Symphony in Blue

by Shira Anthony

  Jason pulled his reading glasses out of his jacket pocket and looked over his notes. As if on cue, a very tall man wearing jeans, a black shirt, and a leather jacket walked into the club. “Günter Zimmerman,” he said as he shook Jason’s hand. Jason introduced Jules and Henri.

  “I thought we’d start out with a few pieces we’ve recorded, then do a little improvisation,” Jules said after they’d all settled in and he’d set some sheet music on the piano stand. “Do you know ‘Le Baiser’?”

  “Of course.” Günter smiled back at Jules. The song was one of the most popular from the group’s first album, and although the album hadn’t sold an outrageous number of copies, Jason had heard it played on some of the European jazz stations when they’d traveled.

  Jason wasn’t surprised Günter had done his homework—he’d heard great things about the German pianist from one of his American contacts. Classically trained, with a number of albums under his belt as a studio pianist, Günter was Jason’s first choice, hands down—on paper, at least.

  “Let’s just play it through straight one time. Then we’ll let you improvise on the second verse,” Jules said.

  Günter played the opening chords of the piece, bright, vibrant chords that always called to mind Jules’s inspiration: Le Baiser de l’Hotel de Ville by Robert Doisneau, a 1950 black-and-white photograph of a couple kissing in front of Paris’s city hall. Hearing the intricate and lush harmonies of the piano always made Jason imagine that someone had given Jules one of those extra-large boxes of Crayola crayons he’d loved as a kid growing up in the States and that Jules had used the many colors to bring depth to the photograph. This thought made Jason smile; he guessed Jules had never been the kid who colored within the lines.

  Günter now repeated the opening chords, but this time he expanded on them with playful and slightly exotic riffs. Chords became long arpeggios interspersed with dissonances that nearly resolved, then morphed into new dissonances. Jason admired the clever way Günter took what Jules had written, discarded the melody, and created an entirely new take on the harmonic framework of the piece. It was brilliant, and Jason was sure Jules and Henri knew it. The sound, however, was not Jules’s sound.

  “I loved the way you did that,” Jules said after they’d stopped playing. “But I’m going for a more muted approach to the piece. Something along the lines of the classical music you might have heard in the late 1940s. Stravinsky. Shostakovich. The richness is in the sounds, not the texture of the playing.”

  Jason heard Günter struggle with this concept when they began to play again, and this time Jules stopped. “More like this,” Jules said as he played a few bars on his violin. Once more they played, and once more Jules stopped them. “Jason? Can you come here for a minute and show him?”

  Jason hadn’t expected that. “Sure.” He wouldn’t tell Jules he was more than a little uncomfortable playing in front of someone like Günter; he knew Jules needed him to help without David around to demonstrate.

  Jason began the piece much as Günter had a few moments before, then veered away from the score. “Long lines,” he said as he stretched one of the chords into several bars. “Keep the melodic line recognizable.” He glanced over at Jules and Jules smiled at him. The distinct melodic line, even in the improvised sections, was one of the trio’s hallmarks and something Jules felt strongly about.

  The audition ended about an hour later with Günter thanking them for their time. In the end, Jason decided, he’d done an excellent job with the improvised sections. Jason knew that even if the other auditions didn’t go as well, Günter would make a great pianist for the group.

  THREE DAYS later, Jules’s achingly beautiful violin echoed in the empty club as the last of the pianist auditions drew to a close. Jason loved hearing Jules play to a full crowd, but there was something otherworldly about the way the overtones of Jules’s violin danced off the ceiling, the chairs, the walls, and the tables when there was no one else in the room. Like echoes in a large canyon, each sound that met Jason’s ears seemed to take on a new life, as if by sending the notes out from his instrument, Jules was coaxing them to find their own resonance.

  Three days of playing with different pianists, and Henri and Jules were obviously tired. Jason couldn’t have enjoyed it more. Listening to rehearsals made him feel closer to the music than when he heard the trio perform. From time to time in some of the other auditions, Jules would ask Jason to demonstrate something for the pianist. Not that any of the pianists were bad. In fact, number five on their list was as strong a candidate as Günter. Rick was an American Jason had met in Philadelphia on Blue Notes’ last US tour.

  “Thank God that’s over,” Henri said as he poured them all shots of Maurice’s best cognac an hour later. “Three days in a row. Really. Was that necessary?”

  Jules scowled at Henri. “You’re a lazy ass, you know.”

  Jason laughed and picked up his glass. “I’ll let you two talk by yourselves.”

  “You’re not staying?” Henri lit a cigarette and blew smoke at Jason.

  “We talked about this, remember?” Jason wasn’t surprised Henri had forgotten. He probably hadn’t paid attention when they’d discussed how to handle the auditions. Jason didn’t mind—Henri’s laissez-faire attitude was a nice change of pace from Jules’s intensity from time to time. No doubt their very different personalities were part of the group’s success. “You two need to make the decision. If you can’t agree, I’ll be the tiebreaker. This is your trio. I’m just your manager.”

  “You agreed,” Jules reminded Henri, who just shrugged and took a long drag on his Gitane.

  “Fine.” Henri waved his hand dismissively and crossed his legs. “Make us do your work for you,” he said, his playful expression belying his words.

  Jason laughed. “I’ll be at the café down the street. Call me when you need me.”

  LESS THAN an hour later, Jason was back at the club. “We need you,” Jules had told him over the phone. Jason hadn’t been terribly surprised that Jules and Henri disagreed over their choice of pianist. No doubt Jules preferred Günter’s crisp, no-nonsense style and Henri insisted on the slower, more laid-back groove of John Regan or Rick Clement. This wouldn’t be easy.

  “Another cognac?” Jason asked Henri as he settled down at the table that was covered in résumés, handwritten notes, and the three now-empty glasses.

  “Why not?” Henri grinned and returned a few minutes later with the bottle.

  “Maurice will bill us for that, you know,” Jason said with a chuckle. He didn’t mind. He was just pleased that the week hadn’t been more grueling and that Jules and Henri didn’t seem to be at each other’s throats.

  “Let him. Gros con.”

  Jules glared at Henri, who ignored him entirely.

  “So,” Jason said as he swirled the caramel-colored liquid around in the glass and inhaled the thick, heady scent of it, “who are you two stuck on?”

  Henri puffed on another cigarette. Hadn’t he promised Guy he was going to quit? No doubt he was doing it in part to get Jules’s goat.

  Jason glanced at his watch: 5:00 p.m. It was going to be a long evening, although he sincerely hoped they could resolve the mess before the club opened at eight.

  “We’re not stuck,” Jules announced. Jason could tell from his smug expression that he and Henri were enjoying stringing him along. Still, Jason was surprised.

  “You actually agree?” Something was up. Jules and Henri rarely agreed on anything.

  Henri blew smoke in Jason’s face and Jason fought the urge to wave the smoke away this time. Normally Jason would have been tempted to take the cigarette from Henri—he’d done that on more than one occasion—but he decided he’d roll with it and see what Henri and Jules were up to.

  “We agreed.” Jules got up and wrapped his arms over Jason’s chest as he leaned down and kissed him.

  “Pianist number one or number five?” Jason asked with a contented sigh.

  “I liked num
ber one,” Jules said.

  “I prefer number five,” Henri added.

  “So you don’t agree.” Jason placed his hands over Jules’s arms and pressed his cheek against one of them. Jules rewarded him with another kiss.

  “Of course we do.” Henri stamped out the cigarette and raised his eyebrows in mock disgust.

  “Do you want to tell him?” Jules kissed Jason again.

  “Not particularly.” Henri appeared to debate whether to light up again or drink his cognac. In the end, he pulled a cigarette from the pack and set it on the table, then took a long drink. Leave it to Henri to drink Remy Martin XO cognac like it was beer. “Good stuff,” he said when Jason shook his head. “How can I drink it slow?”

  “Would one of you just tell me so we can get this done with?” Jason growled. “Who did you choose? Number one or number five?”

  “We chose number zero.” Jules ran his long fingers through Jason’s hair, raking his nails over Jason’s scalp. God, that felt amazing!

  Jason tried to focus, but Jules’s hands were too much of a distraction. “Number… what?”

  “Number zero,” Jules repeated.

  “There were six pianists auditioning.”

  “True.” Henri was far too pleased with himself. He’d propped his feet on one of the empty chairs nearby and was sprawled, legs open, arms dangling, over his own chair.

  “Shit.” Jason shook his head. Between the warm glow of the cognac, the long week, and the feel of Jules’s fingers as they found their way from his scalp to his chest through the space between the buttons of his shirt, Jason’s brain had taken a minivacation. “No. No way.”

  “You said we could choose,” Jules pointed out with a giggle.

  “I didn’t say you could choose me.”

  Henri was defiant. “You didn’t say we couldn’t.”

  “You told us to pick the best pianist.” Jules released Jason and walked around the front of Jason’s chair. He was grinning.

  “Look,” Jason began, “you know how I feel about perform—”

  “You’ve filled in at least ten times for David in the past two years,” Jules pointed out.

  “And you knew exactly what Jules meant when he was trying to explain the music to the pianists.” Henri flipped the cigarette through his fingers as he spoke.

  “Tell me,” Jules said as he kneeled in front of Jason’s chair and planted both of his elbows on Jason’s knees, “when is the last time you were scared of performing?”

  “I’m always nervous,” Jason said without hesitation. Well, he was nervous when he played. Why did he feel so defensive about this?

  “So am I. You know that. We all are. It’s what gives you the energy to make a performance really good.” Jules was still smiling.

  “Nervous isn’t scared,” Henri added.

  Who’s the lawyer here? Jason was losing the argument. We, the jury, find the defendant guilty on all counts.

  “Tell me you didn’t have fun playing with us.” Jules chewed on his lower lip. “This week. Tell me you didn’t have fun.”

  “I had fun.”

  “And two months ago, in Lyon,” Jules continued. He wore the expression of a man utterly convinced. “I saw you smile while you were playing.”

  “I might have,” Jason conceded. He couldn’t deny any of what Jules said, but he’d only come to terms with not being a musician a few years ago. To consider shifting gears now….

  “So?” Jules prodded.

  Jason sighed. “And I don’t know.” When Jules looked disappointed, Jason added, “Come on, Jules. You know what it was like for me before I met you. You’re asking a lot.”

  “I know I am.”

  “He’s not joking,” Henri put in. “You really are the best choice.”

  “I need time to think about it.”

  Jules released a long breath and shook his head. “Have you ever just gone with your instinct and said yes without thinking?”

  Jason smiled. “Yeah. One time. I invited this guy I met at a bar back to my sister’s apartment.” He got up and hugged Jules tight against his chest. “Best damn decision I ever made.”

  “You need to think less. What do they say in English? ‘Go with your belly’?”

  “Go with your gut.” Jason laughed and kissed Jules.

  In the end, Jules gave Jason time, although he asked once again the night before they flew to Milan. Jason just hedged, saying, “I really am thinking about it. But I need time.”

  Present

  JULES DIDN’T speak, but he looked up at Jason with bright anticipation in his eyes.

  “Well?” Aiden finally asked the question on everyone’s minds. “Are you going to play?”

  Jason smiled and tried to ignore the way his stomach did somersaults. Or were those backflips? He said it softly, in part because it scared the shit out of him, but also because he was embarrassed they were all making such a big thing out of it.

  “Yes.”

  Jules hopped out of his seat and launched himself at Jason. “I knew it!” he shouted happily. “I knew you’d do it!” He wrapped his arms around Jason and kissed him long and hard.

  A few of them clapped. Alex whistled, and Massi, who’d been watching all of them with wide-eyed wonder—how often did you get to see adults make complete fools of themselves?—asked Alex to show him how to whistle like that. David met Jason’s eyes and nodded.

  “So what are you thankful for?” Jules asked after they’d all settled down again.

  “Hear, hear,” Sam said as the corner of his mouth turned upward in a smirk. “You don’t think we’re going to let you off the hook, do you?”

  A few of the others chimed in their agreement. Jason shook his head and sighed. “Fine. Of course, you know as I was telling that story, I was doing my damnedest to think of something clever. I couldn’t think of a thing, but I can at least sum it up for you. That’s what lawyers get paid for, right?”

  Nobody spoke this time. Jason took a deep breath and said, “I’m thankful for second chances.” He blinked back tears. They say you get more sentimental as you get older. He guessed it was true. “My life’s been full of them. This—the music—it’s just one more.”

  He felt Jules’s fingers on his forearm and he knew Jules was thinking the same thing. Je t’aime, Jules Bardon.

  Fourth Movement:

  Vows

  “OUR TURN.” Aiden took Sam’s hand and pulled him up from his seat. “We can do this one together.”

  “As long as you don’t make me sing,” Sam quipped.

  “No risk of that. Too painful.” Aiden laughed, then picked up his glass and raised it. “To good friends.”

  “To good friends,” the rest of the guests repeated.

  “And in case you didn’t know,” Aiden continued as he looked at Cary, “Cary wanted us to have the party without him. I told him he was an idiot.” Aiden grinned and said, “I think he pretty much called me the same. And while we were both being idiots, David took charge.” Aiden bowed with a flourish. “Leave it to the maestro to make things happen.”

  David’s cheeks colored. Aiden wondered if his hero worship had kept him from seeing how genuinely fragile David could be at times. Human.

  “We’ve got a little story too.” Aiden slipped an arm around Sam’s waist.

  “It all started with a phone call from Cary and his wonderful news,” Sam added. “And a little change in plans….”

  Two weeks before

  “YOU REALLY didn’t need to make the reservations,” Aiden said into the phone as he glanced over at Sam. “But we appreciate it. We’re looking forward to meeting Graziella and seeing all of you for Thanksgiving. Thanks again, David.”

  Aiden disconnected the call and set the phone down, then walked over to Sam. Sam, who’d been reading through some papers, dropped them unceremoniously on the floor and stood up. “David booked us a flight to Milan?”

  “He did. I know he felt really bad about us canceling the reception.” Aiden s
lipped his arms around Sam and sighed. “He understood, though. He knew I wouldn’t want to celebrate without Cary there.”

  Sam could see the disappointment in Aiden’s eyes. They’d started planning the reception at David’s estate nearly three years before. It had been David’s idea. In fact, when Sam had whisked Aiden away from the opening-night party in honor of his Metropolitan Opera debut to propose, David had made Sam promise that David would host the celebration when they finally tied the knot. Wedding in Manhattan at City Hall, then a long weekend in Connecticut with friends and family.

  “We’ll get there.” Sam leaned in to steal a kiss. “And you know I don’t need the celebration as long as I have you.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Aiden slipped a hand under Sam’s shirt, and Sam inhaled sharply at the touch.

  Sam had what he wanted. The rings and the paper? Sure, he wanted those too, but he didn’t need them. He’d finally figured things out, and he’d been damn lucky not to have lost Aiden when he’d floundered.

  That was when it came to him: a goofy, romantic idea. “Let’s go away for a few days. See a show in Manhattan? Something fun.” Sam bit his lower lip and waited for Aiden’s response.

  “I thought you had depositions this week.” Aiden frowned, and Sam knew he was worried Sam was changing his work schedule on his account.

  “I did.” Before Aiden could protest, Sam added, “But Stace can handle them on her own.”

  “Sam, I—”

  “You said you’d trust me,” Sam reminded Aiden with a shake of his head. “Remember? Balancing work and our relationship?”