by Lauren Rico
Uh-huh.
Brett 8
Watching Julia’s nanny walk into the Clarke Hotel in Chicago is like watching a giraffe glide in off the Serengeti. Every head in the lobby seems to swivel in her direction. At nearly six feet tall, Natalie Hughes has long, lean legs, toned arms and a neck that would make Audrey Hepburn’s look stumpy. Oblivious to the glances from all around her, Natalie scans the room, giving her broad, toothy smile when she spots Julia and I sharing a couch in the corner.
“Nata!” David squeals from his stroller as he catches sight of her approaching. He’s so excited that he bangs his fists on the tray in front of him, sending dry Cheerios flying onto the carpet. “Nata! Nata!”
When she reaches him, Natalie appears to fold in on herself, dropping three feet of altitude as she squats down to free him from stroller lock-up. She scoops him into her arms.
“Davy Baby!” she croons excitedly. “High-five me big guy!”
She holds up one of her long-fingered hands and he slaps it with his tiny corresponding appendage.
As impressed as I am by her ease with my nephew, I’m even more impressed by a certain skill I discovered Natalie to have. A little something her cop father instilled in her as a kid.
“Natalie,” I cajole with a conspiratorial grin, “read the room for me.”
She glances up at me briefly.
“Jeez, Brett! I’m not a circus freak, you know! Didn’t you get enough of this the last time I traveled with you guys?”
“Oh, Nat, I’ll never get enough. Come on …please?”
She sighs and rolls her eyes at me.
“Fine …”
Even as she’s bouncing the giggling toddler up and down, she’s rattling off an inventory of the people in the hotel lobby and what they were doing when she walked in.
“There’s a couple holding hands on a settee to the right of the door. A pervy old man is watching them from over the top of his newspaper. There are three clerks at the counter, one blonde man and two brunette women, all in their mid-forties, I’d say. There’s a sitting area to the left of the door. A teenager is sitting, cross-legged on one of the couches, texting on his phone. His little sister is next to him, brushing the hair of a blonde doll. I’m pretty sure the couple standing at the counter is their parents because the woman keeps glancing back at them every few seconds.”
“Amazing!” I cry, slapping my hands on my knees. “How the hell do you do that?”
She just smiles and shrugs.
“Hell hell hell hell helllllllll …” David gurgles happily to Natalie. I get an elbow to the ribs from Julia.
“Sorry!” I snicker. “At least it wasn’t the F-Bomb!”
“Little pitchers have big ears, Unca!” Natalie snorts.
“Unca!” David squeals loudly, now turning in Nat’s arms so he can point at me.
Since he’s been around our quartet so much for rehearsals, and now on tour, Julia has him calling me Uncle Brett, or ‘Unca’ in David-speak. I must admit, I kind of like it.
“How was your trip, Nat?” Julia asks, getting to her feet and brushing the hair from her son’s forehead. He’s too entranced by Natalie to even notice her.
“Perfect!” she exclaims in an excited voice, eyes wide as David giggles and tries to stuff his hand into her mouth.
Julia tucks an envelope into the pocket of the stroller.
“Brett and I have to get to rehearsal, but I’ve left everything you need in our adjoining rooms. I’m 216 and you’re 218. Your key card is in the envelope along with the information about the concert hall where I’ll be, and our schedule.”
Natalie doesn’t appear to be focusing on anything but David. But, as she’s just demonstrated, she doesn’t miss a thing. I know for a fact that she’s making a mental note of every detail Julia is throwing at her.
“The crib is set up on my side and his bottles and food are in the mini fridge. There’s a diaper bag here in the stroller and one in the room, too,” Julia instructs.
Now Natalie lifts the chubby redhead over her head and onto her shoulders. The kid can practically touch the light fixtures at that height.
“No worries,” she assures Julia. “I’ll drop my stuff in the room, and then Little Man and I are going to take a walk around Chi-Town. I’ve got every park, zoo, merry-go-round and children’s museum in the city mapped out. By the time we get back, he’ll be begging for a nap,” she grins wickedly.
“Bye, buddy!” I wave up to him as we grab our instruments and head for the entrance.
“Bye-bye, Unca!” he responds as he grabs fistfuls of Natalie’s short, dark hair.
“Ouch!” she yips. “Take it easy up there!”
He giggles happily as his mother blows him a kiss.
“I love you, baby boy!”
“Mamamamamama …” he babbles happily as Natalie takes him toward the room, using the stroller as a trolley for her suitcase.
Julia looks after them a little wistfully.
“Hey, it’s okay,” I reassure, nudging her arm with my elbow. “Natalie’s got this under control.”
“I know, I know,” she mutters, turning reluctantly and following me out onto the sidewalk for the four-block walk to the theatre. “I can’t help it. When he’s out of my sight I feel so …vulnerable.”
“I get that, but wouldn’t you be even more worried if you’d left him at home in New York? At least this way he’s close by.”
She shrugs, unconvinced. “Yeah, I guess. I’m fine when he’s at home with Matthew. But now that his tour with the Gotham Chamber Players overlaps with our tour, things have gotten complicated. I mean, I knew this would happen eventually. I just have to get used to trusting someone else with my child.”
I’d like to tell her that she has absolutely nothing to worry about, that David is safe, and that there isn’t anything out there in the big, bad world that Natalie can’t handle. But that would be a lie. Julia and I both know exactly what, or rather who, is out there in the big, bad world. She should be worried. She should be very worried.
****
True to her word, Natalie has ensured David is out cold by the time we meet-up again at the concert hall. Julia lifts him gently from his stroller into the playpen she has setup in her dressing room backstage. She kisses the tips of her fingers and then transfers it to his forehead. Natalie has gone back to the hotel for a rest before she’s back on duty during concert.
“Looks like it was a big day for the little guy!” I comment, watching his chest move up and down heavily through his denim coveralls.
Julia joins me for the Chinese food feast I have assembled for us on a coffee table.
“Seems so. And believe me, that’s no easy feat! It takes a lot to get him that tuckered out,” she smiles and takes a bite of an egg roll.
I dig into a pint of General Tsao’s. Chicago is only an hour from my hometown of Owl Bridge. As a result, I know all the good restaurants, including the best hotdog cart, pizza joint and Chinese takeout.
“Have you spoken with Matthew?” I mumble through a mouthful.
She nods.
“Yes, they’re in Houston tonight, then on to Dallas and Austin. He should be home a few days after I get back.”
“Will you stay in the city, or head out to your place on Long Island?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Since we’ll have a break from the Walton, I may go out to the house for a few days, let David play in the leaves and go pumpkin picking.”
“Now that sounds like fun,” I smile, pointing my fork at her for emphasis.
“You should come!” she exclaims, suddenly inspired by the idea. “He’d love it. You and Maggie could stay the weekend and keep us company. That’s a big old house to rattle around in, especially when Matthew’s gone.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. Let me ask Maggie when I call her tonight. She’s missed some work while she’s been staying with my mom. She may need to put in some weekend time to make up for it.”
“How is your mom, Brett?�
�
I shrug.
“About as well as can be expected, I guess. Her long-lost sister has resurfaced and seems to be sticking around.”
“Is that a good thing?”
“Yeah, I think so. My mom is hard to read. But, Aunt Elise seems to get her.”
Julia is nodding as she pokes at something in the bottom of a container with a chopstick.
“And you? How are you holding up? You came back on tour pretty soon, all things considered.”
I sigh and take a second to think about the answer to that question.
“I really don’t know, Julia. As long as I keep moving, I’m okay. I’m just afraid that once I stop …”
“You’ll just collapse,” she finishes the sentence for me.
“Exactly.”
She looks at me with those emerald green eyes, and can see a hint of concern behind them. There’s something else on her mind and I can guess what or, rather, who it is. Better to address it head-on, I suppose. “I saw Jeremy in Detroit,”
One of her eyebrows goes up. “Oh? And how was that?”
“Awkward. Irritating. Frustrating. Infuriating.”
“Sounds about right.”
She gives me a small, tight smile.
“Yeah, well, he’s still a pain in the ass. I knew he’d find me. He just can’t help himself. And he’s so fucking smug.” I grumble.
Julia pulls a bottle of wine out of David’s diaper bag and puts it on the table.
“Mother’s little helper,” she informs me with an impish grin when I look surprised. “I think we need something to help this conversation go down easier, what do you think?”
“Why, Mrs. Ayers!” I pretend to be scandalized. “Are you suggesting that we imbibe before we take the stage?”
“Nope, not at all,” she shakes her head as she pours the chardonnay into two paper cups. “I’m insisting.”
“Oh, well, if you insist, then …”
I take a sip and wonder why I hadn’t thought of a pre-concert cocktail hour myself.
“So …” she encourages, leaving me to fill in the rest of that blank.
“So, he was waiting for me on a bench outside of the hall. He convinced me to have a beer with him. He wanted me to know that he was aware that I hadn’t invited him to the wedding. That didn’t sit well. And I got an earful about how much better he is than the girl playing first horn in Detroit. Just your usual Jeremy bullshit.”
She nods thoughtfully and sits back on the couch, tucking her legs up under her skirt and swirling the wine in her cup.
“Did he say anything about your father?”
I haven’t told many people about my brother’s role in our father’s death. I just can’t bring myself to do it. But Julia is different. If anyone can appreciate the lengths to which Jeremy will go, it’s her.
“He asked how the service was, that’s all. I mean, what is he going to say at this point? ‘Hey, Brett! Sorry I stood by and watched Dad die!’ Yeah, actually, now that I think about it, I’m kind of surprised he didn’t say that. But then again, Jeremy doesn’t apologize for anything.”
“Does he know I’ve joined the Walton?”
I’ve been waiting for this to come up.
“Yes. But I told him you weren’t there in Detroit. I didn’t mention you’d be on this stop of the tour either, in case he got the bright idea to surprise us.”
“He must see it as a betrayal, you working with me.”
“He does,” I confirm quietly. No point in trying to hide it from her, but no need to elaborate on how ugly the actual discussion was, either.
From the playpen, David stirs slightly. He gives a faint little whimper, turns his head in the other direction and sighs as he settles back into that blissfully deep baby slumber.
“He didn’t say a word about David,” I offer quickly, hoping to reassure her with the fib before she can inquire about it. “Honestly, he’s so self-absorbed that I think he forgets the kid even exists most of the time.”
“Hah!” Julia snorts a little too loudly.
She slaps a hand over her own mouth and we wait to see if David will wake up with his trademark blood-curdling cry, a trait I happen to know he picked up from his father. When it’s clear that the toddler has slept through her outburst, Julia starts again more softly.
“You don’t have to try and protect me, Brett. I know what we’re dealing with. Jeremy Corrigan doesn’t forget anything that might be of value to him at some point. It’s just a matter of time before he decides that he can use David to his advantage.”
“That’s not going to happen,” I state firmly.
Julia gives me a look and a smile that say ‘Seriously? Do you think I’m that stupid?’ Shit. We need to get off of this topic. Luckily, I find a diversionary tactic on the table right in front of us.
I scoop up two fortune cookies and hold them out in my palm for her to choose from.
“You first,” she says.
I get the crinkly wrapper off, decimating the cookie in the process. The paper is fine, though, and I pull it out, peering at the microscopic lettering.
“Your shoes will make you happy today.”
“It does not say that!” she accuses me with a giggle.
I hold the tiny paper out so she can see that I’m telling her the truth. “And you know what?” I say, propping a foot up on the table, “They have! Maggie helped me to pick these out last week.”
“Nice!” Julia nods her appreciation of my spiffy new wingtips.
“Your turn,” I say, handing her the remaining cellophane-encased cookie.
She pulls the wrapping apart, breaks open the cookie and pops a piece of it into her mouth while she examines her fortune. Suddenly, she stops chewing, looks up at me, then down at it again, clearly alarmed by what she’s read.
“What? What is it?” I prod.
Julia’s not laughing anymore. She swallows hard and reads it to me. “Your problem just got bigger. Think what you have done.”
Brett 9
The Tolliver Theater is a fully restored old time movie house and every time we play here, I feel as if I’ve gone back in time. Now, I can see that same wonderment on Julia’s face as she takes her seat to perform with the Walton String Quartet for the first time. Ornate columns and gold-encrusted moldings accent row after row of plush red seats. Side balcony boxes seem to float above the house seating below. And above, well, that’s the cherry on the sundae. The blue-domed ceiling has been painted to look like the night sky, complete with a blanket of twinkling stars. An old Wurlitzer organ sits off to one side of the stage, a reminder of the days before “talkies.”
Now, the four of us tune quickly, Joe and Neville on violins, me on the viola and Julia playing the cello. We make eye contact, Joe gives us a nod and then we begin the musical relay race that is Antonin Dvořák’s String Quartet No.12. Each of the four of us has a chance to play the melody before handing it off quickly to someone else. The second movement is a haunting lament, a gypsy melody from the composer’s Bohemian homeland. The slow, free flowing beauty gives way to a frenzied Scherzo and Finale. One moment, we’re all playing a quick, staccato line, and the next it’s a soaring melody.
We’re connected to one another not just musically, but physically and emotionally. We watch each other’s movements and expressions and listen to every pull of the bow across a string. At times, it feels to me as if we’re all sitting in a tiny boat, the four of us shifting and redistributing our weight constantly, just to stay balanced and keep afloat as we move through waters that are alternately choppy and calm in quick succession. It’s exciting and dangerous and incredibly powerful and by the time we’re done, even I want to jump to my feet and applaud.
“You were amazing!” I whisper to Julia as we slip backstage for a quick break.
“Oh, stop it,” she mutters, swatting away the compliment dismissively. But I catch just the hint of a smile on her face.
“No, I’m serious! There’s something special abo
ut the four of us together, Julia. We’ve got great chemistry.”
Now I’m treated to the full smile.
“Yeah, it was kind of amazing, wasn’t it?” she relents, finally giving in to her excitement.
I nod and give her arm a squeeze.
“Hey, you two,” comes a familiar voice from behind us. "Fan-freaking-tastic job out there!” Suddenly Ingo Katz is there between us, draping one arm over each of our shoulders.
Strictly speaking, the Walton Quartet isn’t always a quartet. There are many times when we pare down to a trio but, more often, we expand our ranks to play quintets. That’s where Ingo comes in. As a bass player, he moves very easily between the classical and jazz worlds. He’s your stereotypical ‘cool cat,’ dressed in all black, with a matching pork pie hat and small, round, blue-tinted glasses.
“Ingo! What are you doing here?” Julia gasps in surprise.
“Ah! For me to know and you to find out, Miss Julia!” he replies with a cryptic smile.
She looks at me in confusion. “Brett, what’s going on? Why is Ingo here?”
“Beats me,” I shrug. I can see she wants to interrogate me further, but we’re interrupted by our first violinist, Joe Dancy as he walks by.
“Let’s go!” Joe calls over his shoulder.
“Go on!” I say, pushing her toward the stage.
“Wait! What about you?”
I shake my head and smile. “Nope. Neville and I are sitting this one out. Go break a leg, Julia.” I give her a quick peck on the cheek and a gentle shove out of the wings. She looks back at me for an explanation, but I just shoo her forward silently.
The audience begins to applaud again as Julia, Joe and Ingo come out under the spotlights. Julia sits down, situating her cello between her knees. The string bass isn’t really an instrument you can sit with, so Ingo stands, holding the neck of his instrument in one hand and his bow in the other. Joe puts his violin on his chair and then takes a little detour to the front of the stage where a microphone has been setup for him.
“The Walton String Quartet didn’t start out performing in grand venues such as this one,” he begins, using a sweeping hand to gesture across the hall. “Twenty years ago, we were just four guys from Juilliard sharing a tiny apartment in Hell’s Kitchen. We played in subway stations, at Christmas parties for drunk Wall Street execs and once, on the observation deck of the Empire State Building on Valentine’s Day. Since then, we’ve crossed oceans and continents to share our love of music and to learn what the rest of the world can teach us about it.