Suspicion of Deceit Read Online Free

threatens a student? What do you do about that?''
    Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Martin, you are paranoid."
    The old man glared around the room. "Who hired Thomas Nolan? Who failed to check him out?"
    "Wally, it doesn't matter. There haven't been any bombs in years. They don't do that anymore." Tapping her ashes, Eleanor looked over at Anthony. "Or am I wrong?"
    "How would I know?"
    "You are wrong, Eleanor." Lamplight shone on Wallace's pink scalp, visible through thin white hair. "Just last year there was a fire at a restaurant where a singer from Cuba was going to appear, and they had to close down."
    "It was arson," Anthony said. "The owners set the fire to collect the insurance." No one was listening, and Anthony leaned back on the sofa with his drink and muttered something in Spanish. Gail laid a hand on his knee.
    "Well, the opera never had any trouble," Eleanor insisted.
    "Of course we have." Wallace snapped his fingers, trying to remember the particulars. "We invited some singers from Moscow on a friendship tour, performing in the county auditorium, and the exiles brought mice in their purses and pockets and let them go. You could hear them scurrying around in the rafters for months."
    "That was twenty-five years ago!"
    Martin said, "One lunatic with a can of gasoline is all it takes."
    "Jesus H. Christ!" With his crooked half-smile, Dixon surveyed the people sitting around the room. "We're lucky to get this guy. He invited Rebecca and me to hear the opera in Dortmund when we went through Germany. His performance in Lucia blew me away. Tom wanted to come to Miami, so I said sure, I'll work it out. Now look where he is. His career is taking off, and he's going to debut at the Met next year. I'm the one who brought him here, and I am not going to see him flushed because we're scared of the Cubans." He stood belly forward, feet planted squarely on the marble floor. "Quintana, you said there's a possibility of problems, but it depends on the circumstances. What did you mean by that?"
    Anthony rotated the heavy glass slowly in his hands, taking his time. "Well, it depends on how you handle it. I would advise you to be as nonconfrontational as possible. Try to show that you understand the exiles' position. What happens also depends on why Thomas Nolan went to Cuba and what he did there. That is the most important factor. What was his purpose? To make a statement against the embargo? Was he paid? Who did he sing for? The party elite or ordinary people on the street? What else has he said or done with regard to Cuba?"
    Seth Greer called out from behind the piano, "Maybe he french-kissed the Beard."
    Anthony finally laughed. "Oh, yes. If they have that on videotape, you're finished."
    "I hate this sort of thing," Wallace said. "Just hate it. I say let's all go home and the general director can handle it when he gets back from New York. What do we pay him for, anyway?"
    "Oh, Wally! What a spineless response." Eleanor leaned forward over crossed legs to crush out her cigarette in a crystal ashtray, and her bracelets jingled.
    "Then let's get rid of Thomas Nolan, like this fellow says. Send him packing. That's my vote."
    "You know, Wally, there is such a thing as freedom of artistic expression in this country."
    A lively melody came from the piano—Seth Greer playing the first few bars of "God Bless America." Everyone looked at him. "We at the Miami Opera support a man's right to sing anywhere he wants— even Miami." His hands came down on the keys.
    Rebecca turned around and said sharply, "Seth, please!"
    "Another vote for Nolan," Eleanor said. "Wally's pooping out on us. What about you, Martin? Come on." She raised a fist, and bracelets clattered down her arm. "Don't let them push us around."
    "Two to one," said Seth. "What'll it be, Martin? You gonna let the right-wing wackos call the shots for us?"
    Martin yelled at him, "This isn't a game! The Cubans are going to come after Tom Nolan. They have to, or people will think