Prima Donna

Prima Donna

by Megan Chance

Paperback(Original)

$13.50 $15.00 Save 10% Current price is $13.5, Original price is $15. You Save 10%.
View All Available Formats & Editions

Overview

Opera singer Sabine Conrad is the toast of nineteenth-century New York high society. A celebrated soprano with the voice of an angel, she is showered with adulation by her audiences and courted by wealthy patrons. But behind the scenes, her every move is controlled by a Svengali-like manager, Gideon Price. When her attempt to escape him goes tragically awry, she flees, leaving behind a grisly murder.

Three years later, as Marguerite Olson, she has put aside the prima donna she once was to run a low-class theater in Seattle. Hidden among prostitutes, drunks, and miners, a desperate and determined Marguerite carefully guards the secrets of her old life—until her past returns to offer a terrifying proposition.  

Prima Donna captures both the glittering decadence of New York and the rough raunchy waterfront of Seattle, as Marguerite, caught between two worlds, must find the strength to confront the truth of her past and choose which voice defines her in this dark and harrowing novel.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9780307461018
Publisher: Crown/Archetype
Publication date: 12/29/2009
Edition description: Original
Pages: 432
Product dimensions: 5.20(w) x 7.90(h) x 1.10(d)

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1    

Seattle, Washington Territory--February 1878    

The little restaurant was nearly full. I slipped inside, letting the heat from the bodies and the kitchen warm me while my sodden skirts dripped into a puddle on the floor.  

There was one table in the corner, and I went to it as quickly as I could, trying to ignore the men I passed, trying to hide my fear. I sat down, chilled all over again by the wet fabric of my dress beneath me and the steady trickle down my collar frommy soaking hat. As miserable as it was, at least I was out of the rain. My hands were numb with cold as I shoved my portmanteau beneath my chair, glanced at the chalkboard menu on the wall, and felt the eye of every man in the place on me.  

Warily, with the habit born of months, I checked their interest--anything undue, any recognition. There was none of that, but another kind of interest instead, and the shipboy's words came back to me. "Best not to go beyond Mill Street after dark, ma'am.Them's the Lava Beds. The only women there are . . . well, it ain't no place for a lady anytime." I should have known what it would be like. I did know. But what other choice had I? This was the end of the world; there was no place else to run. Twice already I'd nearly been discovered; women like me did not own jewels of the sort I'd carried, and Pinkerton agents and cunning reporters seemingly never slept. But now those jewels were gone, all sold, and where else could I go where no one would expect me to be ortry to  find me? Where no one would recognize me or care enough about a lone woman with a terrible scar to ask questions?  

An Indian with long black hair that shone oily in the gaslight approached. He wore a flannel shirt and denim trousers, along with an apron that had once been white but now was grayed and stained and filthy. He smelled of rotting fish. When I looked upat him, he spoke to me in that strange Chinook jargon I'd heard from the peddler women and about the streets and on the steamer, a mix of Indian and English words it seemed everyone here spoke but me. "Klatawa. Halo mesachie klooshman."  

I stared at him uncomprehendingly, then I sighed. "Chowder, please."  

He glared at me.  

Clumsily, I opened my purse and pulled out my last twenty-five cents with fingers that could barely hold the coins. "I have money. I can pay."  

"Halo mesachie klooshman."  

"I don't understand."  

"He's sayin' the owner don't serve whores." A man appeared over the Indian's shoulder. He had curling dark hair and a ruddy face, and I could tell by his watery eyes and his slight sway that he was very drunk.  

"Tell him I just want a bowl of chowder. Then I'll go. Please. I'm so hungry. Tell him I can pay."  

The man spoke to the Indian in that same language, and the Indian shook his head violently, gesturing to the door. He yelled "Go!"  

The restaurant had grown silent; every man in the place had paused to watch. A few rose, as if they meant to help--not me, but the Indian. I grabbed the handle of my portmanteau and left, tripping over my skirts in my haste, pushing by the men who crowdedaround me to block the door.  

I ran back into the dark rain, flattening myself against a rough wall, sliding down until I sat on the narrow, slippery boardwalk fronting the building, and people stumbled over me and cursed. I closed my eyes and buried my head in my arms until my fear quieted.  

I felt a hand on my shoulder, heavy--too heavy, as if it needed my support. When I looked up I saw the man who had translated for me in the restaurant. Curly dark hair, a missing canine tooth that made his face look lopsided.  

"Hey, girlie."  

His hand tightened on my shoulder. I could only stare at him.  

He slurred, "Looks like you could use some warmin' up. I got a room near here. I been lookin' all night for someone to fuck. I guess you'd do as well as any."  

I glanced away, toward the deep mud of the street and the streetlight, haloing now before my blurring eyes, and the rain pouring down like a gray curtain beyond it, where the men moved within like spirits. Then I turned back to him. He fell against thewall, squinting, as if he couldn't quite pin down where I was, and I felt a surge of revulsion and, close on its heels, acceptance. Who was I to disdain it now? How small the price was really, for warmth and someplace out of the rain. Well, why not? It's no different than what you've done before.  

I didn't let myself think beyond that. I didn't want to think. "Yes," I said, and then, desperately, "it'll cost you . . . two dollars--and a bowl of chowder."  

He smiled. "All right then. All right, girlie. Let's go. I got a room at Gray's." 

He helped me to my feet, and once I was up he began to tug me after him. I said, "The chowder first."  

For a moment he looked mutinous. Then he nodded and staggered back into the restaurant, leaving me to wait. He came out with a steaming bowl and a spoon and a drink he kept for himself. I lifted my veil, dodging a quick glance at him, but there registeredno recognition on his face. He'd barely handed me the bowl before I dove into it where I stood, shoving the chowder into my mouth so quickly that it burned my tongue. I barely tasted it, which was probably a good thing, as the clam smell was strong and a layerof fat pooled on top, and there was something mushy and stringy and unpleasant in it.  

My drunk waited impatiently for me to finish, lodging his shoulder against the doorway and slinging back his drink. When I was done, he grabbed the bowl from my hand and threw it into the street, where it broke into pieces that men trod into the mud. Hetook my arm and jerked me into his side, wrapping his arm around me as much to keep himself upright as anything.  

The boardwalk ended abruptly, and we went into the street, which was mobbed with horses and men, dogs and whores, nightmarish and strange as they moved through the gasping flicker of streetlamps, falling again into darkness that moved and shifted withthe rain so that few things could be seen and what could didn't seem quite real...

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

See All Customer Reviews

Prima Donna 4.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 13 reviews.
Soniamarie on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This story is told from two different view points. One viewpoint is twenty seven year old Sabine who is living in Seattle and working in a saloon hiring prostitutes and constantly looking over her shoulder in fear that her past will catch up with her. The other viewpoint is seventeen year old Sabine's journal and it talks about the opera and her lovers and the all the scandal and family problems. The journal also slowly leads readers step by step towards understanding why and how Seattle Sabine is in the situation she is in. I did not care for the journal of young Sabine. Thru her words readers visit the scandalous and heated backstages of 1800s opera, but it is literally a soap opera about the opera. Everybody is sleeping with everybody else and on top of being incredibly selfish, spoiled, and wanton, Sabine is also unbelievably naive. Her lover, Gideon takes women left and right and she cannot figure him out? Her jewelry also keeps disappearing. Hello, Sabine? Anybody home in that brain? Something else I found bothersome was that anytime Sabine and Gideon have words, they must sum it up with rough sex. Seattle Sabine is not much better. Tho she lacks the fame, money, and pretty dresses, she still offers her body to get what she wants and thinks only of herself. Tho hiding from her past and those that are searching for her, her vanity and love of her own voice may be her downfall. She begins a show business venture with her current lover and it is only a matter of time before her past catches up to her and she has a decision to make. I was all prepared to give this four stars due to the amazing historical details and the fact that I truly felt I was on the rainy streets of 1878 Seattle, but just when I thought Sabine was finally redeeming herself, I lost what little respect I had for her around page 334. The ending left me feeling empty. I feel Sabine went back to square one and well... what was the point of all this then?
Kasthu on LibraryThing More than 1 year ago
This novel opens with a murder. In its aftermath, feted soprano Sabine Conrad flees her life in New York in the late 1870s to start a new one in Seattle, as Marguerite Olson, a few years later. She takes a job at a boxhouse, first as a cleaner and later as the theater¿s joint manager. Her partner, Johnny, dreams of turning the boxhouse into a real theatre, but Marguerite always fears that her past life and actions will come back to haunt her¿as indeed it does. The novel is told through diary entries made by Sabine, and also later, when she is Marguerite. Right from the very first sentence of this novel, I was hooked on this book.I¿ve read three of Megan Chances novels, and they¿ve all been enjoyable, fast-paced reads. Prima Donna, like The Spiritualist and An Inconvenient Wife, is well-researched, and draws you in to the Victorian era like few other novels can. It¿s an extremely absorbing novel that I never really wanted to put down. Her previous books have a bit more suspense to them, but this is equally enjoyable nonetheless. Without trying to give anything away (and I know I¿m being very vague here), what I started out thinking had happened turned out not to be the case¿to my surprise and delight. I¿m not sure if the author meant for her readers to think what I did, but it was effective nonetheless.Character development is equally strong, though I thought that out of the main characters, Johnny¿s is the weakest. For example, we never know much about his backstory, and, given his personality, his actions towards the end of the novel are not really believable. Still, the best character in this book is Marguerite/Sabine, who fairly leaps off the page¿first as a naive, slightly breathy teenager, and then later as a world-knowledgeable woman in her twenties. It¿s clear that Marguerite/ Sabine has grown up over the years. Equally strong was her complicated relationship with Gideon Price¿clearly, not a good influence on Marguerite, but someone who she¿s attracted to nonetheless. With the exception of the flaw I mentioned above, I really, really enjoyed this book. Read The Spiritualist and An Inconvenient Wife if you haven¿t already, as well as this one; you won¿t be disappointed.
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Very enjoyable! Read it in 3 days!
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago
Anonymous More than 1 year ago