Meet Me Before Recondita Armonia

At full capacity, San Francisco's AT&T Ballpark by the waterfront can accommodate 41,503 guests. On Friday June 5, although there was no game scheduled, a surging crowd rolled through its gates, filling over half the seats.

That was the night Puccini's heroine Tosca and her lover Cavaradossi were supposed to meet their unhappy ends (he in a hail of bullets from a firing squad, she by leaping to her death from a parapet), right by the home plate where Giant outfielder Barry Bond hit his 756th homerun in 2007. It was a tragedy with no admission fee, part of San Francisco Opera's simulcast series for the 2009-2010 season.

My Facebook friend Tracy and I were in the audience that night. We'd arrived separately, each with our own friends, then discovered we were at the same event. So, even though we'd never met in person, we decided we would somehow find each other in the human sea, with the help of text messaging.

About 15 minutes before the show began, I received directions from Tracy: We're in the VIP box. Come up to the second level, tell the guard you're the late-arriving member of Tracy's party, then head to the right once inside.

My friend Julie, who caught me texting a reply to Tracy, accused me of "two-timing."

"What is that?" she asked. "You came here with us; now you're going to meet another group?"
"No, it's not like that," I answered. "One of my Facebook friends is here. I just want to say 'Hello' to her."
"Uh huh, sure," said Julie.

Under the starry sky, the 103-feet-wide scoreboard came to life. It showed a bird's eye view of the orchestra pit. The E note (traditionally used by musicians to tune their instruments) dangled in the evening mist, thick with the smell of grilled meat and garlic fries from the concession stand.



Going against traffic, I made my way from the Promenade Level (third floor) to the VIP Suites. I navigated past the looping queues, past the people hurrying towards the mustard dispensers and sauerkraut tubs.

"Where are the VIP Suites?" I asked the security guard, a stern-looking woman in a starched navy-blue suit.
"It's right here," she said. "What's your name?"

She consulted her clipboard, where I knew my name wouldn't be found.

"I'm the late-arriving member of Tracy's party," I parroted my friend's text message.
"What company is the party with?" she asked.

Oh, shoot!

I remembered a late-night phone conversation where Tracy (thankfully) mentioned where she worked.

"Um, Genentech, I think," I said.

The guard wasn't convinced.

"Do you know what suite she's in?"
"Um, I'm afraid I don't know."
"Come with me, " said the guard, as she escorted me inside the booth. "Do you see your friend anywhere?"

As reliable as my memory was, it was impossible for me to pick out someone I'd only seen in photos from a group of people with their backs turned towards me.

"She's tall," I said in desperation, "very tall."

For some reason, most of the women in the VIP box that evening happened to be of impressive height. I tried to remember the photos I'd seen in Tracy's Facebook album. Were there any shots of her from behind? What did her head look like from the back?

As I scanned the box's occupants, the gatekeeper began to look impatient. She'd met more than her fair share of frauds; she wasn't about to let another one slip by.

"Why don't you call her?" she suggested. "Find out which suite her party is in."

Until I could produce that crucial piece of information, she was going to have to keep me off premise.

I stepped outside and texted Tracy: Apparently I'd need to tell them the name of your suite. What is that?
She replied: Hang on. I'll come out.

Just then, I heard an explosion of applause, signaling the beginning of Act I. I imagined the opening scene in The church of Sant'Andrea della Valle, where Tosca's lover Cavaradossi was painting a portrait of Mary Magdalena. In a few minutes, the tenor playing Cavaradossi would sing his first aria, Recondita Armonia (Concealed Harmony). It was too late for me to find my way back to the upper level to catch that. It looked as though I'd have to hear this famous number right there, concealed behind the bathroom stalls and the elevator shafts.

Then my cellphone rang.

"Hey, where are you?" Tracy asked.
"I'm standing right outside the door that says Press and VIP Guests Only," I said. "They let me go inside earlier to look for you, but I couldn't find you."

At that moment, I noticed the security guard, the Valkyrie in blue, waving to get my attention. I turned to where she was gesturing at. My friend Tracy was standing three feet away from me.

We both put away out cellphones sheepishly and started laughing. We hugged and kissed for the first time.

Then Cavaradossi began singing:

Recondita armonia di belleze diverse!
E bruna Floria, l'ardente amante mia.
E te, beltade ignota, cinta di chiome bionde!
Tu azzuro hai l'occhio, Tosca ha l'occhio nero!

What strange and lovely harmony of such different beauties!
How dark is Floria, this ardent love of mine.
And you, mysterious beauty, long and blond flowing tresses,
how your eyes are sky-blue, Tosca's eyes are black-night.

(For Placido Domingo's version of this song on YouTube, click here.)