“We don’t want any bad luck.”
Halina takes the bauble and observes the pattern of holly and snowflakes drawing hearts and clefs around the sphere before putting it on the table next to the tree. “No, we don’t,” she replies. She covers the sphere with a towel before she smashes it with her clenched fist.
Alexandra claps her hands. “All right, Mrs. Claus, let’s fill you with cheer,” she purrs, as she walks backward to Halina’s bed while untying her jumpsuit and letting it fall open.
Halina follows her, taking care of the bodice of her own dress in a hurry.
Merry Christmas to me indeed.
* * *
The ride back to the airport on January second is not as much fun as Elisabeth and Zachary’s arrival was. Alexandra clutches Elisabeth’s arm all the way to the security doors and pulls her nephew into a fierce hug. The airport is gloomy so early in the day, and the pain of separation only adds to the heavy atmosphere.
You take care of her, okay? she tells him.
You take care of yourself, he replies cheekily. My mom is strong enough without needing any white knight to defend her.
Of course she is. But sometimes, she needs a reminder.
That I can do.
“I don’t ask for more,” she says, pulling him back for another hug. Come back any time you want.
I’ll hold you to that.
“Does the invitation extend to me?” Elisabeth asks, practically crushing Alexandra into a bear hug.
“Of course, Liz.”
“I miss you, Lexie.”
Alexandra buries her nose in her twin’s long hair and takes in her perfume. “I miss you too. Be safe. Have fun.” She signs the last two sentences to pull Zachary back into their conversation.
“I will, I will,” Elisabeth replies with a tearful smile. “I have some ideas to put my degree to good use.”
“Oh?”
“We’ll talk about it when my plans are fleshed out,” she says, winking before she squeezes Alexandra’s hands in hers. “Be safe, bubbeleh.”
“I will, motek. Nesiah tovah.”
Thank you, Elisabeth and Zachary sign in unison; they wave back at her until they are completely out of sight.
Alexandra wipes off her tears, takes her phone out of her pocket, and taps her most frequent contact. “Wanna go for a walk around the Marais?” she asks without preamble, and her smile comes back when Halina sleepily tells her to just come over.
* * *
The end of January comes faster—and gloomier—than Alexandra anticipated, and with it, the completion of her installation at the Philharmonie. The installation is state-of-the-art and deserves a white paper describing the whole process in a technical publication.
The Philharmonie’s board agrees with her assessment. Leo’s talent in the creation of these self-lighting panels doesn’t go unnoticed; she makes sure of it. With a handshake and a final deposit in the studio’s bank account, she says her goodbyes to the job. But it’s not goodbye to the orchestra; her presence in Halina’s sphere has been noticed, and she’s invited, more than once, to get a drink with them after rehearsal.
The closer they get to the inaugural concert, the more relaxed they all seem to become. It’s odd, to her, but Halina explains how, by now, “rehearsals are more for the maestro than for us. We could play those pieces in our sleep.”
They launch into a new streak of dinner dates. Alexandra makes sure Halina has a taste of the best Paris has to offer, while Halina, with some help from Ari, takes her to the trendiest restaurants popping up, as frequently as daisies, around Paris . Sometimes their ideas coincide, as with the American diner near the Moulin Rouge.
There, they busy themselves tearing into a massive plate of barbecued ribs while Halina gushes about the arrival of another famous musician for the inaugural concert.
“He’s more than a remarkable musician,” Halina says, waving a bone, “he’s also the sweetest musician in the business. I wish I were more like him, though we have a lot in common, with the whole child artist thing, yada, yada, yada…”
“Yada, yada, yada,” Alexandra repeats, her beer hiding her face.
“Ha ha, yeah, laugh at me, you caught what I meant. Anyway, it’s such a pleasure to play with him, it’s as if we…” Halina pauses, a hand to her chest. “We are in resonance, if it makes any sense?”
“It does,” Alexandra says with a nod. “The same goes for Leo and me. We get each other’s art without needing to voice it.”
Halina twists her mouth for a split second, long enough for Alexandra to notice. “It’s not as though I want to fuck the guy, though,” Halina comments.
“Neither do I,” Alexandra replies coldly. The last piece of spicy corn on the cob is rightfully hers now.
“Uh huh.”
Alexandra is pretty sure Halina couldn’t drip more condescension and doubt.
“You can’t deny there is still something between you two,” Halina points out. “Friends don’t fuck each other. But maybe you do,” she adds with a condescending pat. Alexandra wants to throw what’s left of her beer in Halina’s perfect face and storm out, but… no. She’s not capable of such a dramatic exit without making a fool of herself and she doesn’t want to support the melodrama Halina would try to make out of it. The calmer her reaction, the more ridiculous Halina’s paranoia will be.
“We’re just friends,” she replies sweetly. She hopes she achieved sweet and not constipated. “I have no intention of rekindling that flame, trust me.”
Halina’s attitude turns apologetic, but she still mumbles under her breath about the trust issue not lying solely with Alexandra, but also with Leo.
“Anyway, you were saying?” Alexandra asks, seeking safer conversational territory.
“What was—oh, yeah, Lang Jian!” Halina exclaims, her good mood mercurially returning. “So, naturally, he’ll play Ravel’s concerto in G major for the first concert, but apparently, he also wants us to duet!”
“That's great,” Alexandra replies earnestly, shoving her belligerent side to the back of her mind. “As in, a pièce à quatre mains?”
“You got it,” Halina says with a wink, soaking up the last bit of barbecue sauce with a garlicky fry. “We have a grand plan.”
“You’re not going to tell me what it is, are you?”
“Nope.”
“You’re just mean. I won’t even be there.”
“’Course you will.”
Alexandra snorts a derisive laugh and stabs a couple of fries. “Wish I could, but the season is completely sold out—I looked. And free tickets weren’t part of my deal with the board.”
Halina shrugs. “You’ll be my guest.”
“I thought your manager was your guest?”
“I’m the soloist for the orchestra. I’m pretty sure I can have more than one guest.”
Alexandra covers Halina’s hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “You’re very sweet,” she says, “but I don’t want you to get in trouble. I’ll just catch it on TV or something.”
“Why settle for a small screen when you could see it live?”
“Halina, promise you won’t play the diva card?”
“I want my girlfriend at the inaugural concert and I will have it.”
“You’re hella pushy when you get an idea in that thick head of yours, aren’t you?”
Halina covers Alexandra’s hand with her own. “I promise I won’t play the diva,” she replies, “but I will try to get you a seat. I can give you a good show,” she adds with a wink.
“Oh, I don’t doubt it.”
* * *
Halina sits in the section behind the orchestra on one of the breaks the maestro granted them, soaking up Lang’s absolute mastery on the keys as the man plays with a Metallica song for his new colleagues. Ari comes rushing in, eyes wide and
manic.
“What’s wrong?” Halina frowns, offering a one-armed hug as soon as Ari is close enough. From the stage, she now hears the sound of angry, frightened discussion among the other members of the ensemble.
“Terrorist attack in the middle of Paris,” Ari replies in one breath. Halina tightens her arm around them. “A magazine’s headquarters, close to the Bastille. Apparently, the police think the shooters are—they are driving toward Porte de Pantin.”
Halina’s blood freezes in her veins. “Isn’t that where we are?”
Ari nods frenetically. “We’re on lockdown until the Prefecture of Police allows us to go out. They don’t want to create a panic.”
Halina nods, trying to focus on what is known instead of picturing the worst. “Okay. Okay. We’re safe here.”
Ari wraps their arms around their own torso. “Yes. We are. Safe?” Their voice lilts into a question, and Halina pulls them closer.
“Ari. We’re good, they won’t attack musicians,” she says comfortingly.
“They attacked cartoonists, Lina,” Ari replies between their teeth. “Why not a concert hall next?”
Halina rubs their arm. “We’re going to be okay. Give me my phone; I need to tell Alexandra I’m safe.”
Halina taps a quick text to Alexandra and tries to convince herself Alexandra is safe too. Her studio is not in central Paris; it’s far away from the Bastille anyway, right? But isn’t Alexandra’s latest project right in the midst of it, close to Halina’s hotel? Nah, she’s fine, she has to be fine, the commission on Place des Vosges is not scheduled to start for a month or two, She’s safe, she’s safe, she’s—
The depth of Halina’s worry and just how hard she tried to convince herself all was well become obvious as relief sweeps through her when Alexandra confirms that she is safe. She asks Halina to “keep on breathing, babe, and come back to me.”
Halina joins the group. She finds some solace in the companionship that’s built over the past months between her and the orchestra.
Odile hugs her. “You’re okay?”
“As okay as can be,” Halina replies truthfully. “You?”
“We’re discussing the impact of this on the plan for the opening,” the concertmaster replies with a grimace. “I mean, it’s next week. Surely the board should consider canceling, but there is so much money riding on the whole thing…”
Halina is shocked by the musicians’ preoccupation in such a dire time, but she also understands: Focus on the mundane to avoid the unthinkable.
A couple of minutes or hours later, she can’t be sure, the director enters the hall. It’s hard to notice anything amiss in Loupan’s attitude, but for those acquainted with the “Silver Lady,” it’s obvious how rattled she is: She’s not wearing any makeup and her shirt is untucked.
“The Prefecture wants us to stay in the Philharmonie one more hour, while they sweep the neighborhood,” she announces. “And given the years of planning it has required, it has been decided, in agreement with the President’s team, to maintain the opening.”
Some musicians protest, but Loupan raises one hand. “Please,” she says, her voice raised above the murmurs, “we need to show to these… beasts, that they may have guns, but they can’t silence art. They can’t silence us. Thank you.”
Halina exchanges glances with Lang Jian, with Odile, with other musicians she’s become closer to. She squares her shoulders and straightens up to her full height. Their weapon is music. It doesn’t seem much in the face of bullets, but they will wield it.
Ch 14
G Minor
Midnight Blue, Rosewood, and Verdigris
Alexandra still doesn’t understand how Halina managed to prepare for the concert without losing her mind, or how she got Alexandra such a coveted ticket. It is a big night for them both, and she wants it to be the closure they need after the hardship of the past week.
As strong as Halina has tried to appear for the rest of the world, Alexandra has learned to read her, and she’s done all she can to allay the fear clutching Halina in its claws. She’s made sure they stayed in, and at Alexandra’s place, to keep Halina away from the vicinity of the attack and the flock of journalists it attracted.
Alexandra is still reeling from the nonsensicality of the violent act, and from the overwhelming wave of loving messages from her sister and her friends, all of whom have needed assurance of her safety. Never did she imagine witnessing such an attack in Paris, and the French people’s reactions to it have only increased her love for her adopted city. Some of the journalists covering tonight’s event have messages of support on their cameras and in some cases, on their jackets: “Je Suis Charlie” armbands and badges fill the room.
Alexandra doesn’t mingle; she walks around with a nice Bramble in her hand and observes the rooms she never visited while she worked here.
“Miss Graff?”
Alexandra nearly smacks herself in the face with her long hoops when she turns toward the accented voice calling to her in English; the hubbub around them is suddenly covered by its dark red hue.
The man is about Halina’s size, with a build Alexandra usually associates with swimmers—large shoulders, tiny waist—accentuated by the cut of his suit. It’s dark green, with a mandarin collar following the lines of his jaw. On his chest, over his heart, a truly impressive piece of jewelry sits: a large brooch of gold and green gems, shaped to resemble a teardrop. Alexandra can appreciate a good accessory, especially when it so definitely sets the man apart from the crowd of black suits around them. The twinkle in his eyes and the dimple in his cheek put Alexandra at ease.
“You found me,” she replies, her head tilted as she considers him. “Have we met before?”
“Not in person,” he replies, charming to the tip of his manicured fingers as he takes Alexandra’s hand. “I’m Miss Piotrowski’s manager—”
“You’re Saral,” Alexandra exclaims, shaking his hand enthusiastically. “I’ve heard all about you.”
“If Ari is the one who talked about me, don’t trust one word of it,” he says with a smile, giving new depth to his dimple.
“I should tell you the same,” Alexandra replies, taking a sip of her drink. “Ari may not be the most reliable source when it comes to me.”
“Only good things, I assure you,” Saral replies with a bow of his head. He stops a waiter to pluck a flute of champagne from a tray. “To a beautiful building where beautiful music should come to life,” he toasts, and Alexandra raises her glass.
“To art, our rampart against barbarity.”
“Here, here.”
They sip their drinks. The lights dim, announcing the impending start of the concert.
“So, you’re not backstage, giving our girl words of encouragement?” Alexandra asks while they walk. Her eyes are on the stairs. Her heels are going to make the journey quite adventurous. Alexandra isn’t quite sure what made her choose them. Oh, right: the glint in Halina’s eyes when she showed them to her.
Saral laughs, a full-belly guffaw; his dark red morphs into a kaleidoscope of ruby shades. It makes his double-pin brooch clink melodiously against his champagne flute, drops of pastel blue on a silver sea. “I would never spend time with Halina before a performance.” He leans closer to speak more discreetly. “For one, she’s a ball of nerves and tension before going onstage. And second, she usually blows off some steam with a, ah, partner, and I have no voyeuristic tendencies.”
Alexandra freezes; her jaw is painfully clenched at the image he’s painted in her mind of Halina doing whatever it takes to relax with some nameless woman, with no regard for what they have, what they’ve built in the past month. What she feels is close to jealousy, but worse; it’s a mash-up of all her fears, striking at the first sign of weakness.
Her thoughts must show on her face or in her eyes, as Saral backtracks. “I mean, it’s what she used to do.
I just learned not to disturb her before a concert!”
Alexandra licks her lips and attempts to compose herself. “She can be quite dreadful when she’s tense, can’t she,” she replies. “Besides, I’m sure she has other ways to relax now,” she adds, willing her head to trust her heart. “Let’s find our seats.”
Saral offers her his arm. “Let’s.”
In, and out. In. And out.
“Meditation is crap,” Halina mumbles with her hands on her stomach, trying to get just on the right side of pre-performance jitters.
A French horn chuckles from his corner. “Let it go, princess,” he says, and the piccolo answers with a fast-paced version of the Disney hit. “We’ll be fine. Besides, Lang Jian is the one carrying the heavy load tonight.”
“You’re the heavy load,” Odile shouts. “All right, let’s show these fine people how much we deserve the splurge of their money on our new home.”
The orchestra files out of the room, some of them following strange rituals. It’s establishing old rituals in a new place, Halina figures, a way to turn the new concert hall into a real home. Soon, it’s just Odile, Lang Jian, Ari, and Halina in the musician’s room.
“Showtime,” Odile says with a wink. She picks up her violin and follows the group.
Ari hands Halina a bottle of water, snaps candids of the two musicians, then takes their favorite spot at the stage entrance.
It’s just the two of them then, at least for the next hour or so. Lang Jian will take the stage for the concerto; Halina is more than happy to hand it over to him, since she abhors Ravel and his overcomplicated tendencies. Give her a good Stravinsky any day: melodramatic, sure, but not an injury risk.
The Chinese pianist, still in an armchair, seems relaxed; his fingers tap a mute melody on its arm. “How do you find Paris so far?” he asks, his tone friendly. “All to your satisfaction?”
Halina’s thoughts jump to Alexandra and the many facets of Paris she has shown her. “Quite the discovery,” she replies with a secretive expression.
“And what are the plans afterward?”
Concerto in Chroma Major Page 15