Overture

Roxanne suspected the strange sounds the humans made for their operas meant something special to them—there were never plays or operas performed for an empty auditorium—but she didn’t understand the noises, couldn’t figure out what humans found enticing about them. Lady, however, had been screeching more than the other humans as of late, which Roxanne believed to be a good sign. Lady seemed happier and had bought Roxanne a lovely necklace with a single pearl hanging from it. Good signs indeed.

 “Roxanne!” a small voice mewed beside her.

Roxanne blinked. Maggie, a tiny brown kitten who starred in small roles, pawed Roxanne’s leg.

“You’re on next! Hurry!” Maggie whispered.

Roxanne took a shaky breath. She wished the fogginess clouding her head would dissipate. Concentrating on her paws, she padded to the stage, which was an elevated part of the roof behind the opera house’s electric signage. With a nervous sweep of her thin tail, she strode to center stage and gazed at the throng of city cats gathered for the event. The moonlight reflected off hundreds of cat eyes studying Roxanne, waiting to discover if she possessed the same caliber of talent the other Opera Cats boasted.

When Roxanne opened her mouth to sing, her body became tense. Her anxiety hadn’t flown away with the breeze as she had hoped; instead, it intensified. She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing her entire mind and body on singing, each note issuing forth with a perfection Roxanne had thought impossible. She trembled at the sound of her voice; she barely recognized it. It seemed to be that of an angel, or of some supernatural being not tainted by the strife of the living. A tear slid down Roxanne’s slender snout and trickled off her whiskers. Before she realized it, she’d completed her aria, and jubilant cheers thundered from the rooftop. Roxanne gasped. Her vision swam, her skin grew cool, and she lost consciousness before falling to the stage with a thump.  

#

Susannah Brown raised her arms heavenward as she sang the final note. Thunderous applause met her ears, and she was practically carried off the stage to her dressing room by a horde of adoring fans and excited singers.

Susannah had sung the lead in the current operetta, The Dream Girl, for the past two performances, and news of her exquisite voice was quickly spreading throughout New York City. Violinist Phillip Townsend had told her that the state, the country, and then the whole world would soon know her voice and her name. Indeed, 192- seemed to be Susannah’s special year, and it was only April.

 Once in her dressing room, Susannah sat in her velvet chair in front of the mirror. She smiled at her reflection, her green eyes shining. She felt lighter than air. All of New York City was becoming hers.

Singers, audience spectators, and reporters flocked to Susannah’s dressing room. The small room grew warm, and several people pushed against Susannah, brushing against her pale skin and mussing her short red hair. She raised a long-fingered hand to smooth her hair down, but another reporter bumped against her, causing her to swipe her hand over her face instead. Now her hair looked more disheveled, and red lipstick trailed across her cheek.

A rough voice bellowed over the din, “All right, that’s enough!”

People murmured, staring around the room in search of the voice’s owner. A short man with Oxford spectacles pinched on his nose pushed his way through the crowd, shoving people out of the room the deeper he went in. Once the crowd had stepped into the hall, the rotund man slammed the door shut.

“Beautiful, Miss Brown, beautiful!” Elias Stone, the Shelley Opera House director, crooned with a nod of his head. “You sang like an angel tonight! You were born for that role—or, more likely, the role was created for you!”

Susannah smiled. It was all she could manage at the moment.

“But, you know,” Stone said as he placed a finger at the end of his nose, “Maria will return soon. I understand she is feeling much better.”

“Good for her,” Susannah murmured, thinking how awful it was for herself. Maria Kingston had been out ill for a month. All it took for Susannah’s success was a month. Would Stone offer her the same lead roles as he did Maria when the prima donna returned? Susannah hoped so.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Stone waved a dismissive hand. He narrowed his eyes at the floor, deep in thought. 

Susannah straightened herself. “What else do you have to say? Surely you didn’t come here only to congratulate me, then tell me that Maria is returning soon.”

Stone snapped his attention to Susannah. “I was just thinking about your success, Miss Brown. You are a sensation, you see, and sensationalism only lasts so long. You are still young and inexperienced in this business. When Maria returns, she’ll have the starring roles again. She is our prima donna, after all.”

Susannah blinked. Her eyes burned. She shouldn’t have been foolish to think she’d continue singing in prime roles. “Surely there will be other leading roles I can have from time to time—”

“If Maria has the flu or moves to a different state, then I suppose leading parts will be yours,” Stone exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air, a mirror image of what Susannah had done not that long ago. “I must go. There are other matters I must attend to. Good night.” With that, Stone left the room.

Once Stone closed the door, Susannah plucked her shoe off her foot and chucked it at the door.

“Miserable director!” Susannah growled. She wiped her moist eyes. No, she thought; he was only doing his job, even if Susannah didn’t understand his decision. She had been silly for believing she’d become the next prima donna in Maria’s absence. This had been a temporary situation, nothing more.

Still, Susannah told herself, she’d shown her true singing potential to New York City. Several opportunities had to be open to her. The Shelley Opera House wasn’t the only theater in the city. Perhaps if she bided her time, someone else—some other theater director, or perhaps a producer—would snatch her up. This would be her year, she reminded herself. It was only April.

Susannah bent down and smiled at her Abyssinian cat. Somehow Roxanne had slept through the commotion that had taken place in the dressing room. The cat had curled herself in a tight ball, her pink nose covered by her long tail, her breathing slow and steady.

“Sleep well, my lovely girl,” Susannah said as she smoothed Roxanne’s ears. Often Susannah left Roxanne at the opera house at night if the cat had fallen asleep. Tonight was one such night.

Susannah crept out of her room and quietly closed the door behind her. Sleep was what she needed as well.