Patrice Greenwood - Wisteria Tearoom 03 - An Aria of Omens by Patrice Greenwood Read Free Book Online Page A

small crowd was clustered around the bar there, where two young women were bustling away filling orders as fast as they could. One of them sliced limes with frightening efficiency, her knife flashing in the light.
    “Would anyone like a drink?” Tony asked. “My treat.” He turned to Mr. Ingraham and made just the perfect slight bow. I was delighted, though I worried about the impact on his wallet. The drinks wouldn’t be cheap.
    “That sounds lovely, Tony,” said Nat. “I don’t know about the others, but I’ll gladly accept.”
    Tony took orders. I didn’t dare insult him by declining.
    “Just coffee for me,” I said, when he got around to me. “The port’s still with me.”
    His eyes narrowed for a second. “Cream and sugar?”
    “Yes, please.”
    A breeze, cold and damp, swept across us, making me wonder if we were in for some rain after all. Suddenly I missed my coat.
    Tony got in line at the bar while the others stood chatting near the wind-breaks: tall structures of canvas mounted on poles that were at least twenty feet high and looked a little like giant Roman blinds. I tagged along with Tony, thinking he might need help carrying the drinks.
    “This is nice of you,” I said as we waited.
    “Least I could do.”
    “You didn’t have to do anything.”
    “Yes, I did.”
    I let it drop.
    We carried the drinks back to the others. I wrapped my chilled fingers around my coffee and took cautious sips, enjoying the heat. This was only the first intermission; by the time we got to the end of Act Three it would probably be downright cold. I wished I’d brought a blanket for Tony, then decided that sharing mine with him might have its advantages.
    “Any chance we’ll see Vi tonight?” Nat asked.
    “Yes, she’s going to meet us by the stage door after the performance,” I said, gesturing with my cup toward a door in the wall south of the proscenium.
    “Did you see her in the choir scene?” asked Mr. Ingraham.
    “I think she was the one in the dark blue hat,” I said.
    “Yes, I thought so, too!” said Nat.
    By the time we’d finished our drinks, the lights were blinking again. We returned to our seats and swathed ourselves in coats and blankets.
    Act II: Scarpia having Cavaradossi tortured within Tosca’s hearing, while urging her to reveal the hiding place of the revolutionary Cavaradossi was protecting. When she finally caved in and told him, Scarpia had Cavaradossi brought in so that he could gloat. I found that scene particularly disturbing; Scarpia caressing Cavaradossi, practically embracing him as he sang “The hangman’s noose awaits you.”
    There was electricity in the air, the kind that comes from the best of performances. It held me frozen, though in this case I was frozen in dismay.
    Then the blackmail. Scarpia promised Tosca he would let Cavaradossi live if she yielded herself to his—Scarpia’s—lust. She finally agreed, and coaxed a letter of safe-conduct from him, so that she and Cavaradossi could get out of the country after his “fake” execution.
    When Scarpia approached to claim her, Tosca produced a knife and stabbed him, so swiftly and fiercely that the audience gasped, me included.
    This is Tosca’s kiss!
    I’m not a violent person, but I wanted to shout, “You go, girl!”
    The lights came up, and we all heaved a sigh of relief. Mr. Ingraham leaned forward.
    “Anyone need to get up, or should we all stay here and huddle?”
    Tony looked at me. “You mean that’s not the end?”
    “No, there’s one more act.”
    Exasperation flicked across his face, though he hid it quickly. I threw back the blanket and stood, fastening my coat’s buttons.
    “Actually, I think I’d like a walk. Will you join me?” I asked Tony.
    “Sure.”
    We went up to the Stravinsky Terrace, and Tony bought us both some coffee. The breeze was now quite chilly, and we sheltered in the lee of a wall while we sipped the scalding heat.
    Above, I heard voices from the members-only bar.