Noise erupted all around me. I sat quietly as dread settled in. Chair auditions were common enough when there was a major change, but right before Maestro Henrich retired we’d auditioned for new chair assignments. Holding another audition this soon, for the entire symphony, was pretty unheard of. Maybe this was what had been bothering him?
Carla raised her hand. She was only a few years older than me but was married with kids, a first chair, the daughter of the SOOK’s co-president, and always looked chic. It was hard not to compare all that I lacked against all that she was.
“Even the first chairs?” She spoke before he called on her. I cringed internally. “I’ve been practicing the Bach solo for the fall showcase.” Her confidence was strong; in her defense, she’d been playing with the SOOK for many years, and had been first chair for the last two. But after the question was out and Devlin’s head slowly twisted toward her, her confidence melted. She flicked a glance to Barry, who had suddenly become very interested in his sheet music.
“Excuse me?” Devlin asked.
“I said—”
“I heard your question, but assumed it wasn’t for me as you didn’t address me as Maestro.”
“Sorry. Maestro.” She lifted her chin as red stained her cheeks.
“All chairs are required to audition,” he said.
She huffed out a breath and smoothed her ponytail.
Nobody liked to be criticized in front of their peers. So that must have been why I had a momentary loss of brain function and wanted to convey some cello camaraderie.
“Don’t worry, Carla. I’m sure you’ll still make first chair.” The words came out without my meaning them to. The different sections had already started talking and probably no one but the cellos heard me.
Her head snapped to my seat, behind her and to the right. Derision was the word you could use to describe her lip curl.
“I’m sorry. Who are you, you little toad?” she whispered with slitted eyes.
My mouth snapped shut and I focused on scraping off a piece of rosin stuck to the body of my cello with my fingernail. Well, that was what I got for talking to her. Or anybody. Head down and play. Feel nothing. Do nothing. Say nothing. That was the way to get by.
I risked a glance up. She had turned back around and was angrily flipping through her music. I told myself she was embarrassed for being chastised. That her comment had nothing to do with me. She was ashamed and angry, and I was an easy target for the feelings she couldn’t take out on Devlin. Still. Pretty crappy.
“The SOOK is hiring an outside agency to coordinate the auditions. I will be working with a committee to decide who is the best fit for each position.” The room quieted as Devlin spoke again. “I’m telling all of you this now because it could take weeks before this is all settled. I don’t have more information at this time. Last thing. The fall showcase will be featuring my newest concerto. Take ten.”
The room filled with sounds of whispered gossip. When I glanced up again, Devlin was studying Carla with a stern expression. His gaze strayed to mine and, knowing that I had caught him staring, he quickly looked away. He stomped off the podium and left the room without another word.
Chapter 3
The devil is in the details. Pay attention.
DEVLIN
So much for a fresh start.
A few weeks in, and already my emotions got the best of me.
The farther I got from the rehearsal space, the less anxiety tied my tongue. My faults made me weak. The bandana hid my flushed cheeks, but the heat was getting unbearable. As soon as I was alone, I’d pull it down to breathe deep again. I’d go home, swim some laps, work the concerto, and everything would level out.
The anxiety management techniques came when the first symphony spread the rumors I’d been fired for my anger issues. Despite my best intentions at the start of each day, my nerves had me living up to those expectations. My inability to address the lack of respect between the musicians only ratcheted up my feelings of powerlessness. Carla didn’t think I’d heard her barb. I should have called her out rather than announcing the chair auditions so bluntly. Music I could control. My own words and emotions were trickier. Rather than accept this fault in my system, I gathered my anger. I focused on the things that pissed me off.
The SOOK wasn’t playing up to their potential. The previous conductor held chair auditions before his retirement simply as a way to leave his mark of authority; a final power play. Old practices and deep-seated nepotism were just some of the issues with the current symphony. If I wanted to prove myself, these would all need to be corrected.
Which brought my thoughts back to Kim. They strayed there often lately.
Kim hadn’t given me her answer. Christine, I corrected internally. Hadn’t she learned that I wasn’t a patient man? I’d told her I wouldn’t wait forever and that the position would go to someone else. But it was a lie. It had to be her.
My mind drifted to last week. I’d stayed behind in my secret office to work through some stress. Notes had floated in through the vents sending chills up my arms. When I’d glanced through the register, I’d seen her. In that moment, everything had been revealed to me. Who Christine Day really was. The magic in her playing was still as strong as ever. Her talents were unbounded, if only she’d share them. The music had swirled and consumed me like a cool mist. It had called me to her. She’d played with light shining out of her. It was nothing like the reserved Christine in rehearsals. It was as if my life had returned to me. Since the moment I’d first heard her play, I’d needed her with me to guide my music. That call of the music had guided my pen with a ferocity I hadn’t felt in years.
I needed her.
The back door exit was in sight when I stopped my retreat. I had to go back and talk to her.
“Devlin, ah, there you are,” a voice called out.
“Maestro,” I corrected.
The second I registered that it was Dick’s voice, I knew I wouldn’t be leaving. I looked longingly at my motorcycle waiting for me as the door closed again.
“Ah, yes. Maestro, I don’t suppose we could have a moment of your time before you run off again,” Dick said.
I turned to see the twitchy man make his approach. Speak of the devil. Wait, that was me. Speak of the thorn in my ass. His hands were clasped and his mustache twitched. As always, Andy was at his side. Richard Firmin and Andrew Gill were the co-presidents of the SOOK. They were the go-between the SOOK and the board of directors for this performing arts center, where we played and practiced. Nobody else called them Andy-Dick, but as they were a package deal, it was just easier.
I pulled my riding gloves into place, drawing out the action to avoid shaking hands. “I have an appointment.” It was with my piano, but Andy-Dick didn’t need to know that. “What do y’all need?” I didn’t bother putting my helmet on yet. I couldn’t risk my mask falling loose.
Andy pursed his tiny mouth. His red-rimmed eyes and pale hair contrasted in an alarming way—like a rat in a medical trial. “You’re required to come to the board meetings at least once a month per your contract. As you have missed the last two, we thought it best to catch you up.” His words came out rushed.