"I guess I love opera because its romantic and often deals with people behaving in unconventional ways - breaking the ordinary, everyday rules of their lives. They are prepared to sacrifice everything to break out of their conventional boxes."
He just looked at me impassively. My answer didn't seem to impress him.
"Do you know why I like opera?" He said.
"No."
He looked like he was going to swoon again.
"Because it deals with love and love is the most wonder.......ops".
While speaking rapturously about opera he'd spilt water all over the lounge.
"Oh, how clumsy! I'm so excited about all this talk about opera that I can't keep still! I'll just get a cloth."
As there was no sign of a cloth in the meticulously kept apartment he disappeared back into the kitchen and produced one.
"I'm not usually so clumsy." He mopped the spill quickly, then touched the lounge with his hand. "It's still wet. I'll have to sit next to you."
As there were no other chairs in the living room I could hardly object but immediately my antennae went up. As the couch was a small, two-seater there was almost no space separating us. He turned at right angles to me, putting his arm across the top of the lounge and close to my shoulder and he continued to stare at me with that same intense look.
"As I was saying. Opera, at its best, is about love. Imagine that we are in an opera. I am the diva. You are the tenor." His hands gestured like a director.
If I hadn't known before that he was an opera queen I now knew beyond a doubt. He'd reached point c: an opera queen acts out opera! He looked deep into my eyes.
It wasn't love that I could feel. All I could feel was the pressure on my arm increase as he spoke. Looking down I could see his face gradually move in slow motion towards mine, the eyes closed, the lips puckered, ready to rendezvous with mine.
"You take me in your arms, hold me close and kiss me". He moved, worryingly, closer. I could almost feel the heat of his body next to mine.
The idea crossed my mind that here I was, in the most perfect setting to feel romantic. The living room was luxuriously romantic. Sweeping romantic music played in the background. And my host was talking about the most romantic topic. Yet, I didn't feel one, single, romantic spark in my body. Undoubtedly the gold-framed divas would have been disappointed at my lack of passion if they could have watched from out of their borders.
His arm reached out. "I am Mimi from La boheme. I am dying from consumption but I can still love and feel love."
It wasn't love that I could feel. All I could feel was the pressure on my arm increase as he spoke. Looking down I could see his face gradually move in slow motion towards mine, the eyes closed, the lips puckered, ready to rendezvous with mine. With a rush I realised why this couch was called May West, why it was shaped like a pair of lips and why I had to get out of here. Like any good tenor I knew my cue and almost jumped up out of my seat.
"I just remembered I have an exam to study for."
Kevin looked crest-fallen as he looked up at me from the couch, eyes now wide open, but lips still slightly puckered. "You have to go....so soon? We were just getting to know each other?"
