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As we enter the semi-quiet of my dressing room, the excitement between Martin and me is palpable, the air electric, charged with the energy of our shared success. We exchange a flurry of words, both of us talking over each other in our eagerness to express our gratitude.
"Martin, I couldn't have done this without you," I gush, my eyes shining with unshed tears. "You believed in me when no one else did."
"Ah, Tatiana, you're the one with the talent. I just helped guide it," he replies modestly, his cheeks flushed with pride. “Your parents will be so proud of their girl.”
“They already are,” I say, elated. I take a moment to catch my breath, feeling the adrenaline start to ebb away as I sink into a plush velvet chair. Every flat surface in my dressing room is adorned with bouquets of congratulatory flowers, their sweet fragrance mingling with the lingering scent of stage makeup and hairspray.
My gaze lands on an abstract arrangement containing a single white flower. Martin notices it at the same time I do. "Extraordinary," I murmur. "I've never seen anything like it."
We look at each other with a questioning smile, and Martin walks over to retrieve the card. He hands it to me, and I read the message neatly printed on the heavy paper.
‘The Ghost Orchid, like you, Miss Amante, a lady of ethereal beauty and mystery. One of nature’s elegant secrets, waiting to be unraveled.’
Martin stares at the card thoughtfully, then at me. Placing a fatherly hand on my shoulder, he says, “I will leave you to savor this moment of adoration, Tatiana.” Then he turns and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.
The next evening, after a nerve-wracking performance, Martin leans against the vanity in my dressing room, watching me closely. "There's something I need to tell you," he says, his voice lowering. "Do you know who that man in the private balcony is?"
"Who?" I ask, curiosity piqued.
"Philippe Accardo," he reveals, and my heart skips a beat. "He's quite the prominent figure in the opera world. A generous patron, too. And while I don't know what it is he does exactly, he's also well-connected and very affluent."
"Philippe Accardo..." I murmur, recalling the tall, dark-haired figure whose applause had ignited the standing ovation the previous evening. Tonight, he had been perched close to the railing, reminding me of a restless lion.
My heart races at the thought of such an influential man witnessing my performance.
"Indeed," Martin nods. "It seems you've caught his attention, and that's no small feat."
The idea of someone like Philippe Accardo watching me, applauding me, fills me with equal measures of excitement and apprehension. Who is he? And why has he taken an interest in me?
"That’s flattering," I muse. "I wonder what he thought of my performances so far."
"From his reaction, I'd say he is quite impressed," Martin grins, and I can't help but smile back. “He is the one who sent you that rare orchid and these.” He steps aside, revealing a full bouquet of long-stemmed near-black lilies with striking orange stamens.
I reach over to remove the card, a shiver running down my spine as I read it.
‘The Queen of the Night lily, Miss Amante, like you, is an elegant and rare find. A unique beauty that hints at the extraordinary treasure it conceals within.’ A gasp escapes me, and I clasp my chest to contain the emotions within.
I am used to being applauded as hardworking and committed. Singing and performing have always been my calling. I have devoted my life to it like a worker ant is devoted to her queen. But being at the receiving end of such ardor is outside my frame of reference.
Speechless, I look up at Martin with wide eyes. “There is more,” he says with a serious note.
“More flowers?” I exclaim.
“No,” Martin chuckles, “but just as strategically significant. He has made inquiries.”
Martin referring to the flowers as strategic gifts turns my excitement down a notch. “Inquiries?” I furrow my brow, “I’m not sure I understand what you’re implying?” I tilt my head and look at Martin.
“About your career. He has asked about opportunities to support you.” Martin looks at me intently, one hand cradling his chin while a single finger repeatedly ticks against his pursed lips. This is a familiar stance. He does this when deciding whether I am ready to take on a new part or not.
I remain still for a while after he leaves me in the dressing room, surrounded by the delicate scents of the flowers.
He will tell me tomorrow whether he thinks I’m ready. Ready for what I am not sure yet.
After another night and another successful performance, I can see Martin is ready to have ‘the talk’.
But before he can start, another stunning flower arrangement arrives. This time, the card reads: ‘The Bird of Paradise signifies freedom and adventure. You, Miss Amante, embody the joy of soaring to new heights. I may share in your excitement of exploring new opportunities.’
This is Martin’s cue, and he starts without a preamble. “Tatiana, this kind of opportunity does not come around twice. Most performers never get one. But at the same time, not all careers experience the long-term benefits of having a patron.”
