Page 23 of The Sound of Harmony

ChapterSeven

Sunday night, Kendrick sat at the tiny desk in his hotel room in Indianapolis, alternately refreshing his email and looking out the window at other hotels across the street. The email inbox in front of him was empty. He refreshed it again.

Nothing. It was too early for feedback, but that didn’t stop him from looking. This was his third year debuting work at the Midwest Symposium, and until now, he’d never been nervous about how his compositions were received. But today, he couldn’t read the room. He couldn’t even make out the more subtle nuances of his own music.

He swiveled his chair and stared out the window some more.

“Look at this,” Ben said, picking up discarded granola bar wrappers and empty water bottles from Kendrick’s side of the room. He kicked through a pile of Kendrick’s clothes on his way to the wastebasket. “How could this room get so messy in three days?”

Kendrick touched his right ear. “I’m sorry? I can’t hear you.”

“You hear me.” Ben flung scores and pencils and socks onto Kendrick’s bed. “And most of this is your crap.”

Kendrick turned back to the desk. “One of the perks of staying in a hotel room is that someone else cleans it for you.”

“Right now, that someone is me.” Ben pitched Kendrick’s shoes toward the closet.

“Leave it,” Kendrick said. “I’ll get to it in a second.”

“What are you even—” Ben looked over his shoulder. “Oh no. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Stalk your inbox for feedback,” Ben said. “It’s only been a few hours.”

“I know,” Kendrick snapped. He didn’t know. He was hoping to hear something by now. “I’m checking on stuff for my house.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Ben straightened papers on the desk. “Listen, buddy, they loved your composition. And if you don’t make it available to my students this year, I’m going to curse your name until my dying breath.”

“Curse away,” Kendrick said. “If publishers won’t pick it up, my hands are tied.”

“I overheard at least four conductors discussing the score afterward. We’ll go to the closing reception tonight, and men will be shaking your hand, and women will want to shake more than that.”

“Thanks.” Kendrick wished he didn’t have to take Ben’s word for it.

“You’d better not be grumpy at the reception, or I will ghost you.”

“Promise?”

“I’m taking a shower before we go. I need to be ready.”

Kendrick didn’t ask what Ben needed to be ready for. The closing reception was supposed to be the last time in the conference for friendship and networking. It was also the last chance for hookups.

“And for God’s sake, clean this place up,” Ben called over his shoulder.

Kendrick ignored the mess. Ben had already called dibs on the room. If he wanted it presentable enough for a woman, he could clean it himself. Kendrick turned back to his computer and smiled when an email from Emma popped into his box. Subject line: Pianos.

She’d found three possibilities at Ohio Ivory—two Baldwins and a Steinway. She’d sent measurements, photos, and prices in a neat chart, and told him the name of the saleswoman to contact. She also invited him to call if he had any questions.

He had questions. So many questions. He wanted to know everything about Emma. Where did she grow up? Did she like Italian food? What was her favorite color? Was she quiet or loud during sex?

Down, boy, he told himself. This is just another job for her. He scanned the email again, then scrolled through his contacts for her number. He told himself he would let Emma take the lead and only continue the conversation as long as she wanted to. If she was busy, he’d end it immediately.

He held the phone to his left ear.