“The pleasure is all mine.” He resettled in his chair. “Although I do have another appointment coming up,” he said, checking his pocket watch, “so perhaps we should begin.”
“Very well then,” said Alva, “I requested this meeting because I would like to purchase a box at the Academy.”
“I see.” He hesitated, setting his cup down and squaring his elbows on his desk. “We of course do appreciate your interest; however, the matter of boxes remains a rather complicated one.”
“How so, Mr. Belmont?” She felt the tug of resistance. The trepidation she’d experienced earlier was starting to return.
“Well, for one thing, our members are all quite passionate about the opera and—”
“I can assure you, the Vanderbilts are extremely passionate about music. About all the arts.” Alva sipped her tea, her voice calm, polite, proper.
“I’m afraid there’s more to it than that.” He pushed his glasses up his nose with the tip of his finger. “Boxes at the Academy are extremely rare. When one does become available, it’s generally passed down to the family’s next generation. But even more than that, there are commitments to owning a box.”
“And what might those commitments be?” She tilted her head, fluttered her lashes.
“Because they’re of a financial nature, this might be a conversation more suited for Mr. Vanderbilt.”
“Oh, I assure you, I’m perfectly capable of talking finances, especially where my family is concerned.” She could see this had thrown him. Good. “Please, Mr. Belmont, as you were saying? The commitments?”
He cleared his throat, reached up for his spectacles again. “Actually, there is a significant financial commitment that comes with owning a box. For example, even a mezzanine box, seating just four guests, starts at $400 per season. And the price only rises from there.” He gestured with his hands, as if to say, There, that explains it all.
She recognized a polite rebuff when she encountered one. Refusing to be put off, she said, “Naturally, I’m prepared to pay whatever the asking price is. And it goes without saying that a balcony box would be most desirable.”
“Well now,” Belmont laughed, suggesting she was out of her depth, “those are quite pricey. They start at $800 per season.”
“I’ll pay twice that much,” Alva shot back with a smile.
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Belmont, you should know that I’m prepared to pay well above your asking price.”
He cleared his throat again. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as all that.”
Alva set her cup down and leaned forward in her chair, her eyes zeroing in on his. “I would think the Academy would welcome the Vanderbilts’ contribution. I know for a fact that the Academy is in debt.” She watched him shift in his chair. She kept going. “According to the article in the New York World, you’re $50,000 short for the season. Your building is in constant need of repair. The roof leaks, the walls and ceiling are crumbling, the boiler is failing. They said Adelina Patti demanded $4,000 for her last performance. Christine Nilsson wants $4,500 for her upcoming engagement.”
Belmont removed his glasses. “I see you’ve done your homework, Mrs. Vanderbilt. I’m impressed but—”
There was a knock on the door as the young lady from the lobby tucked her head inside. “Mr. Belmont, please forgive the interruption, but Mrs. Astor is arriving.”
“Oh dear, she’s early.” Belmont sprang up from his chair, collected Alva’s teacup and the platter of biscuits, handing both off to the woman. “I’m afraid we’ll have to conclude our meeting.”
“Well, I was—”
“Please, Mrs. Vanderbilt.” There was a hint of panic in his voice as he opened another door, which Alva hadn’t even noticed was there before. “Mrs. Astor is here!”
“But I—”
He stepped in and coaxed her out of her chair.
Alva was stunned. She was being ushered out as if he feared being seen with her there. She reached for her umbrella but then thought better of it and left it there hooked on the arm of her chair.
“Please, hurry.”
With as much dignity as she could muster, she went to the doorway. “I do hope we can continue our discussion later—”
“Just follow the stairs at the end of the hallway,” he said. “It leads to the rear of the theater.”
She heard the door close behind her and found herself in a musty back hallway lined with murals of rolling hills in clover, balconies, backdrops of gardens, cluttered racks of costumes, throne-like chairs and other props. Forcing herself down the rickety staircase, her anger intensified with each step. Mrs. Astor was early—she should have been asked to wait while Alva finished her meeting.
Standing outside under a dripping awning, she counted to one hundred, drew a deep breath and walked back around to the front, past the protestors outside Tammany Hall. Another deep breath and she breezed through the lobby, past the pointy-chinned young woman who attempted to stop her. “Wait, Mrs. Vanderbilt, please, you can’t go in there! Mr. Belmont is—”
Alva was already back inside Belmont’s office.
His face blanched as his mouth dropped open. Mrs. Astor was seated beside him on a velvet settee, a fresh pot of tea and plate of biscuits on the table before them.
“Why, Mrs. Astor,” said Alva, “so lovely to see you again.” She paused, waiting for some sign of recognition. Not even a hint. “I’m Alva. Alva Vanderbilt—Emily’s friend?” If Mrs. Astor had remembered meeting her—not once but twice now—she wasn’t going to acknowledge it. Alva remained undeterred. She was going to finish her meeting with Mr. Belmont—and in the presence of Mrs. Astor. She’d plead her case to the Grande Dame, she’d reiterate the Academy’s financial troubles and offer a solution: one box for which Alva would gladly pay handsomely.
“Mrs. Vanderbilt, please—” Mr. Belmont stood up, befuddled.
“Oh, do forgive me. I forgot my manners right along with my umbrella.”
“I do apologize,” Belmont said to Mrs. Astor, who had yet to utter a word.
With her umbrella in hand, Alva was about to launch into her speech, but before she could get the first word out, Belmont steered her out of his office.
It all happened so fast and the next thing Alva knew, she was just outside his door, listening to Mrs. Astor say, “What on earth was she doing here? Everywhere I turn, there she is. And her manners are no better than the Commodore’s. I tell you, the Vanderbilts do not belong at the Academy of Music.”