“This isn’t going to fix me,” she retorted.
“Stop being so negative. You sounded better this morning than you did yesterday, and you like singing jazz.”
She glanced at the lyrics to “Georgia on My Mind.” “There’s a big difference between singing Ray Charles and launching into an F-natural for Amneris’s “Quale insolita gioia nel tuo sguardo.” At his quizzical expression, she translated. “‘What rare joy shines on your face.’”
“Thanks.”
“Not your face. Radamès’s face. And he’s thinking about his love for Aida, not any passion he holds for Amneris, worse luck for her.”
“Shows what happens when a woman gets too serious about someone, even in ancient Egypt.”
“Exactly.” She thought of Adam. Of Aida. Of the way Amneris sends Radamès to his death. She snatched the phone from him and began to sing. “Georgia . . . Georgia . . .”
Thad closed his eyes and listened.
This was jazz, not opera, and her chest constriction eased. Not enough to produce the sounds she needed to perform. Far from it. But as he’d said, better than yesterday.
* * *
Thad had promised to take some of his Nashville buddies out that night, but he’d committed before he’d gotten tangled up with keeping The Diva safe. He couldn’t see himself dragging her along into another noisy bar. She’d have to strain her voice to talk, and she was under enough stress. Besides, it was guys only, and he was supposed to meet them in an hour.
As he pondered his options, he wandered into her adjoining suite where she was doing some yoga sun salutations by the windows. He sprawled on the couch and pretended to look at his phone when, in fact, he was admiring her strength right along with the stretch of her yoga pants over her butt.
He considered his dilemma. He owed these guys, and he didn’t want to cancel, but Henri was busy and Paisley was useless.
The suite’s doorbell rang. Thad blocked her from answering and opened the door himself.
Clint Garrett stood on the other side. “I was visiting a girlfriend in Memphis, and I thought I’d drop in.”
“Memphis is a couple of hundred miles away,” Thad pointed out.
Clint shrugged. “Whatever.”
For once, Garrett’s timing was exactly right. “Come on in.”
“Hey, Clint.” The Diva waved at him and returned to her sun salutations.
“Sorry I couldn’t get here earlier,” Clint said. “I saw that crap in the papers, and I heard Phoebe’s all stirred up about it. I want you to know I’m here for you, T-Bo.”
Thad slapped him on the back. “Appreciate it. As a matter of fact, I’m glad you’re here.”
Clint regarded him suspiciously. “Why’s that?”
“I have to go out, and I need you to stay with Liv.”
Olivia came out of her down dog. “I don’t need anybody to stay with me.”
“Yeah, she does.” He gave Clint more details of the New Orleans attack and mentioned the threatening letters. “There’s been some other nastiness. A phone call, a couple of packages. She also has a stalker named Rupert.”
Olivia reared up. “Rupert is not a—”
Thad continued, ignoring her. “I don’t trust hotel security. Point of fact—you didn’t have any trouble getting up here. Plus, she has a habit of running off.”
“I do not—”
“I need to slip out for a couple of hours.” He gave Clint another tap on the back. “Can you keep an eye on her?”
“Sure.”