* * * *
Horns blared and traffic crawled through the nearby intersection as Aria emerged from the subway. Hurrying, she made the few blocks to Libby’s in record time.
Aria stepped into the apartment and gave Libby the tightest hug she could. “Libs, I love you. I’ve been reeling since you told me about the tickets.”
“Figured you would be. Let’s talk while we eat.”
Aria sat at the kitchen table and held up her plate while Libby served wedges of quesadilla from a frying pan. “Thanks. I tried to call Professor Jacobs three times since I left work. He must turn off his ringer and disable voicemail when he doesn’t want to be disturbed. All I got was a recorded message that said the person I was trying to reach is not available.”
Stringy cheese stretched from the pan to the plate as Libby lifted a portion for herself with a spatula. “Why’d you want to call him?”
“To tell him about the concert. We had practice yesterday and he didn’t say a word about Bianchi being in town. Seeing how they’re such close friends, you would think he’d have been downright chatty about it.”
“That does seem odd, especially since the whole reason for practice revolves around Bianchi.” Libby sat and took a big bite of her food. “Then again, if the professor has a habit of disconnecting from the world, he wouldn’t know if his friend did try to call.”
“True. You’re probably right. Gosh, these quesadillas are good.” Since Aria had been too excited to eat lunch after talking to Libby earlier, tonight’s warm, comfort food hit the spot.
* * * *
“So, how do these backstage passes work? I’m sure we don’t just march back there unannounced after the show. There’s got to be some sort of protocol.” Aria handed the tickets and passes back to Libby and stepped forward as the line outside the theater moved up.
“I dunno. I’ve never done anything like this before. Stay here and hold our place and I’ll go ask one of the red-coats by the entrance.”
Libby came back quickly, grabbed Aria’s coat sleeve, and pulled her aside. “Come with me. They said anyone with a backstage pass gets preferential treatment. No waiting in line.”
Aria’s heels clicked in sync with Libby’s as they entered the building and crossed a marble-floored lobby into the concert hall. “Wow, would you look at this auditorium. I bet the acoustics are fantastic.”
“Here we are.” A mere three rows from the stage, Libby sidestepped toward the middle, peeled off her coat, and sat in a center seat. “Look at that, Ari. We’re close enough to be able to see sweat dripping down Bianchi’s neck on the conductor’s podium.”
The media always seemed inclined to zoom in on the master’s perspiring face and neck. Their comments, even in jest, grated Aria’s nerves. As energetically as he swung the baton under glaring lights while wrapped in a stifling tuxedo, it was only natural that he’d sweat profusely.
It didn’t take long for the auditorium to fill to capacity. People dressed to the nines sat in side balconies, no doubt with fancy field glasses to get a closer look at the stage. Aria took it all in, the crowd, those in gowns and tuxes, the architectural design of the grand hall. It couldn’t be more perfect. All thanks to Libby’s mom. She’d have to remember to send her a card telling her how much she appreciated the tickets.
“These are great seats,” Aria said, leaning over to Libby. “What did you find out about the backstage thingy?”
“We’re supposed to wait in this section after the show, and a host or hostess will come get us after Bianchi takes a break. I think she said there are ten or twelve people with passes, and that they usually take them backstage in small groups. Oh, look, the orchestra is filing onto the stage now.”
A hush fell over the audience as the orchestra warmed up and instruments ran scales.
Libby tapped Aria’s hand. “Did you see on the program that Bianchi is going to—”
“Shh. I love hearing this. It’s pure, clean, and there’s nothing quite like it in all the world.”
“Good gosh, they’re just tuning and getting ready, Ari.”
“I know, but it excites me. You were saying?” Aria whispered.
“He’s going to play a piano solo for Per la mia Francesca.”
Could there be anything more beautiful than for a musical master to play a tribute of love to his wife? Aria could relate. Her “Soldier’s Song” meant more to her now than ever since she’d met Jason Dexter. Oh, Lord, keep him safe wherever he is.
“There he is.” Libby’s fingers dug deep into Aria’s forearm. “It’s Anton Bianchi, in the flesh. I can’t believe it.”
The audience rose. Aria and Libby shot to their feet and applauded. The standing ovation lasted a full minute before Bianchi turned, took to the podium, and raised his baton.
* * * *
The ninety-plus minute concert seemed more like fifteen. Aria stood in awe of such beauty, intricacy, and precision, and she wished it could go on for hours. Like a gourmet dish, perfectly spiced, each instrument had added a unique flavor to each piece. The experience was a satisfying meal to her soul.
“Oh, Libby, this was great. Thank you so much.” It was hard to speak over the thunderous applause. “And thanks to your mother too.”
“It was a great show. Unbelievable.”
Bianchi then signaled for the orchestra to rise to their feet and applauded them as they took a bow. After a few smiles, waves, and bows of his own, Bianchi exited the stage.
“Libs, I really needed this.” Aria fell into her seat as the last of the orchestra disappeared into the wings and people around her gathered their things and moved into the aisles. “Sometimes I feel as though I’m suffocating without Dex. This took my mind off him, if only for an hour and a half.”
“He’ll be back from deployment soon. I feel it in my bones.”
“I hope your bones are right.”
Aria counted ten people, besides Libby and her, who’d stayed close to their seats in their section. Backstage passers, no doubt, all with the same look of uncertainty as she felt. Until now, she’d always pooh-poohed the thought of meeting someone famous. This was different. Bianchi was different. He’d made his fame and fortune with genuine talent. Even the most hardened skeptic couldn’t deny that.
“Here comes a red-coat.” Libby pointed with a discreet nod of her chin.
Smiling radiantly, the slim woman in a red blazer stopped before the group that had now gathered in the aisle. “Hello, everyone. My name is Monica, and I’ll be your hostess for tonight. Mr. Bianchi is ready to receive visitors. Do we have any family groups, or maybe just groups of friends?”
A man stepped forward, hand raised. “Yes, ma’am. I’m Alfred Wickham, and I’ve got my wife and three teenagers with me tonight.”
Another man, younger and no doubt some sort of professional by the tall, proud way he carried himself said, “My associates and I would like to visit together as a group if you don’t mind.”
“Absolutely. That would be fine.” Monica brandished another warm smile, this time directed toward Libby and Aria. “And you two ladies? Friends, I assume?”
Libby nodded. “Yes.”
“All right. We’ll do three groups. Let’s start with the Wickham family. Follow me, please.”
Aria lowered herself into a nearby seat, and Libby sat next to her. “Libs, I’m so nervous. Should I mention to him that I’m practicing for his audition? Do you think that would be okay?”
“More than okay. It’ll put your face in front of him so that when the audition comes around, he’ll feel as though he knows you. Don’t worry, everything will work out just fine.”
The Wickhams disappeared through a doorway on the right side of the stage, floor level. Ten minutes later, Monica came out with the family and took the other group backstage.
“Oh gosh, Libby, we’re next.” Aria checked
the pulse in her neck. “I think I’m at stroke level.”
“Relax, would you. Bianchi is a mortal man who puts his pants on one leg at a time in the morning, just like the rest of us.”
“You don’t really believe that, do you?”
“No.” Libby laughed. “But it seemed like the thing to say at the time. I’m nervous too.”
A cleanup crew started through the auditorium, looking down the rows of seats and picking programs off the floor. How strange it seemed to still be seated when the entire production was working toward closing the doors and going home.
Aria checked the time on her phone. “They’ve been back there for twelve minutes. Oh, this seems like an eternity.”
“Patience, Ari. Patience.”
The side door opened and the second group emerged and walked single file up the aisle and out the auditorium exits. Monica came toward Aria and Libby. “Are you ladies ready?”
Aria rose with Libby and nodded. “Yes, we’re ready.”
“You look nervous.” Monica chuckled. “Don’t be. I think you’ll find Mr. Bianchi easily approachable. He’s a very warm person.”
“I’m sure he is. It’s just a bit surreal to be here and to know I’ll be meeting him.” Aria took Libby’s hand.
Monica led the way and pushed open the door to a small sitting room with two sofas and several comfortable-looking chairs. “Anton, these sweet young ladies are eager to meet you.”
Bianchi rose from a teal-green chair, his smile as warm and inviting as Monica had described. “Hello, hello. I’m Anton Bianchi, and you are?” He shook Libby’s hand.
“I’m Olivia Phillips. I go by Libby, if you don’t mind. And I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Bianchi.”
“It’s my pleasure. Do call me Anton, both of you.” Bianchi turned and shook Aria’s hand. “And what is your name, young lady?”
“Aria Greco. It’s very nice meeting you.” More like an over-the-top memory maker she wouldn’t soon forget.
“The pleasure is all mine.” Bianchi’s words danced melodically upon his Italian accent.
Monica smiled. “There you are, ladies. I’ll leave you to visit with Anton for a while.”
“Please, sit. Make yourselves comfortable.” Bianchi went back to the chair he’d been sitting in when they entered the room. “Did you enjoy the concert tonight?”
“It was excellent.” Libby looked at Aria as if to ask for her input.
“Oh, yes. I absolutely loved every minute. D-did you like directing the Chimes orchestra?” Putting the ball in Bianchi’s court would hopefully keep him talking so Aria wouldn’t have to embarrass herself with more stuttering.
“Ah, what an honor it was. Yes, indeed, directing this fine orchestra was a magnifico experience.”
“Mr. Bianchi. Anton.” Libby scooted forward in her chair until she looked as though she could fall off. “Aria is a virtuoso pianist. I’m sure Professor Jacobs has told you all about her practicing for the upcoming auditions for your new orchestra.”
“Professor who? My new orchestra? I have no idea what you mean.”
If Bianchi wanted to keep the auditions a secret, surely he would play ignorant to Libby’s statement. Still, Aria didn’t detect any insincerity in his answer. Judging by his expression, he seemed genuinely perplexed.
Aria wiped sweat from her palms. “Professor Jacobs was one of my music instructors in college. He told me that you and he have been friends for a long time. Close friends.”
“Jacobs, you say?”
“Yes. Howard Jacobs.”
Leaning back, Bianchi stroked his chin, his brows furrowed. “I don’t believe I’ve ever known anyone by that name.”
She swallowed hard. Bianchi had to know the professor. He just had to.
Libby pulled her phone out of her coat pocket and began poking and sliding her finger on the screen. “Hold on, I think I might—give me a sec, and I’ll find it.”
“Libs, what are you looking for?” Aria craned her neck as Libby scrolled through photographs.
“Ha! Got it. It’s a picture I took at your college graduation.” Libby rose, walked over, and handed Bianchi the phone. “Here’s a photo of Aria and Professor Jacobs taken just a few years ago.”
Aria jumped up and looked on as Bianchi expanded the picture with his thumb and forefinger. Jacobs’s name alone should have been enough for the maestro to recollect a close friendship. There was no reason he would need a photo to jog a memory like that.
“I’m sorry.” Bianchi shook his head slowly. “I’ve never seen this man in my life.”
“But, but…” Bile rose in Aria’s throat. If she stood a moment longer, she’d fall over.
Bianchi shot to his feet, grabbed her shoulders, and lowered her to his chair. “Let me get you some water.”
Libby sank to her knees at Aria’s feet. “Ari, are you okay? I-I’m sure there’s a logical explanation for all this.” Libs didn’t sound very convinced of it herself.
“Here, take a sip and try to relax.” Kind and soft spoken, Bianchi placed a bottle of water in Aria’s hand and patted her shoulder.
She couldn’t stop the bottle from shaking in her trembling hand. Water dribbled down Aria’s chin as she drank.
Libby pulled a tissue from a nearby box and handed it to her.
“Thank you.”
“This man. This, this Jacobs fellow.” Squatting, Bianchi looked at Aria at eye level. “He told you I was going to make a new orchestra?”
“Yes, here in New York. He said the auditions were by invitation only, and that he told you all about me.”
“This man has lied to you, Aria. I assure you, I have no such plans for an orchestra here or anywhere else in the United States.” Bianchi let out an angry grunt. “Such an abominable man. Why would he put on such an elaborate ruse, unless—bah! It makes me angry to think about it.”
“Oh, Libby, I-I think I’m going to be sick.”
Chapter 30
As soon as Libby unlocked the door, Aria tromped into the apartment, took off her coat, and fell onto the couch. A balloon without air. That’s all she was right now. A framework of bones covered by a deflated mess of skin.
“It was nice of Mr. Bianchi to have one of his staff drive us home, wasn’t it?” Libby hung up their coats and turned from the closet. “Ari?”
“Yeah. Nice.” The ride from the theater went by in a blur. If anyone asked, Aria couldn’t say whether the driver was male, female, bald, or had Lady Godiva hair.
“I’m going to change into some comfy clothes. Be right back.” Libby went into the bedroom and closed the door.
The overwhelming urge to cry hit Aria hard. She muffled her sobs in a throw pillow. “Oh, God,” she prayed into the stuffing, “I feel like such a fool, and I don’t understand what’s happened. Why would Jacobs do this? Why?”
Her sinuses ached from crying. She had to pull herself together before Libby came out and saw her falling apart. Slow, deep breaths calmed her quivering insides.
Libby came out of the bedroom holding an open laptop and stood by the couch. “I just went to the university’s website and couldn’t find Professor Jacobs listed anywhere. Aria, something isn’t kosher.”
“Are you trying to say he doesn’t work at the school anymore? But that’s impossible. He had classes just yesterday morning.”
“Says who? Jacobs? He’s proven himself a liar, so how can you trust anything he says?”
“That’s true.” Sadly so.
“I wish there was some way we could—” Libby gasped, her eyes wide, mouth agape. “Melba Keystone!”
“What? Who’s Melba Keystone?”
“My cousin. She goes to the university and co-ops in the admin office. I think she’s a senior this year. I’ll get my phone from the bedroom and call her.”
“Wait. Don’
t you think it’s too late to call?”
“It’s barely past nine thirty. What person around our age goes to bed this early?”
Libby had a point. Aria was always up long after her parents hit the hay. “Okay. Let me know what she says.”
Aria played classical music on her smartphone with the volume turned low then leaned back and closed her eyes. The melody blended with the murmurs of Libby’s conversation in the next room, a pleasant diversion from thoughts of tonight’s backstage revelations.
Mozart’s piece ended, and one of Beethoven’s lesser-known sonatas played softly for the next fifteen minutes or so. She let herself be swept away by the master’s melody.
The bedroom door flung open and Libby rushed out. “Aria, you’re not going to believe what Melba just told me.”
Aria turned off the music and got up. “Is it bad?”
“Yeah, it’s bad. Jacobs was fired about five months ago. The university’s trying to keep everything hush-hush.”
“Fired for what?”
“Sexual misconduct. Melba said there’d been several sexual harassment claims against him from students and teachers over the last couple of years. He managed to weasel his way out of all of them. That is, until he was caught on a security camera cornering and groping a teacher in the faculty lounge.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yes, and I’m afraid there’s more. A lot more.” Libby bit her lip and blinked as if she would bawl at any moment. “Oh, Aria, I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“What? Why wouldn’t I be—oh, no. What else happened?”
“You’re not the only alumni Jacobs targeted with a bogus audition scam. He convinced one girl that they were practicing for some famous jazz ensemble, another for a well-known medieval minstrel show. There were others too. Seems he tailored each hoax to match the kind of music each girl had pursued when she was at the university.”
“But why did he do it? What did he hope to gain?” She shuddered to think of the possibilities, some of them quite hideous.
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