Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight.
Katinki graciously edited this story.
Chapter 2
Alice barges into Roco's at 6:19 pm, hugs me affectionately, and immediately orders some cocktails, insisting they are "mind-blowing." I make a futile attempt at ordering food, but Alice says she's too nervous to even think about eating, so I only manage to get us some nuts and popcorn. Italian operas are usually long, and sustenance in the form of a light dinner would be a good idea. Oh well, let's just hope the food stands won't be too crowded during the intermission.
My cocktail tastes light and fruity but it's unexpectedly strong. Alice gulps hers in a matter of minutes, and soon we're outside, excited and marginally drunk, heading to the Opera Center.
Suddenly, Alice stops and looks up at me with puppy dog eyes.
"What?" I ask suspiciously.
"Listen, um, like I said, we have great tickets. Comfortable seats, in the middle, and you'll see and hear everything there." She gives me a shy, dreamy smile. "The problem is that Jasper invited me to sit with him. Bella, I can't say no. He's just so… I want it. Will you hate me if I leave you? I'll do the dishes every day for the next month."
Her expression is pleading and annoyingly adorable. I roll my eyes and sigh.
Jasper is the Director of Artistic Administration at the Seattle Opera and someone Alice has been eyeing for a while now. I should have known.
"Okay, traitor. You'll have to tell me which costumes were yours after the show." I narrow my eyes and pretend to ponder my terms. "The dishes are too easy. You'll go to the bakery every single morning for a month and buy me coffee."
I lift an eyebrow and wait.
Alice squeals and blows me a kiss. "Of course! You'll have a great time! I'll see you at home!"
And just like that, she disappears into the crowd.
I really should have added a croissant to that deal.
The Opera Center is buzzing with people. That's expected, of course. It's opening night, and the attendees have clearly made an effort. Everywhere I look, I see floor-length dresses and diamond necklaces along with designer suits and expensive dress shirts. A couple of women are even wearing fascinators…
I shake my head in bewilderment and mutter a quiet 'blimey' as I move toward my seat. It's a great seat, indeed, right in the middle of the first tier. These tickets must have cost a fortune. That is, if I had to buy them. Thanks to Alice, I didn't.
Speaking of Alice, she's nowhere to be seen… Probably, she and Jasper are in one of those fancy boxes, right above the orchestra. I chuckle as I imagine her trying to "accidentally" press herself against Jasper in the darkness of the box… She's even shorter than me, with a classically beautiful face and the body of a China doll, and did I mention that she's a skillful flirt? Jasper has no chance whatsoever.
As the orchestra starts the Overture, I suddenly realize that I don't actually remember much from Norma. I don't even think I've ever listened to it from start to finish. My music history course that covered the first half of the 19th century was so densely packed with "Groundbreaking Masterpieces" and "Keystone Discoveries" that more traditional subjects, like Italian bel canto operas, were rushed and nearly neglected altogether.
All I remember is the Aria, of course, and the plot, only because it's one of the most bizarre plots in the history of music. Seriously, what was Bellini thinking? Were people back then so bored that a pinch (or a handful) of crazy was the only way to keep them from leaving their expensive loges? Were they too interested in walking around, visiting acquaintances, and drinking champagne, only to resurface at the end, applauding and shouting "Bravissima" while studying the leading lady's decolletage through their monocles?
The curtain comes up, and I see the sacred forest of the Druids, lit by the moonlight.
The opera tells the story of the Druid high priestess Norma, who during the Roman occupation secretly broke her vows and got into a relationship with the enemy, some guy named Pollione. Not only did he take her virginity (a prerequisite for being a priestess), but she also had two kids by said dude.
Clearly hiding pregnancies and children was easy like that two thousand years ago.
Unfortunately, the boyfriend's time in this part of the Roman Empire comes to an end, and he has no intentions of taking Norma with him when he leaves – obviously, because he has a new, younger love interest, who is, incidentally, Norma's best friend. After suffering and begging for two long acts, Norma reveals herself to her people and is sentenced to die at the stake. Yet at the last moment, her boyfriend realizes she's the love of his life and joins her in death.
The end.
Like I said, crazy shit.
As Norma appears on stage, I brace myself for a major dose of 19th-century angst. But she's not at all how I imagined her. This Norma is rather short and brown-haired, just like me, only curvier, while Pollione turns out to be a tall, willowy man with dirty blond locks and blue eyes.
What the fuck? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Opera singers never look like their characters, but couldn't they at least give them some wigs?
It's then that I realize there's a bigger problem here. This Pollione reminds me far too much of James.
I feel a familiar push in my chest, and anger surges through my veins. I haven't thought of James in a while. I've made a conscious effort not to think of him for more than a couple of seconds at a time, but now I'm stuck here for three long hours, watching my own great love affair repeat itself, only with a different finale. My story was… normal and ended just the way such stories always end.
See, James was my PhD advisor at the University of Washington. He was one of the biggest rising stars in our field, and I was on cloud nine when he agreed to work with me on my thesis, which, as an aside, had the catchiest name From Rachmaninov to Stravinsky: Russian Music in Exile. He promised, eventually, to land me an assistant job alongside him.
Unsurprisingly, we fell in love. He was handsome and brilliant, and I was blind and naïve, and so smitten... We hid from everybody for obvious reasons, made our plans, and enjoyed our little world.
You can guess the rest. James was eager to explore other worlds, too, and he did just that. With a friend of mine. When I found out, I lost it completely and left the PhD program. My career in academia cratered, and I just couldn't find the mental or physical energy to look for another job that had to do with music… I just couldn't. So, I quit it for good. James and my ex-friend eventually got married, and last I heard, they made him head of his department at UW.
At thirty minutes into this wretched love triangle, I find myself only halfway following what's happening on stage. Instead, my brain continues to relive my own sappy drama.
Why am I allowing myself to derail like this?!
Sweat trickles down my spine.
I didn't even love him that much. He was attractive, undeniably, but he was bad news. Now I see it. I have for a long time.
I press my palms into the hollows of my eyes. My head's pounding, and my temples burn. I really shouldn't have drunk that cocktail.
Something's going on, and I don't like it.
Where's Alice?
Time in Italian operas always passes slowly. Almost like soap operas. The characters have to discuss things with each other, in all possible combinations.
I attempt to follow the plot more closely, but all it does is make my stomach churn. I'm not sure who repulses me more, Norma or Pollione.
Or is it the popcorn that makes me want to throw up? I take deep breaths.
The edges of my vision begin to blur, and I only see Norma. It's like she's singing straight to me.
I think I hate her.
She looks just like me in her ghostly silver gown… so tiny and so lost.
Norma, what were you thinking? Didn't they tell you not to put all your eggs in one basket?
I try to turn away, to see more of the stage, but it's only her.
She glows in the dim light, and although her words are in Italian, I know that she's telling me that I'm all wrong and that I don't understand the meaning of true love.
Her words are harsh, yet her voice is breathtakingly, painfully beautiful.
It's killing us both.
She's so close I can almost reach her.
My breathing comes out in gasps. I'm seconds away from leaping up to meet her in the air when she hits the high C and her voice explodes in my head.
But then she vanishes, and I dive into blackness and oblivion, all alone.
.
.
.
Notes:
Bellini's Norma is considered one of the most challenging soprano roles ever written. Although Maria Callas's performance is often seen as the "gold standard", Aida Garifullina's rendition is my personal favorite:
youtu. be / N_Dw0OjpDfw