I explain this to Leah but she doesn’t seem to be buying it.
“I’m surprised you haven’t tracked down the dirtbag and banged down his door already.” Leah’s tone gets feisty whenever she refers to Asher. “When you first took the job in New York I thought it was because he lived there. Like you needed to be near him or something. But every time I call you you’re at home or at work.”
“That’s because that’s all I have time for. And seriously, what am I going to do? Knock on his door and say, ‘How dare you let me have sex with you?’ He didn’t promise me anything, Leah. It was just a fling. It was exactly what you wanted it to be.”
“I didn’t want you to get hurt.”
“I didn’t get hurt.” My lie repeating itself as it has for the past three months.
Leah lets out a hmpf sound. “Well, you did say it was the most mind-numbing sex of your life. The least he can do is offer you round two.”
If she were in front of me I’d punch her in the arm. “You dirty skank!”
Her laugh is so loud I have to pull the phone away from my ear. “I’m kidding. Not really. Well, kind of. But seriously, you need to get laid. Aren’t there any nice boys around?”
“No boys. Just Frank and a few guys at the academy. And Mattie who lives upstairs. He’s way too young. I don’t even think he can drink legally.”
“Oh . . . Do Mattie. Do Mattie!” she chants.
I shake my head at the thought. “Good night, Leah.”
“’Night, sis. I’ll text you the days the girls and I are coming to town. Love you!”
I hang up with Leah and finish my salad, tuning the pages on the class list for next week.
I look over the pages but my mind is only thinking of one thing.
Asher.
I could kick myself for letting my mind go there.
Leah and I stayed on Capri for three more days after he left. Three days I hoped he would return and clear up the misunderstanding. But there was no misunderstanding. He lied to me about who he was, got me in bed, and then disappeared.
For a split second I thought I was falling in love with him. Isn’t that tragic? After knowing him a short time I let myself think he was worth giving my heart to. I blame the sex. Yes, it was really good sex.
Clearly it was the kind of sex that makes you think only illogical thoughts.
Gah! I stand up and shake off all thoughts Alexander Asher. I need a cold shower and a good night’s sleep.
I turn up the stereo slightly and decide Mattie and I need something with more edge. I blast One Republic because while Mattie had a wicked day it looks like I’m gonna have a wicked night.
For a girl who grew up in the Midwest and spent the last few years in Pittsburgh, moving to Manhattan was quite a change, though I’d like to say I’ve been catching on rather easily. Since I’ve moved to New York I’ve learned: avenue blocks are longer than street blocks, there are separate downtown and uptown train entrances (a lesson I learned the hard way, after swiping my trusty Metro Card), cabs with the number lit up are empty and available, cart food is delicious, five dollars for a domestic beer is completely reasonable and an empty subway car during rush hour is not a good thing. I’ll let you use your imagination as to why (I also learned that one the hard way).
The city has an energy unparalleled to any other. Even in the fall, a time of melancholy when the leaves are making their way to the ground, I find myself breathing in the new life the city has given me. Sure, I haven’t taken advantage of the nightlife and I only know a handful of people, but just walking through the streets, looking at the architecture, seeing the people and hearing the sounds of the hustle and bustle gives me the charge I need to put one step in front of the other.
I chose my neighborhood because it’s a short walk to the Juliette Academy. The school is housed in a landmark building on the corner of Suffolk and Rivington, in the Lower East Side. The Gothic Revival architecture of the building has lancet windows and spiral-like finials that make it look like a nineteenth-century church.
I wasn’t home from Italy two weeks when Frank contacted me, letting me know the school was opening the first week in October and looking for an Assistant Director of Music Performance. I couldn’t believe they wanted me. I mean, the pay isn’t that great. But, an assistant director role? That’s huge, especially for someone with zero teaching or managerial experience.
Frank and I know each other from the music circuit. He heard about my accident and knew I was in need of a career change. He said he would deal with the benefactors and finance managers. That works for me because accounting, spreadsheets, marketing . . . that is all way over my head.
It’s not lost on me this job is a blessing. I don’t have many job skills and teaching is something I did not want to do. For starters, it’s difficult to teach someone control of a bow when I can’t hold one myself for more than a few seconds. We’ll also try to put aside it’s incredibly depressing. If I can’t play, why do I want to teach someone else how to play?
Yes, it is selfish. I know. I’m working on that.
I push open the heavy wooden stairwell door and exit onto the fourth-floor hallway. My office is a tiny seven-by-seven–foot space housed inside one of the four classrooms on this level. It has white plaster walls, linoleum floors, a desk, a chair, and a filing cabinet. I decorated the walls with music note decals I bought off the Internet. Treble- and bass-clef bars line the wall you face when you walk in. Behind my desk is another decal that says, “Music is not what I do, it’s who I am.” I have no idea whose quote that is, but he or she should be revered.
To get to my office, you have to walk through one of the music rooms. Frank says it’s part of the charm of working in a historic Manhattan building.
The classroom attached to my office belongs to Crystal, who is teaching cello.
Go figure.
She also has a bad habit of leaving her instrument in my office so she doesn’t have to lug it to and from work. I can’t deny I loathe that it sits in the corner of the room looking at me all judgmental.
At least it’s better than bunking with Lisa. She’s the violin teacher.
Crystal is a sweet twentysomething like me who trained at the Fiorello LaGuardia High School of the Performing Arts and then furthered her studies in Rochester. Unlike me, she is a professional cellist who books regular gigs with a wedding orchestra. Teaching is a great way to supplement her income and keep herself familiar with new techniques and trends.
Lisa is older than us, with a husband and two kids. She teaches at a local public school during the day and then at the Juliette Academy in the afternoons. Her patience and experience with the younger children is something I’d like to emulate someday.
For now, I’m happy to stand in the back with a clipboard.
It’s only been a few weeks, but the two have been nice to talk to as preparations to open the school were underway. They don’t seem bothered by the fact I’m their boss or that I don’t go out, ever. I’m not against it. As I said, I’ve been busy.
Especially on days like today.
Today, the Juliette Academy will open its doors for the first time. There’ll be a ribbon-cutting ceremony in the morning, followed by the influx of fifty new students enrolled in the after-school program. Tomorrow, we’ll welcome fifty more and the next day and the next. By the end of the week, we’ll have welcomed all two hundred and fifty students to a world of music and wonder. I’m actually a little nervous.
“Hey, hey, hey there, Ohio. Are you ready for the big day?”
I look up from my notes to see Crystal walking in with her massive tote bag in hand. She’s wearing plaid capris with a fitted, white button down top and black blazer, accessorized with a chunky necklace and high heels with a strap that wraps around the ankle.
“Nothing to prepare. This is the Frank show. I’ve respectfully asked to be excused from the media circus that is taking place today.” I motion my pen over to her cello that’s been judging me from the corner. “
You shouldn’t leave that here overnight. The school is not responsible if it’s stolen off of school premises.”
Crystal shakes out long, loose curls with her hand, letting them fall over her shoulders. Her hair is a deep brown that looks almost burgundy in certain lighting. In the sunlight, it has a Julianne Moore-esque tint to it. Her eyes are hazel green and she has the most flawless skin I’ve ever seen.
“Eh, let ’em steal it. It’s my old piece.”
Her words are like a knife to the stomach. If she only knew what I would pay to be able to play again . . .
I brush off the thought. “I’ll have to have you sign a document dissolving the school from retribution should it go missing.”
Sensing the seriousness of the situation, Crystal changes her stance. “Yeah, yes, sure. Whatever needs to be done.” She removes her coat and places it on the hook behind the door. “Are you okay? You seem a little on edge.”
Am I okay? What does okay even mean? Well, if I’m gonna be a smarty-pants about the whole thing, it’s from the Dutch phrase Oll Korrect, meaning “all correct.”
But I’ve come to find okay to stand as an acronym for “otherwise known.”
So today I’m okay.
Otherwise known as, I can’t stop thinking about a certain man who captured my soul and hasn’t given it back.
Otherwise known as, trying to find a new place for myself in this world since the one I thought I had has vanished.
Otherwise known as, will there ever be a day when people stop asking me if I’m okay?
“Yeah, I’m okay. Just making sure everything is set for today.” I offer her a kind smile and go back to reviewing my notes.
“You?” She asks in a flabbergasted manner. “You’re the most organized person I’ve ever met. You’ve got everything covered. Let’s go out for a drink tonight. Celebrate!” Crystal says, reminding me a lot of Leah, just a bit more refined.
“Thanks, but I have work to catch up on,” I say, hoping she can’t read through my fib.
Crystal eyes me cautiously but shrugs as she usually does, shaking out her hair again. “Sure. Well, maybe next time. I’m gonna go freshen up before we go down. Meet you back here in fifteen?”
I nod my head and go back to my work. The city has given me a newfound energy and purpose, yet I still find myself withdrawing at times.
At noon, Crystal and I make our way downstairs and take a spot in the middle of Rivington, where a large crowd has gathered for the ribbon-cutting ceremony. The street has been blocked off for the event. NYPD are stationed at both ends of the street where barricades have been placed for the next hour preventing cars from coming down the one-way street.
A small stage is set up to the right of the front door with a podium and microphone. A woman is currently doing a mic check as the mayor—who I was impressed would be here—is talking to Frank off the side of the stage.
Crystal and I spot a dazed-looking Lisa and flag her over to where we are standing. When she sees us, her eyes light up and she side steps her way through the crowd. Her hair is in a messy bun and she’s wearing a large oversized sweater over leggings and Converse sneakers, clutching a cup of deli coffee in her hands. Everyone was told to dress nice today. For Lisa, this is nicely dressed.
“I can’t believe I took a day off work for this. There are so many other things I’d rather be doing right now,” she says, sliding in between me and Crystal.
“Like practicing for an audition I have tomorrow,” Crystal says.
“Or creating an agenda for a spring concert,” I add.
“Or having sexy times with the husband,” Lisa chimes in. Crystal and I roll our heads in her direction. “What?” she says, shrugging. “Two kids, remember? Some day you’ll understand.”
Crystal and I just shake our heads and laugh. At least Lisa has someone to go home to at night. Crystal and I are still hopelessly single, though not for the lack of Crystal’s efforts. She is constantly on Tinder and Match, swiping left and right. I think working all those weddings every weekend makes her wistful. I just hope she doesn’t choose someone based on what society thinks she should do by a certain age. No woman should ever settle.
“Hey, Emma, I saw I have eight kids in my Introduction to the Violin class. That’s too many,” Lisa says, her lips perched on her paper cup.
“I know,” I say apologetically. “I couldn’t deny the little guys. I mean, a seven-year-old who wants to play the violin? That’s amazing. What did you want me to do, tell them they had to take the drums?”
Lisa’s head tilts forward and gives me her deadpan stare. “I need a co-teacher. It’s impossible to teach that many kids, that age, with no musical experience, at once.” She ticks off the challenges using her three fingers.
“I asked Frank. There’s no funding for another teacher. Sorry.”
She gives me an exasperated look, her free hand flying out in a dramatic gesture. “You’re a classically trained violinist. Why can’t you teach them with me?”
Damn Frank for boasting about my has-been career. I hate this. I hate that I can’t even teach a child to hold a bow. I hate that everyone knows I’m incompetent in my craft. I rub my hand and try to figure out a way to avoid the conversation.
Crystal senses my unease. “Emma is way too busy setting up the program. If she had the time to teach she’d be doing so. Maybe she can get you an intern or something.”
Lisa nods and tells Crystal that’s a good idea. I, in turn, thank her with my eyes.
News reporters, students, teachers, parents, and local political representatives have all arrived for the special occasion. It’s a beautiful October day so a spot in the afternoon sun is greatly appreciated.
Cameramen point their cameras at a podium situated a few feet from the front of the building. First, a woman from the Children’s League makes a short speech and introduces the mayor. Everyone claps and listens as he deems the Juliette Academy a great asset to the city of New York.
More people have appeared in the crowd, many seem to be nosey passersby looking to see what the commotion is. My back gets slightly jostled and I have to steady myself on the pavement.
Calm down people. It’s just a school opening. Not a Jay-Z sighting.
“Oh, my God, he’s here,” Crystal breathes out in a loud whisper, moving closer to me and Lisa.
I hip check the guy to the side of me and let him know two can play this game. “Who’s here?” I ask Crystal, missing part of her statement.
“—No one has seen him for months. He just disappeared one day,” Crystal continues, her breath hitching a bit.
“Eh, I don’t see the appeal. At all.” Lisa rolls her eyes.
I get shoved again and am about to tell the person to shove it when the mayor says something that causes my jaw to drop, my stomach to lurch, and my heart to nearly explode.
“Alexander Asher.”
The crowd erupts in applause. I look up at the podium.
Asher.
He’s here.
He’s walking up to the podium.
He’s shaking the mayor’s hand.
I gasp at the sight of him.
I stand, frozen. The last time I saw him, his arms were wrapped around me and he was begging me not to go.
The man next to me pushes so hard into my side, I fall forward onto a woman in front of me, causing her to yelp. My hands hit the pavement to prevent myself from a complete fall. I rub the tiny pebbles, from the blacktop that has indented into my palms, on my pants as Lisa pulls me up by my shoulders, erecting me into position.
“Thanks.” My voice is shaking as I push my wayward hair off my face. The woman in front of me gives me a nasty look as I offer my hushed apologies. The man next to me is now far in front of the crowd. I hope body checking me was worth it.
It’s at this moment I notice the crowd is eerily quiet, all looking up waiting for the man at the podium to speak.
I look up myself and see why he’s not speaking.
He’s s
taring.
At me.
Golden eyes hit me like a Mack truck and I instinctively grab hold of my stomach to keep it from falling apart. I stand here like a deer in headlights just waiting to get run over.
His mouth opens slightly, the sides tentatively curve up before they clench down. His lips purse as molars rub together, a look of pure disgust on his face. It all happens in a flash. The look he gives me, the change in his expression and then he turns his attention back to the mayor, offering him a full, boisterous smile.
I’ve thought about what it would be like to see him again. I daydreamed about what I’d do. I’ve imagined everything from kicking him in the balls to screaming to pretending I don’t know who he is.
What I wasn’t planning on was him being angry to see me and for me to be so utterly devastated by the look he’d give me.
I stand and wait for Asher to make his speech. When he does, I try to listen but my mind is a scrambled mess.
“The Asher Foundation has been a cause near and dear to my heart for some time now. Over the years, with the help of the great city of New York, we have raised millions of dollars for children’s charities. Today is the culmination of our efforts.”
Looking about the crowd as he speaks, his tone is jovial and kind yet his hands are on each side of the podium, holding on with white knuckles as if to ground himself from being swept away from the current.
“Where do you think he’s been?” Lisa whispers in Crystal’s ear.
I know exactly where he’s been. Cruising the Mediterranean with an urn full of ashes and a bed full of women.
“I don’t know but he looks amazing.” Crystal sighs all too appreciatively for my taste. I can’t believe these two know who my Asher is.
My Asher.
Ugh. I have to get out of this city.
When his speech is done, Asher and the mayor shake hands and pose for a photograph. They then make their way off the stage and talk to a media outlet that is positioned to the side ready to interview them.
No sooner is the ceremony over, I am pushing past the crowd toward the front door of the school. I need to get inside and away from him. Why is he here? Why am I so confused about how I feel about him being here?
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