Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [3]
“Leave time for your fitting,” she said, following him.
He stopped, turned, and said, “Costume fitting? My loincloth?”
“Yes. And stop saying it’s a loincloth. It’s not
“When?”
“This afternoon. I told Harriet you’d be free after four
“Where?”
“Takoma Park, the company’s rehearsal facility. All the costumes are done there. Oh, and there’s a meeting of supers tonight at the Kennedy Center. Seven o’clock. I’ll go with you
He embraced her, kissed her again, this time meaningfully, picked up his briefcase, and stepped into the hall. She stood in the open doorway admiring his purposeful stride in the direction of the elevators. He was halfway there when he suddenly stopped, turned, pointed a finger at her, and said, “You owe me one, Annie
“Oh? When?”
“I’ll collect tonight. And it will be more than just a rehearsal
She giggled, and said just loud enough for him to hear but not the neighbors, “I love it when you talk dirty.”
CHAPTER TWO
Mac Smith sometimes thought that if he were president of the university, he would ban all faculty meetings. Occasionally, a meeting went smoothly, accomplished something, and consumed a minimal amount of time, but that was the twice-a-year exception rather than the rule. It all depended, of course, on who chaired the meeting. This day it was the new dean of the law school, a nice enough fellow with impressive credentials—and a tendency to posture. Had there been a fireplace in the room, Mac was certain that the dean would lean an elbow on the mantel and smoke a pipe, allowing for photographs, had smoking been allowed.
The meeting lasted forty-five minutes, thirty-one minutes longer than was necessary to cover the agenda. Mac was first out the door, closely followed by John Renwick, a teaching colleague who shared Mac’s abhorrence of wasted time. Renwick came into Mac’s office, tossed his briefcase on a small couch, and said, “Did anything useful come out of this, or did I miss something?”
Mac laughed as he opened the drapes that covered his only window and raised the blinds. “Scuzzy day out there,” he said. He turned to face Renwick. “We just learned from our new leader,” he said, “that someone on Capitol Hill, obviously of the right-wing variety, is considering convening a committee to investigate whether young attorneys being turned out by esteemed institutions like ours need a better grounding in old-fashioned legal principles; translation, more conservative ones. Our leader wants to be on the record as having heeded the call and explored with his faculty this alleged problem—which, of course, isn’t a problem. What’s new with you?”
“Not a lot. Lois wonders whether you and Annabel are free tonight for dinner, a last-minute thing. A college buddy of mine and his wife blew into town, also last-minute. Haven’t seen him in years. You’d enjoy him. He’s—”
“No can do,” Mac said, “but thanks anyway. Prior engagement. I’m being fitted for a loincloth
“What?”
“Annabel has ensnared me in this opera project cooked up by Public Affairs. I’m going to be an extra in Tosca.”
“I think that’s wonderful,” said Renwick, mirth in his voice. “You do have good legs
“I suggest you leave it right there, my friend
“I envy you,” Renwick said. “I love opera. You’ll be in heady company, Mac. Our leader is donning a loincloth, too, isn’t he?”
“So I hear
“Well,” said Renwick, retrieving his briefcase, “good luck. By the way, you won’t be an ‘extra’ in the cast. Extras in opera are called ‘supers’—supernumeraries—supernumerárius in Latin
“I know, but I prefer plain old ‘extra,’ for the same reason I refuse to play that pretentious game at Starbucks of calling a medium-size coffee a grande. I always ask for a medium coffee when I go there, which isn’t often. I make better coffee than they do and it doesn’t cost me the month’s mortgage
“We have to make our stands where we find them,” Renwick said, laughing and shaking his head. “I was a spear carrier in an opera while working my way through college. Aida. Loved it. Sorry you can’t make dinner. Another