“I’d like to know one way or the other. Can’t you telephone or telegraph—or something,” the girl pleaded.
“The opening is probably postponed!” her father said convincingly. “That often happens with a new venture. Of course Jim went to Denver—that’s where he has all his connections.” Again he gave her that warm, reassuring smile. “Suppose you don’t get started for a week or two! So much the better. You’ll get a chance to discover Aspen, walking miles in this wonderful, bracing climate and have fun with us.”
“You’re a real cure for the blues, Father. Grandma once called you the incurable optimist.”
Her father raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound particularly complimentary!”
“But it was meant in the nicest way. Grandma said Minna was a worrier and that she was lucky to be married to a man like you.”
By nightfall, basic unpacking was finished and, with no time or opportunity to purchase food, they decided to go out for dinner. They walked aimlessly through several streets trying to discover one of the colorful restaurants Fran had mentioned—Little Nell, Golden Horn, Mario’s. From the latter, as they stood on the sidewalk, voices were heard singing operatic arias! That settled it. They went in.
Judy’s parents were enchanted not only by the atmosphere but even more by the waiters who sang as they served and again at interludes between courses. The food was new and exotic and Judy ate with rapt enjoyment, the problem of Mr. Crowley and the theater temporarily forgotten.
She glanced occasionally at her mother and father. They were incomprehensible! Their food grew cold as they talked to the waiters. Suppose they were studying opera at the Aspen Music School! Her father finally succumbed to the aroma of the good-smelling dinner but her mother, between listening and applauding, found no chance to eat.
“I like opera, Father,” Judy told him, savoring the last mouthful on her plate. “Remember how I adored ‘Pagliacci’ when I heard it at the Metropolitan Opera House with Grandma and Grandpa! There was scenery and costumes, and what a story! That was Opera!”
Her father laughed. “A lover of music doesn’t need trappings of scenery and costume to enjoy opera. Your mother would rather sing or listen to singing than eat.”