Still breathless from her near-disastrous encounter at the sign-in sheet, Julia headed towards the women’s locker room but stopped short when she heard raised voices coming from the direction of Abel’s dressing room. Even with the door closed, she could clearly discern the identity behind the voices and what was being said - or rather, shouted - behind the door, with its “Maestro Trudeau - Do Not Disturb” sign prominently posted.

Positioned by the door, Julia listened, becoming increasingly anxious as the voices escalated in volume.

“You son of a bitch, you said you’d leave her out of it!” Sidney yelled.

“For God’s sake, keep it down,” cautioned Abel, lowering his voice. “This is a worst case scenario, I had no choice.”

Julia was aware of the personality conflict between the hotheaded Sidney and the self-assured Music Director. The ongoing clash between these two ultra important men in her life disturbed her to such a degree that she was constantly on the lookout for some insight into why they insisted upon grating on each other’s nerves.

“Over my dead body,” insisted Sid to Abel.

Hearing this, Julia gasped and leaned in closer.

“And if I find out you’ve done something stupid,” Sidney continued, “I’ll - ”

“You’ll...what?” retorted Abel.

“I’ll write a whole new finale to your opening night!” bugled Sid.

“The trouble with you, Sidney, is that you think you’re too damned important,” admonished Abel. “Let me remind you that no one is indispensable around here. “

Despite the fact that he and Sidney were both in their late forties, Abel looked far younger. Sid’s hair had gone gray years before; Abel’s stayed its perennially ash brown, with just a touch of salt and pepper at the temples. Perhaps he was able to maintain his youthful demeanor because of his confidence in knowing that he was the king of his world - and deserved it.

“Now get the hell out of my dressing room, Sid - we’ve got a show to do.”

Just as Julia was contemplating the meaning of Sid’s last comment, the ubiquitous P.A. System made its inevitable announcement that the curtain for Don Carlo would rise in fifteen minutes. Julia jumped, startled, just as the door opened and she glimpsed Sid’s beet-red face. She had had no time to consider what Sid would say if he found her eavesdropping; and to her dismay, he managed to run right into her as he stormed out of the dressing room and slammed the door, breathing heavily.

“Jul, how long have you been there?” he asked suspiciously. “What are you doing here, anyway?”