Chapter XIII: The Four Loves

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The gold thread curtains rose to an electric fanfare of instruments. Three thousand one hundred forty-six heart drummed to the rising and falling hands of Nicola Luisotti as the overture of Verdi's Aida resonated on the massive crevice of the War Memorial Opera House.

Subtle fragrant notes surfed curve of the theater hugging the walls, allowing every patron to listen to the majesty of its music. The cream of the crop and its snobbery had descended for this performance of the San Francisco Opera. Although, being Veteran Day's had also allowed the bourgeoisie to be present, filling more red velvet seats than the entitled San Franciscan elite.

The Box Seats in the War Memorial Opera house would host only the wealthiest of its patrons. Each private box would have no more than six seats, each with its own butler. Appetizers and champagne, were also available for its patrons, if requested. Although, that was and added extra on top of the gilded chair's price tag of three hundred ninety-five dollars per performance.

These were luxuries Jake had never been able to indulge with his stipend of two hundred dollars a month. However, Father Virgil had, this evening had been his idea, planned months before he had committed suicided. Jake had attempted to return the tickets after his passing, but found box seat tickets were non-refundable.

Jake had been to the opera before and watched The Trojans, Carmen, even the whimsical Marriage of Figaro, so far he had never sat so close to the stage. His budget had only allow him to buy the thirty-six dollar tickets for seats on the fourth deck of the theater. From that height the singers looked like children's toys, yet one did not need their eyes to be enchanted by the magic of their voice.

Seats one and two, of row R, hosted Jake and Mark, who oddly stood out with the two white tie businessmen and their jewel encrusted wives that sat behind them. Jake had been surprised by how gallant Mark had been with him the entire evening. Before the opera began, they had dinner at The Stinking Rose, they sat next to a window overlooking Columbus Avenue. Laughing and drinking, like a cliché couple from a romantic comedy with googly eyes and slick hair. Unaware of the thoughts of people who passed by them, and thought they were the embodiment of a stereotypical gay couple. Good-looking, well dressed, and cultured.

Jake had been worried before the show began, that Mark might be restless in during the first two acts before intermissions. Sitting on a box seat was like sitting on a stage of its own, the horseshoe balcony allowed its patrons to look directly to each other. Designed to allow socialites to exchange frivolous looks alongside the latest high society gossip.

If Mark was uncomfortable to be sitting there, Jake saw no sign of it. His eyes were fixed on drama of the stage, and would only lean quietly near Jake's ear to whisper on occasional no way as the plot unfolded.

Though, neither of them spoke Italian, the supertitles projected above the staged allowed them to follow along the gripping tale of the Ethiopian princess slaved in ancient Egypt.

The curtain came rushing down as the final notes of O Re: pei sacri Numi was being sang, the crowd broke into thunderous applause after which a single spotlight followed the conductor who exited the theater for intermission.

As soon as the lights were turned on the songs of shuffling people overtook the hall. The small door to their box swung open and in came a butler, holding a silver tray and four glasses of champagne.

Jake and Mark quietly made their way out of the box, the two women in their box looked down on them with lustful eyes as they shuffled by. The corridor that connected all the boxes was alive with running butlers carrying wine, caviar, and champagne to different boxes.

Women in exuberant Haute couture gowns paraded by the arm of their crusty husbands, engaging in the intermission ritual of wealth showcasing. Pangs of drunken laughter flew out of boxes as Jake and Mark walked by the hallway peeking onto these tiny bubbles of greed.

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