being so obvious made Gio feel safe, like they were hiding in plain sight.

Because sneaking around seemed to be exactly what they were doing.

As Mike settled into his seat, Gio said, “The one time my mother has come to New York since I moved here, I brought her here, mostly just to see her reaction.”

“How did she react?”

Gio laughed softly. “Oh, she thought it was tawdry and ridiculous. The food is good and reasonably priced for the neighborhood, though.”

Mike nodded and picked up his menu. He perused it for a moment and then put it down. He smiled at Gio. “So. Um. Hi. How are you?”

“Much better now that you’re here.”

Mike smiled widely. “God, I have been thinking about you nonstop for days. Thank you for inviting me to lunch, by the way.”

“My pleasure.”

Mike gave his shirt a little tug so that it fell into place. It was a rather nice white-and-green plaid with sleeves Mike had rolled up to his elbows.

“You look great, by the way,” Gio said.

“As do you.” Mike shot Gio a ridiculously sexy half smile. Gio got hung up looking at Mike’s mouth, remembering the places those lips had touched. He busied himself sipping his water.

“I have no pretense for inviting you to lunch,” Gio said. “I just wanted to see you.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“I’m glad you think so. I had sort of a rough morning.”

“Tell me.”

It felt so normal to talk to Mike like this. It was relaxed and easy. Gio explained how one of his college students had come by his office that morning. The boy was both a gifted singer and a gifted violinist, but his violin instructor was pressuring him to choose one to concentrate on over the other. The more the kid had talked to Gio, the easier it had been to recognize that Gio was about to lose a good student to the violin.

“I like this student a great deal,” Gio said. “His voice has such an interesting quality. He’s a high tenor, and I had him training to sing parts originally written for
castrato
.”

Mike’s eyebrows shot up. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Gio laughed and nodded. “The practice has long since been banned, but once upon a time, boys with nice voices were indeed castrated shortly before the onset of puberty so they could maintain their ethereal voices.” At Mike’s horrified expression, Gio said, “It wasn’t all bad. Apparently women of the day quite enjoyed looking at effeminate men. A few of the more famous
castrati
were treated like we treat rock stars today.”

“Huh.” Mike still looked uncomfortable at the thought.

“They’re rare, but every now and then, I encounter a man who can sing high enough to perform songs originally written for a
castrato
. It’s quite beautiful. Different from having a woman sing the same part.” Gio shook his head. “This boy could do it. It’s such a shame that he’s choosing the violin. Well, not a
shame
, since he’s also a brilliant violinist, but I am very sad to lose him as a student.”

“It’s an odd dilemma,” said Mike. “A kid can play violin and sing opera, but he has to choose?”

“I don’t love this violin instructor.” Gio’s student studied with Sam, the violinist who seemed to think the beauty of a singer counted more than her voice. “But I suppose he has a point. It’s hard to really hone a talent if your focus is divided.”

Mike laughed and shook his head. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

“Nonsense,” said Gio. “I’m sure you’re talented at many things. Dancing, design, fixing things. These are important talents. I can’t do any of those things.”

Mike’s sexy little half smile was back. “You did all right on the dance floor.”

“Yes, but not like you.”

Mike shrugged. “It’s nothing. You just find the beat and move your body in time with it.”

“Well, regardless, if I had a drippy sink in my apartment, I would have no idea how to fix it.”

Something flickered over Mike’s face. Gio couldn’t quite read it, but the way he squirmed a little in his chair made Gio think it might have been embarrassment. “It’s an easy thing to learn. Not like singing.”

Sensing this conversation would only continue to cause Mike distress, Gio said, “Tell me about your day. What did you do?”

Mike seemed happy enough to talk about the kitchen he’d just finished. Gio could see he took pride in his work just from the expression on his face.

Over sandwiches, Mike asked, “Do you have any family here in America? You said your mother came to visit. Where does she live?”

“Mamma is in Italy, as is most of my family, such as it is. Perhaps we do not live up to the stereotype of big Italian families. My mother was an only child, and my father had a brother I only hear from sporadically.” Before Mike could ask, Gio said, “My father passed away when I was a kid. So that’s the whole Boca clan right there, basically.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. It’s… I suppose I know a little about losing a father, although perhaps I know more about how your mother must have felt.”

Gio’s chest ached a little, thinking about the loss Mike must have endured. “Yes, well. You could not possibly have less in common with my mother. She’s… she’s a piece of work. A diva in the classic sense.”

“She also sings opera, right?”

“She’s retired now, but yes, she did sing for many years.” And had never achieved anything close to Gio’s level of fame, something he had long suspected she resented him for. But that was a lot to get into with Mike. So he said, “I have a second family, friends and fellow opera singers, people I’ve performed with and rehearsed with over the years. So many great friends. I always appreciate it when talented people can put their egos aside. Perhaps the silver lining of losing my voice was that I discovered who my real friends were.”

Mike nodded. “I can imagine.”

Gio put a smile on the sentiment, though the truth was that many of his good friends were currently scattered all over the world, performing as he had once done. He was grateful for Dacia living close by, and he adored her, but he also found himself alone a lot. That had been one of the first adjustments to life outside of the opera house, where there were always people bustling around.

Mike held out his hand, so Gio took it. Mike said, “I would very much like to be a friend to you.”

“I’d like that,” Gio said.

“Maybe we could make this lunch thing more of a regular habit? On days when I’m working in this neighborhood and we can both get away, I mean.”

Mike ducked his head, looking a bit bashful, as if he were asking Gio out on a first date. It would be laughable—they’d already had sex, for one thing—if Mike weren’t so earnest about it.

“Yes,” Gio said. “I would enjoy that. You can call me anytime, you know. If not for lunch, then just to chat. Or for any reason at all.”

Mike smiled. He squeezed Gio’s hand. “All right. I can do that.”

Gio was still thinking about Mike that afternoon when Dacia walked into his office. “Auditions for the Young Musicians Program vocal performance classes are coming up,” she said, leaning her hip on the edge of his desk. “Do you have any kids in the opera workshop who you think are well-suited? Emma McPhee, I assume.”

“Maybe Greg Thompson too. He’s not quite there yet, still doesn’t always quite sing on pitch, but of all the boys in my class, he has the most potential. He’s already improved a great deal. In a year or two, he will be very good.”

“What is that expression?”