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.

"How is the semester going?" I put my phone into the inside pocket of my jacket and return my attention to the Professor. "I think our contract for the interns is signed and confirmed. I can't wait to see what we can help your students with and what we all learn from this."

"I'm quite grateful to you for your involvement. I keep mentioning to the Dean that getting Van Der Heuvel Industries as our sponsor is what can make a difference in the lives of these students. Your father's company is highly regarded."

I wince when he says father but keep my lips stretched in a wide grin.

"And dedicating it to my mother is a perfect way to honor her." I go for turning the conversion into the place I need it to go. "Don't you think?"

Mallard's thin face looks even thinner as he sucks in his cheeks and nods. He looks at his granddaughter. "His mother was a ... friend."

Did he stumble over that word or am I hypersensitive?

A hand wraps around mine. "I found you," Nata says, a bit breathless.

The tension I my chest loosens.

"This is Nata, my girlfriend." I tuck her under my arm but don't miss the side-eye she throws my way.

She stretches her hand to Mallard. "Phillip talked so much about you."

"He did?" Mallard looks at me with something of a surprise in his eyes.

Wendy tugs on Mallard's sleeve. "Grandpa, can I have a soda and chocolate-covered almonds?"

"Sure," he answers to her, "This is my granddaughter Wendy," he says to Nata.

"She looks so much like you," Nata's eyes ping-pongs between Wendy and Mallard.

"My son and daughter look nothing like me. And out of the four grandchildren she's the only one who seems to have inherited the Mallard looks."

Lack of family resemblance is so easy to explain. I roll my lips inward and tilt my head, clocking the similarities between grandfather and granddaughter. I've never looked like Tom but I felt like we were so alike. Anger shivers along my limbs. I was wrong just like I've been so many times in my life.

"Phillip, what would you like?" Nata's question drags my attention to the concession stand. It's our turn and I haven't even looked at the food and drinks.

"Water," I tell the cashier. "Want anything?" I ask Nata.

"The chocolate bar?" She points at the one she wants.

I pass the credit card to the cashier and watch Mallard pay for his coffee and Wendy's soda and snacks. He's going to leave and this whole charade was for nothing. Although seeing Nata in this dress has been a reward in itself but that was not the goal. I need to get Mallard alone. I feel lightheaded. How do I proceed? Talking about my mother with Wendy here is not going to work.

Careful not to spill the water out of my plastic glass, I stand in Mallards way as he tries to leave. "I don't want to hold you up, but maybe you'll join Nata and me for dinner one evening?"

Mallard points to the nearest table, "Wait for me there," he instructs Wendy and stares me down. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest. Mallard stays statue-still for a span of a second, then shakes his head a little too hard. "I don't think it's the best idea. I can't accept gift over a certain amount per the University policy and unless you take me to the hotdog stand, with Chicago prices, any meal will be over the limit."

Nata's eyebrows go up and she addresses Mallard. "Phillip said you use his gamma counters too and have a better way to fix them?"

I stare at Nata. Her question doesn't make sense. Why is she bringing up the lab equipment VdH manufactures? My mouth is suddenly parched and my palms are sweaty.

A chuckle makes its way past Mallard's thin lips. "Some of my post-grads are very creative when it comes to equipment repairs."

"Creativity is the only way when you have to pay so much for a repairman," says Nata with a pointed raise of her eyebrows. She leans closer to him. "I'm the only one in the office who can do it," she delivers in a stage whisper. "But I'd love some tips. Would it be okay if I come to your lab with Phillip next week?" Nata looks at him with a disarming smile. "And UChicago is my old stomping grounds. I did my undergrad there."

Mallard nods slowly and his gaze moves between Nata and me. "We could arrange that. What is your name?"

"Natalia Boyko."

A flicker of what could be recognition skims over Mallard's face.

"Grandpa," Wendy calls from the perch of the high stool by her table. "Your coffee is getting cold."

"I have to..." Mallard points to her.

"I'll be in touch," I say.

When Mallard is far enough away, I down my glass of water say, "Good save, but now you'll have to spend a day at the UChicago lab with me."

"Why do you make it sound like a bad thing?" She takes a bite of her chocolate and nudges me with her elbow. "I have cabin fever from staying home for so long. I need entertainment. And you need a private time with Mallard." Nata glances back at the man who might hold the answers I'm looking for. "To ask what you want to ask him."

We climb the steps to the floor with our box. The exercise of it should ramp up my pulse, but now that our mission is complete, my heart is content and slow and I can see my surroundings again. The expansive ceiling of the lobby below us, the elegant curve of Nata's neck.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight." I trail my gaze down the bare landscape of her back and to her swaying hips.

She squints at me, gathers the skirt of her dress and her leg peeks through the slit with every step. "Thank you for taking me out on a date."

I run up the steps separating us. One of my hands settles on her lower back. "So you concede this is a date?"

She shrugs. "I might not be a fan of the fact, but I'm not a sore loser." Nata gives me a cheeky smile. "But I'm competitive. So be ready to lose the next time."

I have to hold in a giggle, because I'm not a kid, but I definitely feel as happy as I did as a child. I tug her closer.

"You might be the only person I can't wait to lose to," I whisper into her ear as we enter our box.