Chapter 46

• This way please, Mr. luca,” I heard a soft, awed female voice say.
• Following the usher, I assumed, lucas guided me onto an elevator, down what I guessed was a hallway and into—I assumed—a private box. I could hear the orchestra warming up, the jarring cacophony of instruments. Now more than ever I hated the blindfold. I wanted to see. My first time at the New York Met, and I was blindfolded. I couldn’t see the stage, the architecture of the theater, the seats; I couldn’t watch the people filing in and taking their seats, adjusting wraps and suit coats. I couldn’t look for famous faces.
• He helped me find my seat, and then I felt him settle in beside me. “The show should begin shortly. Would you care for a drink?”