Solo (Symphony Hall)

by Lauren E. Rico

  I follow her through the restaurant, head down, eyes casting left and right. But all looks quiet in here, too, as she leads me to a set of french doors in the back, lined with scarlet drapes for privacy.

  “May I get you something from the bar, Ms. Brenner?” she asks, holding the door open for me.

  “Yes, a glass of riesling, please,” I say, mentally thanking Drew for introducing me to an adult beverage. It’s hard to be taken seriously when you’re sucking down a Shirley Temple.

  Patty Perfect nods, smiles, and closes the doors behind me. My father pulls the napkin from his lap, gets to his feet, and walks toward me with outstretched arms. I stand perfectly still and allow him to embrace me while I pat his arm, gently. When he lets go, he pushes me back slightly to get a good look at me. I take the opportunity to do the same.

  He hasn’t aged a day. Maybe there are a few more threads of silver visible in his thick, jet-black hair, but, for the most part, my father looks the same way he’s looked my entire life. Tall, lean, and dark, he was always the perfect complement to my mother’s petite, fair beauty. Tonight he’s looking especially dapper in what must be a four-figure custom-cut navy suit. Only the finest for Tucker Brenner, senator from Virginia.

  “Katherine,” he says in a soft, choked voice, “I can’t believe how much you look like your mother.”

  Hearing this makes me smile. It’s a rare real moment for us. Maybe I’ve been worried about nothing. Maybe this dinner won’t be so bad after all.

  “I’ve always thought I looked more like you,” I offer, a little shyly.

  “Oh, well, you have my dark hair, but it’s her coloring and her eyes that I’m looking at right now. And the fine features. Oh yes, you remind me so much of Elaine, it’s remarkable.”

  I feel the blush rising to my cheeks, but I can tell by the wonderment in his eyes that he means it.

  “So,” I begin awkwardly, “should we sit?”

  “Yes, of course,” he says, jumping to pull out my chair for me. I allow him to push me to the table.

  “How have you been, Daddy?” I ask over the hurricane candle and breadbasket once we’re both seated again.

  “Very well, thank you. And you? I know you’ll be graduating in a couple of months. Is there much for you to do between now and then? Final exams, that sort of thing?”

  I’m not surprised he knows that I’m about to graduate, but I am surprised that he cares enough to ask.

  “Oh, uh, well, there’s a lot, actually. Just about a month of classwork, then I’ll conduct a big concert and then it’s my oral exams. I’ll face a panel of three professors and answer questions taken from pretty much every class I’ve ever had.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got your work cut out for you.” He grins. “But then, you’ve always risen to the toughest challenges. I really do appreciate you taking the time to see me, Katherine.”

  “You’re welcome. I was surprised to hear from Leandra,” I admit, plucking a piece of semolina bread from the basket and slathering it in butter.

  “You mean The Ice Queen?” he asks with a smirk. “You do still call her that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe…” I hedge with a sheepish smile.

  “Well, she and I were both disappointed you weren’t able to attend the town hall on campus. That was one of the reasons I agreed to do it—because it was being held here at Shepherd. I was hoping to give you a shout-out from the stage.”

  Somehow, the phrase “shout-out” just sounds wrong coming out of my father’s mouth. I’m guessing The Ice Queen told him it would play well with the millennials.

  “Yeah, I figured. To be honest with you, that’s why I didn’t go.”

  “What? You can’t tell me you’re shy. Not when you conduct in front of hundreds of people.”

  He’s teasing, but I’m still stuck in serious mode.

  “It’s not that I didn’t want to hear you speak, Daddy. It’s just that I’m a very private person. I’d rather not advertise my identity to the few people in town who don’t know who I am.”

  His brow furrows but he holds his thought when a server returns with my glass of wine. “I see. Are you ashamed of being my daughter then?”

  “What? No, of course not. I love you, Daddy. I’m just trying to say that it’s one thing for people to know I’m a student somewhere on campus. It’s another thing for them to recognize me in the parking lot or in the dining hall. You’re—you’re not very well-liked, Daddy, and sometimes people can say some nasty things. I’m sure you can understand why I’d prefer to keep a low profile.”

  “I do understand that, Kate. And I can respect that. But I’m a little confused, surely, you must have so many friends that everyone knows who you are, regardless. I mean, you always did have a huge social circle. How could people not know who you are?”

  “Daddy, I don’t really have any friends.”

  “Oh, please, Katherine. You’re the most outgoing, friendly young woman there could be. You’ve been like that since you were a little girl.”

  “Yes, but I’m not a little girl anymore, Daddy,” I remind him with a little too much edge in my tone. “In fact, it’s not just that I don’t have friends. I’m actively disliked by most of my classmates.”

  He considers me for a long beat.

  “I’m sorry that’s turned out to be the case, Katherine. But now you can appreciate the kind of resistance I get from my colleagues.”

  I swallow the snort that threatens to rise out of my chest. I have the inexplicable desire to hurt him, to make him see and hear and feel all the challenges I’ve had to overcome simply for being his daughter.

  “Yes, well, I’m not a politician. I didn’t ask for this kind of scrutiny.”

  “Of course not,” he says with a hint of irritation.

  “And I’m sure you can understand how the whole defunding the arts thing—that doesn’t go over well with the other music students. Or faculty. And since I refuse to comment on you or your politics, well, let’s just say it doesn’t make me the most popular girl on campus.”

  He takes a deep breath and seems to consider this. I’m amazed—and a little disappointed—to see the irritation melt from his expression.

  “Yes, I can see how that might cause some tension. Does that mean you’ve disavowed all knowledge of me?” he says with raised eyebrows and a grin.

  His playful teasing is so unexpected that my resolve to injure evaporates.

  “What are you, a spy now?” I laugh. “No, of course not! You’re my father. I couldn’t do that. I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I know that, Katherine,” he says softly, sincerely. “And I am very grateful that you’ve managed to keep our business out of the press. I’m aware you get your share of reporters nosing around.”

  “It’s not that bad,” I say, sipping my wine. “That jerk from the D.C. Courier’s a real piece of work though,” I mutter.

  “Kevin Kilpatrick,” he scoffs. “Yes. You’d be wise to keep your distance from that one.”

  I don’t bother to tell him it’s a bit late for that.

  “Well, you may have heard I’m considering a run for the White House,” my father says, changing the subject.

  I nod that I do, in fact, know this little tidbit. He reaches across the table to take my hand.

  “Katherine, I’d very much like for you to be a part of that.”

  “A part of what?”

  “Of all of it! Come out on the campaign trail with me! You’ll graduate soon, so you’ll have plenty of free time. It’ll be you and me on the road… You can give speeches, you can talk to young people about voting—”

  “Whoa! Slow down, please,” I say, pulling my hand from his and holding it up in a “stop” gesture. “Daddy, this is our first conversation in years. I hardly think we’re ready to discuss me coming on the campaign trail with you. I hardly know you…”

  “How can you say that?” he counters. “Katherine, please. Don’t you think it’s time we put this ridiculousness beh
ind us and move on with our lives?”

  I can’t see the wave of crimson that’s crawling up my neck, headed for my cheeks, but I can feel its heat. Suddenly I’m back on the shoot-to-kill train again.

  “Daddy, you were the one who started this ‘ridiculousness.’ Remember?”

  “Oh, now, Katherine, don’t be so dramatic,” he says with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “‘Dramatic’? You make it sound as if it was some mutual conclusion that we came to. But we both know that I didn’t have any choice in the matter. You threw me out of the house, Daddy. You told me not to come home. Or call. Or write. That was all you, Daddy. All. You.”

  “I seem to recall you making that choice after I offered you the perfectly acceptable option of studying any one of several fields not connected with the arts.”

  I’m staring at him in disbelief when our server returns with salads. Neither of us speaks other than to thank him.

  “Katherine—” my father restarts once we’re alone again.

  “Daddy,” I interrupt him with a sigh of resignation. “Let me save you the speech. I’m doing fine on my own. And no, I’m not angry with you. I was disappointed in you for a long time. Now—well, now I don’t know what I feel for you. This is the first time we’ve spoken directly in more than five years. I mean, what did you expect would happen here tonight? That the past would magically disappear and we’d be the picture of a devoted father and daughter again?”

  “I expected to see some semblance of the manners that I know your mother and I instilled in you. That’s what I expected to see.” He huffs, the charming facade cracking under the weight of his irritation.

  I feel my own tide of anger as it rises from my gut.

  “She never would have allowed you to treat me the way you have.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that.”

  “I am. I am quite sure about that,” I grit, getting to my feet. “You know what? I’m done. I need to go home. I’ve got to work early tomorrow morning.”

  “What? Cleaning up like some common maid?” He sneers.

  I glare at him.

  “Keeping tabs on me, are you?”

  He sits back with an officious smile.

  “I always keep tabs on my investments.”

  I suck in a breath and try not to let my rage ratchet up any further.

  “Yeah. You take care of yourself, Daddy,” I say as I turn to leave.

  “Please sit down.” He sighs. “Let’s have dinner.”

  I shake my head.

  “No sir. Thank you, I’ve lost my appetite. I just want to go home.”

  “To your ramshackle little apartment in the seedy part of town, right?”

  “Oh God! Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I like my apartment. Not to mention, it’s what I can afford.”

  He leans forward across the table, folding his hands in front of him. His negotiating stance, as I recall from my teenage days.

  “Perhaps we can do something about that, Katherine. For instance, I might be willing to purchase a little condo for you in exchange for you accompanying me on a few campaign trips in the coming months. We might even be able to work out a stipend for your living expenses.”

  All at once, I find my anger has been replaced by exhaustion. And resignation. I sink down into the chair next to him.

  “Just tell me.”

  He looks perplexed.

  “Tell you what, Katherine?”

  “Please, just tell me what it is that you want. That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? Because you want something?”

  He holds my gaze for a long instant before he speaks.

  “I’m going to run for president.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Ah, yes, well. It’s all about optics, how things look. Being a widower doesn’t look as good as being married. But it does look better than being single. Especially if I happen to have a daughter by my side, supporting me, on the road with me.”

  I’m surprised to find myself surprised. Just when I thought I’d heard it all.

  “That’s why you wanted to see me?”

  “Well, yes. Why, what did you think I wanted?”

  I want to suppress the laugh that bubbles up from deep inside of my chest, but I just can’t seem to manage it. It comes out sounding a little like a cackle and my father does not look amused.

  “Oh, I don’t know, I guess I thought… No, I guess I’d hoped that you wanted to tell me that you love me. That you’ve missed me. Maybe even that you’re sorry. But I could have even given you a pass on that last one if I thought the first two were true. But I see now that they’re not.”

  “I’m not here to apologize for anything, Katherine,” he informs me. “Quite the opposite, actually. I think it’s you who owes me an apology. Your antics made me look weak and foolish in front of my colleagues—in front of my opponents.”

  On impulse, I reach across the table and take his hand in mine. It’s big, warm, and soft, just the way I remember from when I was a little girl and he’d hold my hand.

  “I’m so tired, Daddy,” I say in my sincerest tone. “I work really hard and I’m very proud of what I’ve accomplished. And maybe you had something to do with that. Maybe you pushing me out like that is what gave me the courage to fight for what I want. And maybe it’s what kept me from becoming an entitled, obnoxious socialite. But what you’re asking for? I’m sorry, I just can’t. I won’t pretend to be your daughter. Not in exchange for your money. And certainly not in exchange for your love.”

  Before he can say anything else, I get up again, lean down to kiss his cheek, and walk out of the private dining room. I barely notice the cameras flashing around me as I exit the restaurant.

  …

  Friday April 7th 9:39 p.m.

  D: Hey. How you doing?

  K: Don’t ask.

  D: That bad?

  K: Worse.

  D: I’m sorry.

  K: Thanks.

  D: Want some company?

  K: You’re sweet but I’m already in my jammies.

  D: You know that’s not a problem for me (insert lecherous chortle here)

  K: LOL I do know! But I’m wiped. Just can’t drag my butt out again.

  D: Well, if the butt won’t come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the butt…

  K: Dude, that’s just wrong.

  D: No, actually, it’s absolutely right. I’m standing outside of your building.

  K: Stop teasing!

  D: Not teasing. And it’s freezing out here! How about buzzing me up?

  K: What? No! You can’t just show up!

  D: Why not? You did it to me, didn’t you?

  D: K? You there?

  D: What are you doing?

  K: Sorry, had to get my dirty clothes off the floor.

  D: Stop cleaning and let me in already!

  K: Fine. I’m up on the third floor, number 304. Watch out for Clinton.

  D: Clinton?

  K: You’ll see.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Drew

  It’s so cold that I’m hopping from foot to foot, when she finally buzzes me in. The vestibule is dark, with one of those dim, flickering fluorescent light fixtures that makes that maddening hum. The linoleum floor is yellowed and a little too sticky for my taste. And there’s a smell that I think I can place, but would rather not.

  I’m just about to start my climb to the third floor when I notice one of the apartment doors open a crack. An elderly gentleman peers out at me suspiciously.

  “Good evening, sir,” I say with a nod in his direction.

  “You got business here?”

  “Uh, yes sir. I’m visiting someone on the third floor,” I confirm.

  Suddenly his door swings open and he’s waving a very big, very solid, wood baseball bat at me. “You’d better be! I find out you been making trouble up there and you’re goin’ to wish you’d worn a football helmet out tonight, you sombitch!”

  Ah. Clin
ton, I presume.

  “Yes sir. I understand. I swear I won’t be making any trouble.”

  He gives me the hairy eyeball and slams the door shut so hard I can feel the vibrations on the stairs. I start moving before he has a chance to reconsider.

  With my arms full and no elevator, it takes a few minutes for me to actually get to her front door, which opens just as I raise my hand to knock. Katherine is standing there in an oversize plaid nightshirt that hangs down to her thighs. It reminds me of the way she looked in my shirt not so long ago. Damn this girl’s got legs. For. Days. I wrest my eyes from them and when I do, my lust turns cold with concern.

  There are dark circles under her eyes—which are rimmed in red, as if she’s been crying. She offers me an unenthusiastic smile as she holds the door open for me. I’m immediately struck by the size of the apartment. There isn’t any. The room, probably in the neighborhood of twenty-five by twenty-five, contains the very barest of essential elements.

  In one corner is a tiny kitchenette with a pint-size refrigerator, a two-burner stove, small sink, and microwave. Just in front of it sits a two-top bistro table and a pair of chairs. Bookcases line two of the four walls. They’re crammed with books and scores, and one shelf holds a micro sound system and small flat-screen television. A third wall is taken up by a full wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, and the other with the front door as well as two other doors, which I imagine lead to a bathroom and perhaps a closet. In the middle of the room is an open sleeper sofa, the covers pulled back as if I’ve gotten her out of bed. A narrow coffee table sits in front of it, littered with pages of manuscript paper, pencils, and scores for symphonies and concertos.

  I leave my shopping bag on the floor next to the front door while I drop the take-out bags on the two feet of counter space between her stovetop and sink.

  “Sorry, if I’d known you were coming I’d have straightened the place up a bit,” she says, looking around the room.

  I nod toward the huge windows. “I’ll bet that’s what sold you on this place.” I watch as her expression lightens considerably. “The view must be spectacular in the daytime.”

  Katherine nods enthusiastically. “I know it’s a crappy apartment, but that view…it’s like being closer to heaven, Drew. It’s more stunning than you can imagine,” she says wistfully.