The Stars That Tremble (16 page)

“This,
caro
, was my crowning achievement as a teacher, I think.” Gio grinned. “I haven’t gotten to talk to you since we’ve been tied up with dress rehearsal, but did Emma talk to you about lessons in the fall?”

“You want to be her teacher.”

“Not right away, but I have some instructors in mind for her. You saw the reaction she got from this crowd. If she has good teachers, she can get even better.” He leaned forward and cupped his hand around his mouth. “This crowd is very stuffy, yes?”

Mike laughed. “Yes.”

“We should talk at some point in the future. Seriously talk. I do want to be her mentor, but I don’t want the other stuff to complicate things.”

Mike frowned. He hated that his relationship with Gio had been relegated to “other stuff.”

“We should talk,” Mike agreed.

Another very finely dressed woman appeared. Mike caught the frown on Gio’s face just before he covered it up with a wide grin.

“Marvelous show, Mr. Boca,” said the woman. “Really fine stuff.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Quinlan.” He glanced back at Mike. “Let me introduce you to Mike McPhee. He’s Emma’s father. She was the last girl to sing today.”

“Yes, of course. Delightful to meet you.” She held out her hand to be shaken. It was thin and bony and ice cold. “My daughter Amelia sang ‘Habanera’ in the middle.”

“She was great,” Mike said, although he couldn’t recall which of the kids was Amelia.

“Will your daughter be auditioning for the Young Musicians Program?”

“Yes,” Mike said, although he was still working out how he’d pay for it. Gio had told him there were scholarship opportunities; that was a pile of paperwork Mike didn’t want to think about quite yet. Better not to taint what had been a pretty marvelous day. He was still basking in the glow of Emma’s performance, so he smiled at Mrs. Quinlan.

“Amelia will be auditioning as well, so I suppose we will see you there. Or perhaps your wife?”

“I’m not married.” Mike didn’t like the way this woman was fishing for information. Trying to be polite, he added, “So, yes, I’m sure I will see you there. I look forward to it.” He knew how to play the game with people like this, since he’d been doing it for so long.

“That man over there talking with your daughter, he’s not your partner?”

Mike glanced at Gio for help, but Gio just stood there with a placid smile on his face, as if he were tuning out this whole conversation. “No, he’s a family friend.”

She dug into her handbag and came back with a postcard, which she handed to him. It advertised a meeting of the Upper West Side Association for the Arts. “My husband and I chair the UWSAA. We work together to fund arts projects in the neighborhood. We sponsor a choir and an orchestra that practice out of a church on Ninety-fourth.”

“Okay.”

“You should consider coming to a meeting. I’m sure you would make an interesting addition.” Something off to the side seemed to snag her attention. “Ah, my husband is calling for me. If you’ll excuse me.”

When she was gone, Mike turned to Gio. “What was that?”

“Tracy Quinlan. She’s… a force, to be certain.”

“Do I want anything to do with these people?” Mike held up the postcard.

“No, definitely not,” Gio whispered. “Stuffed shirts, all of them. A necessary evil in my profession, since their support funds things like my opera workshop, but I could do without the Tracy Quinlans of the world.” He sighed. “I’d love to chat with you, but I have to make nice with the rest of the parents too. I’ll see you soon, yes? You’ll call me?”

“Of course.”

“
Ciao
, Mike.”

Mike shook his head. He was sad to see Gio go, but more than that, he felt like Tracy Quinlan had just kicked him in the shin.

“Not just a summer fling, then?” Sandy said as he walked back up to Mike.

“I guess not.” Although Mike wondered if it ever had been. He’d been falling harder by the day, ever since that night they’d gone out and danced in front of the very fountain Mike could now see through the lobby windows.

Emma finished up eventually. Sandy offered to buy dinner for her and Mike—“At a real restaurant, even!”—so Sandy and Emma negotiated cuisine as Mike tried not to get too overwhelmed by everything he was feeling: pride, love, and shame, but above all, a profound sadness that descended on him suddenly, a realization, perhaps, that giving Emma everything she wanted meant that the things he wanted would fall by the wayside.

On their way out of the theater, Mike glanced back at Gio, who was deep in conversation with Georgina Mansford. Gio was a part of that world in a way that Mike would never be.

Summer, it seemed, was over.

A
WEEK
after the gala, Mike still hadn’t called. Gio thought it strange that now that they could finally be together openly, they weren’t spending any time together at all.

Of course, there was no reason Gio couldn’t be the one to call.

He sat in his office and stared at his phone, thinking this was about the time Mike would have been coming to the studio to pick up Emma if the workshop were still in session. Surely he was off work about now. Maybe Gio would even catch him before he took the bus back across town and they could grab a cup of coffee nearby. That seemed innocent enough. They could just… chat. No messy emotional stuff, no sex, and no pressure. Just a friendly conversation to reinforce that they liked each other and could be good together. Yes, that was an excellent idea. He was about to dial when a shadow darkened his doorway.

Tracy Quinlan.

He stood. “Hello, Mrs. Quinlan. It is a pleasure to see you.”

“Likewise. Do you have a few minutes?”

Gio glanced at his phone. “A few, yes. Come in.”

She came in and arranged herself on the guest chair. Gio imagined Tracy Quinlan led the sort of life that had at some point involved lessons on how to sit like a lady, because there was something polite and studied about her posture. “About the upcoming auditions…,” she said.

“Did Amelia settle on a piece? I suggested one of Rosina’s arias from
Il Barbiere di Siviglia
, but last I heard she hadn’t decided. Maybe that’s too hard. There’s an aria in
Così fan tutte
that might be a better fit, actually, now that I think about it. No need to go overboard trying to impress the committee. She only needs to sing well.”

“That part of the audition we have handled. The next part is up to you.”

“Me?” Gio knew where this was going but opted to play innocent. “I’m not on the audition committee this year.”

Tracy’s eyes flared wide for a moment, like this was new information to her and it was a surprise. She recovered quickly. “You do have some influence on the committee.”

“I have discussed with the committee which of my workshop students I would recommend for the Young Musicians Program, that is true. I mentioned Amelia.” Perhaps not in the most favorable terms, but he
had
mentioned her. That was not a lie.

“I do hope so. She works so hard. She deserves a shot at the program. And, really, I’d hate to think she didn’t get in because you favored another student inappropriately.”

“I pride myself in not playing favorites. I have a reputation for being objective.”

“Really?” Her tone was sardonic, which Gio did not appreciate.

“I made my recommendations based on the talent of the singers, and that is all.”

“Right. Because you are not the sort of man who would promote a singer because you are having an affair with her father.”

The accusation stung. Gio was so surprised by it, he sat back in his chair. “What are you—?”

“Don’t bother to deny it. Amelia said Emma McPhee’s father spoke to you after every class, and then I saw you kissing. Seeing you together at the gala just confirmed it. I never imagined you could be a man so easily swayed. You are right about your reputation. Everyone I’ve talked to has said you are not a man who could be influenced with money or sex. What a lie that turned out to be.”

Gio tried to gather his wits. “It’s not a lie. Emma McPhee is an extraordinarily talented young singer. And I reiterate, I’m not on the audition committee for the Young Musicians Program. I’m not even teaching any courses for the program this fall. So any decision made in that regard is completely out of my hands.”

Tracy scoffed. “We both know that’s not true. One word from you, and whichever students are your favorites are in the program for certain. And if you’re promoting one singer because her father is providing you with sexual favors, well, that makes things look pretty bad for you, doesn’t it?” She shook her head. “I suppose it would have to be sexual, wouldn’t it? It’s not like that man can afford to bribe you with money.” There was a disgusted snarl in her voice. “I wonder if he’s even gay.”

Gio stood. “Do you really think you can earn my favor by insulting me?”

“No.” Tracy stood as well. “My husband is close friends with Howell Laughton.”

That wasn’t as strong a blow as Tracy seemed to think it was, although it was cause for alarm. Howell was the head of the voice department at Olcott. He was technically Gio’s boss, although the actual hierarchy became a little confusing when egos got involved. Not that Tracy would understand that.

“So you’re saying you will take information you think you have to Howell and accuse me of favoritism for the purposes of ensuring that your daughter gets into the Young Musicians Program.”

“Perhaps I will.” Tracy took a step toward the door. “If I were you, I wouldn’t be so dismissive. I have more power than you know.”

Gio was tempted to tell her to go ahead and talk to Howell. He thought about what Dacia had said to him weeks before: no one could deny Emma’s talent, which would keep him safe from being seen as doting on her more than the other students. Besides, there were no rules about dating the parents of students—Gio had looked into it—so he wasn’t doing anything wrong. Not really.

But he also didn’t want to give this woman any more fire to play with. “If Amelia practices, if she gives a solid audition, she’s in. I have nothing further to say on the matter.”

“All right,” Tracy said. “We shall see. But know that I will do whatever is within my power to assure my daughter’s success. She deserves a spot in that program.”

Tracy Quinlan left without another word.

Gio sat back down. He didn’t want to let this encounter bother him, though it did a great deal. It had been a point of pride to be Giovanni Boca, the Unbribable. It lent an air of authenticity to what he did; he took on students for their talent and no other reason. The situation with Mike was changing him, could affect his reputation. He could see that now, and it was a consequence he hadn’t anticipated. But now, sure enough, things in his professional and personal life were getting tangled.

Perhaps it would be better to step away, or to let Mike keep his distance. He could call it a day and go back to focusing on his college students. He certainly wouldn’t have to deal with Tracy Quinlan threatening him if her accusations had no substance.

And yet he missed Mike as if someone had cut out one of his ribs. It had been a week since they’d had a conversation longer than five minutes, even, and that was something he intended to fix immediately. If he was going to court trouble, he might as well really pursue it.

No one could know what tomorrow would bring, he reminded himself.

He picked up the phone.

M
IKE
finished washing his hands and then took a step back to admire his handiwork. He really loved the warm quality of the Spanish-style tiles his clients had picked out for their new kitchen. The pattern he’d laid out was unique, and he was happy to be providing the clients with the one-of-a-kind kitchen he’d promised. He pulled his phone out to take a picture of it so he could put it on his website.

Just after the shutter clicked, his phone rang. Gio.

After Mike answered, Gio said, “Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?”

It wasn’t that Mike had been avoiding Gio so much as taking a step back to reevaluate what was happening. He was still reeling from his encounters at the workshop final show, not sure what to make of the fact that those people had looked down their nose at him. He should have known better—he
did
know better—but he couldn’t shake the idea that Gio had been looking down his nose at him too.

“I’m free tomorrow,” Mike said. He wasn’t sure how wise it was to go out to dinner, but he did miss Gio a lot—Gio had been nearly all Mike had been able to think about for a week—and certainly the man deserved an explanation for why Mike had stepped away.

“Good. I’ve picked out a restaurant.” He rattled off the name and address. Mike didn’t know it, but it sounded expensive. “You will love it. They have excellent seafood. Great food for this terribly hot weather we’ve been having.”

“All right.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to see you. It’s been too long.”

“I know. But I’ve been working and—”

“It doesn’t matter,
caro
. I will see you tomorrow, yes?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”