Page 19 of The Sound of Harmony

She locked her truck and walked toward Casa Mucho with light footfalls that felt almost like the steps to a dance.

Kendrick spent Saturday running from auditorium to auditorium. The Midwest Strings and Band Symposium was huge and he’d scheduled clinics and workshops all day. In between was a heavy dose of networking. Musicians. Conductors. Publishers. And of course, the donors. If one was going to have a career in the arts, one always had to make nice with the money people.

Ordinarily this was Kendrick’s element. He was great at small talk, excellent at flattery, and even better at connecting people. Someone needed a trumpet player? He knew a trumpet player looking for gigs. Someone’s assistant quit? He knew a college grad looking for her first job. Yes, of course he could tell you where Auditorium C was, he was going that way himself, so why not walk there together?

But today, constant background noise made everything harder to hear, and he missed conversational cues, always coming in one beat late. He called people by the wrong name, misheard titles of compositions, and almost walked past a group of friends before realizing they were asking him to join their circle.

Concentrating on hearing out of his good ear left him exhausted, but he was determined to continue schmoozing as long as necessary, working to get butts in seats for tomorrow’s performance of his new piece. There was only one place to go on the Saturday night of a conference—the hotel bar.

Or maybe not. Because some brilliant mind had set up karaoke on the small dance floor—as if musicians hadn’t had enough music this weekend. A middle-aged couple was singing Islands in the Stream but you could barely hear them over the cheers and heckling. It would have been too much for two good ears, and was definitely too much for one.

Kendrick backed out of the bar, nearly colliding with an older black man about his height, thin and bald, wearing a sport coat over a collarless shirt. Kendrick did a double take, then glanced at the man’s name badge on his lapel to be sure. “Dennison Umaru?” He knew the conductor of the Columbus Philharmonic Orchestra by reputation, even if they’d never met. In the last decade, Umaru had grown the Philharmonic from a small city orchestra to a regional draw. Kendrick held out a hand. “Kendrick Bell. Great to meet you.”

Umaru smiled and shook his hand in a friendly grip. “Likewise, likewise. I’m glad you could make it this year. I heard you’ve had some changes in your life.”

“You could say that.” Kendrick wasn’t sure what was spinning on the rumor mill. Best to put it in a positive light. “I’m composing more now. In fact, tomorrow at two o’clock, I’m—”

“Of course,” Umaru said. “I’ll be there. I wouldn’t miss the debut of a Kendrick Bell composition.”

Kendrick stood a little straighter. “And I’m moving to Ohio in a few weeks. I’m looking forward to taking in some CPO concerts.”

“Whereabouts in Ohio?”

“Cannondale. I’ll be less than an hour from you.”

“Forty minutes on a good day,” Umaru said. “This might be a big ask, but would you consider going on my substitute list? If one of my flutes is out sick, you could sightread what they rehearse. No obligation, of course.”

Kendrick lowered his gaze. Oh God, it was beginning already. The erosion of his career from principal player to substitute, from national orchestra to local one. Worse, he couldn’t take the offer. What if he had an attack of vertigo on the day of a concert and couldn’t play? He’d be letting an entire ensemble down.

“That’s extremely kind,” he told Umaru. “But I’m not sure what my schedule is going to be like when I’m in Cannondale. Maybe I could let you know?”

“I understand.” Umaru nodded, his shoulders dropping. “I do.”

Glad one of us does. Kendrick’s excuse sounded lame to his own ears, as if a self-employed composer didn’t have a flexible schedule. “It’s just with this move. I need to get some things into place first.”

“Of course.” Umaru’s tone had gone flat.

“But I’d be interested in a collaboration, working with the Philharmonic in some capacity.” Kendrick hated how desperate that sounded.

“Like a composer-in-residence type thing? I don’t have any such program. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

“Well, not ‘in-residence.’ But I’d love to send you whatever I’m working on.” Kendrick tugged at his shirt cuffs and straightened the edge of his jacket. Realistically, he needed to get into treatment and start dealing with his Meniere’s before even thinking about restarting his career, but that wasn’t how things worked in this business. Without constant performances of new material, he’d become irrelevant very quickly. He couldn’t afford to squander any connection, no matter how weak.

“It would be interesting to see if my current work fits anywhere into your season,” he told Umaru.

“Sure, yeah. Absolutely. We can talk about it.” Umaru pointed toward the bar. “Let’s get a drink.”

Kendrick looked through the door. People stood elbow to elbow and the air in the room was thick with nervous energy and alcohol. Karaoke was between numbers, replaced by the high warble of loud conversation. Out here, talking one-on-one, he had a decent chance of making an honest connection. In there, with that much noise? Forget it.

“I am so sorry,” he said. “I just remembered that I have to go over some scores with my buddy. He’s waiting for me.”

“Is that your friend?” Umaru pointed. “The one waving you to his table?”

Ben was on his feet in the middle of the room, holding one arm over his head and indicating the empty chair next to him with the other. Great.

Kendrick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “To tell you the truth, I’m not feeling well. I’m going to have to call it a night.”

Umaru tilted his head to one side, sizing him up, then bobbed his shoulders in dismissal. “Sorry to hear that. I hope you’re feeling better tomorrow. I’m looking forward to hearing your composition.”

“Two o’clock,” Kendrick said. “Main auditorium.”

Umaru shook Kendrick’s hand, but his gaze was already inside the bar. “It was nice to meet you.”

Kendrick made his way to the elevators. It was possible that interaction could have gone worse, although he didn’t see how.

He got out his phone and texted Ben. I’m turning in early. Don’t bring anyone back to our room.