by Rachel Cross
Little by little, though, as she dug deeper into a subject matter she clearly thrived on, her formality gave way to vibrant enthusiasm. Jake felt drawn in by her knowledge and liveliness, and after asking a few questions, he sat back and watched her speak. Her eyes bright, she had a tendency to use gestures to punctuate her speech. It was difficult to take his eyes off of her.
When they got to the drier budget and numbers part, Jake was impressed to see she had a quick mind, capable of turning the problems he threw at her around in her head, coming up with possible solutions in no time.
But inexplicably, the more they got into the technical, numerical side of things—usually his favorite side, the more he wanted to see her animated again.
“When did you begin to play?” he asked, careful to keep his tone sedate, as if he were merely trying to further understand the world of children and instruments. And he was immediately rewarded with a soft smile.
“Third grade. I was really lucky; my mom was able to get me into a school with a music program when I began to show an interest. It was further away, but my dad took on later shifts so he could take me.”
“They must be really proud, your parents,” he remarked before looking down to signal the end of that little segment of conversation, realizing it was better not to get personal. Too late he remembered Cate had told him Keila’s father had been a policeman, killed in the line of duty.
“They were. I mean, my mom still is and my dad really was . . . ” she hesitated before taking a quick breath and saying, “But he died eleven years ago, and I was only fifteen, so he didn’t really get to see how his dedication paid off.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, earnestly, fixing his gaze on her this time.
She didn’t respond, just quickly looked back down at her papers. They went back to numbers for a while, Keila explaining the budget she’d worked with in Pittsburgh and the deficiencies she’d felt the program there had. His curiosity about her again got the better of him as he listened to her speak of Pittsburgh. He cleared his throat. “Cate mentioned you just moved back, are you planning to stay here in Chicago?”
“I want to,” she replied, her eyes taking on a worried look. “I love this city. I’m so attached to it and my family—I feel like I’m never as alive anywhere else. But . . . it’s not up to me. It depends on where my career will take me.” She looked at him then, and Jake looked away, surprised at how deeply he understood the emotion behind her feelings for their hometown. Again, it made him realize he should stick to the technical stuff.
But now she had questions, too. And she was fixing him with a curious gaze, wanting to know his favorite local restaurants, bands, and haunts. He tried monosyllabic answers and wary looks to bring her back to the subject at hand, while she purposefully ignored his dismissals, teasing that she would shave ten minutes off her bill and insisting that if he knew of a place where they served fresh avocados, he had to share.
She made a note of a Taqueria he frequented, and seemed genuinely surprised he preferred authentic dives and joints to expensive restaurants. “I had you pegged as someone who only ate in places where a plate of fish eggs with a sprig of something exotic on the side was considered dinner.”
Though they didn’t frequent the same places, he soon realized that, like him, she thrived on new experiences. Her enthusiasm had him asking a few questions about places she’d mentioned and pretty soon, they’d veered off subject completely.
They’d both been to just about every festival the city offered. To her, the Chinese Moon Festival was enchanting with its inspired legends. To him it was all about the moon cakes. She loved the color and wonderful noise of the Cinco de Mayo, Puerto Rico, and St. Patrick’s parades, while he enjoyed getting lost in the crowds, eating fantastic food, and watching people interact.
“You know, I sometimes feel like I can travel the world on the L,” Keila said, her eyes smiling.
Jake nodded in understanding.
“You’ve taken the L?” she asked.
“Sure, why not?” Jake shrugged.
“What’s your favorite station?” Keila asked, testing him. Jake couldn’t help it; he shook his head and smiled. “Pilsen,” he replied.
“Why?”
“Because of its mosaics,” he said, leaning toward her, knowing she still didn’t believe him. “They’re different from the sleek modern looks I grew up with.”
She beamed at him then, satisfied he was telling the truth. “I like Pilsen too. My dad’s side of the family is from there, but my favorite is Quincy, because of the old ad posters. The whole station makes me feel like I’ve entered a time warp.”
Jake smiled again, and for a moment, he found himself going back in time, wondering what it would’ve been like to share his teenage adventures through Chicago’s eclectic neighborhoods with someone as warm and spirited as Keila. The thought brought on an unexpected and unusual pang in his chest.
When he caught her watching him, he looked down, apprehensive she’d somehow read his thoughts, and saw a page full of numbers. Numbers were easy; they fit. He looked at his watch, brought back his all-business demeanor, and reminded her they had work in front of them. Keila immediately agreed, shuffling through her papers to take him through her next idea.
And for a while, they were safe and distant.
Until . . .
“What do you mean ‘rent out the instruments’?” Her head shot up.
“The rate will be dependent on the family’s income, using the allocation model you just described.”
“I meant to imply that lower income families should be able to borrow the instrument, fee-free,” she explained, her voice bordering on testy. And damn it if she didn’t look cute, giving him the evil eye.
“It’s an incredibly low fee, trust me, it’ll make a difference in how well they take care of the instrument and how much they’ll be encouraged to practice by their parents.” He sat back, arms crossed.
“It’ll also make a difference in how many children will actually benefit from the program. Trust me, some parents will simply say no because they’d rather spend the money elsewhere.” Keila’s voice went up a notch.
“People generally don’t appreciate what’s given to them for free, and I’m telling you, the rent will be low enough that they can afford it,” he calmly stated.
“Right, of course, because you know what low-income families can and can’t afford,” she said, pointedly.
Jake looked at her. “As a matter of fact, I do. I meet with them on a regular basis and I help them manage their budgets.”
Keila stood up. “Well, reality isn’t black and white, on paper, and in neat little rows of numbers, reality is that some students won’t be able to benefit from the program because of your little fee. You only know the type of person who comes to you for help. I took classes with kids whose parents chose cigarettes or a shot of tequila over their child’s needs. How about showing a little compassion for those kids?” Keila flared, and the fact that the press had described her as feisty came to mind.
“Throwing money at people isn’t compassion, and it doesn’t solve their problems. Helping people help themselves is the responsible thing to do, Miss Diaz.” Unlike Keila, Jake kept his voice even and controlled, but he couldn’t help it, he stood up, too.
“Well then, Mr. Kelly, let’s be responsible and shut children out of this program so that they don’t have anything to do after school and they can go get themselves into trouble instead of discovering a new talent.” Keila took a step closer as she spoke, her hands again gesturing in that lively way he’d admired just a little while ago.
“They won’t be shut out. Studies show they will be more responsive.” Jake stepped toward her.
“Wow, you really, really don’t get it!” Keila put her hands on her hips and glowered, the yellow in her fiery eyes glowing furiously, and he couldn’t help remember her eyes had also glowed when he’d pulled her closer, as they’d danced. Obviously, she was of a passionate natu
re.
“This is why I knew we wouldn’t work well together. You are being way too emotional.” His eyes strayed to her mouth.
“At least I have emotions, unlike certain Republicans in denial,” she shot back, her breath uneven.
Jake leaned in closer, trying to keep his temper under control, and his eyes away from her pretty pout. But the woman was getting to him, in more ways than one. She was making him uncharacteristically hot under the collar. “And you think spilling your bleeding heart all over the music program is reasonable?”
They stared at each other, both fire and ice, both breathing a little too hard, until they heard a cough. Startled, they both looked toward the door. Cate was standing there.
“I thought you’d like to know the reporter who’s going to talk to the kids is here. She’s waiting, just outside, with the photographer,” Cate informed Jake, her voice strained.
Jake looked at his watch, it was fifteen to ten. “They’re early,” he said. And they were supposed to wait for him across the street, at the youth center, he silently added.
“Right, but I just thought you would like to know, they’re here.” Cate gave him a look, and shut the door.
Jake looked back at Keila, who was obviously still steaming. But beyond that, he saw she was hurt, too. He sighed and looked away for a moment, realizing that they both had good intentions at heart.
“We’ll figure this out, okay?” he said, meeting her eyes.
• • •
Keila breathed in, met his eyes, and folded her arms across her chest. A moment before, his glare had been like liquid nitrogen, freezing yet surprisingly steamy-like. Now, searching his face, she saw sincerity. “Right. I guess we have no choice but to try and find some middle ground.”
They turned away from each other, each gathering their things before heading toward the door.
“Filip took the reporters across the street,” Cate told Jake as soon as they were in the main room.
“So, you’re Tania Diaz’s sister?” Tyrone turned to Keila, his demeanor oh so casual, but his eyes glowing.
“Yes, but, trust me, you don’t want to go there,” Keila said, catching Cate’s eye.
“Go where? It’s just a question.”
“Oh, she knows where you’re going with your question, you’ve got that look in your eye, and it ain’t happenin’. Tania hates men,” Cate explained.
Tyrone laughed. “Right, she hates men.”
Keila shrugged. “Sorry, she does. And she’d probably hate you in particular—you’ve got a little too much of that Taye Diggs thing going on.” Keila wiggled her fingers at him. “And she especially dislikes good-looking men. So, yes, I’m Tania Diaz’s sister, and yes, she’s single, but no, I won’t introduce her to you. It’s for your own good.”
Tyrone stared at Keila and Cate. “So not introducing me to a beautiful and intelligent woman is for my own good?”
Keila sighed. “I know, it’s a shame, she really does have it all. She’s scary smart—”
“Scary being the operative word,” Cate interrupted.
“And she’s wicked funny,” Keila continued.
“Wicked being the operative word,” Cate added.
“Oh, and she’s freakishly perceptive.”
“Let me guess, freak being the operative word?” Tyrone cut in. “What about you? Are you a smart, beautiful man-hater like Cate and Tania?” he asked.
“I’m not a man-hater!” Cate protested, and then, with the devil’s glint in her eye, she said, “And hate implies passion. Keila here has recently been semi-dumped for showing a lack of passion. So no, she doesn’t have the nature for man-hating in her.”
Keila’s jaw dropped. She couldn’t believe Cate had just shared that bit of information! But why her eyes went to Jake instead of to Cate, she couldn’t say. And why her stomach flipped all over the place when Jake looked back at her, a disbelieving eyebrow raised, stumped her even further. With one cold and quick, “See you next week,” she left, ignoring a knowing look from Cate.
Filip was across the street and he offered Keila a tour of The Chicago Youth Project.
When they were finished with the tour, Keila walked in a circle in the middle of the blue and beige rec room, taking it all in. Everything around her spoke comfort and purpose; the worn sofas and pool, ice hockey, and foosball tables, the private rooms in which children received tutoring, and outside, the basketball court and park. Filip had said there was a second, very colorful center in Pilsen, and Keila wanted to see that one, too.
Impassive, yet caring? Distant, but involved? No, she didn’t understand Jake. All she knew was he unnerved her. When he’d been standing close to her, arguing so calmly, she’d been torn between pounding him on the chest or tugging hard on his shirt to pull his lips onto hers to get him to listen to her again, the way he had when they’d been talking about the city, both seemingly enveloped in a strange, delicious cloud of intimacy.
A little while later, as she walked toward her stop, she caught sight of Jake, Tyrone, another man and a few teenage boys, playing football. Apparently, it was shirts vs. skins. And, because life was unfair as of late, Jake just had to be skins. And, because life was unfair as of late, he just had to be ripped. Breathless and flustered, she thanked God she wouldn’t see him for a full week.
• • •
Keila forgot all about her frustrations the next day. She’d finally be rehearsing with a full, nationally renowned orchestra. The fact that she wasn’t getting paid for it yet seemed like a minor detail. Playing was all that mattered. Her heart beat picked up as she made her way to the rehearsal hall, the sounds of musicians fine tuning their instruments filling her with contentment.
The first person she saw when she walked through the door was Julia Hamilton. Julia looked up when the door swung open, and then quickly looked away. Everyone was gathered either in small groups or pairs, but Julia sat alone, tuning her violin.
Michelle Moynihan caught sight of Keila and motioned her over. Surrounded by a couple of musicians Keila didn’t yet know, she said, “You’re going to love this; you’ve got your first outside gig!” She introduced Keila to a viola player named Ralph, and then to Simone, a cello player. Michelle explained they were part of a string quartet she’d been asked to put together, and she wanted Keila to join. “We’ll be playing this Friday night, though, so we’re going to have to meet every evening this week and practice until midnight,” she added.
Keila happily agreed, relieved she’d have more income.
“Where will we be playing?” Ralph asked.
“We’ll be playing at a private fundraiser for mayoral candidate Jake Kelly, Simone got us the gig.”
Keila’s heart fell. Jake was going to think she was stalking him or something.
“Right,” Simone agreed distractedly. She was busy staring at Keila. “Wait a second, aren’t you and Jake dating or something like that?” she asked.
Briefly, Keila thought of trying to get out of the event. But she knew she’d seem ungracious and she’d never get invited to play with them again. So instead, she set them straight.
Chapter Five
Keila arrived at the Lincoln Park address half an hour before the fundraiser was scheduled to begin. The event was being held in a historic, picturesque brick home with an old-fashioned, wrought iron fence guarding the front yard. Ivy lined the sides of the home, and Keila was charmed by its appearance. Inside, she was shown into a spacious parlor off a long, narrow hallway.
Simone was already there, speaking to an elderly woman. As planned, they were dressed nearly identically in satiny black, floor length skirts and ivory blouses, their hair in French braids.
Keila looked around and noted four chairs set up in a diagonal line to the left of the room and gathered that’s where they’d play. To the right were six silvery blue clothed round tables set off by intimate, soft glowing candles. The wood paneled walls and a magnificent marble fire place made the room seem cozy despite its size.
She wondered if Jake Kelly was there and hoped he wouldn’t arrive until she was already sitting down, lost in her music. No doubt he would notice her, but hopefully, he’d leave her to her playing and go schmooze with the guests who’d paid to be here and spend time with him.
Ralph walked in, and Keila smiled at how grown-up he looked in his black suit. She knew Ralph wanted everyone to believe he was a rebel without a cause, but his baby-face looks were more High School Musical than Woodstock. Though she’d gotten to know most members of the orchestra a little over such long hours of practice, she’d especially warmed up to the members of this string quartet. Their personalities meshed well and they’d shared a lot of thoughts and personal history during the long, tiring, after-hour practice sessions that last week.
Michelle arrived next and soon the newly formed string quartet was playing as if they’d been together for years.
Keila forgot all about Jake Kelly as Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nacht” streamed from her instrument. As people filed into the room, they played pieces by Mozart and Beethoven.
They put their instruments down to change their sheet music, and Keila realized the room was now full. She guessed there must’ve been at least sixty people, and she wondered if Cate was there. She’d been so busy practicing; she hadn’t called her friend to find out if she’d be there with Jake Kelly. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Tyrone speaking with a man in a dark suit, red tie, and incongruous pony tail.
As agreed, they began playing a more modern fare, beginning with Keila’s personal favorite of the music they’d be playing that night. It was very rare for a second violinist to play anything personally moving at a gig, and a feeling of exhilaration filled her heart.
Depending on the music, Keila sometimes felt as though she was soaring across the sky one moment, then dipping and gliding the next. Sometimes she felt as though she was flying fast and low. Tonight, the music was all about spiraling, and it was both exciting and ominous.