"Are these copies of Dali's famous May West couch?" I called out to Kevin.
"Yes. You certainly know your art history." He called back.
"I try to," I replied.
Continuing to scan the room I noticed that the gold framed pictures on the walls had black and white photos of famous divas. Some were actually signed. There was Sutherland in her farewell concert at the Sydney Opera House; Te Kanawa at Covert Garden; and of course, the incomparable Callas at La Scala.
More gold was to be found on the three gold swans that held up the glass of the coffee table. Oscar Wilde had once said something about vulgarity that would have described this place well, but I was distracted from whatever he�d said by a large, weighty book in the centre of the coffee table. On the cover was the title, 'The True Opera Lover's Guide.' A smile crossed my face. With the dramatic decore, the photos and the book there was no question he must be an opera lover, like myself.
......... there was no question he must be an opera lover, like myself.
"Two sugars?" Kevin queried.
"No, I don't have sugar. Just milk, please."
"Oh. You're sweet enough?"
I didn't bother replying to such an obviously old joke.
He walked back into the room with a coffee cup and a glass of water. The coffee cup was just like the rest of the apartment - a burgundy colour with gold rim and matching saucer. He placed it on the coffee table where it blended in easily with its surroundings. I picked it up and sipped from it.
He took the couch facing me. "I don't drink coffee."
"You drink tea then?"
"No, the caffeine gives me headaches."
"I'm sorry to hear that. Coffee is my favourite drink."
He waved his hand. "But I make up for that by enjoying a good red.
Looking at his red kimono and his red, white and gold apartment I just had to smile at his unintentional joke. There was a pause in the conversation and I noticed that instead of politely looking away or making some small talk Kevin continued to look at me with rather intense blue eyes and the same smile that he'd first fixed on me when he'd opened the door. This overpowering stare was beginning to make me feel a little uncomfortable.
The silence continued. I was just about to say that I had an exam to study for when he broke the silence.
"I�m pleased that you like opera."
"It�s one of my passions. I..." Before I could complete my sentence he clapped his hands and almost jumped out of his seat.
"I just adore opera. I'll put some on."
He left the couch and appeared to swoon as he crossed the room. Reaching a Japanese-style black and gold cabinet he opened the doors to reveal a stereo system with hundreds of CDs neatly stacked in their racks.
"Could I interest you in a little Puccini?"
"Yes. He�s my favourite composer.�
