Carmen at the Met tonight.
That was the plan.
And the night was going splendidly; the orchestra was on-key, the cast was flawless, and the crowd was captivated by the magic of the stage and the story. Or so she said. He didn't really get it.
But then again, why wouldn't they be? It's the goddamn Metropolitan Opera. Even a rough and tumble Texan, uncouth and boorish (according to her) as he might be, would understand the gravity of the occasion. Even if they were speaking French. Yes, French, the language of snobs he found so unutterably frustrating and impractical to learn. Give him Spanish any day of the week. More useful for excursions across the border. Sometimes, they would give him a free shot of tequila just for being impressed by this tourist. Wasn't it ironic that the opera's apparently set in Spain?
Of course, Commander James J. McElroy kept that to himself.
As for the woman sitting beside him, well, it was the height of the season.
And that's saying a lot, given who she is.
She's not the president of the United States, or a member of the royal family of any major European country, or even the head of a Fortune 500 company.
Nope, just Giulio Cesare—ship girl and opera aficionado.
He was playing the part of Southern gentleman to a tee, perhaps just for tonight. Forget the usual evening outing getup. This was time for the starched button-downs, seersucker suits, and bowties. Perhaps not exactly something you wore to the opera, but when you had nothing else but snap shirts, Wrangler jeans, snakeskin boots, and all other assortments of garb only fit for poker nights or military functions, well, the only choice was this hand-me-down ensemble from dear grandpappy, bless his soul.
An Italian and a Texan walked into an opera. It's the setup for a terrible joke.
How much about opera did you know anyway, McElroy?
Maria Callas, and that was only because pa wouldn't stop blaring those damn records.
What else, what else?
Uh, Pavarotti?
Yes, he was the punchline.
A punchline in a stuffy suit and tie, bored and distracted and looking at the watch.
Might as well reminisce about how they got here while waiting for the intermission to roll around.
New York City. Love it or hate it, no one can say that the place was ever boring.
And when navies from around the world and their ship girls started coming ashore, well, they certainly kept things lively.
So there they were, gathering under something akin to NATO but with more naval warfare and less politics. At least for now.
He was just one of many assigned to the city as a liaison. And his job wasn't all too complicated. Everything boils down to keeping the peace and making sure everything is in order.
If they weren't getting roped into the girls' hijinks, that is.
And when a bunch of ship girls from other countries were added to the mix, well, there was no shortage of shenanigans.
There was no doubt, no doubt at all, that they were the most interesting women he had ever known.
Some were nicer than others. Some were more eccentric than others. Some were more aggressive than others.
It was like a rodeo, but instead of broncs and bulls, you had guns and ships and airplanes.
Giulio Cesare was something in between. Just the right balance. She could be proper if needed and raring for a scrap if she wanted to. She could be a hardass and yet still have a sense of fun and whimsy. Yes, she was not as refined as the form-fitting black dress that shows way too much of her back she's wearing now would suggest, but she was not crass, either. Still, quite an aesthete she was.
One party, one trip, and one resulting slap later, they were more or less acquainted.
Not really, but it was a start.
Good thing it was an informal affair.
A round of wine and whiskey later, they were more than just acquainted.
One cab ride home for a tipsy, swaying battleship and almost another slap later, a tentative friendship was forged.
It's mostly about things the other had never experienced.
Never had a chili dog? The clams? You're missing out. We'll go to Coney Island!
Never seen the Statue of Liberty up close? Oh, the best views are at sunrise!
Never went ice skating at Rockefeller Center? Well, there's a first time for everything—including slipping and landing on his rear. Maybe he was distracted or something.
For her part, artsy's the way to go.
Know nothing about the art of old? To the Met Cloisters, then.
Not one for the medieval stuff? The MoMA, it is.
Shakespeare? The Bard's always on the bill at the Delacorte.
And this arrangement was the reason why they're here, at the Metropolitan Opera House, for Carmen.
"Capitano?"
Her voice. That was her voice.
"Hmmm?"
"I asked you if you enjoyed the first act. The opera, I mean."
"Yeah, yeah, it was fine. At least I know one song. Habanera is good."
"Ah, yes, Habanera. Love is a rebellious bird that none can tame..."
"That sounds dangerous, doesn't it?"
"Indeed. But you know, this tale is just about that. What say we discuss this over drinks?"
So he wasn't too keen on the discussion, but the prospect of getting drinks, well, that's too tempting. Especially considering the company.
That, and he desperately needed the bathroom.
The bar at the Orchestra level was not far from the seats, so the trip wasn't too taxing.
She didn't like the selection of wine but ordered one—a Merlot—anyway. He wondered if they served whiskey or even ranch water—but they didn't, so he settled for the second best thing—a Negroni.
And the conversation went swimmingly, so to speak.
"How are you finding Carmen?"
"I absolutely have no idea."
"I figured as much. I like that honesty, Capitano."
She sneered, she laughed, she was sincere.
She was an interesting one.
"Well...what do you think of it, then?"
"A classic. It's an experience. You have to see it. Even if you don't get it at all."
"Tell you what, now I'm fixin' to take you to a Yankees game."
"Oh? And why is that?"
"So you will get bored out of your skull, too."
She scoffed, half-incredulous and half-amused, then took a sip before leaning closer.
Her statuesque stature made it easier for their eyes to meet in a coy dance of burgundy and light blue.
"The nerve of this man! But I forgive him, for I adore his candor. Taking me to a ball game? Hah!"
He was just joking, of course. And Giulio Cesare would never fail to catch on to a jest.
"Take me, then."
But sometimes, he couldn't tell when the joke was over.
"You want to get bored out of your skull, Cesare?"
"No, just the company, Capitano."
The words hit like the rumble of thunder.
"Ah."
He was speechless.
And a little flustered.
He could see the corners of her lips curling upwards just a tiny bit.
"L—let's go back to our seats. Act two's starting soon."
"Oh, starting to get interested, aren't you?"
"Just because of the company."
Now they were even. She was flustered, only a smidge, but it was there.
"Touché."
They both finished their drinks, paid the tab, and headed back to their seats. Then she spoke.
"You know, one thing about Habanera I do like is how it says love cannot be controlled or tamed. Try to avoid it, and it will chase after you. Try to grasp it, and it will run away from you. That's how love is, no?"
"Never knew you were such a romantic, Cesare."
"Not a hopeless one, I assure you. I'm more of a realist. But that's my own opinion. And I'm just asking what yours is."
"Love, eh? It's how us Texans see the Lone Star State."
She giggled, covering her mouth as she did so.
"I like your answer, Capitano. I'd love to talk more, but the lights are going dim. Try not to look so philistine, now."
"Anything for you, Cesare."
The falling darkness obscured the blush on her face.
He cared little for the dance at the tavern, but the toreador Escamillo sure knew how to make an entrance.
His song, boastful like a hotshot cowboy, was rather enjoyable, too.
True, the second act was a whole lot better than the first.
At least they're starting to do something.
Or maybe he was just getting into it.
There were a couple of smugglers, and Don José made a triumphant return, only to fall deeper into Carmen's web, lured by a dance.
But he was still a proud soldier.
Or at least, Don José tried to be.
Cesare shook her head when the soldier got into a tussle with his superior, Lt. Zuniga, but smiled when the couple went on the run into the mountains, outlaws together.
Then it was intermission again, a little longer this time.
He took the initiative and asked if she wanted to take a little walk around Lincoln Center.
And talk some more, was her condition.
He agreed, and off they went.
Hearst Plaza was beautiful on a summer night. The fountain was on, the air was cool, and the stars were out.
And the lights of the city twinkled in the distance, a perfect view of New York.
"I see you're starting to enjoy it," she remarked as they watched the fountain and stretched their legs.
"Yeah, I reckon I do," he replied, hands in his pockets.
"I'm glad. Otherwise, I would have brought you here for nothing."
"Never for nothing, Cesare."
"I appreciate the thought."
They watched the water, and the water watched them.
"So, what do you think of Carmen, the woman?"
"A right stubborn, bold Jezebel, that one. Ma always told me to be careful of one. They'll break your heart. So, never court a hussy, she said. But I like her free spirit, though."
"You fancy the free spirit, Capitano?"
"It's a Texas thing. We like our freedom. Even if it's just as simple as riding across the Big Bend or the Hill Country on a good Quarter Horse. But to keep the talk on track, what do you think of Carmen?"
"Living life the way she wants to. No commitments. Nothing tying her down. The complete opposite of me. Yet I envy her for it. But I think I'm fine with how things are."
"Yeah, me too. As long as I don't end up like Don José, that is."
Cesare inched closer.
"You're more like Escamillo, anyway."
"Oh? What do you mean?"
"You may look like a rough and rowdy fellow, but deep inside, you're a gentleman."
A beat, a moment to think about. Such a word would never leave her lips lightly.
"...That means a lot coming from you, Cesare."
"Just stating the facts, Capitano."
He didn't even notice her hand slip into his.
"We should head back. I don't want to miss anything."
"Me neither."
Come the next act, they're back in their seats. She let go after her fingers lingered a while longer.
And so the tale continued.
Things were going downhill, if he had to make the assessment. Not exactly eloquent or anything, but hey, he was no literary critic.
Being told to go back to his mother certainly didn't sit well with Don José, and the actress delivered the perfect scorn. Then Carmen drew the worst fortune one could ever get.
Death.
More smugglers, then Don José's old flame, and then Escamillo again. Then, of course, the two men fought over the same woman, the sap Don José and the cocky Escamillo, after the former missed a shot that would have blown the latter's head.
That was the highlight of the act, for him, at least.
Cesare clicked her tongue, her attention undivided.
And he was beginning to think this story would end badly.
Don José went back to his sick ma, and Escamillo went to the bullfight.
And that was the end of the third act.
"How was that, Capitano?"
She remained in her seat this time.
"Well, that Carmen's in it real deep."
"What do you think happens next?"
"Bad news, my ma would say. You don't be fickle with love, son, if you really love someone. Maybe she's right. She and pa have been together for, uh, let's see...fifty-two years, I reckon. And nobody has died, yet. Even after grandpappy found out about the courtship and gone madder than a wet hen. But they're stubborn. Come hell or high water, they got hitched anyway. They're a fine example of how things oughta be."
"Another Texan thing, is it?"
"Yep. Call me quaint, but respect and loyalty are the way to go."
"A Texan through and through, hm? I admire that. What would you do if you were in Don José's position, then?"
Good question—which meant it would be difficult to answer.
"I'd be...wary. Maybe I'd fold and go back to my duties. I wouldn't want someone with...commitment issues."
She nodded with a soft, knowing hum, satisfied with the answer.
"I'll take note of that, Capitano."
The fourth act, the finale, where everything ended in Seville.
Escamillo and Carmen got together, but this was not the ending that was fated.
For someone who supposedly wasn't all that invested in the entire affair, the way Carmen died at the hands of the jealous Don José felt like a gut punch. Cesare only shook her head, and he guessed she must have seen the opera before.
But at least she died defending her freedom, defiant to the end, like Davy Crockett and the defenders of the Alamo.
As the curtains fell and the audience stood and applauded, Cesare turned to him and spoke.
"You didn't doze off. I'm impressed, Capitano."
"Well...it turns out to be more interesting than I thought. Thank you, Cesare. Now I can brag about seeing Carmen at the Met."
She smirked, but not smugly.
"I doubt they will believe you."
"Maybe. Eh, the memory will have to do. I had a good time, though. I won't mind another night out like this."
"Nor do I, Capitano."
The smirk softened into a smile. A single glance was all the confirmation he needed. She was surprised, but only pleasantly so, when he offered his arm.
"It's just a little over ten. Tomorrow's off-day. Logically speaking, we have plenty of time to kill."
"Are you thinking dinner for two and maybe a drink?"
"And maybe a dance, just like the one we had at the Madison Square Garden Ballroom."
"Another two-step?" She rolled her eyes. Laughed, too.
"Not necessarily. But if that's what you want, then, yes, a two-step."
"Try waltz."
"If that's what you want. Or if that's the music."
"We'll see. I might just have something in mind."
She slipped her arm into his, and their evening together continued.
Broadway, though mostly known for theaters, had no shortage of establishments for the discerning gourmet and frugal budgeter alike.
He was somewhere in the middle. Cesare wasn't picky, either.
So, to a saloon-style bar they went, one tucked in a street corner. He finally had his neat whiskey and got her to try the drink, which she had previously dismissed as vulgar. She warmed up to it rather quickly.
They didn't have much to say except for maybe more Carmen.
"Do you find Carmen's fate...tragic?"
"In a way, yeah. Love can drive you to do the worst. Or best. Depends on the person."
"Ah. Do you consider yourself a 'worst' or a 'best,' Capitano?"
"I like to think I'm a 'best.'"
She smiled, another slight tug of the lips, and took a sip.
"I agree."
She was being coy again.
"How about you?"
"Hm? Oh. A 'best' for sure. For a certain gentleman, of course."
"Lucky feller," he brought the glass to his lips for a last sip.
"And I'm a lucky donna, for the gentleman seems to have the same taste in women."
Smooth, she was. The words flowed smoothly, just like Carmen's wit.
"Must be a hell of a man."
He hailed a server and ordered another for both of them.
Not that he needed the drinks to loosen up or steel himself.
He rather liked this back and forth, despite the urge to reach over the table and just pull her close and kiss her.
After all, she didn't seem to want to end just yet, this metaphorical dance of theirs. He neither—not before the real one, maybe.
"Indeed, despite his simplicity. Or perhaps, because of it."
Western swing was the tune the house band was playing—a group of misplaced cowboys, chaps, spurs and stetsons and all, armed with steel guitars and violins and drums.
"Alright, you can talk more about your man later. We're on a date, aren't we? What say we dance? Not waltz, mind you, but I'm a man of my word."
"Another two-step? Very well, Capitano. If the gentleman would lead the way."
She took his hand. He squeezed it, gently, and guided her to the floor floor.
Easy, easy, easy.
Not their first, not their last.
No pratfalls, no. No self-respecting Texans would make such a spectacle.
There was a little space left, but not so much. The floor was packed.
Laugh a little louder, that was allowed.
Fast, then slow,
Twirl, then pause.
And repeat.
Beads of sweat were on her exposed back, her nape, her forehead, and the tip of her nose. He wasn't any better, and the suit felt even hotter than it looked.
"Ah, this reminds me of the Habanera, really. The rebellious bird you cannot tame."
Well, he'd admit that he couldn't.
"The gentleman who keeps silent instead of suitors who run their mouths off is the one I fancy," she continued as she was spun around, yet again and again.
"Is that what you're looking for, Cesare?"
"It's what I found, Capitano. If it isn't clear enough, let me spell it out for you."
She pulled him closer, a whisper in his ear.
But he knew that already.
He just wanted to hear her say it.
Then let her know, in more ways than one.
Readily giving, readily taking,
Screw you, Don José. No way in hell will he end up like him.
No way in hell will she end up like Carmen, too.
"So...are you still up for the Yankees' next home game?"
"And a stroll through the park. Until sunset."
"Alright."
He twirled her again and then pulled her even closer.
"One more?"
She didn't say it, but her smile said it all.
"One more."
So, one more they had.
And then some.
