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Red flashes two tickets at her before tucking them into the pocket of his long black evening coat. He's in elegant black evening dress; she's wearing the same deep blue velvet gown she's worn to the last three events they've attended.
"Why the opera, Red?"
"My client is a true afficianado - we'll be sitting with him in his private box."
Liz makes a little face.
"You don't care for the opera?" Red questions her, as he ushers her out to the waiting limousine.
"Never been," returns Lizzie, taking Red's hand to help her slide onto the black leather seat as she manages the long skirts of her gown.
"Well, you're in for a treat" he says with enthusiasm, sliding into the seat beside her.
He's going to tell her the whole plot, the way he spoiled last week's play for her. She can't even enjoy sporting events with him; Red always knows who's going to win. They can't all be fixed, can they?
"Who are we going to be this time?" she asks him as the limousine pulls out into traffic. "Your young girl friend from Ann Arbor, your jealous fiancee, your trophy wife?"
"Mmm?" responds Red. "Why don't you choose this time, Lizzie?"
They've spent so many evenings together this last month it's evolved into a game.
"I'm your child bride - we've been together so long we're already bored with each other."
Red chuckles.
He pulls a small velvet case from his overcoat pocket, hands her three perfectly sized rings, two sparkling with sapphires and diamonds, one a simple platinum band.
"I thought these might come in handy tonight."
***
The opera house is brilliantly lit, the wealthy and powerful mingling with a sprinkle of the young and artsy, all in their own versions of formal evening dress. Red lays his hand in the center of her back, hurries her along a sumptuously carpeted hall, ushers her into a box close to the stage.
As he takes her coat and seats her with a flourish, she can see the stage, but none of the audience at all. Perfectly private, ideal for a meeting.
Almost immediately, a large, stone-faced Hispanic man wearing an earpiece that screams bodyguard peers into the box, then ushers in their hosts, an older woman in a beaded black lace dress, and a younger man in evening dress who seats his companion solicitously before turning to shake Red's hand.
A new client, no embrace, Liz notes idly.
The men sit together whispering; she smiles over them at the woman, who gives a regal nod of her dark, perfectly coiffed head.
The curtain rises and they all focus on the stage. Red pulls out a faded, flimsy paper libretto and begins following the Italian with the aid of a tiny flashlight.
Maybe she should have let him tell her the plot. There seem to be a lot of very unhappy people coming and going on that stage.
At the first intermission, the older woman stands, and Red motions Liz to follow her as she announces that she's going to powder her nose.
They make their way to the over-decorated little room, wait in line for their turn. The woman stands quietly at first, then looks back over her shoulder at Liz.
"You can't know how much this means to us, how grateful I am to your husband ..."
There's a choke in her heavily accented voice.
Liz smiles, trying to look sympathetic and poised.
When they get back to the box, the men are staring straight ahead in their seats, side by side, not speaking. Waiting for the next act.
They rise as the women enter, then both sit back down. The woman gives the man a caressing little pat on the shoulder.
Message received. Business complete, but Red's not going to allow them to leave before the opera is done.
Liz raises her chin.
"It's so kind of you to invite us" she says to the man, leaning across Red as she places one hand high on his thigh. Feels the sudden tension in his body as her hair brushes his face. "We never go anywhere any more."
Red extricates his arm and slings it over the seat behind her.
"It's not as if we have nothing to do at home, darling" he responds in a bored drawl.
Liz gives Red's thigh a little squeeze, feels his muscles bunch beneath her fingers. Opera. She'll show him opera.
Daringly, she slides her hand just a little higher.
"It's starting," Red points out. The lights fall, the curtain is rising.
Liz removes her hand, sits back in her seat.
She wonders if everyone on stage will be dead by the end. She can't help but hope so.
***
As the unseen audience below applauds wildly, the bodyguard appears and ushers the couple away, the woman casting one last grateful glance back at Liz.
Red shrugs into his overcoat.
"May I help you with your coat?" he says to Liz.
Three hours. They've been here for three hours.
Without answering, Liz steps close to Red, takes hold of the soft, soft lapels of his black cashmere overcoat, slides her hands up and down the length of them, fingering the fabric as she holds Red's eyes.
"Too much for you?" she purrs.
"You can touch me wherever you want, Lizzie" he responds in a dry tone. "Please, feel free. It's not as if the FBI hasn't had their hands all over my person already."
She clenches his lapels tight. Damn him.
"I can't win with you, can I?" she snaps, disappointed.
"It's time to go now, Lizzie."
There's an odd note in his voice. Liz stares at him, trying to decode it.
"Yes?"
Red tilts his head in inquiry, smiling his tight-lipped smile, his tone back to casually affectionate, his expression dispassionate.
It's her last conversation with Tom about the baby. Defeat and regret.
The world tilts.
She meant to tease Red, but she's just been teasing herself. Pretending, playing, but not the game she thought. Liz never wants to hear that note in Red's voice again.
Very carefully, Liz lets go of his lapels, raises her hands to either side of his face, strokes the curve of his cheekbones with her thumbs, then the curve of his eyebrows.
She watches his endlessly expressive eyes in the dim light of the box as he doubts, questions, then accepts her.
"Lizzie. Are you sure about this?"
Red's voice is hoarse as she explores his face, the prickle of his sideburns, the sensitive curves of his ears, the tight clench of his jaw.
Love, her fingers tell him, love and desire and mine, all mine.
"Oh yes, Red. Yes. Please."
She steps closer, closes the minute distance between them.
Red drops her coat, clutches Liz hard against him. She can feel his hands, his individual fingers even, through the soft velvet of her gown, as if he's trying to touch her everywhere at once.
It's not a sophisticated embrace. Her breasts are smashed against his chest, and he's kissing her in great gulps, both of them breathing hard as if they've been running, an almost incoherent mix of curses, promises and words of endearment traded between each kiss.
It's perfect.
It's the opera.