by Rico, Lauren
“I tried to warn her about you,” he says flatly. “But she wasn’t interested in hearing it.”
“And that just makes you crazy, doesn’t it?”
He’s glaring at me, and I see in his face what I have suspected for some time now.
“You have a thing for her, don’t you?” I ask with a teasing smile.
Cal doesn’t say a word, only stares at me with sheer, unadulterated hatred.
I give him a playful punch on the arm.
“Well, I get it, believe me. I mean, how could I not? She’s beautiful, she’s sweet and she’s sexy as hell…” I say, unable to resist winding him up a little more before he has to perform.
He’s trying not to show any emotion, but I notice his jaw clench.
“Burridge? Calvin Burridge?”
One of the competition pages is standing in the doorway with a clipboard.
“Oh, Cal, you didn’t even get to finish your warm-up,” I say, with a little too much sympathy.
He grabs his music and stomps off toward the door.
“Break a leg!” I call after him with a chuckle.
28
“Are you ready, Mr. Corrigan?”
A pretty young page is holding the door open for me to enter the auditorium. I nod and follow her, watching her ass under an exceptionally short plaid skirt. Nice.
And there they are, five of the top horn players in the world waiting to pass judgment on my playing. Well, they’re in for a treat, that’s for sure. Especially since I’m following Cal. I’m about to make him look like a total amateur. I smile at the committee, seated at a long table in the middle of the house. This is where the last round of auditions was held, so I’m comfortable getting myself situated on the stage.
“You may begin whenever you’re ready, Mr. Corrigan.”
The Kreisler accompanist has set up my music on the piano and he watches me for the signal to begin. One nod, and we’re off.
The Villanelle by Paul Dukas is everything a horn player could want in a situation like this. It is a showcase for tone, range and finger work. It requires technical, as well as musical skill. And from the opening call, I own that theatre. It is flawless, and I can’t help but smile when I take the horn from my lips and rest it on my lap.
While the committee is conferring, I glance back at the accompanist. He gives me a big grin and a thumbs-up. I squint out into the concert hall beyond the stage. From where I’m sitting I can just make out Julia in the balcony, leaning forward over the rail. My brother is sitting next to her. I wait until all five sets of eyes are on me again.
“Very good, Mr. Corrigan. May we hear your Mozart Horn Concerto, please?” asks a woman who I recognize as the principal horn player from Detroit.
“Of course, Miss Kutter,” I say in a loud, clear voice that carries back to their table. She smiles because I know who she is. Who doesn’t? Not only is she a striking looking woman, she’s a notorious diva. A little ego stroking couldn’t hurt.
Again, I confer with the accompanist, and we’re on to the Mozart. Nothing flashy or fancy here, it’s written in what they call the ‘meat and potatoes’ range. Not too high, not too low. What’s tricky about all of his horn concertos is the degree of delicacy required to play them well. You have to make it sound light, bright and effortless.
I wait for the piano to play its introduction, take a deep breath and close my eyes. I don’t need to read the music; I know this one inside and out. Another brilliant performance. I’m breathing heavily as the committee members put their heads together. After only a minute or so, Louise Kutter is smiling up at me from her place in the center of the judge’s table.
“Mr. Corrigan, Jeremy, that was some really lovely playing. I look forward to hearing more from you.”
I stand up and nod.
“I look forward to that too, Miss Kutter,” I say with what I know is too much innuendo, but I can’t help myself. Even from here, I can see her cheeks flush, and she quickly busies herself with the papers in front of her.
When I get out into the main hallway Julia and my brother, Brett, are waiting. She’s hopping up and down excitedly.
“Jeremy! That was brilliant! Amazing!” she says, throwing her arms around my neck.
“Whoa! Hold on, let me put my horn down.”
When I do, she jumps up into my arms and showers my face with kisses.
“Okay! Okay!” I laugh, and set her back down on the floor.
Over Julia’s shoulder I see Brett. He steps up and slaps my back.
“You nailed it, man.”
Brett doesn’t lie to me, so when he says this, I know he means it.
“Thanks!” I say, putting an arm around Julia’s shoulder and picking up my horn again. “I’m starving! How about a burger at the place around the corner?”
I see a flash of disappointment in Julia’s eyes. She isn’t a fan of Brett’s. We haven’t really spoken about it, but she becomes noticeably uncomfortable every time he’s around.
As for Brett, he could care less either way. He doesn't get attached to any of the women I bring home. Most of them aren’t around for very long.
My brother and I weren’t always as close as we are now. In fact, we hated one another for years. Or, at least, he hated me. I liked him fine, because he made for such a convenient scapegoat. I’d break, steal, hide, hurt and destroy, then put on the face of an innocent little lamb. No one, including my parents, suspected for even an instant that an average six-year-old could be capable of causing the kind of malicious damage I committed on a daily basis. Of course, I wasn’t your average six-year-old, and I watched with delight as he took the blame and the beatings and the punishments. Oh, he’d protest his innocence, until he realized it would get him in worse trouble for ‘lying.’ After a while, he just kept his mouth shut and took it. Until, one day, he didn’t.
“I’m going to tell mommy that you tried to touch me last night,” I said to Brett, never taking my eyes from the television set.
“What?” he asked, looking up from his bowl of cereal at the kitchen table.
“You came into my bedroom last night after everyone was asleep and you touched me on my privates,” I said casually, popping an Oreo into my mouth. It was something I’d heard on one of my mother’s afternoon talk shows. She had been so scandalized that I couldn’t resist.
Brett stared at me incredulously.
“I heard them talking you know,” I told him, spraying crumbs out onto my pajama top. “They’re going to send you away to a special school for bad boys. You’ll only get to come home for Christmas.”
It was brilliant. And I’m sure it would have worked too, had something totally unexpected not happened. My usually passive brother got up from the table, stomped over to where I was sitting on the floor and dragged me to the kitchen by my hair. I screamed and fought, but Brett was bigger and stronger. And with our parents out for the morning there was no one to come to my rescue.
“I’m going to tell mommy!” I wailed.
“No you’re not,” Brett assured.
“I will! And you know daddy will…”
Before I could say another word my brother slammed me down on the hard linoleum floor. I tried to get up but he just kicked me back down. When I tried a second time, I found a size nine sneaker pressed hard against my spindly little arm. There was no getting around the fact that Brett had fifty pounds and five inches on me.
“You want me to break it?” he demanded.
I refused to respond.
“Do you?”
Finally I shook my head and glared up at him with a look that made him recoil. I saw Brett swallow hard, before continuing.
“I have never told mommy and daddy you’re a liar, have I?” he asked.
My eyes shrank into suspicious little slits. I didn’t answer.
“Have I?”
Finally I shook my head.
“So cut it out, or else!”
“Or else what? You think they’ll believe you? I’ll
just cry and Mommy will tell Daddy to send you away,” I threw back up to him defiantly.
“Or else I’m going to tell them what really happened to Coco.”
I froze. I didn’t think anyone knew about what I had done to the neighbor’s cat.
“I saw you do it. I know where you buried her. But I didn’t say anything, did I?”
How could that be possible? Why would he wait so long to squeal on me when that had been months ago?
“No,” I spit at him finally.
“So stop telling them I did stuff that I didn’t. I don’t care what you do to the kids at school.”
“I don’t do anything to the kids at school,” I insisted stubbornly.
“Will you shut up and listen to me, dummy? I see what you do, and I don’t care. I just want you to leave me alone.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. A slow smile started to spread across my face as I began to understand what this meant. I wasn’t invisible. There was someone who could see who I was and what I was doing, and he didn’t care. I could just be myself and he wasn’t going to do anything about it.
“You won’t tell Mommy and Daddy?” I asked suspiciously.
“Not if you leave me alone,” he assured me.
“Okay,” I said, my whole demeanor turning amiable in a split second. “Now let me up.”
“I will,” Brett started. “There’s just one more thing.”
“What?”
He lifted his foot off my arm and brought it down hard. You could actually hear the bone splinter. I screamed for real this time.
“That’s what will happen to you if you ever mess with me again,” Brett said calmly as he went into the living room and changed the channel, leaving me to writhe on the floor.
And just like that, Brett and I forged a very unique relationship. So unique, that when I left home at eighteen, I followed him to New York City, where he was already a student at McInnes. I was accepted too, and we’ve been sharing an apartment ever since. It’s easy being around him because I don’t have to pretend to be anything when I’m alone with Brett. Now, there may come a day when he outlives his usefulness to me, but I’ll just burn that bridge when I come to it.
29
It seems to be raining condiments as small packets of ketchup, mustard and mayonnaise fall off the shelf above us. It’s the waitress. Her foot is knocking against the rickety metal shelving as I fuck her in the restaurant pantry. She’s trying hard to be quiet but she’s not doing a very good job of it. If this girl still has a job by the end of the night it’ll be a miracle. Her black skirt is hiked up around her waist and she’s spilling out of the half-open white blouse. I love this shit; a good, hard, anonymous screw in a public place. This one is done as quickly as it started, and she smoothes her skirt down while I pull up my pants from around my ankles.
“You’ve got something…” she reaches over and plucks some debris from my hair. The wrapper from a straw. She gives this girly little giggle that irritates me.
The tall, leggy brunette had her eye on me the second we walked in the door. When she handed me the menu, she let her finger brush against my hand. Less than five minutes later we were getting to know each other a little better.
“You go first,” she says, buttoning her blouse. “I’ll come out of the kitchen with your drinks in a sec. What’s your name, by the way?”
“Does it matter?” I ask, as I tuck my shirt back into my slacks.
She blushes crimson at the inference that she’d fuck anyone.
“I guess not…” she mutters, as I slip out the door and into the hallway.
When I get back to the booth, there is an uneasy silence between Brett and Julia.
“Sorry,” I say as I slip in next to Julia and drape my arm casually across her shoulders. “I stepped outside to get a little fresh air. I think all the stress is finally catching up with me.”
Brett lifts a disbelieving eyebrow at me. He has his suspicions, which are confirmed when Katie or Carrie or whatever her name is, comes by with our drinks. She doesn’t realize her lipstick is smudged. I see my brother stifle a snort and look down at the menu in his hands. Julia notices, too. She leans across me and puts a hand on the girl’s wrist.
“Karen…”
That’s it! Karen.
“…You should have a look in the mirror. I think you need to fix your lipstick,” Julia says discretely with a sweet smile that makes the girl blush all over again. She mutters her thanks and moves away quickly. I see her stop and say something to another server, a guy, who comes to take our food order.
“So what have you two been discussing?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“I was telling Julia that I sat in the balcony for her performance,” Brett informs me.
“And how’d my girl do?” I ask, giving her a proprietary squeeze that makes her smile. If only she knew what, or rather, who, I’d been doing just a few minutes ago, she wouldn’t be so pleased with me.
“She was amazing,” he says more to me than to her. “Jeremy, the judges couldn’t take their eyes off of her.”
“That’s great, Jules!” I say with practiced enthusiasm. “And Cal? Did either of you hear him?”
“Yeah, actually, I did.” Brett says as Julia shakes her head no. “I don’t know what you said to him back in the warm-up room, but he looked really pissed when he came on stage. I thought he was going to have an aneurysm right there in front of the committee.”
I can’t hide the smirk that creeps across my face.
“And…?” I ask, gesturing for him to tell me more.
“I have to be honest with you, Jeremy. I thought he was going to blow it, but he didn’t. If anything, he was more solid than before. It was like he was going to play great just to spite you.”
“So what are you saying? Do you think he played better than me?”
“Not possible,” Julia says.
“I can’t tell,” Brett shrugs. “The judges definitely liked you better. That much was clear from their body language with you, versus Cal.”
Then I remember my earlier conversation with Cal.
“Julia, what’s going on with the two of you? How come you’re so cold with him all of a sudden?” I ask.
“It’s nothing,” she says, taking a sip from her glass of ice water. “He doesn’t like you very much. And now he doesn’t like that I’m seeing you.”
“Okay…” I say thoughtfully. “And what was your response to that?”
“I told him to mind his own business.”
“Good girl!” I say, slapping the table. “You tell him!”
Brett takes this all in from across the table.
“So, Julia,” he says, changing the conversations, “I noticed Matthew didn’t stick around for long after your audition. Where’s he off to?”
She clears her throat, reluctant to give my brother too many details.
“He had to get back to the Walton tour for a master class they’re doing at the Massachusetts Conservatory tomorrow morning.”
Brett nods. He and Matthew Ayers have been rivals since their first day at McInnes. There aren’t that many paying viola jobs in this town– or anywhere for that matter– and the two of them have been taking the same auditions for years. By all accounts, Matthew just barely beat out Brett for the viola spot in the Walton Quartet. Brett doesn’t complain much, but I know it pissed him off.
For her part, Julia comes down squarely on the side of Matthew. And that competition makes it awkward for her to be around Brett, now that she and I are together.
“How’s that going? Matthew and the Walton Quartet?” Brett asks, trying not to sound too interested.
“He’s doing great, Brett, thanks for asking,” she says with a little too much enthusiasm. “He loves the tour, and they think he’s fitting in great.”
“Great!” Brett echoes, mimicking her animated tone.
Julia is not amused.
“What about you, Brett?” she asks, with a little more snark th
an I’m used to hearing from her. “Doesn’t seem as if you’ve gotten anything big in a while. Still filling in on the off-Broadway circuit? Maybe you should cast your net a little wider. I hear the Guam Philharmonic is looking for a new viola player.”
He smiles slightly and arches an eyebrow.
“Thanks, Julia. I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Now, now…” I say, making an effort to appear as if I care enough to try and smooth things over.
I know very well that my brother could cut her off at the knees in a heartbeat. He’s holding his tongue on my account.
After a long moment, Julia sighs.
“I’m sorry, Brett,” she says softly. “I don’t mean to be so… nasty. You’re Jeremy’s brother and I’d like it if we could get along.”
Now my brother’s other eyebrow goes up. Well, this is an interesting turn of events. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone actually apologize to him before.
“Alright, fair enough,” he says slowly with a nod.
Obviously, he’s not used to it either.
“Wonderful!” I exclaim with exaggerated pleasure. “Because you’re the two people I care about most in this world!”
The irony of this entire exchange is that it was in this very diner, in this very booth in fact, that Brett first warned me about Julia. I didn’t believe him when he told me. How could I? She was so shy and unassuming. Four years of undergrad and one year of master’s studies together and I didn’t even know her name. I couldn’t remember ever having heard her utter a single word. So when Brett pointed to her as the biggest risk to my Kreisler Competition gold medal, I practically laughed at him.
“You cannot think I should be concerned about the little cellist. What do they call her? The Mouse?”
“Her name is Julia. Julia James.”
“Whatever.”
“You asked me what I think. Do you really want to know? I mean honestly?”
I took a deep breath and nodded.
“Have you ever heard her play? I mean outside of the cello section?”
“Actually, I haven’t,” I had to admit.
“I think it would be a big mistake to underestimate Julia.”