"Why did they boo?" Rick whispered to Anna as the lights came on. "The people here are very critical. She has been struggling."
"Struggling? She sounded great." And looked great, too. How could they boo someone so gorgeous? "They think she missed a couple of notes. They are pigs. Let's go." They were on their feet as the entire audience stood for a stretch. "So far, you like?" Anna asked. "Oh yes," Rick said, and he was being truthful. The production was so elaborate. He had never heard such voices. But he was baffled by the boo birds in the top level. Anna explained: "There are only about one hundred seats available to the public, and they are up there," she said, waving at the top. "Very tough fans up there. They are serious about opera and quick to show their enthusiasm but also their displeasure. This Desdemona was a controversial selection, and she has not won over the crowd." They were outside the box, taking a glass of Prosecco and saying hello to people Rick would never see again. The first act lasted for forty minutes, and the break after it lasted for twenty. Rick began to wonder how late dinner might be. In Act 2, Otello began to suspect his wife was fooling around with a man named Cassio, and this caused great conflict, which, of course, was played out in dazzling song. The bad guys convinced Otello that Desdemona was being unfaithful, and Otello, with a hair-trigger temper, finally vowed to kill his wife. Curtains, another twenty-minute break between acts. Is this really going to last for four hours? Rick asked himself. But then, he was anxious to see more of Desdemona. More booing, and he might scurry up to the fifth floor and punch someone.
In Act 3, she made several appearances without provoking any boos. Subplots spun in all directions as Otello continued to listen to the bad guys and became more convinced that he must kill his beautiful wife. After nine or ten scenes, the act was over, and it was time for another recess. Act 4 took place in Desdemona's bedroom. She got murdered by her husband, who soon realized that she was faithful after all. Distraught, out of his mind, but still able to sing magnificently, Otello produced an impressive dagger and gutted himself. He fell onto his wife's corpse, kissed her three times, then died in a most colorful fashion. Rick managed to follow most of this, but his eyes rarely left Gabriella Ballini. Four hours after he first sat down, Rick stood with the audience and applauded politely at the curtain call. When Desdemona appeared, the booing returned with a fury, which provoked angry responses from many of those on the floor and in the private boxes. Fists were pumped, gestures made, the crowd turned on the disgruntled fans way up there in the cheap seats. They booed even louder, and poor Gabriella Ballini was forced to take a bow with a painful smile as if she heard nothing. Rick admired her courage, and adored her beauty. He thought Philadelphia fans were tough.
The palazzo's dining room was larger than Rick's entire apartment. A half dozen other friends joined them for the post performance feast, and the guests were still wrung out from Otello. Playing for Pizza 119
They chatted excitedly, all at the same time, all in rapid-fire Italian. Even Sam, the only other American, seemed as animated as the others. Rick tried to smile and act as though he was as emotionally charged as the natives. A friendly servant kept his wineglass full, and before the first course was finished, he was quite mellow. His thoughts were on Gabriella, the beautiful little soprano who had not been appreciated. She must be devastated, ruined, suicidal. To sing so perfectly and emotionally, and not be appreciated. Hell, he had deserved all the booing he'd received. But not Gabriella. There were two more performances, then the season was over. Rick, deep in the wine and thinking of nothing but the girl, thought the unthinkable. He would somehow get a ticket and sneak into another performance of Otello.
Chapter 14
Monday's practice was a halfhearted effort at watching game tapes while the beer flowed. Sam ran through the film, growling and bitching, but no one was in the mood for serious football. Their next opponent, the Rhinos of Milan, had been easily thumped the day before by the Gladiators of Rome, a team that rarely contended for the Super Bowl. So, contrary to what Coach Russo wanted, the mood was set for an easy week and an easy win. Disaster was looming. At 9:30, Sam sent them home. Rick parked far from his apartment, then hiked across the center of town to a trattoria called II Tribunale, just off Strada Farini and very near the courthouse where the cops liked to take him. Pietro was waiting, along with his new wife, Ivana, who was very pregnant. The Italian players had quickly adopted their American teammates. Sly said it happened every year. They were honored to have real professionals playing on their team, and they wanted to make sure Parma was hospitable enough. Food and wine were the keys to the city. One by one, the Panthers invited the Americans to dinner. Some were long meals in fine apartments, like Franco's, others were family feasts with parents and aunts and uncles. Silvio, a rustic young man with a violent streak who played linebacker and often used his fists when tackling, lived on a farm ten kilometers from town. His dinner, on a Friday night, in the renovated ruins of an old castle, lasted four hours, included twenty-one blood relatives, none of whom spoke a word of English, and ended with Rick sprawled safely on a bunk in a cold attic. A rooster woke him. Later he learned that Sly and Trey had been driven away by a drunk uncle who couldn't find Parma.
This was Pietro's dinner. He had explained that he and Ivana were waiting on a newer, larger apartment, and the one they were presently in was simply not suitable for entertaining. He apologized, but he was also quite fond of II Tribunale, his favorite restaurant in Parma. He worked for a company that sold fertilizer and seeds, and his boss wanted him to expand their business into Germany and France. Thus, he was studying English with a passion and practiced on Rick every day. Ivana was not studying English, had never studied it, and showed no interest in learning it now. She was rather plain, and plump, but then she was expecting. She smiled a lot and whispered when necessary to her husband. After ten minutes, Sly and Trey strolled in and collected a few of the customary second looks from the other diners. It was still unusual to see black faces in Parma. They settled around the tiny table and listened as Pietro practiced his English. A thick wedge of parmigiano arrived, just to munch on while food was contemplated, and soon there were platters of antipasti. They ordered baked lasagna, ravioli stuffed with herbs and squash, ravioli smothered in a cream sauce, fettuccini with mushrooms, fettuccini with a rabbit sauce, and anolini. After a glass of red wine, Rick glanced around the small dining room, and his eyes locked onto a beautiful young lady sitting about twenty feet away. She was at a table with a well-dressed young man, and whatever they were discussing was not pleasant. Like most Italian women, she was a brunette, though, as Sly had explained several times, there was no shortage of blondes in northern Italy. Her dark eyes were beautiful, and although they radiated mischief, they were, at that moment, not at all happy. She was thin and petite, fashionably dressed, and ...
"What are you looking at?" Sly asked. "That girl over there," Rick said before he could stop himself. All five at their table turned for a look, but the young lady did not acknowledge them. She was deep in a troubled conversation with her man. "I've seen her before," Rick said. "Where?" Trey asked. "At the opera, last night."
"You went to the opera?" Sly asked, ready to pounce. "Of course I went to the opera. Didn't see you there."