The Complete Where Dreams - Volume 2 of 2

Chapter 5-1

Chapter 5

Perrin sat in the rehearsal space on the upper level of the Seattle Opera House about a mile from the Emerald City Opera’s offices. It was a beautiful space, nearly the same size as the main stage without all the extra space off to the back of the stage and the sides that Bill told her were called wings. The rehearsal space was actually on the top floor of the building, off the side of the upstairs lobby behind an unmarked door. Decorated in a soft beige, it had been turned golden by the tall windows at one end letting in the Seattle sunshine. A shining black grand piano replaced the orchestra.

“This is just our first sing-through,” Bill had informed her. “We need to start getting the cast comfortable with the new music. If this were a repertoire opera, they would arrive three weeks before the opening rather than six and we’d move right into staging.”

Perrin sat between Wilson Jervis and Melanie in a row of folding chairs along one wall. The principal singers sat in a circle in the middle of the stage, along with the orchestra conductor, the director, Bill, and the Chorus Master who would sing all of the minor roles for now.

Bill had greeted her briefly, barely offering a smile, back in his bustling Overlord role. Perrin could be okay with that. One kiss didn’t change the world. She wouldn’t even try to count how many men she’d been in and out of love with over the years. Not as many as Jo and Cassidy thought by a long shot, Perrin enjoyed giving them a good story and something to worry about, but more than she’d care to admit.

Some part of her was irritated at Bill’s apparent lack of ongoing interest. That kiss had certainly rocked her charts. The Tragic Prince, all his hopes and desires and needs had been wrapped up in that kiss. That she was the woman who had drawn that out of Bill Cullen ranked as a startling concept.

That she had lost herself in that kiss, losing track of where she was and who she was, and simply been present in that moment was an even greater surprise. The one thing Perrin never was? Out of control. Deep inside, she had a very rigid grip on who she was and what she would do.

But for a kiss like Bill’s, perhaps losing a bit of her control wasn’t a bad thing.

The more she watched Bill as he organized the rehearsal, the less put out she felt about his simple greeting.

Everyone came to him with questions. He had two assistants who constantly brought him questions, some about Ascension, some about the Turandot closing this weekend. Singers took cajoling. The writer—the librettist she’d been corrected—and the composer were both there because it was a new opera. The former, a thin young man who practically shimmered with nerves and the latter a staunch woman who apparently thought lyrics were a waste of time and should be changed to fit her music or better yet, removed entirely so that they didn’t interfere with her creation. Clearly they were not on speaking terms and Bill had to handle all communication between them.

All of this took Bill’s attention. As she watched him, she began to see quite how good he was at what he did. The conductor had heavily marked his score with questions, but Bill had found a way for the composer to work with him rather than slugging him as she seemed more prone to do. The singers actually cared what order they sat in around the circled chairs. One man was so big that a sturdier chair had to be found.

When Renata Donatello made her entrance, the room had gone quiet as all attention shifted to her. Renata had taken one look at the Empress’ dress and insisted on wearing it to the rehearsal. Perrin and Jerimy had made some quick alterations this morning, thankfully ones that didn’t require rebuilding the whole costume, then added the red lining. The compliments that swirled about the room upon Renata’s grand entrance left Perrin feeling a little giddy.

“That is the dress I want,” Melanie leaned in to whisper. “I want to be powerful like that. That’s how every woman wants to feel. You have such incredible skills, my friend.”

Now Perrin was having trouble breathing. To have one of New York’s most successful models say such things… Perrin could only marvel at what it took to actually feel a stamp of approval, as if what she’d done for over a decade didn’t count until this moment.

Two years ago, she’d still been struggling on her own. Now she had practically abandoned the front of the shop, adding a manager and an assistant, and was spending most of her time designing and building. Not that she was complaining, that’s what she loved best, it was just surprising.

And to have a woman who was constantly clothed in the finest designer labels insist on having one of her dresses… It made Perrin feel oddly capable and suddenly twice as uncertain, as if she were faking being a designer as hard as she was faking being even close to normal.

Melanie had a point though. While the Empress’ dress wouldn’t be quite right for her, something closely related would work. Melanie was too sensual a woman for the austere look of the Empress. The punch of power would look good on her, but she needed something other. Perrin flipped to a fresh page on her pad and began sketching a few ideas while Bill organized the singers.

Perrin became focused on the design, building layer upon layer of detail for the dress she’d design for Melanie until she realized that a rush of sound was carrying her forward. She looked up startled to see the singers already well into the first act.

Opera had never been part of her repertoire. She preferred a good band for dancing and didn’t really care what era. Blue Scholars, The Band Perry, and The Black Keys shared her playlists with Maroon 5, Madonna, and Styx. Nothing had prepared her for the powerful wall of sound that the opera singers produced with just their voices.

It was in Italian, which didn’t help her much, but it didn’t matter. Renata was not ordering around Carlo; instead the Empress was crashing a mandate down upon the Prince’s head. When the barrel-chested deep bass of Geoffrey Palliser joined the fray, the room practically shook with the Overlord’s derision. The Prince’s soaring tenor fought for freedom, but found little space between the wall of the Empress’ power and the bulldozer of the Overlord’s driving rhythms.

It was so completely different from anything she’d heard before it was hard to make sense of it. Even the symphonies that Jo and Cassidy had occasionally dragged her to were no comparison. These weren’t instruments, these were people. They weren’t hurling music at each other, but rather it was a battle of pure emotion expressed through singing.

The sound swept her along. The mezzo-soprano Princess, her lower-voiced, contralto Maid-servant Confessor, and the high-coloratura True Love vied for the Prince’s attention. The audience’s hopes and fears would swing back and forth between them. Whichever one triumphed, it would reshape the future of the kingdom, perhaps alter the fabric of the very world.

The final five-voiced chord of Act I crashed Perrin back into her seat and the dim world of reality. It took her a moment to reorient herself in the rehearsal studio space. Several of the singers were talking about the roles, but Carlo and Geoffrey, apparently old friends, were catching up on the latest Italy versus England soccer rivalries.

“What do you think?” Bill was squatting before her chair and looking at her with the kind smile she’d been missing earlier.

“I think I’m in love!” Perrin could still feel the sound of the music vibrating through her.

“Not with Carlo, I hope. I might get jealous.”

Perrin placed a finger on the center of his forehead and pushed until he fell back on his butt.