swept up with the grandest excitement, felt to the marrow of his bones that he was now part of this magnificent illusion. He could hear his voice amplified by the voices around him, and seeing only the barest shimmer of the audience he felt its presence everywhere in the gloom, and the applause that followed this finale was a veritable thunder.
The elation could not have been more shared had they all locked hands before the curtain. Bows were taken again and again. Someone whispered that Domenico’s fame was made. He had sung better than anyone currently on the stage in Naples, and as for Loretti, look at him!
Maestro Cavalla pushed behind the curtain embracing his singers one by one until he came to Domenico. He made as if to strike this exquisite girl who cowered with a soft husky ripple of laughter.
They were all invited to the Contessa’s now, he said, to her house, now, now, all of them. The Maestro took Tonio by the shoulders and kissing him on both cheeks, took a bit of paint from his face, and said: “See, you have this in your blood now, you’ll never recover from it.”
Tonio smiled. The applause was still ringing in his ears.
But he knew that he must not, he could not, go with them to the house of the Contessa.
* * *
For a moment, it seemed he wouldn’t get away. It surprised him that so many others wanted him to join them. Piero said, “You must come,” and whispered that Lorenzo would not be with them.
But removing the blue ribbon from his sword, Tonio hurried off to leave by the stage door to the garden, when someone beckoned to him from a dressing room. There was only a little light. He felt in his coat for his stiletto. “Come in here!” came the whisper again.
And he advanced very slowly, pushing the door wide with his left fingers.
A candle burned on either side of a big standing mirror in this room, and all about it were elaborate dresses on hooks, wigs on their blind wooden heads, and heaps of paste buckle slippers. It was Domenico who had summoned him, and he quickly shut the door and drew the latch on it.
Tonio’s fingers didn’t leave the handle of his stiletto. But there was no one else in the room, he soon saw that.
“I have to leave now,” he said, averting his eyes from that tiny fold of flesh that gave the perfect illusion of a woman’s bosom.
Domenico appeared to lie against the door, and in the shadowy dark, his face was luminous and delicate. When he smiled the hollows of his cheeks deepened, the light played more beautifully on the bones, and when he spoke, it was that woman’s voice again, husky and stroking.
“Don’t be afraid of him,” he whispered.
Tonio realized he had taken a step backwards. His heart was making a tumult inside of him.
“Afraid of whom?” he asked.
“Lorenzo, of course,” said the roughened velvet voice. “I won’t let him do anything to you.”
“Don’t come any closer!” Tonio said sharply. Again he took a step backwards.
But Domenico only smiled, his head falling a little to the left so that the white powdered curls spilled over his shoulder onto that flaring breast.
“You mean I am the one you’re afraid of?”
Tonio looked away in confusion. “I have to leave here,” he said.
Domenico let out a long beguiling breath. And then suddenly he put his arms around Tonio; he pressed the soft ruffles of his breast against Tonio. Tonio stumbled back and found himself against the mirror, the candles flickering on either side of him. He reached back for the glass, his hands down, to get his balance.
“You are afraid of me,” Domenico whispered.
“I don’t know what you want!” Tonio said.
“Ah, but I know what you want. Why are you afraid to take it?”
Tonio was going to shake his head but he stopped, staring into Domenico’s eyes. It was inconceivable that anything of a man existed under this froth, this magic. And when he saw the lips moist and parting and drawing near to him, he shut his eyes, straining away. Surely he could knock this creature to the floor with one blow, and yet he was shrinking back as if he might be burned here!
But he felt the length of Domenico against him, the curve of his thigh under the satin skirt, and then Domenico’s hand reaching for the front of his breeches.
He almost struck Domenico. But Domenico’s face touched his,