Solo (Symphony Hall)

by Lauren E. Rico

  D: WHAT. WAS. IN. IT?

  K: It had ramen noodles, jars of peanut butter, instant coffee (blech!), and my fave candy combo, sour gummy peaches and choco-covered almonds.

  D: Ugh. That last one was a “blech” for me. No, I swear I didn’t send it.

  K: Well who then? That’s a little creepy.

  D: OH.

  K: Oh, what? Do you know?

  D: Yeah I think so.

  K: Christ, D, spit it out already!

  D: Your dad.

  K: What? Are you out of your mind?

  D: Who else knows about your crazy candy combo?

  D: K? You still there?

  K: Yeah, I’m here.

  D: You okay?

  K: I don’t know. I think hell might’ve just frozen over.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Kate

  “I can’t do this,” I say, pacing Russell’s office.

  “Hey, what happened to all that self-confidence I saw in your lesson?”

  “It’s dead, Russ. Flattened, stomped out. Didn’t you read that article in the local paper?”

  He scratches his snowy-white, scruffy stubble and considers me.

  “I did.”

  Of course he did. Everyone did. The bastards insinuated I’m in total support of my father’s politics because I met him for a “clandestine rendezvous” at the restaurant. They went on to call me a coward and accused me of not attending the town hall because I was afraid of facing my classmates and professors. One guy’s blog actually dared me to stop hiding and make a public statement. To make matters worse, there are pictures of me coming out of the restaurant, head down guiltily. I look like a felon taking the perp walk.

  “Hey, Kate! Stop daydreaming and focus,” Russell orders loudly, snapping his fingers in front of my face. “You can’t let this bullshit get to you or you’ll never be a conductor.”

  “Yeah, well maybe that’s not looking like such a bad idea right now,” I mutter.

  “Uh-uh, not on my watch. Put on your big girl panties and shake it off,” he growls, grabbing my shoulders and giving me a hard shake. “You haven’t done anything wrong. Not a damn thing. So cut the crap and let’s get going before you’re late to your first rehearsal.”

  My eyes latch onto his.

  “Russ, what do I do if they won’t play for me?”

  “They’ll play for you, Kate.”

  “But how do you know?”

  “Because I know you.”

  I’m about to tell him how lame that answer is, but he holds up a finger for me to let him finish.

  “Kate,” he continues, “do you know what made me such a successful conductor?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Some conductors are hard-asses. They go in, expecting the orchestra to bow down before them, following every direction to the letter, never questioning his judgment. There are other conductors who come in all buddy-buddy, trying to be friends with the musicians. This almost always backfires because they have no respect for him when he does that.

  “The orchestra wants a leader. Someone to look at the roadmap and guide them on their journey. You know, like one of those stupid ESP things.”

  It takes me a second to figure out what he’s talking about.

  “Do you mean a GPS?” I chuckle.

  “Whatever. But here’s the thing, they also want a human being. They want to know the reasoning behind your thinking and how it applies to them. These aren’t children—even though they may act like it sometimes. You could easily be working with some of the most brilliant musical minds of the last century. It’s all about mutual respect.”

  “Exactly. How can I expect them to respect me as a conductor, when they don’t respect me as person?” I whine.

  “Have faith, Kate. They’ll come around. But you have got to get that balance right. I’ve had success because I’ve mastered the ratio of leadership to respect. You will, too.”

  I sigh and nod, not quite sure how I’m supposed to magically master this in the next five minutes.

  “Hey, what about your guy?” he asks.

  I freeze.

  “What?”

  “Oh, come on, Kate. I can tell you’re still seeing someone. Is he coming to watch you conduct? Having him in the audience pulling for you might be just what you need.”

  Truthfully, I don’t know if Drew will be there.

  “Nah, he didn’t want to make me nervous,” I say at last.

  “Yeah, well, that ship has sailed, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Hah! Are you kidding? It’s halfway across the Atlantic by now!” I snort.

  Russell picks up my score from his desk and hands it to me. He knows I don’t need it since I’ve already memorized it. It’s more of a safety net than anything else.

  “Enough with the self-pity, my dear. It’s time to do some conducting.”

  He opens the door for me and we slip out into the hallway. Every other time, Russell’s office feels as if it’s a mile away from the main building. Not tonight, though. It feels as if I’m walking into the concert hall in the blink of an eye.

  “I’m going to watch from back here,” he says, close to my ear. “I’ll be here if you get into any trouble. Which you won’t.”

  “Right,” I say, sounding unconvinced.

  The orchestra is already out on stage, noodling on their instruments and chattering away. When the stage manager sees me, she signals the concertmistress who, in turn, signals the principal oboe to play an A so they can tune.

  Russ takes a quick look around. When he’s sure no one is paying attention, he leans down and gives me a quick peck on the cheek.

  “Don’t want to start any rumors about the two of us,” he kids, trying to ease the tension a little. “That’s the last thing you need right now.”

  Oh God. If he only knew.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Drew

  It’s clear that she’s in trouble from the second she sets foot on stage. There’s no hiding anything under the harsh lights overhead and she looks so damn pale. Also, she’s shaking. Shaking so hard that I can see her from where I’m standing in the wings on the other side of the stage. This is not good. Katherine steps up onto the podium, puts the score on the stand, and starts to riffle through the pages. She seems flustered as she flips from section to section, looking up nervously every once in a while.

  “Uh, good evening, everyone,” she says quietly.

  No one replies. Not one person in the whole goddamned orchestra.

  “I’m really happy to have the chance to conduct you,” she starts to say after a long, awkward silence.

  “Well that makes one of us!” someone calls out from the percussion section.

  She glances in their direction, but chooses not to comment.

  “Could we please start at the second movement? The Largo?”

  Nobody moves.

  Little shits!

  It had been my intention to just sneak in here, watch her conduct a little, and then sneak out. I didn’t want to let her know I’d be here because I didn’t want her to be nervous. I’m rethinking that plan now as I pull out my phone and start to text.

  You can do this. I’m right here in the wings watching you. And I am in AWE of you.

  She jumps slightly, startled by the vibration of the phone in her pocket. She pulls it out and reads it, then puts the phone next to her score on the stand. She looks down, shifting nervously.

  “What’s the matter, Kate? Can’t do anything without the TV cameras and reporters around to see you?”

  That little catcall has come from a trumpeter. I recognize him from my junior Music Theory class.

  Note to self: Fail his ass.

  A month ago, I would have told you that I hate Katherine Brenner. But that’s not how I feel today as I watch her onstage, the confidence leaching out of her with every passing second. I have a split second to make a decision here. She doesn’t know I’ve done it. If I tell her, it might make things worse. Or, it
might turn this thing around. Before I can talk myself out of it, I pick up my phone again and start to type quickly.

  Danny Gillies is here. He came to see you. SHOW HIM, Katherine.

  She leans over the stand to read the message when it appears on her screen. I watch as she stares at it for a few seconds, her eyes growing as big as saucers. She looks up slowly, scanning from stage left to stage right until her eyes finally land on me. Her brows go up in a question.

  Are you serious? they’re asking me.

  I smile and nod my confirmation.

  The transformation is instant. And it’s breathtaking. Suddenly, Katherine Brenner is a little taller, her head a little higher. She’s not shaking anymore and a peaceful expression passes across her face as she looks out over the musicians. Her musicians.

  She leans over unexpectedly, loosens the laces on her shoes and kicks them to the stage floor. Her socks go right after them and she’s barefoot on the conductor’s podium. Some of the musicians are snickering at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice them anymore. She simply takes a deep breath and flips the score closed.

  “Let’s start again, okay?” she suggests to them with a smile. Before they can answer, she does exactly that. “Good evening, everyone,” she says in a steady, confident voice.

  At least a few of them mumble return greetings this time around.

  “Great. Okay, let’s get started with the slow movement of the Dvořák, please.”

  I hold my breath for a split second, thinking they might not listen to her. But the orchestra players shuffle pages and find their spots. When they appear to be ready to play, Katherine raises her right hand and looks out over the group expectantly. I watch as she gives a quick nod and then her hand drifts into the slow downbeat that starts the ethereal opening chords of the symphony. A few bars in, she cues the English horn for its big solo, only to bring the rehearsal to a screeching halt a short time later.

  “I’m sorry to stop you, Mike,” she says to the soloist. She leans over the podium as if the extra six inches will put her right in front of him instead of a good fifteen feet away. She swallows hard and knits her brows together, looking like she’s trying to figure out how to phrase something. When she speaks again, it’s as if she’s having a casual conversation with a friend.

  “This solo is a lament and a victory at the same time. You know it’s based on the spiritual ‘Goin’ Home,’ right? Well, just imagine yourself the voice of someone singing that melody. You’re preparing to depart this world, fully expecting something glorious to come. It’s bittersweet. Sad to leave, but also so excited to arrive.”

  I can’t help but notice that the whole ensemble has shifted slightly forward, drawn in by her words as she drapes herself casually over the podium.

  “Mike,” she continues, “I want you to make that horn sing. Sing, okay? We’ll follow you, buddy. You just take it where you think it needs to go and we’ll be there with you. Can you do that?”

  I can see him nodding slowly, processing what she’s just told him. She gives a quick nod, straightens up, and repeats the entrance. This time when the solo comes in, it’s a little tentative for a moment. But only for a moment. As the English horn player gains his footing—and his confidence—the simple, haunting melody blossoms. I watch the corners of Katherine’s mouth pull up in pleasure as her hand marks the beats for the rest of the orchestra. Mike stretches and pulls and wraps his fingers around the melody. When it’s over, Katherine stops the orchestra. She looks at Mike, a huge smile spreading across her face.

  “Ladies and gentleman, Michael Prate!” she says, holding her hand out toward him. The rest of the ensemble starts to applaud along with her. The musicians seated closest to him slap him on the back. When they’ve finished, they look back at her.

  “You guys are so going to rock this.” She grins. “We don’t have a lot of time today, so let’s table this movement for now and move on to the last movement. Allegro con fuoco. You all know what that means right? Fast—with fire. This thing is the big finale and it’s got to be white-hot. So give it everything you have.”

  They can barely turn to the right page on their music stands before she’s got her arms up, waiting for all eyes to train on her. As soon as she’s got them where she wants them, she drops into the downbeat like a starter dropping the green flag in a race. And they’re off!

  This movement is intense from the first note, with the strings playing a melody reminiscent of the theme from Jaws. But then they collide with a wall of brass. Trumpets, trombones, French horns, and tuba are in lockstep as they thunder with a fanfare.

  But the strings come back with a dizzying flurry underneath them. Each section is a piece of the puzzle—the strings have part of the melody, but it’s not complete until it’s accented by the horns. And on and on it goes, each piece snapping into place to create the big picture of sound. The winds and strings chase one another throughout, periodically punctuated by a hint of the fanfare, echoing the past and foreshadowing the future.

  Through all of this, I cannot take my eyes off Katherine. As she conducts, she leans back so far that I find myself holding my breath, certain she’s going to fall backward. But she doesn’t. Somehow, she defies gravity. And her arms, the very definition of fluidity, don’t seem to be privy to the same physical constraints as the rest of us. It’s like a left brain/right brain thing in reverse. The right hand providing the structure, the direction for the musicians to follow while the left pulls the emotion from them.

  Under her direction, fluttering winds and swirling strings compete for attention until the fanfare comes back again. This time, it’s bright, but solid. Chunky and drawn out against first the timpani rolls, and then a hard, accelerating beat by the rest of the orchestra. At some point every instrument, no matter what family it belongs to, is part of the percussion section.

  Watching her conduct with her eyes closed, I realize now what a gift it must be for a conductor to have a—what did she call it? An eidetic memory. She throws cues to individual players and sections across the entire orchestra without even looking at them. But they’re watching her. In fact, the entire orchestra is riveted, barely looking at the music on their stands as they play a piece they hadn’t even realized they’d memorized.

  The raucous fanfare is back now and Katherine’s gestures are bigger and bolder. Her right hand moves in a broad, sweeping gesture that the musicians mirror in their playing. With her left hand, she shakes her fist in time with the timpani as it pounds and pounds and pounds. It is the heart of the orchestra. The heart of Dvořák’s symphony.

  Out of nowhere, everything slows and darkens into a twisted variation on the English horn’s earlier solo, “Goin’ Home.” A phantom horn rises as the strings swirl up and up and up. And then, it’s the fanfare in slow motion. The timpani rolls. And then it pounds. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Like hammer blows that give way to a single, perfect ethereal chord that ends it all. Katherine does not drop her arms, nor do the musicians lower their instruments until the only thing left of the last note is its shadow.

  When her arms finally relax, a slow, broad smile spreads across her sweaty, ecstatic face. Her eyes are still closed, so she doesn’t see the orchestra musicians jump up in unison to applaud. The briefest hint of confusion passes as she processes what she’s hearing. She opens her eyes, which immediately grow wide with shock. The orchestra is hooting and hollering. The obnoxious trumpeter is whistling now and I decide to pardon his earlier infraction.

  I’m so caught up in her—in her success and her beauty—in everything she does, that I can’t keep my eyes off her. Nor can I control my crazy-stupid, lopsided grin as I applaud from backstage.

  When I finally do tear my eyes away from Katherine, I happen to glance across the stage, to the wings on the other side. Russell Atherton is watching me intently. I slip back into my normal, impassive expression, as quickly as possible and nod a greeting at him. He doesn’t return it. Probably because he’s too busy trying to work out what
he’s just seen unfold between his prized pupil and his sworn enemy.

  …

  “Danny! I thought that was you!” Russell’s voice booms above the noise of noodling instruments and chattering musicians.

  Kate is going over a few notes with the concertmistress when he finds me out in the rows of seats talking with my old college roommate.

  “Russ!” Danny exclaims, throwing his arms around the ghostly man and patting his back enthusiastically. “Where have you been hiding yourself? I thought you said you’d be at the conducting conference last fall.”

  “I didn’t realize you two were in touch,” I interject and am met with a withering glare from Russ.

  “Do you think you’re the only one who knows Danny?” he asks me coolly.

  I ignore the comment.

  “Russell, stop being an old coot,” Danny teases, poking Russell in the ribs. “I was visiting my folks in Charlotte and Drew asked me to take a drive up here to…”

  I catch his eye and shoot him a warning glare. Luckily, he gets the idea before Russell notices.

  “…to surprise you and Maureen,” he concludes and I breathe a sigh of relief. If Russell thinks I brought Danny here to see Kate conduct, he’ll know something’s up between us.

  Russ eyes me skeptically but decides to believe our guest. “Well, I’m glad to see you no matter what the reason,” he says.

  “Hey, Russ,” Danny says softly, conspiratorially, “I see your fingerprints all over that girl.” He’s nodding with his chin toward Kate, who’s still up on the stage. “She’s something else, my friend.”

  Russell grins proudly. “She is, isn’t she? Can you believe she was a piano major?”

  “I know,” Danny says, before he can stop himself.

  Shit.

  “You do?” Russell asks, suddenly confused. “How?”

  “Drew told me.” Danny sees his mistake immediately, but doesn’t miss a beat. “I was just asking him about her. I was wondering why I knew her name but hadn’t seen her come through the conservatory.”

  “Ah, well, she got in as a freshman pianist but it didn’t work out. You know who she is?”