Kim led the guests to the door, and chatted happily with the blonde.
“You didn’t mention the mask,” the blonde whispered.
I stilled in the shadow of the hallway as they retreated.
“He wears it all the time?” another asked.
“I sort of forgot about it,” Kim said.
“He’s a little scary.”
“Isn’t that the point?” the redhead shot back, loud enough to be heard. “Let us know about Roddy. I’m so happy for you. I know how much he means to you.”
I didn’t growl. At least, not very loudly.
Chagny. The second a star started to rise, people like him grasped the coattails and held on for dear life. The second she lost favor, he would drop her. But to play with her heart in addition to her career? That was obscene. I’d be having words with him. There were professional lines that shouldn’t be crossed.
Kim shut the door quietly behind her friends. My ears rang in the heavy silence. She turned around slowly.
“Okay. I want to warn you.” She lifted her head and met my eyes. She extended her arms out and took a tentative step toward me. “I’m going to hug you.”
I froze. “Why?”
“As a thank you. For bringing them here. Is that ok? Are you against hugs?”
I tried to relax my body.
“Hugs are fine,” I said.
She stepped closer.
“It’s the being accosted that I had an issue with,” I said lightly.
I worried that my teasing tone wouldn’t come through, but as her eyes narrowed, a small smile teased the edge of her mouth.
“You’re not going to let that go any time soon, are you?” she asked.
There was no need to answer, because as I was focused on the delicate shifts in her facial expressions, she removed any space between us.
“I’m going to hug you so hard.” She said it as a threat.
Awareness shot through me with that simple taunt. Like a music box wound up, I was suddenly filled with undeniable tension and had nowhere to release it. Then her arms wrapped around me. Her head rested on my chest. I wrapped my arms tightly around her back in return.
A small surprised gasp escaped her. “Oh.”
“I’m not against hugs.” My chest filled with sudden tension; the drum of my heart raced to an unheard tempo.
“Good to know,” she said.
How long was an acceptable time for a hug? I wasn’t sure. Probably a few seconds ago. I wasn’t about to let go. Nobody hugged the Devil of the Symphony. Not outside my family. This was nice. Unexpected. We should stay like this until the sun came up. She smelled a little like cider and camping. I breathed deeper. And maybe lightly of peonies. That scent, captured in a symphony, would make listeners feel the same warm comfort engulfing me now.
We broke apart slowly like the last note fading into the air.
“That was nice.” Her candidness was surprising, as she normally seemed so restrained.
I would try the same thing. “It was nice.”
She let out a long yawn. “That was a lovely evening. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You’re not a prisoner here. We’re helping each other.”
But did she think that? As much as I wanted to use my power to strong-arm her into playing for me, it would never work that way. The choice had to be hers. The music had to come from her.
I’d given her the space earlier. Brought her friends over in hopes of cheering her up. Now, I faced the very real possibility that she might pass on the opportunity. But I had to let her be strong enough to let me down.
The air was heavy, thick like the bellowing notes of an oboe.
She took a deep steadying breath. “Okay. I want to help you.” She filled her diaphragm a second time. “I will do it.”
I didn’t need to ask for clarification. We’d been having the same internal dialogue. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” Her eyes hardened with resolve.
“Okay. Good.” The words fell painfully flat considering the relief that coursed through me. “I think we’ll do really well together.” I swallowed thickly. “But you have to really want it.”
Her eyes moved around the room and she chewed her bottom lip. Then a decision was made behind those dark eyes. “I do.” She focused on me. “I want it, bad.”
We held each other’s gaze. We were professionals. I was a professional. But that last sentence stayed in my mind long after I took her home, haunting my thoughts as I fought to sleep.
I would not break my music stand on that trombonist’s head. I would not be the devil they painted me to be. I had restraint. I was a professional.
I kicked a chair instead.
My gaze went to the first chair cellist where Carla sat once again. Kim caught my eyes. She frowned and looked quickly away. Shame crept over me. She had to see that they weren’t listening to me. They weren’t respecting me. I needed every note they played to be brilliant, but if the musicians didn’t trust my vision, the symphony would fall flat and the critics would roast me.
They were sloppy and chatty. I didn’t care if it was early Monday morning. We only had so many weeks until our first show together as a symphony. They needed to play better.
“Break for ten. And when we reconvene, I want you all to pretend that this is your career and that you give a shit.”
The room was silent after my outburst. I was working on the bursts of anger. My therapist said outbursts like that would only diminish their respect for me, but I found it therapeutic—and better than violence toward the closest musician. That first chair violinist would snap like a twig if I so much as looked at him too hard. Their eyes were on me as I left the room. I didn’t look at Kim when I passed. As far as I was concerned, she was Christine while we were here, and nothing had changed.
My temper was only increased when Chagny appeared outside the rehearsal room door with a bouquet of flowers and dumbass grin on his face. He stepped slightly in front of me as I left the room.
I looked pointedly at my watch then said, “Chagny.”
“Aren’t you being a little hard on them?” he asked with cool affability.
How much trouble would I be in with Andy-Dick if I punched him in his smug face? I saw right through his nice clothes, styled hair, and manicured hands to the slug underneath.
“Rehearsals are closed,” I said.
He grinned like my silly rules had no control over him. “I’m here to see my dear friend, Christine.”
Since when? I almost spat.
“This is a rehearsal, not the Front Porch on date night.”
He winked. He actually winked at me. My fists balled. I rocked my head from side to side to pop my neck as I took a cleansing breath in.
“I’ll only be a minute.” He clapped me on the shoulder. As if we were fucking pals. “My parents are excited for the showcase. They can’t wait to see this new composer taking the world by storm.”
When he was met with silence, he continued, “Just have to learn to control that temper. How’s Carla doing, by the way?”
What exactly was he insinuating?
He laughed with a small shake of his head. “Great talk. As always.”
Everything about him was smooth confidence. His face was relaxed, and a loose smile tugged the side of his mouth. But his words were a warning. His parents were some of the biggest donors to this symphony. He was reminding me that for all my power, they considered me to be no more than a lackey.
The urge to warn him away from Kim was right on my tongue. But he’d love that. He’d see it as a challenge. Instead, I brushed past him without another word. Let him think it was a win. Despite my short temper, I knew the long game. There was no way Kim would fall for a tool like that.
“Nice mask, by the way.”
I barely heard the words before he stepped into the rehearsal room.
That pasty son-of-a-bitch. What a fine nose; it needed character. Maybe a surgical reset after I punched it into h
is skull.
The muscles of my neck and back were rigid. Distantly, the voices of Andy-Dick came from around the corner. They were the last thing I could possibly handle right now. Instead of heading to my office after all, I made my way up to a long-abandoned storage room on the second floor. It was my secret place nobody knew about. The small and dusty room provided a safe space.
I tugged down my mask down and threw my hat on a stack of broken chairs from the seventies. I scrubbed my hands over my face and hair. I hated this shit, but it was necessary. Breathing came freely for the first time in hours.
The punching bag in the corner took the brunt of my frustrations until my knuckles were close to bleeding and the adrenaline faded. Once my breathing quieted and my heart wasn’t hammering in my ears, I stilled to listen. There was another advantage to my secret space. The venting system led directly above the rehearsal room. This was where I first heard Kim playing solo.
I moved to the register in the corner and flicked open the vent. From my position a floor above, the back of the bassists and cellists were just visible. Kim was in her seat smiling at Chagny who squatted in front of her. Her face was deep in the bouquet, inhaling. What a showy way to mark her as his in front of the whole symphony. Carla stood close to the vent talking to her father. Dick had come into the room, as I suspected he would.
“He wasn’t in his office,” Dick said.
His other half was discussing something with a group of musicians in the corner.
“He needed to go pout. He’s such a diva.” This from Carla. She pulled out an e-cigarette and took a long pull blowing the smoke into the air. They were strictly prohibited.
Her father lowered his voice. “I know you don’t like him, but he’ll be out soon.”
I stilled. The room around me hummed as I strained to listen.
Carla rolled her eyes. “You keep saying that, but he’s still here.”
“He can’t control himself. The donors will only allow so much brash behavior. His showcase is going to be a disaster.”
“What about the chair tests? I’m first chair. Everybody knows that. I shouldn’t have to audition again.”
“I know. Don’t worry about it. I will fix it.”
The anger returned inside of me. So that was how it was going to be?
Another musician walked up. “These antics are getting a little ridiculous, aren’t they?” He too pulled out an e-cig and inhaled.
My focus shifted behind them when Erin walked up to Kim just as Chagny kissed her head and made his way over to the group.
I brought my attention back to the gossips.
“He won’t last, even if he pulls off the performance of a lifetime. He’s not worth the trouble. My parents aren’t pleased.” Chagny picked up on the conversation seamlessly.
Carla raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“They wanted him to bring in the revenue, but he won’t last. He’ll burn out. His ego? The antics? The mask? It’s all a little juvenile. He’s a ticking time bomb.”
“The rest of the symphony can’t stand him,” Carla added. “They’re close to rioting. He treats them like children and they’ll only stand for so much. He’s gaining a reputation all right, but probably not the one he wants.”
“Listen, I like the guy.” Chagny pulled a pitying face. “But he can’t maintain a career anywhere. This will be his, what? Fifth conducting position? In as many years. It’s sad.”
The worst part about eavesdropping was hearing ugly truths about yourself.
The clarinetist left Kim’s side, and after several worried looks, she joined the gossiping group. “Be careful what you say.”
Carla rolled her eyes. “Or the Devil of the Symphony will get me?”
Erin frowned. “He’s our Maestro. He should be respected.”
Behind the conversation, Kim was now listening, though she tried to hide it. Her profile showed a worried frown, but she didn’t speak.
“Time to get back in our seats,” Erin warned, looking at the screen of her phone.
“He isn’t even here,” Carla said. “He’s off throwing a tantrum.”
“You have no idea where he is. You better be mindful of what you say.”
With that, I left the room. As I made my way back to the main floor, I debated as to why was Kim so intimidated by that foolish cellist. I still had a hard time accepting this quiet version of Kim. No, not Kim. Christine. The Kim I was beginning to know spoke her mind easily. Christine hid behind her instrument and played it safe. It was like she had split herself into two completely different people.
Well, I’d had enough.
I stalked into the room and cleared my throat at the podium. Carla and a few others were just getting back to their chairs.
“Chair auditions begin this week.”
The room went silent. I’d show them who was in control. I’d show them what happened when they crossed me. I would keep it until the end of the season, but that didn’t mean I had to make it easy on them.
I was the Devil of the Symphony.
Chapter 14
Keep your instrument in its case when not using it.
KIM
Devlin’s house was a bit of a drive even in the light of day. Yes, I had lived in Green Valley most of my life, but I’d never really paid attention to this area of the Smokies. I had almost turned the wrong way three times. I took my time and drove about fifteen miles an hour around the sharp back roads. It didn’t help that the rain was falling off and on in thick sheets and the temperature was falling rapidly. Seriously, wasn’t it supposed to be spring? Devlin’s house was at the top of a super steep hill with a treacherous driveway and even Mom’s brand-new BMW fishtailed a bit after a particularly sharp turn. By the time the car slid into his driveway, my palms were slick with sweat.
This past week had been exhausting. I couldn’t even think about the chair auditions. I’d done a thousand of them in my life, but they never stopped being terrifying. This audition had been before the Maestro and the board of directors. Thank goodness the rest of the symphony was not allowed to listen.
Tension had hung over the symphony as each musician took their chair test. Devlin’s temper had only ratcheted up with every passing day until there were talks of walkouts. All week, I’d come home and given cello lessons to my students. I was so exhausted by the time I ate dinner that I could barely make it to bed.
Anyway, it’d been a long week. I wanted to go home and binge watch bad TV until my brain melted. But first, I wanted to drop off my cello at Devlin’s house for our lesson the following day. I had made plans with Roddy when he’d brought me flowers to meet at Daisy’s Nut House the next morning and I felt weird about bringing my cello with me to the restaurant, or worse, leaving it in the car. Green Valley was mostly trustworthy but if an Iron Wraith strolled by and a ten-thousand-dollar cello was just sitting there unwatched … well, the good Lord only expects so much. And since I didn’t want to have to drive all the way back to my house to get it before I met with Devlin for our first official rehearsal, well, long story long, here I was at his house.
The only other time I had been here, I had been carried in mostly unconscious. Putting it that way didn’t sound fantastic. But now, having parked and stared up at the elaborate contemporary cabin without a real plan, an extreme case of nerves bubbled up. The house was really more of a small mansion. What’s in between a mansion and a house? My years of playing MASH as a child had not properly equipped me to answer that. It was bigger than my parent’s home, and they weren’t particularly modest when they built the 4000 square-foot home so far outside of Green Valley, it was almost to Maryville.
I hurried up the fancy slate stairs that lead to a solid-cut steel door, my cello on my back blocking me somewhat from the downpour. As I rang the doorbell, my finger slipped and didn’t push the button exactly in the middle. I spent the longest ten seconds of my life debating whether I should push it again and potentially come off as an eager beaver, or just drop my ten-th
ousand-dollar cello and run.
Thankfully, the door pulled open before I did something stupid. Stupider? More stupid? An attractive man in his late thirties tilted his head at me.
“Hello,” he said like we already knew each other. He was dashing like Chris Pratt—circa the Parks and Rec years, not all ripped like in the Jurassic Park movies—but with darker hair and eyes. His kind eyes flitted over my face and an easy smile formed. He was handsome enough that direct eye contact was difficult. Also, there was a familiarity to him. A furious blush spread on my cheeks. This was why I needed to get out more. I was a grown woman. This was ridiculous.
“Hi,” I said.
His eyes moved to the massive case I was carrying on my shoulder.
“Hi,” I repeated. “I’m Christine. Well, Kim, I guess.”
“You guess?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Yes.” I shook my head and started over. “I’m here for Devlin.”
“I gathered as much. We’ve met once. You probably don’t remember.” He stepped back, gesturing me in. “Come on in. It’s getting nasty out there.”
I smiled and entered the house, noticing two surprising things: the sound of voices carrying in from the kitchen, and the smell of onions and sauce. My mouth instantly watered.
The handsome man paused just inside the door.
“I’m Wes. Dev’s brother.”
Devlin had a brother? Why did this information come as such a shock to me? It conflicted with the image I had of him as a solitary grump that sprung from the earth and dwelled in the cold basements of buildings.
“Nice to meet you.” I glanced down at my jeans and plain green T-shirt and suddenly wished I had dressed a little better. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just came to drop my cello off before our session tomorrow. He told me I could bring it by.”
His smile was so easy and quick that my mind couldn’t process the fact that this man shared the same DNA as Devlin. If it weren’t for the same brown eyes and bushy eyebrows, I wouldn’t have believed it. Though to be fair, Devlin could be a big smiler; there was no way of knowing.
The Treble With Men Page 9