Swinging On A Star Page 10

  The white polyester jacket with single-button closure was accented with a black velvet lapel. Very … unique. And dated. Brock turned around to show off the rear vent. Flapping it, he said, “Think I’ll get any hot dates in this getup?”

  Responding was completely out of the question, since I couldn’t have squeezed any words past the laughter that had bubbled up in my throat.

  “Where in the world did you get that?” Sophia asked, looking stunned.

  Pop grinned. “I’m surprised you don’t recognize it from the photos hanging on the wall downstairs. I wore this the day your mother and I got married. Doesn’t fit me now.” He rubbed his midsection. “But it fits Vinny here like a glove.”

  “Unless you count the legs.” I looked at the black slacks, which were about an inch too short. Maybe two inches. Brock’s white socks stuck out like a sore thumb, and the shoes … well, there wasn’t really any way to do the shoes justice. They must’ve come from the ’70s too.

  Brock slipped Armando’s taped-up glasses back on, completing his look. “Think anyone will recognize me?”

  “Not a chance in the world,” I said. “I hardly recognize you myself.”

  “Perfect.”

  Minutes later, Rosa appeared in the foyer, dressed in the most beautiful black chiffon dress I’d ever seen. “Rosa!” Sophia and I spoke in unison. “Where did you get that dress?”

  “Oh, I bought it a couple of weeks ago at a shop on the mainland.” She peered in the mirror, touched up her lipstick, and looked back at us. “Do you like it?”

  “Like it?” Sophia asked, her mouth now hanging open. “Are you kidding? It’s to die for!”

  “Really?” Rosa beamed. “You think so?” She fidgeted with her bun, which she’d fashioned in a looser, more flowing style.

  “What’s to die for?” Laz entered the room wearing his black suit, the same one I’d seen him wear dozens of times to church. He took one look at Rosa and the shock registered on his face. He managed one word—“Oh.” Not much, but it spoke volumes. I’d never seen that look in his eyes before.

  Apparently, neither had Rosa. Her lips almost betrayed her as they curled up in a smile. Quickly she turned back to the mirror for a final glance, then tucked the lipstick into her tiny purse.

  “Everyone ready?” Pop asked. “Let’s go see Bubba in his debut.”

  For a second there, I felt like Dorothy taking her first step on the yellow-brick road. I certainly had the right traveling companions. As we headed out the door, I found myself singing, “We’re off to see the wizard.”

  What a night this was turning out to be!

  14

  Strangers in the Night

  We arrived at the opera house at 6:30, exactly thirty minutes before the performance was set to begin. Being a patron, Mama had several seats front and center. Not that we would see her anytime soon. No, with such a crowd about, it would take awhile to get inside the theater.

  Thankfully, no one in the crowded lobby looked twice at Brock, except one man who pointed and said, “I wore a tux just like that to my high school prom back in ’74.” We all got a good laugh out of that. Well, all but D.J., who appeared at my side and slipped an arm around my waist. He gave me a gentle kiss on the cheek, then let out a little whistle.

  “Bella, you look like a million bucks.”

  “Really?” I did a slow turn to show off the dress, and he nodded. “Make that two million.”

  D.J. turned to face Brock with a hint of a frown forming. To put his mind at ease—D.J.’s, not Brock’s—I returned his kiss and nestled against him. For a moment, anyway. The crowd very nearly swallowed us alive, and now several people were staring at Brock.

  I took D.J.’s hand, and we made our way through the throng of people with Brock following closely behind. I prayed no one would see through his disguise. I was doing pretty well too, until I ran headlong into my mom’s newest—and best—friend, Phoebe Burton. Dakota’s mom. She stopped when she saw me, of course, and gushed over what a fine job Bubba had done in rehearsals.

  “Your mother really hit this nail on the head, Bella,” Phoebe said. “Bubba is the cat’s meow. I think you’re going to be so surprised at what a great job he does in tonight’s performance. Everyone is!”

  D.J. grinned from ear to ear. “Thanks, Mrs. Burton. I know my brother’s really looking forward to this.”

  “Oh, none of this Mrs. Burton stuff!” She laughed. “Call me Phoebe.”

  D.J. nodded and said, “Phoebe.”

  She turned back to me. “I’m so happy she introduced me to all of her friends here at the opera house. I’ve had the time of my life.” Tears filled her eyes, and she squeezed my hand. “Your family has been so wonderful to us, welcoming us to the island. I can’t believe we’ve been here such a short time. Feels like forever.”

  Yes. And it felt like forever standing in the crowded foyer with her. I just wanted to get to my seat, to hide Brock from the masses.

  Just when I thought we were in the clear, Phoebe turned his way. She offered a confused smile. “Who have we here?”

  “Oh, this is our guest, Vinny DiMarco,” D.J. said. “He’s in town for a few days, and we thought he might enjoy tonight’s performance. He doesn’t get to Galveston much.”

  “In fact, this is my first trip,” Brock said, extending his hand in Phoebe’s direction.

  Phoebe nodded as she shook it. “Young man, you’re in for a real treat. You couldn’t have come at a better time. Now, I don’t know where you come from … whether you get to the opera much … but I’m telling you this is going to be a performance you’ll be talking about for decades.”

  No doubt.

  We were just about to say our good-byes when Dakota came running up with a camera in his hand. He took one look at Vinny and started snapping pictures right and left.

  “Dakota!” His mother reached to stop him, a stunned look on her face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The kid gave me a knowing look, then turned back to her as he spouted, “Making memories.”

  “Well, make them someplace else, honey. You’re making Mama nervous.”

  She turned to greet another friend, and Dakota looked my way, his eyes squinted. Then he turned to Brock, making the “L” sign and whispering, “Loser!” before disappearing into the crowd.

  I turned to Brock, stunned. “W-what was that about?”

  “Oh, I have my suspicions,” he said. “That’s the same kid who was on the roof yesterday, right?”

  “Y-you saw that?”

  “Of course.” He laughed. “Bella, remember, this is my life. It’s what I do. I see people behind bushes, in trees, on top of buildings. They’re everywhere.”

  “So, you’re not worried about him?”

  “Nah. He’s just a harmless kid. I’ve got a feeling about this one. We’ll win him over.”

  “Okay, but I would still feel better if we went inside and sat down. Not so many gawking people that way.”

  We took a few steps but didn’t make it very far. Earline Neeley came buzzing through the crowd with her husband, Dwayne Sr., at her side. Dwayne looked pretty snazzy with his suit and tie and his perfectly sculpted hair, which I’d only recently discovered was a toupee. But Earline … wowza! I hardly recognized her in the fabulous gown and upswept hair.

  D.J. whistled as he saw his mother. He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Good thing you’ve already got a date, or every guy in this place would be wanting to sit next to you.”

  She hit him with her little sequined purse. “Aw, quit it, D.J. That’s too much.”

  “No, you’re too much.” He gave her another kiss on the cheek.

  “He’s right!” I gestured for her to turn around. “You look like something out of the movies!”

  “Your mama is a wonder!” she said. “She picked out my dress and made me get my nails done.” Earline extended her hands, and I saw the lovely French manicure.

  “Beautiful!”

  Leaning i
n, Earline whispered, “You’ll never guess who did my makeup.”

  “Who?”

  “Twila. Turns out she really is a wonder with a mascara wand and lipstick!”

  “Oh, you don’t have to tell me twice.” I nodded. “Twila’s got the best beauty secrets around. She’s got Mama using kitty litter as a facial scrub. And don’t get me started on the udder cream.”

  “Oh, I know all about it.” Earline held out her hands for my examination. “It’s made my hands silky smooth.”

  “Did she make you put potato slices under your eyes so you would look more refreshed?” I asked.

  Earline nodded and said, “Who knew?” in response. We had a good laugh at that.

  Brock remained silent throughout this exchange, but I could see the anxiety in his eyes. He excused himself, turned, and headed toward the interior of the theater. I started to follow him but then caught a glimpse of Jenna, who looked heavenly in her sky blue gown. She approached and did a little twirl, and I let out a whistle. “Girl, you look fabulous.”

  “Well, this is my honey’s debut!” she said with a giggle. “I have to look good.”

  “How’s he doing?” I asked.

  “He’s wound up tighter than a clock, but I don’t blame him. I’m a nervous wreck too. Can you imagine Bubba singing at the opera?” She giggled and I joined her.

  “No, I can’t, to be honest. Though I overheard a number he and Mama were working on, and he sounded pretty good.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he’s going to be wonderful.” She leaned in and whispered, “I’m just wondering what he’s going to look like in tights!” We erupted in laughter.

  As we reached our seats, we ran smack-dab into Sister Twila. She took one look at me in my green gown and began to sing my praises. Then she looked at Brock. The poor woman closed her eyes and shook her head, then opened her eyes, perhaps hoping for a different outcome. She reached out and touched his arm, muttering, “You poor dear. This really is going to take some work, isn’t it?” Then she looked at me. “You’re the right girl for the job, hon. Just keep working on him.”

  “I’ll give it my best shot,” I promised her.

  She headed off to join the other women. I wanted to take a seat but found myself struggling to figure out where. With the entire Splendora clan to accommodate, I needed to think fast on my feet. Shuffling down the row, I took the seat in the middle of the row, saving a spot to my left for D.J., who had headed backstage to say hello to Bubba. The others would just have to figure out where to sit on their own.

  The orchestra tuned up, and I squirmed, trying to rid myself of the anxieties that now gripped me. So many things just felt … off.

  Brock settled into the seat on my right, with Sophia on his right. I didn’t figure he’d be much of a distraction, since my sister kept him occupied with her stimulating conversations about the color of her nail polish and so on. Still, I felt a little uncomfortable with the Hollywood actor seated this close.

  I peered at him over my program, smiling as he caught me in the act. He’s just a guy, Bella, like any other guy. Shifting my gaze downward, I pretended to read the bios on the performers. When I saw Bubba’s picture, my heart swelled with joy. Man, did that head shot look good. Talk about a radical transformation!

  A familiar voice rang out. I looked up to see Tony standing at the end of our row. The moment I laid eyes on him, I realized I’d forgotten to tell Sophia he was coming. Having him here without Brock in the mix was one thing, but now … Yikes! What had I done?

  He looked at the empty seat on Sophia’s right and gestured to it.

  She stared at him, looking like she’d been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, then rose and scooted down the aisle in his direction, dragging me behind her. I had a feeling I’d hear about this later. When we reached Tony, his face lit with joy. Sophia, on the other hand, didn’t look so happy. “Tony, what are you doing here?”

  “Well, I … I’m joining your family at the opera. I hope that’s okay.”

  She sighed. Loudly. “I guess. But there’s one little problem …” She gestured to Brock, who seemed oblivious to our conversation. He sat with the program open, reading with a crooked smile on his face.

  “You have a date with someone else?” Tony asked, the pain in his eyes evident for all to see.

  “We have a family friend in town.” Sophia gave Brock another nod. Lowering her voice, she said, “And, um, I’m trying to be nice to him.”

  “Oh …” Tony winked at her and lowered his voice too. “I get it. A mercy date.”

  I had to laugh at that one. If he had any idea!

  “I guess you could call it that,” Sophia whispered. “But it’s going to be a little awkward if you—”

  “Oh, that’s okay. I’ll just sit in the seat on the other side of you.” He led the way down the row to the seat on the other side of Sophia, and she followed along behind him, then dropped into the chair between the two guys. I could almost read her mind. She was the cream in the middle of an Oreo cookie. But nothing about this felt comfortable—I could see it in her pained expression.

  Well, in some ways it served her right. She’d been avoiding Tony for days, ever since Brock Benson waltzed into the house. Maybe this would be a wake-up call for her.

  I made my way back down the row, deciding introductions were in order, and the sooner the better. “Vinny, meet Tony. Tony, meet Vinny.”

  “Hey, Tony.” Brock stuck out his hand for a shake.

  Tony stared at him with the most perplexed look on his face. I could only imagine what he must be thinking. Surely the whole mercy date explanation made sense, now that he saw geeky Vinny DiMarco up close.

  Or not.

  As Tony leaned back in his chair, I still sensed something rather territorial in his expression. Clearly he didn’t want Vinny here one way or the other.

  The music began, and my heart raced to my throat. Though I felt a little childish admitting it, there was something about performances—plays, operas, and even some movies—that held me spellbound. Would The Marriage of Figaro be the same?

  D.J. made his way down the row, stepping on more than a few toes with those boots of his. He made apologies all the way. Settling into the seat on my left, he reached for my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  “How’s Bubba doing?” I asked.

  “You don’t want to know.” D.J. chuckled. “Let’s just say the tights are an issue and leave it at that.”

  I giggled, trying to picture Bubba’s angst.

  Just then Brock leaned over and whispered in my ear from the other side. “Have you seen this opera before?”

  “No,” I whispered back.

  “It was written as a political piece—a satire.”

  “Oh, wow. I had no idea.”

  “Yes. And it’s one of only three collaborations between Mozart and a man named da Ponte. Written in Italian, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “The language of love.” Brock winked, and my heart fluttered.

  D.J. cleared his throat. Loudly. I pulled away from Brock and leaned a bit to the left to put some space between us. Thankfully, at that moment Sophia looked over at Brock, and he turned to her. I whispered a quick “Thank you, Lord,” then focused on the stage.

  Bubba came out in full regalia as Figaro. I had to admit, he looked completely authentic. I never would’ve guessed him to be a country boy from Splendora. No, this polished opera singer was the real deal, from the top of his head to the bottom of his well-clad toes. And there was something about his presence. He literally commanded the stage. Who would have known?

  As I checked out his costume, I realized just how much it resembled the ones I’d be seeing next weekend at Rob and Marian’s wedding. How interesting that my life had taken on a Renaissance theme. I closed my eyes to see if the performance would be any less thrilling that way. Ironically, Bubba sounded even better, if that were possible.

  Man! Can that boy sing or what!

  I won
dered what D.J. thought of his brother right about now. One glance answered my question. But was he grinning because his baby brother was wearing tights, or had he somehow looked beyond the costume to see the talent? He looked at me and mouthed, “Wow,” and I nodded.

  Yep. The boy was proud of his little brother. No doubt about that. I was proud too—of both Bubba and my mother, who’d suggested he audition for the role. How could she have known he would turn out to be this good? I glanced down the row at her and could see the tears in her eyes as the music swelled. Pop, on the other hand, looked like he’d rather be just about anyplace else.

  I closed my eyes, letting the music take me to a far-off place in my imagination. Something about the lyrical Italian words made me feel as if I’d actually been whisked off to Europe. Perhaps one day I would be.

  “This story takes place in a single day,” Brock explained with a hoarse whisper. “And it’s all about … well, infidelity.” D.J. cleared his throat again and shifted in his seat.

  “O-oh?” For whatever reason, my heart skipped a beat at the word infidelity. “Really?”

  “Mm-hmm.” He pointed to the stage. “See that guy right there? He’s Count Almaviva. He’s married to Rosina, the countess.” Brock pointed to a beautiful woman in a dark red dress.

  “Oh, wow. She’s gorgeous.”

  “Yes, but the count is … he’s infatuated with another woman—Susanna.”

  “Yikes.”

  “Right.” Brock gave me a knowing look. “But Susanna’s in love with the man of her dreams, Figaro.”

  “Bubba.”

  “Yes.” Brock smiled. “Bubba. But the plot thickens. See that guy right there?” He pointed to a male singer wearing black. “That’s Cherubino. He’s got his eye on the countess.”

  “Whoa. This story is all twisted up.”

  “Yeah. Keep an eye on Cherubino. And watch Figaro and Susanna too. Their sole purpose is to expose the count’s infidelity and make a public spectacle of him.”

  “Serves him right.” I paused for a moment, then looked at Brock. “How do you know all of this, anyway?”