The rehearsal room for opera workshop was a large basement level room with soundproofing panels on the walls. Its two-story height allowed for full story windows on the ground floor level to bring in plenty of natural light without any distracting views for the musicians inside. It was large enough for the entire orchestra, or to stage the winter opera production, with a grand piano at the front of the room and dressing rooms just outside. The room always smelled of the rosin that the string players used on their bows, a light pine scent.
The space was so full when Min arrived it took her a minute to even realize that Dr. Jacobs was there already. He was known to breeze in moments before rehearsal began – never late, but always just taking the podium on time. That day, however, he stood by the piano sipping his Starbucks and talking with Bobby and Jeff a full ten minutes before rehearsal was scheduled to begin.
Tammy called for everyone to take their seats and, as usual, they started with the largest numbers – in this case, the smoking chorus fromCarmen.Dr. Jacobs took his place on the small platform at the front of the room and held his baton at the ready. He scanned the faces of the assembled singers sitting before him on the edge of their seats, watching his every move. With his trademark wink, he signaled the first breath, and the accompanist began.
As the chorus ended, Dr. Jacobs lay his baton gently on the stand and took a long sip of his coffee. “Right,” he said, addressing the group. “Your French is awful.”
A wave of nervous laughter swept the room, but Min saw the smirk in his eyes. He was setting expectations for the newer singers, establishing a standard of performance.
“The word isfumée. Smoke. That’s not an Italiante ‘u,’ folks. There’s a ‘y’ in that ‘oo,’” he said. The underclassmen exchanged glances, wondering what he was talking about. They wouldn’t take French diction until second semester sophomore year.
Dr. Jacobs demonstrated the vowel he was looking for, a perfect French ‘oo.’
“Imagine you’re smoking a cigarette,” he said as he held his hand to his mouth, the imaginary cigarette delicately balanced. All eyes snapped to his lips, hanging on their every word and movement. “The shape you would make when it is between your lips, that’s almost it.” Hands went to lips around the room as everyone tried what he demonstrated. “Now add some more tension in your top lip and try again.” A wave of garbled French rose from the room. He winced. “Fumée.Work on it,” he said, moving on.
At the first break, everyone rushed outside to enjoy a few minutes sprawled across the lawn in the September sun. But not Min. She excused herself and went to the dressing room to splash water on her face. It was hard to think straight with Dr. Jacobs so close, and every time he looked at her, heat flooded her body at the storm brewing in his blue grey eyes. Or maybe she’d imagined every glance in her direction, every smile that seemed meant just for her. She didn’t know anymore, but she missed the man. Viscerally.
By the time she returned to the rehearsal room, the others had begun shuffling back in. A small package wrapped in brown paper sat on her music stand. She turned it over and saw Dr. Jacobs’ neat, perfectly aligned letters scrawled in pencil across the back.
M,
Happy birthday
-L
Dr. Jacobs sat on the edge of the conducting platform watching her over the rim of his coffee cup. As her eyes landed on him, he gave an almost imperceptible nod and a raised eyebrow, almost as if he was challenging her to open the package.L as in Liam.
Min ran her finger under the flap, peeling back the tape, a lump in her throat and her heart pounding so hard she was sure everyone could hear it.He signed the note from Liam. Not Dr. Jacobs.She tried to tamp down the hope bubbling up within her.
Pulling off the brown paper revealed a thick paperback.Complete Poems of Pablo Neruda.She ran her fingertips over the glossy cover and smiled. She slipped the book into her bag for safe keeping, and glanced back at him, her heart pounding in her chest. His gaze darkened and he ran his fingers through his hair, his eyes never leaving hers.
The rest of the rehearsal went in much the same way. They worked on the choruses and large ensembles. Later in the week they would begin to meet in smaller groups to work on duets and trios. Min got so lost in the music that she didn’t have time to worry about Dr. Jacobs and his mysterious gift, his sinfully delicious glances and smoldering eyes.
She stumbled through theContes d’Hoffmannensemble. The role of Antonia was not sitting perfectly in her voice yet, though it was solidly in her range. Still, she hadn’t quite found the pulse of the music and she knew she would need to spend extra time in a practice room working on it.
As Tammy dismissed the group for the day, Maria leaned over to whisper to Min. “Dr. Jacobs looks especially yummy today,” she said. “Italy must have agreed with him.” Min stifled a grimace. She hated when girls used the word ‘yummy’ to refer to a man. Maria continued, “We’re all going over to the café. You coming?”
“You go ahead without me. I really need to get into a practice room and figure out this scene.”
Maria shrugged. “Suit yourself. See you at home.” She grabbed her bag and joined the group gathering by the side door.
Min was so busy watching her classmates go that she didn’t notice Dr. Jacobs until he was right in front of her.
“You’ll get it,” he said. His voice sent goosebumps across her skin.
She lifted her eyes in a quick glance, just enough to see his hands shoved in his pockets, to catch the glimmer of his belt buckle over the top of her music stand.Don’t stare at his belt, she repeated to herself.
“It’s challenging, but it’s a good piece for you.”
“It doesn’t sit well in my voice. The passagio is too high or something,” she mumbled.
She couldn’t look him in the eyes. If she looked at him when he was that close, when she had a gift from him in her bag and his eyes were searing her skin, she would either reach for him or cry, neither of which was an appropriate reaction to her professor.
“We’ll find it,” he insisted kindly.
Min nodded. She trusted him. He wouldn’t have given her a part she couldn’t handle. She was just nervous and more than a little thrown off her game by the scent of lemongrass and cedar swirling at the edge of her senses.
“Let’s coach it,” he said, his voice lower, quieter. “I don’t want you working on it on your own until we’ve found the rhythm.”
