Love Consequences (Season 2 of Nata & Phillip's Romance)

16. His mother was a ... friend

Phillip

As soon as the curtain falls, we rush out of the box and scan the crowd. I show Nata Mallard's photo again, and we walk as quickly as her heels allow between the groups and couples chatting, heading to the restroom, or standing in line at the concession stand on our floor. We check every older man's face. No luck.

Two floors later, we are five minutes into the twenty-minute intermission and no Mallard in sight.

"I don't think he is on this level," says Nata.

When I thought it would be easier to find Mallard because of the distinct color of his hair, I was thinking of a college setting. At the opera, it seems that most patrons have gray hair and spotting someone who looks almost identical to every non-bold man over fifty I've encountered so far seems to be a game I'm not winning.

"Up or down?" I look at the stairs that lead to other parts of the opera house.

"I can go up and you go down?"

I take her hand in mine. "I'm not sure we should separate."

"Call or text me if you spot him and where, and I'll join you. I'll do the same." She frees her hand and pulls her phone out of her purse. "Divide and conquer. We're a team, remember?"

I wish I found out what are the seats Mallard has. "It's possible he's not here at all today." I roll on the heels of my shoes.

"It is." Nata runs both hands over my arms to still me. "But then he may be here." She straightens my tie. "Go downstairs." She steps aways from me and takes the stairs up. "We'll figure it out."

We. That word puts wind in my sails, and I run down the steps to the first floor.

The grand foyer of the Lyric Opera House is busy with the patrons, and sparkles with the diamonds in the ears of many and the imposing lights of the crystal chandeliers and elaborately stenciled ceilings Tom told me the history of when he first dragged me here at twelve. I don't remember the stories, but I remember the dread of sitting through a performance I had no interest in instead of handing with my friends.

I stop staring at the ceiling and switch to staring at the people milling around. The line to the bathroom and concession stand on this floor are equally long. I walk past the entryway when I spot a head of white hair that's much taller than the people around him at the end of the line to the concessions. I walk toward him and with each step my certainty that it's Mallard grows. My pulse ratchets up but I put my game face on.

Mallard turns, and his gaze falls on me. "Phillip?"

Even better. He's first to initiate contact. I smile my most welcoming yet surprised smile. "Professor Mallard? What are you doing here?" As if I haven't planned this exact moment.

"I'm a season ticket holder." He turns to a teenage girl next to him. "This is my granddaughter, Wendy." The girl is not a redhead and bears no resemblance to the iconic fast-food chain logo, but she is lanky and has the same nose and eyes as Mallard.

"Nice to meet you, Wendy. I'm Phillip, your grandfather's...colleague?" Friend sounds too forward. I face Wendy and offer her my hand for a hand in greeting.

She looks at her grandfather and when he nods takes my hand and shakes it.

"Are you here alone?" Mallard looks around me.

"With my girlfriend, actually." I glance around but don't see Nata's red dress. "Let me text her to let her know the line is shorter here." I text Nata.

Me: Mallard is here. Lobby. In line to the concession.

Nata: Be right there.

Good. Not sure there's anything Nata can do to get the information I need from Mallard, but having her by my side is better than any drugs. I just need to keep Mallard talking.