I went to an online reseller next. $325 later, I had a good seat.
Next I needed to buy a ticket to Seattle. Having made several next-day plane trips in my life, I expected to be hit hard on this price as well. Amazingly, there was a deal on last-minute fares. I considered it a good omen.
I called Sharon at home to let her know that I wouldn’t be in tomorrow. She seemed stunned to hear this and even a little worried. Though our relationship was in the process of improving, I think she still had some inkling that my change in personality was the result of an emotional breakdown. I eased her mind to the best of my ability.
When I got off the phone with Sharon, I started packing. I was a pro at this sort of thing and had been known to pack for a sudden business trip in less than five minutes. However, I’d never taken a business trip with the intention of introducing myself to my future wife. This was going to require more than simply grabbing a suit or two out of the closet.
Melissa liked me in blue. It makes your eyes come alive, she’d told me. So I threw a blue suit and blue shirt into a garment bag and a blue tie into my carry-on. I even threw a blue polo shirt into the bag in case Melissa and I wound up spending some time walking around the city the next day.
I completed the rest of my preparations, including calling the car service to deliver me to the airport a full two hours before my flight. I wasn’t going to allow a traffic jam to prevent me from getting back to Melissa.
Of course I didn’t sleep. I probably could have used a drink to calm me down, but I was very much off drinking again. Instead, I tried thinking about cases, I tried counting backward from a thousand, and I even tried remembering one of Melissa’s concertos to soothe me. At 5:00, I finally just got out of bed. If I was lucky, I’d sleep on the plane. If not, I had more than enough adrenaline coursing through my veins to get me through the day.
*
The first surprise was that the flight arrived on time, despite leaving more than a half hour late. I saw this as another positive sign. If our pilot could overcome adversity and reach his goal, so could I.
We descended through lazy gray clouds and taxied through a patter of fat raindrops. The pilot announced the weather in the same matter-of-fact tone he might use to announce a sunny day in Phoenix. I hadn’t thought to pack rain gear, but not even rain could dampen my sense of anticipation.
Through my cab’s rain-spattered windows, SeaTac Airport slid by. “Business or pleasure?” the driver said. His reflection in the rearview mirror showed a bearded young man wearing a headband.
“I’m here for the Melissa Argent concert.”
“The piano player? Yeah, I saw something about her on TV not so long ago. She still dating the lead singer in Act?”
“They split,” I said tersely. As I learned through various fan sites, Melissa had been romantically linked for a while with someone from a popular British rock band. The celebrity media responded to this the way they always did: by glamorizing it and then overanalyzing it and finally reporting on it endlessly when it was over. While I didn’t like to think about Melissa being romantically linked with anyone, I considered the breakup to be an indication that she was still searching for the right man.
That search would end today.
It was three o’clock by the time I arrived at the hotel. Pressurized air had squeezed my sinuses, while my legs still groaned from being confined for so long. In spite of the rain, I decided to take a walk to clear my mind and ease my body.
I went downhill to the harbor where the breeze off the gray water was moist and refreshing. I bought a cup of delicious red fish chowder from a waterfront shack. My stomach protested the light fare that barely made up for the tasteless sandwich I’d bought on the flight, but I didn’t want to be bloated and logy during the concert. I wanted to be fully attentive for every minute of it.
As I walked back uphill, I passed a men’s clothing store with an ad showing a gray-suited corporate clone transformed into a ponytailed dude wearing jeans and a leather jacket. I had last been to Seattle more than four years earlier, not long after I joined Warwick & Gray. The pace of this place was so quiet compared to the nation’s capital, though I remember finding myself a little charmed by it. While dropping out of the fast lane was the last thing on my mind at the time, I could see the appeal of the pace of this city.
The sun came out while I walked and I perused the city for an hour and a half. Finally I returned to my room to shower and shave, even though I still had plenty of time. I tried to occupy myself with work, but I couldn’t concentrate. I wound up watching television absently and checking the clock every three minutes. Finally, I got dressed. I considered my reflection in the mirror. Would Melissa like what she saw? I convinced myself that she would.
The home to the Seattle Symphony, Benaroya Hall was an elegant and beautifully maintained building. Milling in the glass-framed lobby were old money retirees in conservative formal wear and sleek young computer executives in stylish casuals. My ears picked up relaxed West Coast voices, the more clipped cadences of people from back East, and some soft-spoken Canadians likely down from Vancouver. Melissa’s fans crossed continents and borders.
They even crossed time.
The doors to the auditorium opened and the crowd filed through like children in a school assembly. I moved quickly to get to my seat, as though doing so would hasten Melissa’s arrival. Patrons buzzed in anticipation as I kept my eyes focused on the darkened stage. I imagined Melissa backstage, battling the butterflies she always got in her stomach before she spoke in public. They say great performers never get past that sense of anticipation just before they take the stage, no matter how prepared or confident they are. As the moment grew near, I felt my own butterflies. It had only been two-and-a-half weeks since I last saw Melissa, but at that instant, it felt like centuries.
Then a spotlight lit up the piano at the center of the stage and the crowd applauded enthusiastically. It arced stage left until it illuminated a figure entering calmly from the wing.
It was Melissa – and it wasn’t. She was the same, and the sight sent my heart pounding so loudly that it drowned out the applause. Yet she also seemed different. It seemed to me like one of those science-fiction movies where the hero dimly perceives that a look-alike has been substituted for his wife. Her hair was the same raven-black, maybe blacker, coiffed perfectly in rings on top of her head. But she wasn’t wearing a power suit here. Instead, she wore a gown of shimmering blue like pastel fog under the lights.
My Melissa and the Melissa who bowed to the audience both had an air of competence, the calm, controlled demeanor of a person who is good at what she does. This Melissa radiated confidence at every step as she walked to the piano, the unhurried tread of someone accustomed to success. The applause grew louder and Melissa seemed to grow bigger, as if someone had stuffed fresh batteries into a child’s doll.
I clapped until my hands hurt. I was the last to stop clapping, earning a glare from a balding man in front of me. Go ahead and stare at me like I’m a fool, I thought. That’s my fiancée up there. You think you know her because you know her music. But I know what it’s like to be loved by her. A hush settled over the theater as Melissa nodded slightly toward the audience and flexed her fingers over the piano, pausing as if waiting for some internal cue to begin.
Then she played. The music on her albums was beautiful, but a recording to live music is like soy beef to steak. Some musicians are technicians who perform with cool efficiency, like attorneys who master case law but not the art of swaying a jury. Melissa was something else entirely. She coaxed the piano to play for her, as though she had formed some intimate compact with it. The result was passionate, personal, and deeply moving. She played with a style that stretched the range of her instrument, infusing classical pieces with influences of rock and jazz.
I could feel the audience warm to her enthusiasm, her zest, her love for what she
did. Yes, she was a great pianist and the piano is a magnificent instrument. Melissa could have played a harmonica tonight and the audience would have been moved deeply by it.
She spoke very little during the performance. Thanking the audience for coming after her first piece and introducing a few original compositions. Every time she spoke, though, I felt transported. Hearing her voice was like coming upon an oasis. It sent me back to our apartment, to the warmth of our bed and the comfort of her arms. It made me realize more than ever how terribly I missed her.
A few times I rose halfway out of my seat, hoping Melissa would see me, but she kept her eyes focused on the instrument, only turning her head from time to time to look at the audience. After she played her last piece, she rose and bowed graciously at the standing ovation. Her face was totally relaxed now and her smile was broad. She knew she was great tonight. She knew she’d made us happy.
“Tonight’s performance was for the benefit of Children First, a foundation very dear to my heart. With the purchase of your tickets, you have all donated generously already, but if you have it in you to give more, please visit the booths set up in the lobby.”
That was classic Melissa, reminding those who had the means to give that they should give as much as they possibly could. Then, after making her pitch, she smiled and sat down at the piano again. Eschewing the tenets of classical music altogether, she performed a heart-melting version of the Beatles’ “In My Life” before coming to the edge of the stage to bow one last time.
At that moment, I knew I had done the right thing for Melissa. I’d given her a chance to find her true destiny. She could help people, much more than she could in Washington. She could inspire people, as she had inspired all of us tonight. And, as was undeniably apparent from the smile on her face, she could enjoy every second of it.
That smile was all I needed to see, but I got more. Melissa took a final bow and her eyes fixed on mine. They penetrated into my very being with the familiarity of a soulmate. She held my gaze and I was certain she recognized me. I waved to her enthusiastically. Yes, it’s me. We’ve found each other.
Her gaze traversed to my left, sweeping the wing seats. My eyes stayed locked on her, waiting for her to return to me, looking for some kind of gesture that would tell me to come backstage. She glanced up to the upper tiers and spread her arms wide.
Then she waved and walked off the stage.
*
Drizzle gently massaged my scalp, keeping me alert as I waited in the shadows of a parking lot across the street from the stage entrance. The concert had ended an hour ago and I was essentially alone. On the other side of the lot, some college students were playing Melissa’s “crossover” album, Charting the Path, and talking loudly. She played two selections from the album tonight, and as I waited here, the memory of those performances filled my heart with Melissa’s presence.
What if Melissa wound up leaving from some other exit? What if a limousine swung around to whisk her away? Somehow that didn’t seem right for her. After all, in another world, she’d felt a little guilty even riding in my Audi. I took deep, moist breaths and pushed any negative thoughts from my mind. There was only one of me to cover one exit and I was feeling lucky. Things had gone my way all day.
I held a bouquet of roses close to my body, shielding them from the rain. I’d bought them on impulse after the show, feeling that I needed something to present her, something to mark the occasion.
The dull black door opened for a moment, and then it didn’t. Objects always seem to move when it’s late and you’re straining your eyes. Especially if you wish with every fiber of your being that the door will open and the one person who means everything to you will walk through it. The entrance lay at the top of a short flight of metal stairs. A single yellow lamp stood lonely watch over it.
I checked my phone for the time yet again. It was just after midnight. Whatever performers were still in there would certainly leave soon. I leaned against the ridges of the rough concrete wall that jabbed my spine and kept my eyes fixed on that doorway. My foot tapped the asphalt to one of the songs coming from the students’ car, a piece that sounded like seventies folk-rock reinterpreted for the piano.
Suddenly, something blocked my view.
“Help the homeless,” muttered a man in a tattered black coat with a baseball cap tucked over his forehead. I tried to look around him at the door, but he shifted position to stand in front of me. “It’s good luck to help the needy.”
He jumped slightly when I laughed. I handed him a five and said, “I can use all the good luck I can get.”
“Bless you, sir,” he said as he receded. He tipped his cap in my direction.
I began to feel very tired. It was past 3:00 EST. As my wait continued, I began to notice the lack of sleep and the wear on my body. I should have eaten more today. That would have helped. For some reason, I found myself craving a milkshake.
Then the door really opened. In a microsecond my brain grasped that the person moving down the steps could not be Melissa, unless in this universe she had grown six inches and switched genders. The tall young man jumped the last couple of steps to the ground, his shoulder bag thudding against his body.
His footsteps quickly faded away. Sirens groaned in the distance. Down the street, puddles gleamed green and red in the wink of a traffic light. Something small and fast skittered across the sidewalk and behind a bag of trash someone had dumped on the curb. Then something bigger crept down the street. It paused and looked at me with darkly glowing eyes.
“Hello,” I said. “Did Wizard send you?”
That was unlikely – Wizard didn’t get along with other cats. This one was scrawny, tiger-striped, and very wary. It hunched motionless in front of me, uncertain of its prey, fearful of the bigger predator looming before it. Then a blur raced from behind the garbage bag, and the cat squealed and took off in pursuit.
I looked back at the door. Suddenly a crack of light appeared. Hollow laughter echoing off walls drifted out of the entrance. The crack of light grew into a rectangle that traversed the sidewalk as the door swung open all the way. Several umbrellas opened in unison and twirled like windmills as the group made its way down the slippery stairs.
I tried to untangle the voices that blended into the continuous buzz of a group of friends hitting the town. Once everyone descended to the sidewalk, the group reformed around someone whose umbrella glowed translucent green in the lamplight. This was unmistakably Melissa. I heard her voice, though I couldn’t make out the words. It was rich and animated, and it made her companions laugh. My heart leaped at this. I was separated from her by only a few hundred yards.
Melissa stopped for a moment to adjust her umbrella. As she did, she turned in my direction. She seemed to look right at me, though there was no indication that she’d seen me. Then the crowd moved her forward with tidal force.
I slapped the bouquet against my palm, sending a rose petal on a death dive to the asphalt. If Melissa had been alone, I would have approached her. Even if she was with one or two companions I could have presented her with the bouquet and hoped that she would be flattered enough to talk with me. But there was at least a dozen people in her group, and I couldn’t possibly get her undivided attention, even if I was allowed through the circle of her protectors.
They continued down the street. I was going to have to follow her, wait for a moment when she was alone. It was going to be a long night. I began walking, careful to keep an eye on the traveling pack.
“Waiting for someone?” My feet almost left the ground as I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice deep, congested, and grouchy. They belonged to a police officer in a rain slicker. His frown announced what he thought about foot patrol on a night like this.
“I want to give flowers to one of the performers,” I said casually, hoping he wouldn’t mistake my rain-induced shivering for something else.
�
��Lousy night to wait outside.” His gaze focused on my shoes and methodically rose to my face. “Would you mind standing over there, sir?” He nodded toward a more brightly lit patch of sidewalk. His radio crackled, and he muttered something into the shoulder transmitter under his cape.
I tossed a quick glance behind me, trying to make the gesture look relaxed. Down the street, a green dot receded like phosphorescent algae carried away by the tide. Hastily I moved into the spot the officer designated. If I got this over with quickly, I could catch up with her.
“Can I see some ID?” The voice had the calm authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed.
“Did I do something wrong, officer?”
“I didn’t say that, sir. It’s just that sometimes people who hang around theaters after shows don’t have the best intentions.” He shone his flashlight on my driver’s license for a minute or longer. “You’re from out of state, Mr. Timian?”
“I’m visiting from Washington, D.C.”
“Who are you waiting for?”
“Her name is Melissa Argent,” I said, a little too promptly. “She’s a pianist. She gave a concert here tonight.”
His shrug said the name meant nothing to him. “You’re waiting in the rain at midnight to see a piano player?”
“She’s a pianist.”
“Sure.” He took a notebook out from under his cape and jotted something down. I risked another glance behind me. The green dot shrank to a colorless pinpoint almost lost in the distance. “I think everyone’s left the theater by now. Why don’t you head on back to your hotel? Maybe you’d be better off writing her a fan letter. Performers tend to like a little distance from their admirers.” He handed back my license and walked away.
At that moment, the drizzle swelled into a downpour. I waited a moment, then looked backward. Melissa’s umbrella was gone. I walked in her direction until I reached the next corner. I turned and saw that the police officer had disappeared. My lungs sucked air and rain as I ran down the street, straining to see a flash of green or hear the tinkle of voices. The city lay quiet, a landscape inhabited by ghostly lights and the mutter of traffic.
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