Devil's Trill

by Gerald Elias

  “They arrange to have the violin stolen so that the kid could get her hands on it after the Grimsley business is over, and that way Jablonski is in good with Vander, whose husband—ex-husband, I should say—has had to fork over millions in alimony. Maybe the two of them even get it on together. Who knows?”

  “Ingenious, Anthony. I never would have suspected either one of them,” said Jacobus. “I’ll have to check out that angle.”

  Yumi began to say something but then stopped. Mr. Jacobus’s behavior was too alien. She was lost.

  “Hey, I told you it was a snake pit,” Strella said. “And just between you and me, I’ve heard better playing than that kid’s too.”

  “Really?” asked Jacobus.

  “Yeah, especially from the Asian kids these days. They have an unbelievable work ethic, you know. When you and I were kids it was Jewish boys, right? Where have they gone now, huh? But these Asians! Yo-Yo Ma, Jimmy Lin, Midori. Those are really great artists. And good people.

  “Take your student here. Japanese. Beautiful. Green eyes too! Probably has the work ethic, right? A little too old for MAP, but if you play well enough, maybe Zenith . . . Hey, think you could play something for me?”

  “I don’t think so, thank you,” said Yumi, trying to smile politely. I would rather remain invisible, and inaudible, until I understand where I am, she thought.

  Jacobus spoke up. “As your teacher, Yumi, I think it would be an important step in your career for Mr. Strella to hear you play, and he is always looking for new talent. I’m sure Anthony understands that you haven’t prepared for this as an audition or have had a chance to warm up.”

  “Certainly, certainly. Exactly,” Strella chimed in. “Just a chance to hear you. Informal. Break the ice, so to speak.”

  “But Mr. Jacobus,” Yumi began to protest. Could it be conceivable the two of them had actually planned this scenario?

  “Yumi, the last movement of the ‘Devil’s Trill.’ ” Jacobus’s voice was harsh and threatening. “Unless you need the Piccolino to play on.”

  Yumi looked at Jacobus for a long time. Nothing that entered her mind was positive. Finally she opened her case, rosined her bow, and tuned her violin.

  “Don’t worry,” said Jacobus. For that one moment his voice was almost gentle.

  With currents of doubt and uncertainty swirling around her, Yumi sought stability and direction in the fixed star of her music. She began to play. Though revolted by the circumstances, she tried to focus on performing with conviction and skill but was not particularly pleased with the result.

  “Brava! Brava!” said Strella, who stood up, applauding, as Yumi finished.

  “What a find! Brava! Miss Shinagawa, may I call you Yumi? Yumi, I want you to think about this very seriously. I can’t promise you anything this year because the Zenith roster is already full, but if you agree to allow me to represent you . . .”

  Is this why Mr. Jacobus told me to bring my violin? Yumi wondered. Has he been trying to get Strella to help me begin a career? Is this how it’s done?

  “Anthony,” said Jacobus, “I don’t know about this.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll try to get you ten concertos this year. No promises. You play Paganini?”

  “Anthony, Anthony,” said Jacobus. “I mean, don’t you think you’re being a little premature? After all, Yumi has studied with me for only a very short time. She’s only nineteen.”

  Yumi was momentarily comforted. Mr. Jacobus was being her buffer, protecting her. He knew how to talk to these people. She had no idea how to respond. The suddenness of Strella’s offer, this entire situation, was surreal. But then again, why had the tone of Mr. Jacobus’s voice been so dismissive of Strella’s offer?

  She began to think, Why not? Why not consider his offer? After all, isn’t this what I’ve been working for all my life? To have a solo career and be on the roster of the world’s most influential concert agent? Is Mr. Jacobus truly speaking in my best interest by turning down the offer? Or is he somehow using me in his war against MAP? I won’t be his pawn. I’d rather return to Japan than lower myself to that level, career or not.

  “Only nineteen?” Strella laughed. “That’s almost over the hill. Sorry, just joking. We’ll give her the mature look. Sexy. Strapless gown. Slit up the side. The whole package. She’s certainly got the figure for it. I’ll bump her up the list over some of the other kids—”

  “That all sounds very promising, Anthony,” said Jacobus, not allowing Yumi the chance to say anything, “and we’ll seriously consider your kind offer. But we really need to be leaving now.”

  Jacobus grabbed Yumi’s arm with an uncomfortably tight grip, and it was he who ushered Yumi, almost pushing her, out of the office. Jacobus said over his shoulder, “We’ll be in touch, Anthony. You’ve been a big help.”

  “Nothing at all, Mr. Jacobus,” said Strella, loudly enough to be heard through the closing door. “And to tell you the truth, I’d much rather work with you than with the serpents.”

  Back in a taxi, Jacobus was growling. “Let him feed his fucking fish. That pimp will be out of business in a year.”

  Yumi asked, “Then you don’t want him to be my agent?”

  “I wouldn’t let you be his client if he paid you a million dollars.”

  “Then why . . . ?”

  “Because after Cynthia Vander née Vanderblick and Victoria Jablonski hear Strella’s ridiculous theory of them stealing the violin, what he said about their wonderful personalities, and that he wants to represent one of my students, they’ll dump him in a minute. Once they drop him, it’s only a matter of time before all his other clients do the same, especially since a lot of them are Victoria’s students.”

  “But how will they know what he said?”

  “I’ve got it on tape.” Jacobus patted the pocket of his jacket, the jacket he had refused to take off earlier. “As Strella said, it’s a cutthroat business.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Jacobus rolled down the window of the cab to get some air. “We’ve certainly made some lifelong friends the past couple days. Haven’t we?” he asked.

  Is he truly trying to make conversation? Yumi thought. Does he think I can forget what just happened? Should she ask the cab to stop and let her out?

  “Have we?” responded Yumi. She was in no mood to discuss anything with him. She had been humiliated. Yes, she was indeed a pawn in his warped game. How could she continue studying with him now? She couldn’t even say his name to herself anymore. From now on Jacobus was “him.” Let him fight his own battles—she had fought hers. She should return to Japan.

  The conversation ended. She left it at that.

  The cab crawled toward the MAP business office, Rachel’s office, on West Fifty-fifth Street, one block from Carnegie Hall. Again stuck in crosstown rush-hour traffic, the cab moved at a snail’s pace on the narrow one-way street, delivery trucks and double-parked cars stifling its progress. The retching smell of fetid garbage smoldered as blistering heat reflected off the pavement, creating mirages that reduced the lower bodies of the pedestrians to ghostly insubstantiality. Above the office towers, outlines of dense clouds began to define themselves in hazy overcast.

  “I’ve heard Rachel’s given up the violin for good,” said Jacobus.

  Yumi did not respond. Amid the hot stench surrounding her, the idea of returning to Japan gained in appeal.

  “Last that I heard, anyway,” Jacobus continued.

  His nonchalance was infuriating Yumi.

  “Probably for the better,” Jacobus pattered. “When she made it abundantly clear I wasn’t getting through to her, I arranged for her to study with Victoria. For some reason things didn’t gel there either. Surprised me. Thought it would have been a good match. Go figure.”

  Yumi watched a group of teenage skateboarders flaunting their way in and around the stalled traffic. Horns blared at them as if they were to blame for the traffic’s inertia.

  “Rachel’s role just kind of evolved to w
here she became Victoria’s manager. Organizing her lesson schedule and auditions for new students, making her travel arrangements to do master classes, even taking care of her banking needs. Which are considerable. That kind of stuff. Then, MAP manager. Anyway, Rachel seems to have found her niche.”

  “I think we are here,” said Yumi.

  “About time.”

  The cab pulled up in front of the MAP office. Emerging from the taxi, they made their tortuous way between double-parked cars and hordes of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Yumi cynically considered their New York–style egalitarianism—the swarm didn’t break its stride even for a blind man.

  A young lady in a short skirt and long heels accidentally stepped on the back of Jacobus’s shoe. Losing her balance, she stumbled into Jacobus. Both of them fell to the ground.

  The embarrassed woman apologized profusely, trying to assist Jacobus to his feet. Jacobus, on his back, flailed wildly with his arms and legs. Yumi watched impassively.

  “Aaahh!” screamed Jacobus. “Get away from me, dammit! Dammit, leave me alone! Get off of me! Aahh! Do it myself!”

  The woman backed away. Everyone else pretended to ignore the spectacle, forming a widening buffer zone as they continued on their way. The woman who had tripped Jacobus melted back into the crowd and disappeared.

  After a few minutes, Jacobus, panting in the heat of the pavement, rolled over onto his stomach and gradually pushed himself up to his hands and knees. Yumi let him do it on his own. Straightening his sunglasses, he finally rose to his feet and brushed himself off.

  “Bitch can’t even watch where she’s going,” he muttered.

  Yumi wordlessly offered her arm. Jacobus didn’t refuse it. They managed the final ten feet to the office without further incident and walked down the street-level steps to the small but tidy air-conditioned basement office. Closing the soundproof glass door behind them, Yumi was suddenly disconnected from the chaotic energy outside.

  A pale young woman, lining up her pencils on her white desk, looked up at them. Behind her were sentries of white file cabinets. Everything in the office was white. No pictures hung on the white walls. Parallel vacuum cleaner lines partitioned white wall-to-wall carpet into a sanitized gridiron. White chairs, white leather couch.

  “Well, aren’t we a mess?” she said to Jacobus.

  “Hello, Rachel.” Jacobus was still short of breath. “Been a long time. Introduce you to my new student. Yumi Shinagawa.”

  “How do you do, Rachel?” said Yumi. “Mr. Jacobus has told me all about you.”

  “And what has he told you?” asked Rachel in a low voice.

  “He told me that you are a talented violinist and are doing a fine job working for MAP.”

  “Did he tell you he didn’t want to teach me anymore?”

  Rachel went back to straightening her pencils, though they already were perfectly aligned.

  “Rachel, is it necessary to go into this again?” Jacobus asked.

  “That’s all right,” said Yumi, curious to hear the story of another Jacobus student. Does he manipulate all of them? “I’m interested in knowing, Rachel.”

  “You are?” asked Rachel. “Why?” She stopped straightening her pencils but didn’t look up.

  “Just today I have found that I can learn a great deal from others’ experiences, and I know from Mr. Jacobus that you especially liked to play in competitions. I admire that.”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes. I find it extremely difficult to play when people are listening to me in such a critical way. For instance, today Mr. Jacobus had me play for Anthony Strella. I didn’t want to and I was very nervous—”

  “You played for Strella?” Rachel’s attention was now riveted on Yumi. “I can’t believe it!”

  Yumi was taken aback by Rachel’s intensity. By challenging Jacobus’s assessment of Rachel her objective had been retaliation for the way he had treated her at Strella’s. But she expected the response to come from him, not from Rachel. Now she wondered if she had gone too far.

  “I begged him for years to let me play for Strella,” Rachel said, twitching her head in Jacobus’s direction. “He never would.”

  “As I told you many times in the past,” Jacobus responded, “first of all, you weren’t ready. And second, even if he had accepted you he would have given you all the worst engagements. That’s the way he is with new clients. You would have been miserable.”

  “And that would have made life any different?” asked Rachel. “Why did you have Yumi play for him? She likes misery?”

  “For the experience.”

  The experience! Yumi decided she had not gone far enough. Perhaps it was a mistake and she would have to return to Japan, but she could not continue with Jacobus like this.

  “Rachel,” she said, “Mr. Jacobus had me do it in order to get Miss Jablonski angry at Strella so that she would discontinue having him represent her students.”

  “Yumi!” shouted Jacobus.

  “I’m sorry, but haven’t you tried to teach me that the truth is important?” Yumi asked. “Or is it only when it serves your own purpose?”

  “Shit.”

  “Well, aren’t we all one big happy family?” said Rachel, gazing down at her hands on the desk. “I suppose I should ask you if you want to sit down.”

  They sat on the couch and Rachel continued. “So, as I understand it, you’ve come here today because you think I stole the violin.”

  “I didn’t say that, Rachel,” said Jacobus. “I just promised Nathaniel I would talk to everyone who was in the Green Room the night of the theft.”

  “Ah, Nathaniel! How is the overstuffed teddy bear? Still eating his soul food, listening to his soul music, and making his soul money?”

  “Nathaniel is a very kind man,” said Yumi.

  “Whose side are you on, anyway?” asked Rachel.

  “Side? I don’t understand.”

  “Is it so difficult?” said Rachel. “You’re either on my side or his. Right or wrong. Win or lose. That’s the way the world works, though Jake might try to convince you otherwise.”

  “Do you think whoever stole the violin was a winner or a loser?” asked Jacobus.

  “It’s none of your business,” Rachel said flatly. “That violin should have been for me to play, but you wouldn’t let me enter the Grimsley.”

  “I’ve never let anyone enter the Grimsley, Rachel. You know that.”

  “I don’t care about ‘anyone.’ I care about me. I should have stolen it. For the years of work I put in I deserve to have it.”

  “Is that why you left Mr. Jacobus to study with Miss Jablonski, Rachel?” asked Yumi. “Because Jake wouldn’t let you enter the Competition?”

  “Not just that. It took me years after that to realize I had been cheated. I left because all I wanted was a teacher who understood what I needed. Give me the right fingerings and bowings so I could have a chance to win something. He kept saying, ‘There’s no such thing as a right or wrong fingering’ and ‘Do what the music tells you to do.’ I could have learned twice as many pieces if he hadn’t made me think so much about what I was doing. Look, I was paying for lessons, wasn’t I? I might as well have paid myself for all the help I was getting. It wasn’t fair.”

  “And was it better when you went to Miss Jablonski?” asked Yumi. Perhaps I’ll stay in New York and study with Jablonski, she thought. Then I’ll definitely be rid of Jacobus and his suspicions, and might have a better chance for a career in the bargain. Perhaps he isn’t as perceptive as I once thought.

  “Yes. At first,” said Rachel. “In one master class I played the Paganini Concerto. Victoria said it was ‘note perfect.’ ‘Note perfect!’ I’ll never forget that.”

  “Yes? Then what happened?” Yumi asked.

  Rachel stared at the screen saver on her computer monitor, a balloon bursting in slow motion into an infinite number of jagged shards.

  “Rachel?” repeated Yumi.

  “Victoria told me I wasn’t
‘soloist material.’ ”

  Tears suddenly gathered in Rachel’s eyes. Her pale complexion turned an ugly blotchy red. Her voice was choked.

  “She told me I should switch to viola!”

  Yumi was not particularly sympathetic. Though at the moment she was reluctant to agree with Jacobus on anything, she shared his view that music meant a great deal more than personal advancement.

  Rachel regained her composure almost immediately, her voice again under control.

  “All those eight-year-old brats were playing the same music the same way I was, but I was ten years older. She had made me sound just like they did. It wasn’t fair. I was a second-class citizen. That’s when she offered me a job. She said she needed someone to be with her, her number-one assistant. Then MAP gave me this. I do what I’m told. At least it pays better than one of those crummy orchestra jobs Jake wanted me to try out for.”

  “Rachel,” said Jacobus. “You are a talented violinist, and believe it or not you’re still a talented young violinist. You don’t always find what you’re looking for the first or even the second time around. But if you decide you want to find a new teacher and get a new start . . .” His voice trailed off.

  “What? You’ll be happy to help me find one? What violin teacher have you said a kind word to or about in the last ten years who’ll even answer the phone when you call?”

  Rachel gazed past Yumi and Jacobus. Yumi turned to see what Rachel was looking at from the tidy air-conditioned basement office—endless pairs of shoes walking by, all different, all going in different directions, the unordered energy of life passing by the soundproof glass door.

  Rachel said to Jacobus, “I don’t need your pity. I saw that little act you put on out there on the sidewalk.”

  Jacobus was silent. Yumi had no inclination to help him.

  “I assume our little chat has come to an end,” said Rachel, again staring intently at her hands, pallor returning to her cheeks.

  Yumi stood up, eager to leave—to leave this office, this city, this country. Rachel’s misery was infectious and she wanted no part of it.