The Great Grey

When Nellie had met Rafael de la Cruz, she had thought herself lucky in finding a man who could get her into the magnificent prestige of the opera. As fate would have it, or rather the stuffy cloistered nature of England, Nellie was somewhat barred from the establishment in a working manner due to the colour of her skin. The fact had riled her greatly to begin with, and whilst Rafael worked on his pieces, Nellie would rage that she hated the place to begin with, and as such wouldn’t be seen dead in one at all!

Alas, it hadn’t taken long for Nellie to dress up and hang off Rafael’s arm as a guest, not only to shock onlookers and the rich snobs who looked down on who she was, but also to support Rafael’s own passions and love affairs in a rare act of submissive devotion to him. It was said that Nellie felt competition to her paramour’s place of work, that she hated the opera if only because it meant he would sometimes stray from her door to devote his time to his own obsessional nature, but the truth was that Nellie felt compelled to enrich Rafael’s art and mastery; a fact that shocked her more than it did anyone else.

Having been sick most of the day (an illness, Nellie had mentioned, that had kept her bedridden with swollen feet and a constant sense of nausea plaguing her every movement), Nellie had suspected that she would not be free to visit the opera that night. But stubborn as she was, by an hour prior to the time they were due to leave, Nellie had recovered quite well and had begun the playful act of dressing up. Anointing her wrists and neck with perfume, the actress had a rare evening off from playing Hippolyta, and yet she embodied the Queen of the Amazons with her choice of costume and the tinsel tied into her hair.

With her arm tucked into his, Nellie acted as she always did despite the strange illness that had plagued her earlier that day, teasingly nibbling on Rafael’s ear lobe as they walked or loudly exclaiming where they were going and how much fun they were going to have to the general disapproval of the surrounding crowds. Ever eager to have all eyes on her, Nellie waited in the mass of people in the hall, flamboyantly feeding herself and Rafael grapes or drinking the champagne that passed their place as if she were in one of her favourite taverns rather than the Opera House itself.

“What are we seeing again?” She asked, raising her glass to her mouth, her spare hand holding onto the crook of his elbow as her dark eyes flickered around them, as if too excited to land on only one spot.

With the new opera taking up so much of his time and attention, Rafael had been spending less time with Nellie than even when they were in one of their spats. That alone had weighed on his mind in the few quiet moments he had to consider it; with her mysterious and aggravating illness, he felt lost in a sea of guilt for how little attention he had been giving her. There'd been an effort made to correct it, even with how his opera consumed him at all times, and tonight was merely the latest in a long line of those efforts.

He was dressed in one of his finest suits (of the English variety, of course), and Nellie had likewise dressed herself well and gayly. There was even the spirit of the holiday in the tinsel woven into her hair, and Rafael could do nothing but look upon her with love and adoration, and laugh at the excitement with which she approached the evening. It would be easy to feel ashamed of her, the way she acted and the volume at which she laughed, at the eyes she drew for her unbecoming behavior.

But if Rafael had ever been ashamed of her and her ways, they would never have made it this far together.

Nellie was who Nellie was, and any attempt to dull that shine with preconceptions about how one should act, or look, or speak, would be a tragedy not unlike the burning of a priceless painting. She was terribly herself, and it was herself in which Rafael had fallen so deeply in love. Yes, he was always eager to declare that of himself, but never had it been like this. Never had he lasted so long with a paramour whom he loved and hated in such turns. Even their sour turns were shorter, less often; he regretted the cruel rumor he had started during their last argument, and even now he could hardly imagine doing something so foul ever again. But that was how it always was, wasn't it? The good moments were good; when they had fewer and fewer good moments, it was easy to give into the frustration.

But tonight, there would be no frustration. He had decreed it to himself, and so long as Nellie did not get entirely rowdy with her drinking and laughing and dancing and carousing, they would have a merry time and retire home to spend the rest of the night together. It was a wonderful plan.

"Othello, my love. It is an excellent piece, and I have no doubt you will find it wonderful." He patted the hand that she held his arm with, beaming at her. It really was a fantastic opera, one that he had seen many times since its premiere earlier that year. It fueled the fire of his own creativity, drove him ever onwards to penning his newest work. If critics were to say that his new work was even half as good as Othello, he would consider himself quite accomplished.

"I am so very happy that you are feeling better tonight, my love. We really must find some answer for your illness." It was more off-hand than anything, though Rafael's brow did crease with worry. It was not as though he was a stranger to Nellie vomiting noisily after a particularly indulgent party the night before, or after eating something of suspect quality. But this was an ongoing affair, one that had lasted weeks when normally it lasted no more than a day, perhaps two. But they were not here to mope and linger upon such terrible thoughts.

Instead Rafael took an extra step forward and turned, pulling the light of his life into his arms. It was unseemly, given the public space in which they stood, but he cared not. Instead he leaned to speak into her ear, a warm laugh in his voice, "Should you like a tour, before the opera begins? I know all of the secrets of this place, you know."

Nellie turned her head one way and then the other as she tried to spot a poster for the opera itself, but the opera house was so vastly different from the theatre that it was hard to see anything that looked common enough for her to understand, for though Nellie could read the basics and, as such, had a very limited education on language beyond the scripts she learned by heart, every inch of the House dripped with the kind of prestige and luxury that she could not, in the very least, afford. Othello had been one such play that had avoided her at every turn when put head to head against Romeo & Juliet or Richard III — but she knew of it well enough to decipher the characters, the story and to judge one actor from another in those varied auditions she sat in on as a practised actor herself.

Rafael had been busy, whether with other lovers or his work remained something of an open ended question that Nellie didn’t care to ask, if only because it would put pressure on just how much she had come to love her paramour — and rarely did the actress invite actual stress into her life when she could enjoy the lighthearted chaos instead. Why bother her heart when she could dance alongside him like Ariel in the Tempest? It was only that her illness had put a pause to her joy, an illness that forced her to a silent pause in order to recuperate and breathe ever so deeply — had either of them been wise enough to actually take stock of the situation, perhaps they would’ve found themselves bothering their minds on more important decisions, decisions that Nellie had thought well beyond her meaning.

“I’ve only seen an Othello once or twice,” Nellie mused, tilting her head back to look at the ceiling in quite a common manoeuvre before she rejoined his own glittering dark eyes, waving his suggestion of her illness off with the flick of her wrist; as Rafael may have decided in turn, they were not there to dwell over the future but rather to enjoy the present as thoroughly as their bodies would allow

“Later, it’s just a cold or something, unless one of the actresses have finally realised how much more talented I am than them,” she laughed, teasing the idea as it was Nellie who often out ranked herself compared to her peers, often claiming the green eyes beast of jealousy to reside in their bones as she paraded herself against the stage in flamboyant costumes and a large, beckoning voice. It was only when he pulled her into his arms did Nellie relent in her exclamation, the act almost jarring to their fine surroundings where visiting couplets stood with enough room for another to stand between them in a fine act of decency. To them, Nellie and Rafael must have looked out of place, and yet Nellie didn’t seem to care as she cast her arms around him, joining her fingers behind his back as she listened to his warm voice.

It was Nellie and Rafael who had turned the Royal Victoria asunder with their quick, hard fucks in the closets and back rooms of the theatre, they who had been heard from the stage to the street as they tugged and provoked one another for certain reactions, perhaps someone who knew them in that very entrance of the Opera House feared that they would undress there and then in a fit of passion. Alas, Nellie smiled and turned her head to press her mouth against Rafael’s ear in turn. Rarely did Nellie defile the sanctity of a performance, but if she wasn’t on stage, then where was the harm in it? Nor was it one of his plays!

“Mhmm, show me, though I do wish to see the opera this time, my love,” Nellie cooed, pulling her head back to flicker her eyelashes as if she were yet trying her hand at seduction, as if they had not already won that game countless times as she lifted a gloved hand to caress the side of his face in an act of tender expression, her dark eyes alight with the idea of some grand distraction.

She was ever wont to dismiss her illness, as she was with anything else that caused her distress, if she could not address it in any other method. It was something he loved about her, that free spirit that so often chose the positive and wonderful things in life. Tonight, for all his lurking fears, the playwright was willing to join her in that breezy dismissal. It was a gorgeous, glamorous evening, and it would not be wasted upon some slight illness that had manifested really in minor ways.

(Though now that she had put the thought of poison in his mind...)

"Never fear, we have plenty of time before the curtains rise," he informed her, obediently shying from the topic of her health. He leaned into her soft touch for a moment, allowing himself to live in that moment. A moment where there was nothing but the love of the woman he held, her body warm in his arms. It was these small moments that held so much of the magic of life, and no matter the time schedule cruel society kept, he would never shy from taking the few breaths to pause and enjoy it.

But then the few breaths were over, and he turned his head to kiss her gloved palm. "We cannot see the dressing rooms or the wings of the stage, at least until after the performance," Rafael informed Nellie, even as he pulled her towards the doors that would take them backstage. "But I will show you where I sit sometimes, when I wish a new perspective." It was quite the journey, up stairs a ladder, but he would be with her every step of the way, giddy for the excitement of it all.

And, when they had arrived, it was to the very top of the theater; above even the boxes, the catwalks where the great hanging swathes of fabric were tied. Before them was a dizzying drop, only a thin rail representing the line between safety and almost certain death. The view, though... From here they could see almost the entirety of the theater, save those seats directly under them. The stage looked impossibly far away, final preparations being made for the show. "It looks so small from here," Rafael gave voice to his thoughts, wrapping his arms around Nellie's waist from behind, holding her close to his chest.

Rafael de la Cruz inspired great passion, or so that was what Nellie had told her girl friends during those gossip heavy days behind the velveteen curtains of the theatre, a tale spun when she longed to boast of what she had as she felt the intricate and delicate nature of fame and celebrity begin to fall mercilessly between her fingers. Now astray from a theatre’s troupe, and rather set alone alongside the many gaggles of fortune hunters who went to London to find their calling, Nellie found herself more akin to Rafael than ever before. Suddenly she felt as if she could understand those months spent without muse, when he had complained and she had offered a sympathetic shoulder but very little alongside it — for she had always had somewhere to be, some role to step into. Without such characters to distract her mind, all was hell-bent on that ill feeling she had whenever she woke up, or wherever Rafael had taken himself whenever he wandered beyond her grasp.

Still, it was easy to play pretend beneath the glittering halls of the opera, where she could tip-toe into his world as a guest and hide between the many glamorous decorated personas that presented themselves as a willing and judgmental audience. Tucking her hair behind an ear, Nellie looked around as she kept to Rafael’s side, following his movements as loyally as his own shadow. With her hand in his she took care not to step on her skirts as they made their way up, up and up — toward the heavens Nellie felt almost sick with the sudden height, clasping a hand over her mouth she carefully leaned forward to peek over the balcony’s edge toward the great number below.

The rough, unscrubbed parts of her imagined spitting on them for fun — aiming for practice as she tried to spit goop into the hat of a particular old, prudish old woman. Still, luckily Nellie forgot about such an idea as she felt the other’s strong arms wrap themselves around her middle, keeping her from edging too close to the precipice as she leaned back against him. It was strange to be so high up, to behold the view of a God or some bird passing by chance — and how easy it would’ve been to fall, to tickle the line of danger was perhaps too attractive of an idea, so Nellie pulled herself away and clasped her hands over his, rubbing his with the side of her thumbs.

“It’s mad, Rafa, you must feel powerful up here,” she mused, staring down onto the heads of those who had looked down on her in that entrance hall, a smile of bemusement unravelling against her face. “Like God,” Nellie cooed, turning her head to look at him, to spy his reaction with the crinkle of her own amusement. “Do you feel that, Rafa? A new dawn is coming,” she prophesied, her eyes flaring with mischief as she kissed him, as she evoked the spirits of that opera hall to shine on them despite the fact that, soon, Othello would be performed in the place of their tale.

With her mouth close to his she looked to him, from his deep eyes to the bow of his lip, and she felt quite certain that she had not made the mistake in leaving the Victoria, but rather a risk that would pay off. “You should be on stage, Rafa, you have the face for it…”