When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9)(80)

Sarah cocked her head. “He emailed you, too?”

“‘Too’? What do you mean, ‘too’?”

“That bastard.” Sarah didn’t say it angrily. More like she wanted to cry. She sank into the couch. “Now there are three of us.” She picked up a cocktail napkin.

“Three?”

“You, me, and Sophia Ricci.”

“Sophia Ricci?” Olivia didn’t understand. Ricci was the lyric soprano who’d stolen the role of Carmen from a mezzo. Rachel had told her about that when they’d had lunch in LA, and Sophia had dated Adam before Olivia. But an email . . . ?

Sarah blew her nose on a cocktail napkin with a gold embossed, Drink up, bitches. “Sophia and I met at the Royal Academy. We’ve been friends for years, but I hadn’t heard from her in a while. A few days ago she called. She’s been having panic attacks, and she thought I could help. I don’t think she intended to tell me about the suicide email, but it came out.”

“I don’t understand.”

Sarah hugged herself. “It seems he sent all three of us an email. Sophia’s and mine were identical. ‘You let me believe we were forever. You meant everything to me and I meant nothing to you.’”

Olivia’s mushy brain finally absorbed what it was hearing, and she finished what had been in the note. “‘Why should I keep on living?’ Yes, that’s what mine said, too.”

Sarah slumped into the couch. “You lost your voice, Sophia’s having panic attacks, my eczema’s out of control—my legs, back, chest. And I can’t stop eating. I’ve gained twenty pounds.”

“You look good.” A stupid comment, but that’s how Olivia was feeling now. Stunned and stupid.

“I loved him with all my heart.” Sarah swiped at her eyes with the napkin, smearing some of her makeup. Even in her drunken state, Olivia could see Sarah’s pain, and it made her want to cry right along. “I fell hard and fast,” Sarah said, “but I wasn’t blind to his faults. He was a wonderful teacher, and he could have been a great coach, but he wanted to be Pavarotti, except he didn’t have the voice.” She wadded up the napkin, looking at it in her lap. “When he lost out on a part, he blamed the acoustics or his accompanist. The weather. Sometimes, he blamed me. Not directly. More like, if only I hadn’t insisted on going to the Turkish restaurant, he would have sung better. Little things like that.”

Olivia circled back to the beginning. “But those emails? To all three of us? The Adam I knew was spoiled, but he wasn’t cruel.”

“He lost out on one too many roles. He fell into a severe depression and refused to see a doctor. He kept saying there was nothing wrong with him.”

“It was always other people.” Olivia gazed at what was left of her drink. It reminded her of sewer water, and she couldn’t imagine taking another sip. “You weren’t at his funeral.”

“I’d seen him the day he killed himself. We’d had an argument.” She stared straight ahead, looking haunted. “He never told his sisters about me, and I couldn’t face them. Cowardly, I know.”

“But why have you been so cold to me? We were friends.”

“Jealousy. That’s why I came here, to tell you about Adam and apologize for the way I’ve been behaving.” She tugged on her bottom lip with her teeth. “I always suspected he loved you more. Ironic, isn’t it? Aida eaten up with jealousy toward Amneris. I wonder what Verdi would have made of that.”

“Adam was no heroic Radamès.” Olivia experienced a moment of drunken clarity. “He didn’t love me more. He loved what he thought I could do for him.”

They both took a moment to ponder that. Olivia rubbed the glass across her forehead. “Adam couldn’t ever have been a great tenor, but he could have done other things: taught, been satisfied with smaller roles at smaller companies.”

“Instead, he put a gun to his head and blamed us for making him do it.” Sarah wiped her eyes. “It’s such a waste.”

Olivia set aside her glass. “So you and Sophia have been going through the same emotions I have. But neither of you lost your voice.”

“It didn’t affect my voice, but you’ve obviously never had eczema so bad you gouge bloody tracks in your skin.”

“I’m so sorry.” Olivia gazed down at her hands, sticky from her spilled drink. “Blaming other people . . . He wanted us to feel responsible for what he did.”

“I’m done with it,” Sarah said angrily. “I’ve had enough of scratching my skin till it bleeds. You and Sophia and I need to schedule a three-way conversation.”

Sarah was right. “Let’s make it a four-way and include a therapist,” Olivia said.

“Good idea. And, Olivia, I really am sorry for the way I froze you out.”

“I understand. Truly.” She knew too well the damage guilt could cause.

Sarah had started crying again. Olivia moved over to the couch and put her arm around her. “You loved him, and you tried to help him.” She rested her cheek against Sarah’s head, not sure which one of them she was talking to. “No more guilt. You’re going to forgive yourself, and I’m going to forgive myself, and so is Sophia.” She thought about what they hadn’t discussed. “Then we’re going to talk about those threating notes . . .” She shuddered. “That bloody T-shirt.”