Page 109 of Petrify

“I am. Mallary Doyle.”

“I just spoke with Leo. You’ve done a good job with Henri,” he says. “But if I'm honest, I’m more interested in what you can do.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card.

Only his name and a phone number listed on the plain white card. He holds it between two fingers.

“Thank you,” I say, not even knowing what it is he’s offering. “I’ll be playing soon. Just a few songs.”

“Leo tells me you’re an understudy.”

“Yes.”

“In my opinion, you’re wasted where you’re at. Call me in a few days. We'll set something up.”

It’s all so vague but I have the feeling I should already know who this man is. Or, heexpectsme to know who he is. “Thank you,” I repeat.

He nods before walking off, without so much as a goodbye, speaking to another man who follows closely behind. I’m left next to the piano, stunned.

I flip the card between my fingers.

Bran Rivers.

Oh.

With the Philharmonic.

This could all lead to nothing, but for a mere second I let myself daydream about everything I’ve ever wanted. Days spent rehearsing the greatest pieces, surrounded by other musicians who are just as serious about the music, evenings performing, maybe even traveling to other cities. And eventually, people will know my name.

I don’t feel like it’s too much to ask.

But… there’s always the chance that nothing happens. Baz can only promise so much.

I don’t let the doubt weigh on me as I sit at the bench again. The crowd’s chatter doesn’t quiet, the partygoers continuing their conversations, even when I flip through the sheet music.

For you.

I have no one’s attention, when I set my fingers, straighten my spine, and take a grounding breath.

Against the murmuring, the song starts low, almost swallowed up by the noise.

I give the music the room it needs to breathe like I’ve always done, even if it’s too quiet.Ican hear every note, and I’m certain wherever Baz is, he can too, and that’s all that matters.

Jason did not attend my last recital, even though he was still my mentor. Or, he was in the building, but he was balls-deep in some other girl, in a dingy hallway, while the culmination of my senior year’s hard work echoed around them.

Fingers dancing around the keys, it’s muscle memory at this point, automatic.

Every note, every step on the pedals, every measure that I play through, may be the moment Baz sends the party spiraling into chaos. He told me all I needed to do wasplay.

Am I only a distraction?

I can see Mariane not too far away. Henri is watching at her side, mesmerized.

To all the guests, I am just background noise, something to fill the space while they chat investments and million dollar vacations, or whatever it is these people talk about.

One two three, one two three.

I focus on the keys, on the push and pull of the melody, imagining Baz is here right next to me, swaying back and forth to the rhythm, making this waltz a duet. All the chatter fades away.

I give myself over to the song, like I did the other night.