“Juilliard,” she said confidently. “I graduated nearly four years ago. I was hired by the Metropolitan Opera and have been in the chorus ever since. I’ve also been the understudy to Denyce Graves, among others.”
“How did you like being an understudy?”
“I’m grateful to those who’ve allowed me to learn from them,” Elle said with sincerity. “They were all gracious ladies.”
Dominic fell silent for a few moments, as if he were contemplating what she had said. Elle thought she might melt under his intense scrutiny. Those smoldering, dark eyes seemed to expose every one of her vulnerabilities. She felt naked.
Suddenly, he gave her a warm smile. “As I’m sure you will be to your understudy,” he said. “You’re going to make a wonderful Adama.”
He rose and Elle followed suit, unaware of what was proper to do next: shake his hand or hug him? He bent and kissed her on both cheeks. Elle breathed in the male scent of him. He smelled so good, she wanted to lean in and sniff him like a hound dog on a foxhunt. She resisted. Instead, in her excitement, she thanked him profusely: “Oh, God, thank you. All of those more seasoned singers, I didn’t think I had a chance! I can never thank you enough for giving me the opportunity.”
Dominic felt her body tremble a bit as he let go of her shoulders and peered into her eyes. His lips curved in a smile. He was plainly amused by her outburst. “You may not be thanking me a few weeks from now. I’m told I’m the devil to work for.”
Elle grinned up at him. “I’m sure we’ll work well together.” She had heard rumors that he was a bear to work for, but she chose not to believe them. In the world of opera he was considered a genius. Dominic Corelli’s shows sold out in a matter of hours after the tickets went on sale. Also, opera critics, who were notoriously elitist, raved about his productions. If she kept her wits about her and worked hard, this role could make her a star.
Remembering her promise to phone Patrice and Belana as soon as she knew the results of the audition, she pulled off her backpack purse. Looking at Dominic questioningly, she said, “I have people waiting to hear how the audition went. Is it okay with you if I quickly phone them? When do rehearsals start?”
“Of course, and in two weeks,” Dominic answered, smiling. He watched as she rummaged in the purse and retrieved a cell phone. “First things first,” he added. “I’ll need the number of your agent so that a contract can be negotiated.”
Elle stared up at him with wide eyes. “My agent?” she croaked.
“You do have an agent?”
“No, I negotiated my own contract. I got the maximum for a member of the chorus.”
Dominic grimaced. Could she possibly be as naive as she appeared to be? Talented, but entirely too trusting. A less scrupulous person would exploit this opportunity to take advantage of her.
He cleared his throat as he glared down at her. “Then who’s been looking out for your best interests?”
Elle blushed. “I have.”
Dominic laughed. “Then you have a law degree as well as a degree in—what is it you earned a degree in at Juilliard?”
“Music,” Elle said irritably.
“Music,” he calmly repeated. “That’s such a broad subject.”
“Voice,” Elle provided, eyes narrowed. “I’m also a classically trained pianist.”
To this, Dominic smiled. He liked the idea of his lead soprano also being a classically trained pianist. She may have an ear for composition. He was excited by the possibility that Elle Jones might prove to be stimulating to work with. “Prove it,” he challenged.
Elle had the cell phone open and was about to press a button that would connect her with Belana and Patrice, waiting outside in the Piazza del Duomo.
She closed the phone and with her head held high, said, “Lead the way.”
Dominic gestured for her to precede him out of the room. Once they were in the hallway, he said, “There’s a grand piano downstairs where you auditioned. What will you play for me?”
“One of your compositions,” she told him, surprising him. Elle relished the astonished expression on his handsome face.
She didn’t tell him that she had been the lead soprano in Inferno her senior year at Juilliard and had learned the entire score. That’s how she had chosen to sing the aria from Inferno for him.
Once they reached the auditorium, Elle sat at the piano and Dominic stood beside it, a smirk on his face—or was that a small smile? Elle couldn’t tell. Whatever it was, she intended to wipe it right off his face.
She launched into Burn in Hell. Dominic’s music was modern opera. It was passionate, inducing all sorts of emotions in the listener. It could be gently stirring or chaotic and jarring. It could be rhythmically moving and actually make listeners want to dance. It could make them laugh or make them cry. In some instances it was downright funky. The one thing it wasn’t was forgettable.
Elle recalled every note of Burn in Hell, and she played it beautifully. When she finished and slowly raised her hands from the piano keys, there were tears in her eyes. She brushed them away with the pads of her fingers as she smiled up at him.
Dominic shook his head disbelievingly. “Bellissimo! How did you remember that piece so well? It’s a difficult composition.”
Elle laughed shortly. “It’s nothing miraculous, really. I learned to play by ear when I was a kid. When I started taking piano lessons, my teacher had a hard time making me learn to read notes. I resisted for a long time. But when I got accepted at Juilliard, I knew I wouldn’t be able to fool my instructors there so I buckled down and learned. But I can still play by ear.”
Dominic smiled at her. “I like you, Ms. Jones. I like you a lot.”
Elle returned his smile. “Molte grazie, Maestro.”
“But you’re going to have to hire an agent. La Scala’s lawyers don’t negotiate with singers,” he said sternly.
Chapter 2
Patrice and Belana were waiting for Elle in front of the Duomo, the third largest church in the world. That morning they had agreed that while Elle was auditioning for Dominic Corelli, Patrice and Belana would be making a circuit through the Quadrilatero della Moda, the fashionable shopping district not far from La Scala and the Duomo.
When Elle spotted them she started screaming, “I got the role! I got the role!”
Both of her friends screamed as well and began running toward her. Other pedestrians on Piazza del Duomo didn’t appear startled by their screeching and calmly moved out of the girls’ path.
Patrice Sutton, five seven and athletic, reached Elle first and hugged her tightly. “Oh, girl, I’m so happy for you. It’s about time you got out of that chorus and got the chance to shine!”
Belana Whitaker, five four and even more athletic than Patrice due to more than twenty years of practicing ballet, hip-bumped Patrice aside for her chance at Elle. Patrice peered down her nose at her shorter friend and let the affront pass. Belana was bossy. Always had been; always would be. Patrice and Elle usually overlooked that particular personality trait of their petite friend, even though it was very irritating.
They jokingly referred to it as Belana’s Napoleon complex. Being smaller than either of them, she felt the need to throw her weight around from time to time.
Elle and Belana were jumping up and down with glee. “And you didn’t even want to come to Italy!” Belana cried. “We had to twist your arm.”
Belana’s light brown eyes sparkled with happiness as she looked up at Elle. She let go of Elle and the three of them began walking