The pause between the words 'your' and 'collection' was only slight but it was suggestive enough.
"Not very big. I've only got 650 CDs".
"How marvellous! A true opera queen."
I could have squirmed in my seat but quickly changed the subject. "Do you listen to modern opera? Glass, Britten?"
"I can't stand modern opera! It's so...." He searched for a word. "So noisy."
"So you don�t like any modern opera?� I queried.
�No. You can�t beat the classics.�
I changed tack. �I think it would be great to see a contemporary gay opera. Don't you?"
He shot me a puzzled look.
"Where two men fall in love in the first act, get to know each other in the second and finally, in the third, one is cut down tragically by some terrible disease..."
"Like AIDS?" he interrupted, dryly.
"Well�yes."
A frown settled on his features. "What a dreadful idea! I can't think of anything less romantic."
"Mimi had tuberculous in La Boheme. Why not have a contemporary disease in a modern opera? Do you have something against a gay opera?"
He shook his head. "No, no, no. I'm not worried about whether an opera has a fashionable disease or a gay love story. The problem is you can't have two men as leads. You have to have a male and a female. You have to have a diva in the opera, you can't have two men - they're both tenors or bass. Can you imagine the beautiful flower duet in Lakme, sung by two men? Impossible!"
"How big is your.....collection?"
The pause between the words 'your' and 'collection' was only slight but it was suggestive enough.
It was clear that I wasn't going to change his stubborn mind. Looking at the gold framed divas again I suddenly realised that at least one had to date back to the 1960s. It gave the lie to his claim that he was in his late thirties and reminded me that I had to ask him about his age. But I had to do it in a round-about way.
"I see from the signed photo of Sutherland on your wall, that you were at the Sydney Opera House in the 70s."
"That's right."
I had him! "Oh," I said, feigning surprise. "But you said you were in your late thirties on the net? And while my math's aren't very good I would guess you must be in your fifties."
Instead of squirming in his seat or getting offended, Kevin kept his smile.
"Well, I find that people always think I look a lot younger than my chronological age. If I put my real age people wouldn't believe me because they always think I'm twenty years younger."
I felt like saying: 'I don't believe that you look in your thirties either,' but decided that I wouldn't spoil this man's fantasy. I didn't have to wait long before he asked me my opinion of his age.
"How old do you think I am?"
I said, diplomatically, that I didn't think he looked in his fifties and thought to myself that sixty-two would be more accurate.
His hand flew into the air again. "Anyway, talking about such mundane things as age isn't interesting. Let's get back to opera." He reached out with his hand again, as if becoming a diva himself acting out a final scene. "You must tell me. What do you love about opera? Is it the costumes? Is it the sets? The divas? The over-the-top stuff?"
