Musical Chairs

by Amy Poeppel

  As excited as he was about the piece, every time he imagined actually playing it, he felt like something was off or out of place. It wasn’t the setting; a country barn would be the perfect place for such lively and whimsical music. He tried to picture the scene: the guests sitting at large, round candlelit tables, Gavin and Bridget walking on the stage and taking their seats, Bridget watching him as he nodded for the piece to begin. Will wasn’t one for public speaking, but if he were, he would say a few words before they started playing, something about Synchronicity and the experience of arranging it, the joyful feelings the piece evoked. The complexity and dynamism of the melody.

  He imagined Edward standing up to applause. And then…

  And then what? And then wouldn’t it be wonderful to gesture to the piano bench, offering Edward his rightful place, having him play his own piece as only he could? Wasn’t that the way it should be? Since when was the Maestro the type of man who would want to sit by passively, especially when the story being celebrated was his own? It was his wedding, after all, his celebration, his piece of music.

  Will closed the piano and looked out at the barn, where Bridget was pounding a stake in the ground with a mallet. He knew what he needed to do: Step aside, he told himself, and give Edward the floor.

  Bridget had never performed with her father before, and wouldn’t that be touching for them both? Memorable, certainly. The performance was meant to be a surprise for Edward, but Will could imagine a delightful twist, turning the surprise around on itself, giving Bridget the gift of an experience that she would never forget.

  He looked at the arrangement on the stand, realizing the implications of this scenario: he was about to wreck the whole idea of using the performance as an audition, both for him and for Forsyth. What kind of audition would it be if he didn’t even play? And how would he feel walking away, leaving Gavin to play with Bridget? Was this a sacrifice worth making?

  He decided for now to keep his brilliant idea to himself.

  24

  Nicholas Donahue didn’t think he’d ever regretted anything in his life as much as he did inviting Gavin to visit him at his lake house retreat. What he’d imagined was old friends drinking whiskey on the porch, enjoying the peaceful sounds of the woods, swapping stories about Edward Stratton for the book he was writing, talking about music, and enjoying each other’s company. What he got instead was something quite horrid indeed.

  It was a shame, too, because he’d been looking forward to seeing Gavin. True, Nicholas had disliked him when they’d first met a decade or more ago and maybe even for a year after that. But having gotten to know him better, he found he liked him, in spite of his arrogance. Some people deserved to be arrogant, and Gavin, who was immensely talented, was one of them. Besides, what many people didn’t know was that beneath all the bravado, there was the insecurity so often found in musical prodigies.

  After almost three months of solitude, Nicholas was hungry for camaraderie. He wanted to talk to someone about his latest chapter and—equally importantly—be directed away from his work. One of the things he missed about Miriam was that she got him out of his head by discussing topics ripped from the pages of the Mirror or Us Weekly. Harry and Meghan (a Brit-Yankee union, much like their own) provided endless commentary and speculation, and he’d enjoyed listening to Miriam’s opinions, even if he didn’t have much to add to the conversation. He’d found it hard to be alone in the Oxford house, but coming here hadn’t helped. He’d liked being married, being attached—but Miriam, as it turned out, wasn’t a big fan of monogamy, something Nicholas rather valued in a wife.

  He’d spent the long summer days in solitude going over the interviews he’d recorded with Edward, analyzing his scores, and then writing pages and pages of text in longhand, filling in the details of Edward’s life story, later typing sections into his laptop.

  When Gavin called to say his wife and child would, in fact, be coming along as well, Nicholas didn’t mind. But what he hadn’t expected was a weeklong nightmare of having to deal with their heinous behavior. From the moment they arrived, Nicholas’s peaceful haven turned into a zoo. Danny, the demon spawn, threw his first tantrum as the family entered his home, screeching about a toy he’d misplaced somewhere during the brief stop they’d made to visit some aunt on the way.

  Offering them refreshment after their long drive, Nicholas guided them into the kitchen, where Danny spotted a package of biscuits on Nicholas’s kitchen counter and went haywire. As Danny began shrieking, Nicholas’s eyebrows went up his forehead involuntarily. Juliette seemed to notice his reaction and began inventing all manner of excuses to explain the child’s outrageous conduct, everything from fatigue to hunger to stress to car sickness to something she called “discovering his passions.”

  Nicholas was no stranger to child-rearing. He and Miriam had raised three children, none of whom had ever thrown a fit of this magnitude. As he watched Danny scream, Nicholas felt immensely happy that his kids were grown and settled in life. He did not envy Gavin having a toddler at this age.

  “Here,” Nicholas said, offering the biscuits; he’d give anything to stop the noise the child was making. “He’s welcome to have as many as he likes.”

  “No!” Juliette barked as she looked through her large bag for a healthier alternative.

  “I’m afraid Danny can’t have gluten or processed sugar,” Gavin said over the wailing, but then he looked at Juliette in a pleading way, adding, “unless you think he deserves a treat after the long drive.”

  Juliette shot him a look that said, Oh, hell no.

  Danny, understanding that he would not, in fact, be given a cookie, spun around and struck Gavin in the balls, causing him to double over and his face to turn red. Nicholas patted him on the back as he coughed and clutched at the countertop.

  Juliette sighed and said patiently, “Daddies aren’t for hitting, darling.”

  In response, Danny threw himself on the floor and, from his new vantage point, kicked Juliette in the shins. “Mommies aren’t for kicking, sweetheart,” she said, holding her injured leg.

  Nicholas asked if anyone needed an ice bag.

  * * *

  The next few days revolved around Danny’s fits and fury and the family’s constant needs. How could three people require so many towels? How could they have such a wide array of eating restrictions and allergies? They asked to use the washing machine (with different detergent, as the one he’d bought had additives, apparently, and fragrances that were unacceptable), and it had been chugging away night and day while they washed more clothes than Nicholas had owned in his entire life. Most annoying was that Nicholas couldn’t find anything because Juliette “childproofed” the house without asking, which, he discovered, meant she’d hidden all of his things, from his Lamy pens, to his headphones, to his reading glasses.

  When Nicholas went with them for a swim in the lake, a quiet, clear body of water with a white sand beach, Juliette brought along a swim noodle, which Danny used as a weapon, smacking them all on their heads over and over.

  Fortunately, the visit with Gavin wasn’t a total loss. The two friends found time, especially late in the evenings, to discuss various compositions, to talk about the musicians who influenced Edward’s works and the works Edward influenced in turn, and even to gossip about people they knew in common. Above all they shared a few laughs, something Nicholas hadn’t done enough of lately. Gavin had a penchant for salacious old stories involving syphilis, duels, and courtesans, so Nicholas shared as many raunchy tales of dead composers as he could think of. He wondered if maybe Gavin were someone he could confide in, someone with whom he could discuss Bridget, who had been on his mind so much these last few weeks, but whenever he’d had just enough whiskey to speak his mind, Juliette would interrupt.

  * * *

  The final night of his stay, Gavin was sitting with Nicholas on the porch while Juliette tried to put the monster to bed. Nicholas could hear Danny crying in the guest room while Juliette at
tempted to sing to him. She couldn’t carry a tune.

  Gavin had his hands clasped behind his head, elbows spread out to the sides, and he sighed. “This is quite a place,” he said. “How on earth did you end up renting such a massive house just for yourself? Five bedrooms, is it?”

  Nicholas looked around the modest porch. He hadn’t thought the house was massive when he’d arrived. It was certainly smaller than his place in Oxford. But it was true that there were times that summer when the empty house had an echo, leaving him forlorn. Returning home wouldn’t make things any better; he simply needed to adjust to life as a single man.

  “Tell me about the piece you’re playing for Edward,” Nicholas said. “Synchronicity. Any thoughts on how it fits in his oeuvre?”

  “It’s light and jaunty,” Gavin said, “and not nearly as complex as his later work. Will’s doing an arrangement for piano trio, which will work well, maybe even better than the original instrumentation.”

  “The original Forsyth Trio. I know Bridget and Will, and I was wondering,” Nicholas asked, feeling slightly emboldened, “are Bridget and Will together? I mean, I get the feeling they’re a couple.”

  Gavin seemed surprised. “No, I don’t think so,” he said. “At least they weren’t back in the day.”

  Nicholas thought that was spectacular news, if true.

  Gavin dropped his arms and looked down at his hands. “The thing is we haven’t really kept in touch. I’m nervous to see them after such a long time.”

  This statement was precisely the thing that most people didn’t know about Gavin. Under the facade, there was a rather insecure, sensitive man.

  “I’m sure they’re looking forward to reconnecting with you. Playing in a trio together must have made you all very close.”

  “Yes,” said Gavin, “that’s true. And yet…”

  Nicholas waited, certain that Gavin had more to say on the subject. But when he didn’t continue, Nicholas filled the silence. “I don’t know either of them well,” he said. “I happen to find Bridget quite interesting.” Nicholas thought Bridget was stunning. He’d admired her from afar ever since he’d met her in Salzburg and was delighted to have run into her, albeit briefly, in the car park at Edward’s house with her personable, handsome son. She was an outstanding cellist, for one thing; beautiful, for another. Edward had shown him some pictures of her, some recent and some from her conservatory years. In many of the pictures, Will was lurking in the background or smiling in the foreground; they seemed inseparable. Nicholas had asked Edward if he could borrow a few of the photographs to have on hand while he was writing. In one, professionally taken by the look of it, Bridget was onstage playing, her long hair over her right shoulder, her knees out to the side, giving Nicholas the irrational, juvenile feeling that there was something sexual about the pose. He, of all people, knew better. “I’d like to know more about her.”

  “I wonder who’s going to be there,” Gavin said, tapping his foot on the floor. “Do you think this will be a small affair or…?”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  “Because if it’s only family, it might get kind of awkward.”

  Nicholas said, “I’m invited, so it won’t be only family.”

  “I’m only wondering how hard it will be to find time to talk.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “We—Bridget and I, that is—have a bit of unfinished business to discuss.”

  Nicholas’s interest was piqued, but Juliette barged onto the porch before Gavin could elaborate. She was holding a hardcover book to her chest, and she looked exhausted.

  Gavin made room for her on the wicker couch, saying, “How’s our little pain in the ass?”

  Juliette gave him an angry look. “He’s doing the best he can under arduous circumstances.”

  Nicholas found that comment rather insulting. He wanted to be sympathetic, remembering what it was like to travel with children, to live with children, but Danny was, in fact, a huge pain in the ass, and the circumstances weren’t arduous in the least. “Kids,” he said, trying to come across as both neutral and understanding.

  “I didn’t know how hard it would be to take a trip with him,” she said. “He’s usually manageable. I can’t wait to go home.”

  “When will you be back in LA?” Nicholas asked.

  “We’ll go to New York tomorrow,” said Gavin, “and then to Connecticut for the wedding. We’ll be home the day after… unless we decide to stay a little longer, depending on—”

  “We’ll go home the day after the wedding,” said Juliette firmly, “no matter what.”

  A heavy silence followed.

  “Well,” said Nicholas, “as I was saying, I’m excited to hear the trio play together and to get to know Bridget better.”

  “Why?” said Juliette. She had a way of looking at him that was almost confrontational, like it was her right to know things about him he didn’t want to share.

  “For my book on Edward. I want a better sense of the family dynamic, and she’s the one who followed in his footsteps, becoming a musician.” Nicholas hoped he hadn’t let on that he was smitten. He kept his comments in the professional realm, saying, “Edward tells me Bridget and Will may be collaborating with someone new this fall. I checked their website, and the space for the violinist is blank.” He held his hands up. “It’s a mystery.”

  Gavin leaned forward. “They asked me to join them.” Juliette shot him a hostile look. “But as my wife correctly pointed out, I’m too busy this fall.”

  “It would be a backwards career move,” she said.

  Gavin seemed to agree. “I don’t know why they’ve kept the trio going this long.”

  Nicholas felt defensive of Bridget and Will, saying, “I’ve heard them play; they’re both exceptionally talented.”

  “True,” said Gavin, “but all the hustling we used to do, the constant traveling, never knowing how much money was coming in. I don’t know how Bridget did it, especially with kids.”

  “Pffft,” said Juliette. “I’m sure she had oodles of help. She probably never even had to see her kids if she didn’t want to.”

  Nicholas thought that opinion was in poor taste and possibly unfounded. “You know her?” he asked.

  “Everyone knows the Strattons have money,” she said.

  Nicholas decided he didn’t like Juliette, not her disagreeable countenance, her tightly crossed arms and legs, or her nasally American voice.

  “It’s true that Bridget never had to worry about money like Will and I did,” Gavin said. “Edward gave a speech when we graduated from Juilliard, and at the end, he handed her a check, and someone said they saw six figures on it.”

  “Really?” Nicholas took a legal pad and pencil from the coffee table to make a note to himself, sure that Gavin was mistaken about the graduation speech. “He spoke at Juilliard? I’ve never seen a transcript anywhere—”

  “No, no,” Gavin said. “It was at a private dinner, afterwards. He spoke to maybe six or seven of us. He presented Bridget with this old silver box or something, an antique that an aristocrat in Europe had given him, something to do with paying it forward.”

  “Edward’s done a lot of that. The retreat he runs every summer has given many composers their start.” Nicholas heard himself sigh. “How amazing to find love again at his age. It gives hope to the rest of us, I suppose, even an old divorcé like me. Good for him. He certainly deserves a new chapter.”

  “His final chapter, I guess,” Juliette said.

  Was that rude, Nicholas wondered, or just plain factual?

  “Did you hear,” said Nicholas, “that the wedding was moved to Bridget’s house? To her barn, in fact.”

  “Excuse me?” said Juliette. “She lives in a barn?”

  “Well,” Nicholas said, “it seems there was a mishap of some kind at Edward’s house. He called to cancel an appointment with me and mentioned there may be the necessity of a change in venue. Bridget’s place is nearby, I take it. You might want to give her
a call, or Will, to find out.”

  Juliette got to her feet, saying, “I’m going to bed.” She turned to Nicholas. “As thanks for hosting us,” she said formally, “I’d like to give you a signed copy of my book. Perhaps you’ll find it useful.” She handed it to him.

  The book, Ancient Practices, Modern Life, had a picture of her on the cover. She was standing on one foot and holding an apple in her hand. Nicholas realized how little he’d bothered to find out about her. Had he said a kind word since she’d arrived? Asked an interested question? “Thank you,” he said. “I look forward to reading it.”

  “Don’t read it,” she said. “Live it. You’ll see improvements in every single facet of your life, including your hopes for romance.”

  Nicholas had his doubts, but he opened the book and studied its table of contents.

  Gavin got up and said good night, and he and Juliette left the porch together, Gavin looking at her with reverence and adoration, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles.

  People so often seemed to find the right partner. It wasn’t so much that there was a right person for everyone that intrigued Nicholas, but more that two people could meet by chance and be exactly what the other wanted and needed. What are the chances of that happening, really? He flipped through the pages of Juliette’s book, thinking that if he was lucky enough to find love, he wouldn’t squander it. He would find out what, if anything, he had to offer, and he would give it freely.