“You think he’s scary?”
She looked at me like I was nuts. “Obviously.”
“He’s just doing that to try and seem tough. He’s like those red pandas that jump up on their hind legs when they’re scared.” They’re so darn cute.
Devlin stayed late last week to help Barry work through a particularly tricky transition without prompting. Devlin put all the chairs away after practice so Erin’s mom didn’t have to when she polished the rehearsal space floor. Nobody else noticed these things?
Her jaw dropped. “Red panda? No. More like grizzly bear. And I don’t think it’s an act. Man’s got some anger issues he needs to work through.”
I shrugged.
“Are you going to decline today?” she asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he forgot he asked. Want to stay here and hold my hand while I talk to him?” I joked, but a little part of me wouldn’t have minded if she did.
“I think you’ll regret missing this opportunity if you don’t help him. You are amazing. You hold back at auditions.” As she spoke her dark eyebrows moved up and down behind her glasses.
I frowned. “No, I don’t.”
“You do. You’re better than you let on. Lord knows why. But this could really jumpstart your career.”
An icy dread shot through me. “Yeah,” was all I could mumble.
“Shit. There he is.” She waved goodbye and tossed her gum in a small trash can as she ran to her seat. “Good luck,” she half-whispered, half-yelled.
I completed my own mad dash back to my chair. Devlin stomped up to the podium, still in his biker boots. The scent of cold air and leather followed him as he passed.
We were all in our seats, tuned and ready before he lifted the baton. “Let’s go. Where we left off last week.” He tapped the stand.
There was a flurry of turning pages, and just like that, we were off. The Devil was his typical unrelenting self as we practiced Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture for the summer performance in July. He didn’t acknowledge me. Not me personally. Nothing more than “Cellos, wake up!”
I wanted to jump up and scream, “Hey, remember how you rode your motorcycle to my ever-loving house asking for my help? Because I sure do!” But instead, as always, I sat quietly, awaited instructions, and studied him in brief glances.
At first, the mask and hat were a continued source of gossip and rumors spread of what could be hidden underneath. Disfigurement? Criminal past? But as time went on, he acted like they were invisible, and it became part of his persona. Like we were the crazy ones for noticing it. Reverse emperor’s new clothes. He never brought them up. A poor trombonist casually joked about his mask, and had subsequently gotten the nastiest glare of a lifetime. Nobody had mentioned them since. To be honest, I got used to seeing them, just like anything else. It was a part of him. If anything, they made the intensity in his glare all the more unnerving and highlighted the ferocity of his movements.
At the first break, he stripped out of his leather coat. How had he even worn it this long with the lights on him and his dynamic motions? He deftly unbuttoned the cuffs of his white button-up dress shirt and rolled them up to the elbows, one at a time. The white material stuck to his damp skin. His forearms were unreal. Probably from gripping the handles of his motorcycle. A shudder ran through me.
He was the conductor, so my watching him would go unnoticed. Nobody would see how I memorized the way his forearms flexed as he gripped the baton and his other hand moved with practiced ease as it waved the brass to come in.
I shot my gaze across the practice space to Erin. Her lips were pursed around her reed and her cheeks were dimpled with exertion, but she managed a quick nod with wide eyes as though to say, “I saw it too, girl, and yes I need a towel for all this drool,” or something along those lines.
I smiled and pow, pow, bang! There went the timpani signifying the climax of the piece. Emotion filled my chest. It was thrilling music, perfect for the Fourth of July outdoor concert just a few short months away. It was a safe bet as a crowd pleaser, and no doubt why he’d chosen it for the SOOK’s first public show with him as conductor.
My heart, the ol’ softy, swelled with the ringing bells as the patriotic piece built to the famous climactic ending. ‘Merica, yeah! Tchaikovsky did not write this for America, but let’s be honest—it was ours now. With fireworks exploding in the background, this was about as American as Chevy trucks.
The music built until we all worked up a sweat; even the gentle flutists were pink with exertion. I swayed in my seat, my heart rate clambering along with the tempo. Barry, the second-chair cellist in front of me, had a Florida-shaped sweat stain on his back.
Devlin bent forward, arms out wide, fingers beckoning. “Hold!” he screamed over the note. “Hold it! Don’t dim. Strings come on! Louder!”
Grins split as sweat dripped down our faces. Arms shook with ferocity as we struggled to maintain the note. The brass section had to be close to passing out at this point.
He pinched off the note abruptly and we all stopped, bows lifted and mouths opened. The air held that last note as our ears adjusted to the sounds of heavy breaths and a few relieved huffs of laughter. He lowered his arms. We smiled around the room at each other, feeling that thrill of a job well-done. There was something absolutely magical about a room full of different instruments forming one perfect composite of sound. I pressed down the goosebumps on my arm.
We waited with bated breath as Devlin gripped the podium, head down and shoulders heaving.
“We need so much more practice,” he growled, his head still down.
I shot a glance to Erin again as she slumped back, spreading out her Converse clad feet. She was obviously preparing herself for the lecture we all knew was headed our way. It hadn’t taken long to learn the new conductor’s habits.
“Just not enough.” He linked his fingers on top of his black baseball cap, his arms framing his head like he couldn’t handle it. And I was definitely not noticing how his biceps bulged at the action, pulling the fabric to capacity, because his temper was appalling and juvenile and I would never support that. But also, daaayum.
“The violas were late coming in. The cellos lacked gusto. Don’t get me started on the brass section. And for the love of God, who dropped their bow?”
I hunched, hiding as much as I could behind the neck of my cello. So much for thinking maybe he’d go a little soft on me now that he was asking for my help. My cheeks burned with humiliation. His critique of the cellos wasn’t all on me, but it felt that way.
The only good thing about this rant was that it signified a break. A violinist started to loosen her bow and Devlin shot her a glare.
“Did I say we were done?” he asked in a scary calm tone.
Color drained from her face. It wasn’t her fault. His lectures, typically at the end of rehearsal, were like Pavlov’s bell. If ever I felt a lecture coming on, I got an overwhelming urge to pack something up. He seemed more wound-up than normal, even for him, and that was saying something.
He brought his face forward and lowered his voice. “I have an announcement.” Nobody moved or spoke. Eyes flicked to gauge the reactions of the other players. “The SOOK will be re-auditioning for chair selections.” Nobody spoke while we waited for more information. That couldn’t have been right. “For each section,” he added on.
Noise erupted all around me. I sat quietly as dread settled in. Chair auditions were common enough when there was a major change, but right before Maestro Henrich retired we’d auditioned for new chair assignments. Holding another audition this soon, for the entire symphony, was pretty unheard of. Maybe this was what had been bothering him?
Carla raised her hand. She was only a few years older than me but was married with kids, a first chair, the daughter of the SOOK’s co-president, and always looked chic. It was hard not to compare all that I lacked against all that she was.
“Even the first chairs?” She spoke before he called on her. I cringed internall
y. “I’ve been practicing the Bach solo for the fall showcase.” Her confidence was strong; in her defense, she’d been playing with the SOOK for many years, and had been first chair for the last two. But after the question was out and Devlin’s head slowly twisted toward her, her confidence melted. She flicked a glance to Barry, who had suddenly become very interested in his sheet music.
“Excuse me?” Devlin asked.
“I said—”
“I heard your question, but assumed it wasn’t for me as you didn’t address me as Maestro.”
“Sorry. Maestro.” She lifted her chin as red stained her cheeks.
“All chairs are required to audition,” he said.
She huffed out a breath and smoothed her ponytail.
Nobody liked to be criticized in front of their peers. So that must have been why I had a momentary loss of brain function and wanted to convey some cello camaraderie.
“Don’t worry, Carla. I’m sure you’ll still make first chair.” The words came out without my meaning them to. The different sections had already started talking and probably no one but the cellos heard me.
Her head snapped to my seat, behind her and to the right. Derision was the word you could use to describe her lip curl.
“I’m sorry. Who are you, you little toad?” she whispered with slitted eyes.
My mouth snapped shut and I focused on scraping off a piece of rosin stuck to the body of my cello with my fingernail. Well, that was what I got for talking to her. Or anybody. Head down and play. Feel nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing. That was the way to get by.
I risked a glance up. She had turned back around and was angrily flipping through her music. I told myself she was embarrassed for being chastised. That her comment had nothing to do with me. She was ashamed and angry, and I was an easy target for the feelings she couldn’t take out on Devlin. Still. Pretty crappy.
“The SOOK is hiring an outside agency to coordinate the auditions. I will be working with a committee to decide who is the best fit for each position.” The room quieted as Devlin spoke again. “I’m telling all of you this now because it could take weeks before this is all settled. I don’t have more information at this time. Last thing. The fall showcase will be featuring my newest concerto. Take ten.”
The room filled with sounds of whispered gossip. When I glanced up again, Devlin was studying Carla with a stern expression. His gaze strayed to mine and, knowing that I had caught him staring, he quickly looked away. He stomped off the podium and left the room without another word.
Chapter 3
The devil is in the details. Pay attention.
DEVLIN
So much for a fresh start.
A few weeks in, and already my emotions got the best of me.
The farther I got from the rehearsal space, the less anxiety tied my tongue. My faults made me weak. The bandana hid my flushed cheeks, but the heat was getting unbearable. As soon as I was alone, I’d pull it down to breathe deep again. I’d go home, swim some laps, work the concerto, and everything would level out.
The anxiety management techniques came when the first symphony spread the rumors I’d been fired for my anger issues. Despite my best intentions at the start of each day, my nerves had me living up to those expectations. My inability to address the lack of respect between the musicians only ratcheted up my feelings of powerlessness. Carla didn’t think I’d heard her barb. I should have called her out rather than announcing the chair auditions so bluntly. Music I could control. My own words and emotions were trickier. Rather than accept this fault in my system, I gathered my anger. I focused on the things that pissed me off.
The SOOK wasn’t playing up to their potential. The previous conductor held chair auditions before his retirement simply as a way to leave his mark of authority; a final power play. Old practices and deep-seated nepotism were just some of the issues with the current symphony. If I wanted to prove myself, these would all need to be corrected.
Which brought my thoughts back to Kim. They strayed there often lately.
Kim hadn’t given me her answer. Christine, I corrected internally. Hadn’t she learned that I wasn’t a patient man? I’d told her I wouldn’t wait forever and that the position would go to someone else. But it was a lie. It had to be her.
My mind drifted to last week. I’d stayed behind in my secret office to work through some stress. Notes had floated in through the vents sending chills up my arms. When I’d glanced through the register, I’d seen her. In that moment, everything had been revealed to me. Who Christine Day really was. The magic in her playing was still as strong as ever. Her talents were unbounded, if only she’d share them. The music had swirled and consumed me like a cool mist. It had called me to her. She’d played with light shining out of her. It was nothing like the reserved Christine in rehearsals. It was as if my life had returned to me. Since the moment I’d first heard her play, I’d needed her with me to guide my music. That call of the music had guided my pen with a ferocity I hadn’t felt in years.
I needed her.
The back door exit was in sight when I stopped my retreat. I had to go back and talk to her.
“Devlin, ah, there you are,” a voice called out.
“Maestro,” I corrected.
The second I registered that it was Dick’s voice, I knew I wouldn’t be leaving. I looked longingly at my motorcycle waiting for me as the door closed again.
“Ah, yes. Maestro, I don’t suppose we could have a moment of your time before you run off again,” Dick said.
I turned to see the twitchy man make his approach. Speak of the devil. Wait, that was me. Speak of the thorn in my ass. His hands were clasped and his mustache twitched. As always, Andy was at his side. Richard Firmin and Andrew Gill were the co-presidents of the SOOK. They were the go-between the SOOK and the board of directors for this performing arts center, where we played and practiced. Nobody else called them Andy-Dick, but as they were a package deal, it was just easier.
I pulled my riding gloves into place, drawing out the action to avoid shaking hands. “I have an appointment.” It was with my piano, but Andy-Dick didn’t need to know that. “What do y’all need?” I didn’t bother putting my helmet on yet. I couldn’t risk my mask falling loose.
Andy pursed his tiny mouth. His red-rimmed eyes and pale hair contrasted in an alarming way—like a rat in a medical trial. “You’re required to come to the board meetings at least once a month per your contract. As you have missed the last two, we thought it best to catch you up.” His words came out rushed.
I turned fully toward him, crossing my arms. Andy stepped back slightly in synch with Dick. There were some benefits to my reputation.
“Five minutes,” I growled.
“Let’s go back to our office.” Dick glanced around as the musicians walked by chatting happily.
Damn, this was not going to be fun. For them. I tossed my leather coat over my shoulder. “Lead the way.”
Andy-Dick shared an office made of glass that sat over the lobby—I supposed so they could watch as the money came in droves every performance.
“Listen, Devlin—”
“Maestro,” I corrected. I didn’t follow their lead as they sat in office chairs.
Part of the baggage that came with being one of the youngest conductors at age thirty-six in the history of the SOOK was that some people often forgot how to address me. And with that omission came a lack of respect in general. I was done playing that game.
“Right.” Andy cleared his throat and began again. “Listen. We’ve been patient with the antics.” He gestured to my face. I blinked slowly back at him. “But the chair auditions? Really. The board will not be okay with that. They wanted to make the announcement to avoid just this sort of upset.”
“We know you’re talented,” Dick quickly cut in. “We’re honored that you chose our humble symphony to debut your newest composition. Truly.”
I tilted my head a fraction to acknowledge him. Good cop/bad cop was part of
their whole routine.
“But you’re risking upset to our most senior musicians. We need them happy.”
“Their happiness is not my concern. Having talented musicians who can play my music is. The SOOK is underperforming. This needs to be addressed.” I stated slowly for them to understand and to make sure I didn’t mess up my words.
Andy wrung his hands. Dick’s face went from pink to tomato red as he spoke. “Maestro. You’re talented, but if you upset the Board they will not renew your contract. It’s one thing to change up the musical numbers but now, to ruffle the talent’s feathers?” He shook his head.
“Maybe the talent needs to be ruffled,” I said. I looked pointedly at Dick, whose daughter Carla was on my short list to be shifted around. Her talent was marginal and her attitude was appalling. I balled my fists.
Dick straightened. “Listen. You’re on thin ice already. You don’t want your temper to ruin another opportunity.”
“Richard, please—” Andy started.
“Well, he must be aware of it.”
I held up my hand. “I’m aware of my reputation. I’m also aware that the SOOK hasn’t sold out a performance in three years.”
“I fail to see—”
“Tickets sales went up ten percent when I signed on. And they continue to climb. Just from the attention I’ve brought. Don’t pretend you don’t need me. This symphony is dying. You brought me in to change things up and to play my music. Don’t insult me by refusing to let me do my job.”
“We appreciate what you do,” Andy cut in, a thin sheen of sweat now covering his forehead.
“Then let me do it.” I stepped closer, looking down at the two men.
Dick frowned but remained silent.
“We’re done here.” I shrugged into my jacket.
I was almost to the door when Dick spoke. “The Board will only take so much. Control your temper and fill those seats. If you can’t manage that, you’re out.”
I didn’t turn around but looked over my shoulder. “Let me do my job.”
The Treble With Men Page 2