Murder at the Opera - Margaret Truman [6]
“They’re only appearing one night,” Harriet told the volunteers, referring to Warren and Charise. “We’ll need two extra costumes
“What we put on them won’t do for the regulars when they perform?” a volunteer asked.
“Afraid not,” Harriet said. “Better get with it. We’ll need the extra costumes by tomorrow morning
“What’s new with Andrea Chénier?” a volunteer asked. The Umberto Giordano opera was next on that season’s schedule.
“We’re renting the costumes from the San Francisco production,” Harriet replied. “They should be here in a day or two.” She checked her watch and stood. “I’m late for a meeting with Anthony. He’s unhappy with the designer’s costume for Cavaradossi, keeps changing his mind, one day he likes it, the next he doesn’t. Maybe we’ll finally get a definitive decision from him. Ciao. Bless you both. This place would fall apart without you.”
• • •
Mac Smith fielded questions during the last thirty minutes of his class. Most of them were intelligent and on-point, a few weren’t, especially the final one: “Are you really going to be in the opera at the Kennedy Center, Professor Smith?”
“Where did you hear that?” Smith countered.
“People are talking about it. You and President Burns
“Well,” Smith said, “what you hear is correct. Yes, President Burns and I, along with professors from American University and Georgetown, will be supernumeraries in Tosca. That’s supernumerárius in Latin, but of course you already know that, being the scholars that you are. I suggest you buy tickets and expand your cultural universe beyond video games and MTV. That’s it for today
He packed his briefcase and left the lecture hall, a satisfied smile on his face. The lesson had gone nicely, although his mind had wandered at times to what was in store for him. While he’d expressed obligatory dismay at agreeing to appear in Tosca, he was surprised that there were moments, interspersed with dread, in which he found himself, at once, and privately, looking forward to the experience.
He’d appeared in two plays while an undergraduate, The Man Who Came to Dinner and A Streetcar Named Desire, both directed by a favorite professor, Joseph Stockdale. Mac had never harbored any desire to become an actor. His aspiration since high school had been the law, particularly trial advocacy, fueled by countless courtroom dramas he’d watched in movie theaters and on television. Stockdale had known this when he cast Mac in the plays, and made the point with the young student that acting experience would hold him in good stead when having to capture and sway a jury. The director had been right, and Mac often thought back to those experiences onstage when crafting a summation to twelve men and women.
Besides, he reminded himself, it was all for a worthwhile cause, three, actually. It was good for the university, good for the Washington National Opera, and good for his relationship with Annabel. He packed up materials to read at home that night; wished the secretary he shared with John Renwick a pleasant evening; retrieved his car, a seven-year-old blue Ford in pristine condition, from his reserved parking slot; and took 16th Street straight up until turning off onto local roads leading to the WNO facility at Takoma Park. He was early, and after finding street parking he killed time strolling the neighborhood. He and Annabel had enjoyed leisurely weekend forays to the village for its Saturday organic farmer’s market, considered the best in the D.C. area. Takoma Park was sometimes called “the Azalea City,” or “the People’s Republic of Takoma Park” by conservatives unhappy with its well-known leftist political culture. In the 1980s it, along with Berkeley, California, and Madison, Wisconsin, had declared itself a nuclear-free zone, bestowed legal status on nonmarital