“It doesn’t matter,” Juliet replied.
“I don’t think you believe that,” I replied. Our hands came together again. The brush of her pinky against mine sent a shiver through me. I didn’t think that I would ever grow tired of her affections. “What did he say?”
“The same as he always does,” Juliet replied. My part took over temporarily, and I looked away to focus on the more intricate notes. They trickled through my fingers.
“I’m going to talk to Emerson,” I said, my gaze falling back on Juliet just in time to catch her reaction. She looked confused. “He has connections in London. I think we should go.”
Juliet’s hands immediately paused on the piano. Then she ripped them away in one fell swoop, removing herself from the bench. I turned swiftly, following her as she paced across the living room floor. Neither of us spoke for a moment.
I told you I’d figure this out, Juliet’s hands flew into the air angrily. It seemed as if she’d chosen to sign for the simple fact if she spoke aloud she might yell. Not that it would have mattered anyway. Her gruff gestures said enough. I won’t let you give up on your dream. Not because of this.
So you’ll let me give you up, then? My face twisted, feeling angry. You’ll keep bending over backwards for someone who doesn’t respect you?
That’s not what I’m doing, Juliet argued.
It’s exactly what you’re doing, I replied, getting up from the bench. You’re letting him win.
“And running away from him isn’t?” Juliet looked as frustrated as I felt. “I promise you, I’ll figure this out. Just trust me.”
My heart sank into my chest. I struggled to find words to speak. She sounded so confident. It felt hopeless to argue with her, I doubted she’d listen to reason. “I’ve lost enough things in my life,” I said, exasperated. The words made me choke up slightly. “I can’t handle losing you too.”
“You won’t lose me.” Juliet’s facial expression softened, moving to meet me in the middle of her living room. “Not again.” The way she said it with such confidence made me suddenly feel at ease. I felt my body relax and my mind stop racing quite as much. Juliet pulled me into her arms and held me tightly, and I sunk into her, deciding that somehow it would all work out.
FOR A FEW WEEKS, THINGS returned to normal. Juliet resumed her classes at the Bard, while we both prepared for the start of the fall rehearsals for the Philharmonic. Timothy, Emerson, and Andrew would be joining us again for this season. The first weekend of rehearsals, Juliet drove us down to the city. The Lincoln Center was bustling when we arrived. Unlike our secret rendezvous over the summer, we chose not to hide ourselves any longer. Juliet seemed convinced that we were in the clear.
Like over the summer, Emerson had allowed me to play the Ugly Duckling. The group of musicians settled on the David Geffen Hall stage, chatting noisily with each other. Philip had yet to arrive. I caught up with some of the friends I’d made over the summer, most of which I hadn’t seen since then.
I noticed that the entire orchestra had turned their attention towards Philip, who was now standing in front of us. He wandered through the crowd, straight towards me. When he stopped in front of the piano, there was a curious look to his face.
“Emma, I need you to come with me,” he said, looking as though he was speaking quietly. My attention went from him to Emerson, who looked as confused as I felt, and then briefly to Juliet. I nodded, rising from the bench to follow him out off the stage. The walk was long and somewhat agonizing, my curiosity getting the best of me. We didn’t stop until I’d been lead to one of the side rooms outside of the theater. Philip opened the door for me, and I was greeted with a dozen faces at a conference table.
“What’s going on?” I looked to Philip, whose expression was still unreadable. He motioned for me to sit, and when I did and looked up, I was face-to-face with Frederick Hamilton. My entire body went cold, and I felt the blood drain from my face. There were only a few reasons I was in this room, and none of them were good.
“Ms. Harvey,” Frederick spoke, being careful to keep his focus on me. He must have been informed of my unique circumstances. I hated the way my name came across his lips, the expression on his face. I couldn’t hear it, but I could feel it. It was nothing like his daughter’s. It felt dirty and full of disdain. We barely knew one another, and I hated him with every fiber of my being. “I’m afraid we have to have a discussion.” I nodded, unable to speak. Something told me there would be no discussion. Whatever he had to say was going to take the words straight from me. “The board has determined that another pianist will be taking your place this fall.”
My ears rang. I stared in disbelief, still trying to process what he’d said. “What?”
“Your place is not at the Philharmonic,” Frederick said. Those green eyes, which he shared with Juliet, were so starkly different than hers. They were twisted. Full of hate. I had to look away for a moment, trying desperately to catch my breath.
“And why is that?” I finally managed to ask. Scanning across the desk at the handful of others that had apparently decided my fate. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Just a conflict of interest, I’m afraid,” Frederick pulled me back towards him.
I begged myself to argue. To say anything to him. There were so many things that I should have said to him, in my defense. Instead, I remained voiceless. Barely able to maintain my composure. “Is that all?” I asked, when I finally was able to formulate words.
My gaze turned towards Philip, in disbelief. He looked as devastated and confused as I felt. “I’m sorry, Emma,” he spoke. Before he could say anything else, I’d ripped myself from the table and fled from the room. I had barely made it through the hall, tears streaming down my face in pools. When I’d found the restrooms, I hid in a stall, texting Miranda.
I need you.
IT WASN’T LONG, AND I’d buried myself in blankets on Miranda and Timothy’s plush living room couch. My head was nestled in Miranda’s lap, her fingers trailing over my short locks in an affectionate and motherly way. We sat in silence, Miranda letting me cry fitful tears. When I finally recovered, I sat up, wiping my face with the back of my hands.
The doorbell rang shortly after I’d gotten settled. I begged for it not to be Juliet. Miranda disappeared down the hallway to answer it. I watched, waiting for her tall dainty frame to fall around the corner. Instead, I was surprised to see Emerson, whose face turned to one of concern when he met eyes with me.
Miranda trailed behind him, and I focused on her as she spoke. “I called him as soon as you told me.”
“And Juliet?” I asked, afraid to know the answer. I knew it wasn’t her fault, I doubted I could handle seeing her. Not yet. After what had happened, it was better not to.
“I wanted you to talk to Emerson first,” Miranda said, looking over at him. Emerson moved next to me. My eyes followed him. He shook his head once he’d settled.
“I argued with them,” he said, looking frustrated. “Told them they made a mistake.”
“It won’t matter,” I said, a sinking feeling in my stomach settling in. It wouldn’t have surprised me if Frederick had paid off the board in spite of me, just to make it happen. There seemed to be no other explanation. A conflict of interest, he’d said. It was obvious.
“Emma, I called London,” Emerson said, reaching out to take my hand in his own. “They’ll get you a visa. You can start in a few weeks. They need a pianist.”
For the second time that day, my ears rang again and the room spun around me. “You did what?” My words came out breathy and weak.
“They made a terrible decision,” Emerson said flatly. “You can go. Get away. Have the career you deserve.”
My eyes turned to Miranda’s, who was nodding. “Don’t let it stop you.”
“Juliet,” I stammered. “I don’t know what she’ll do. She doesn’t want to go.”
“She’ll change her mind,” Miranda assured me. Somehow, even with how terrible I felt, t
he news gave me a small shed of relief. That in spite of all this chaos, there was a light within it.
“They really need a pianist?” I repeated and Emerson nodded.
“All you have to do is say yes,” Emerson said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
I only hesitated for a second, praying with every fiber of my being that Juliet would understand. “Okay.”
Emerson left shortly after our conversation. Miranda made tea for the two of us. I booked tickets for the following day on my phone. Three. Praying the impulsive gesture would mean that I wouldn’t be alone. The moment I had bought them, I started to feel a little more at peace. Shortly after Miranda had finished tea, there was another ring at the doorbell. This time I was sure, it had to be Juliet. I watched Miranda disappear down the hallway. Not surprisingly, she was trailing behind Miranda, those green eyes a mix of emotions. She rushed to me, and I got to my feet. It was obvious by the expression on her face that she knew.
“I’ll fix this,” she promised me. Miranda disappeared into the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone. “I promise you, I’ll fix this.”
“Juliet...” I started to speak, but the flash of anger in her eyes interrupted me.
“I won’t let him do this.” Juliet’s face twisted into a scowl. “He can’t. There’s no reason for it. It was purely out of spite.”
“I know,” I replied, reaching out to take her hands. “And it’s okay.”
“It most certainly isn’t.” Juliet stared in disbelief. I squeezed her hands, and she seemed to calm slightly.
“It is,” I repeated. “Because he’s not going to have a hold on me anymore. A hold on us.” Juliet seemed rightfully confused, so I continued. “There’s an opening for a pianist in the London Symphony. Emerson knows them really well. They’re going to give me the job, and I told him I’d take it. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
“You did what?” Juliet looked in disbelief. “Emma, I told you’d fix this.”
“It doesn’t need fixing,” I argued, trying desperately to get her to hear reason. “You can’t keep letting him do this. It has to stop.”
“It will stop,” Juliet assured me. “I’ll make it stop.”
“Come with me to Europe,” I begged her, releasing her hands from my own. I don’t want to go without you. I signed it carefully, slowly and deliberately. Emphasizing every word.
“Emma.” Juliet looked at me, her eyes softening. “I’ve been with the Philharmonic for eighteen years...it’s your dream. I won’t let you give up on your dream.”
Dreams can change, I signed, with the same emphasis on my words.
Juliet paused. I watched her ponder for just a short while. When her expression sunk, my stomach flipped in knots. “I can’t,” she finally breathed. I stepped back from her, in disbelief. Unable to fathom my world without her again. But I’d decided. The minute Emerson had offered, it had all made sense to me. I can fix this, Juliet begged me. There was so much desperation in her eyes when she signed to me. Please let me fix it.
“I don’t want you to fix it.” I’d moved towards her again until we were barely apart from one another. “I just want you to be done with it. Once and for all. I want you to come with me.” I paused. Please, I signed, frantically. The world spun around me when Juliet didn’t reply after I’d said it. Those green eyes grew lost in thought, as if she was trying to find another way to argue.
The two of us stood in silence in the kitchen. Both without words. Both with our minds made up. I hated every agonizing second. Hated that my life was repeating itself in loops that I could never escape. That this push and pull between Juliet and I would never end. Juliet finally started to speak again, in what I was certain was another frustrating attempt to argue with me. I stopped her in a swift simple movement. My hands wrapped around her face. Our lips crashed together. Every ounce of me poured into her with that kiss. It wasn’t deep. It wasn’t long. Just a perfect, passionate moment that said everything that needed to be said.
“Please,” I breathed when I released her. I left her in the kitchen alone, hoping somehow she’d heard.
THE INTERCOM BLARED above me, calling out departure and delay announcements, and the occasional passenger names. Scuffles and clicks of shoes and luggage clattered across the tile flooring. There was a crowd near where I stood, gathered around a large monitor behind me. Across the way, I watched the automated doors at the front of the lobby of JFK International airport open and close. Every time, my breath would catch in my throat, praying that she’d come walking through. That somehow after my pleading the previous day, I’d gotten through to her.
When I’d come back to Miranda and Timothy’s the previous night, Juliet hadn’t been there. She’d left without any explanation. I hadn’t tried to text or go to her, fearing if I said more than I already had, it would push her further away. The decision was hers to make, and I had made myself perfectly clear. I’d only hoped she would have felt the same way. It was becoming more and more evident by the passing time that she hadn’t. I stood waiting in disbelief. Unable to fathom my world without her again. But I’d decided. And it was clear she hadn’t.
I was late. The plane was leaving in thirty minutes, and I hadn’t made it past security yet. My stubbornness getting the best of me. I’d waited nearly an hour now, after having texted her with no response. Once I’d given it a final minute, I turned away from the doors I’d been transfixed on and headed across the room towards the hefty security line. My heart heavy.
Three steps in, there was a tug at my wrist. My body jerked quickly in surprise, twisting around to find myself face-to-face with the only woman in the world who made it stand still. The only person I would have ever sacrificed New York for.
“Juliet,” I breathed, moving to her in a fell swoop. My arms wrapped around her neck, hugging her tightly. A good solid minute passed with me unable to let her go. The minute I did, I wished I hadn’t. My entire body had felt relief until I’d taken a step back from her. When I’d realized she was standing in the lobby of the airport with nothing. I may have still remained convinced that she’d come with me, if that Vuillaume case had been in her hand. There was nothing, and that simple fact tore my entire being into pieces.
The look on her face said everything. I had thought her arguing was through. That I had made myself completely clear the day before. “I just need more time,” Juliet said, pleadingly. “I can’t leave in the middle of a season. Kira’s school starts soon. Just a little more time.” I didn’t know what to say. All the words had been taken from me. Somehow, I nodded my head. Unable to fathom the idea of being separated from her for more time than we already had been. That any agreement was better than none.
My heart felt heavy as she pulled me to her to kiss me one last time. It was quicker than I wanted. Softer and simpler than I needed it to be. She held my hand for another small moment, and then I released from her. Before I reached the security line, I turned back. The look that had captured me from the very beginning was stretched across her face. No one had ever looked at me that way. Those green eyes filled with so much emotion, so much love. We smiled briefly at one another before I turned and left, a piece of myself lingering behind as I did.
29
Juliet
Mendelssohn, Violin Concerto
Chopin, Tristesse
Beethoven, Sonata Pathétique
Elgar, Salut d'Amour
ONLY HOURS AFTER EMMA left me standing in the middle of the JFK airport, I was sitting on the stage of David Geffen Hall, in a theater filled of a hundred of the world’s most talented musicians, feeling more alone than I had ever felt. Rehearsals had yet to start, and already it was the very last place I wanted to be. Emerson had arrived shortly after I did, and I watched him take his place at the Steinway. At the Ugly Duckling, a tall brunette woman sat, studying over the fall seasons sheet music. If Emma hadn’t been a contender for the summer series, the former Bard student would have taken her place. She was a respectable musician. But not Emm
a. Ever since those sprightly fingers had danced across that beat up instrument, she had claimed it. There would never be another who would compare.
Everything about this room felt foreign to me now. A place that had made me feel alive for almost two decades of my life, now felt like an empty shell. Barren. Alone. Even the cheery conversation between Timothy and Andrew before the practice hadn’t brought me to my senses. Timothy had known what was bothering me, I was certain of it. He didn’t press me, laying a hand on my shoulder. Graciously, I accepted the small affectionate gesture. If he had done much more, I likely wouldn’t have been able to hold myself together.
When Philip arrived, the group set straight to work for the second day of practice. This year, we opened with an unusual piece that wasn’t normally a part of the Philharmonic repertoire. After a terribly painful morning, it was the sort of sweet relief that I had needed.
Mendelssohn’s Violin Concerto was a masterful piece of classical literature that showcased the violin like nothing else could. One of the foremost violin concertos of the Romantic Era, it influenced many other composers. It was one of the most frequently performed violin concertos in history. The only reason the Philharmonic played it so little was due to the fact that, unless it was played in its thirty-minute entirety, it was truly lacking. I knew Philip had influenced the decision to perform this piece, likely on my behalf.
Unlike most concertos that began with an orchestral preview of the first movement’s major themes, as was typical in the more Classical-era concertos, Mendelssohn had chosen to almost immediately introduce the violin at the beginning of the work. The Allegro molto appassinato, the first moment, opened with a violin solo. Rapid, quick, and alluring in every way. The melody demanded the soloist’s full attention. After a bravura, an ascension of string notes, the orchestra resumed, reinstating the opening theme of the piece. Chromatic scales filled the room, echoing from various orchestral entities. A short codetta, and then the soloist moved into the cadenza, which Mendelssohn had written in full as to not allow for improvisation. The cadenza built in speed through a series of rhythm shifts from quavers to quaver-triplets to semiquavers, all requiring ricochet-bowing from the soloist. Complicated and delicious. A piece truly meant for a master of their craft.
Forbidden Melody Page 30