Page 85 of Solo

“Ladies and gentleman, Michael Prate!” she says, holding her hand out toward him. The rest of the ensemble starts to applaud along with her. The musicians seated closest to him slap him on the back. When they’ve finished, they look back at her.

“You guys are so going to rock this.” She grins. “We don’t have a lot of time today, so let’s table this movement for now and move on to the last movement. Allegro con fuoco. You all know what that means right? Fast—with fire. This thing is the big finale and it’s got to be white-hot. So give it everything you have.”

They can barely turn to the right page on their music stands before she’s got her arms up, waiting for all eyes to train on her. As soon as she’s got them where she wants them, she drops into the downbeat like a starter dropping the green flag in a race. And they’re off!

This movement is intense from the first note, with the strings playing a melody reminiscent of the theme from Jaws. But then they collide with a wall of brass. Trumpets, trombones, French horns, and tuba are in lockstep as they thunder with a fanfare.

But the strings come back with a dizzying flurry underneath them. Each section is a piece of the puzzle—the strings have part of the melody, but it’s not complete until it’s accented by the horns. And on and on it goes, each piece snapping into place to create the big picture of sound. The winds and strings chase one another throughout, periodically punctuated by a hint of the fanfare, echoing the past and foreshadowing the future.

Through all of this, I cannot take my eyes off Katherine. As she conducts, she leans back so far that I find myself holding my breath, certain she’s going to fall backward. But she doesn’t. Somehow, she defies gravity. And her arms, the very definition of fluidity, don’t seem to be privy to the same physical constraints as the rest of us. It’s like a left brain/right brain thing in reverse. The right hand providing the structure, the direction for the musicians to follow while the left pulls the emotion from them.

Under her direction, fluttering winds and swirling strings compete for attention until the fanfare comes back again. This time, it’s bright, but solid. Chunky and drawn out against first the timpani rolls, and then a hard, accelerating beat by the rest of the orchestra. At some point every instrument, no matter what family it belongs to, is part of the percussion section.

Watching her conduct with her eyes closed, I realize now what a gift it must be for a conductor to have a—what did she call it? An eidetic memory. She throws cues to individual players and sections across the entire orchestra without even looking at them. But they’re watching her. In fact, the entire orchestra is riveted, barely looking at the music on their stands as they play a piece they hadn’t even realized they’d memorized.

The raucous fanfare is back now and Katherine’s gestures are bigger and bolder. Her right hand moves in a broad, sweeping gesture that the musicians mirror in their playing. With her left hand, she shakes her fist in time with the timpani as it pounds and pounds and pounds. It is the heart of the orchestra. The heart of Dvořák’s symphony.

Out of nowhere, everything slows and darkens into a twisted variation on the English horn’s earlier solo, “Goin’ Home.” A phantom horn rises as the strings swirl up and up and up. And then, it’s the fanfare in slow motion. The timpani rolls. And then it pounds. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Like hammer blows that give way to a single, perfect ethereal chord that ends it all. Katherine does not drop her arms, nor do the musicians lower their instruments until the only thing left of the last note is its shadow.

When her arms finally relax, a slow, broad smile spreads across her sweaty, ecstatic face. Her eyes are still closed, so she doesn’t see the orchestra musicians jump up in unison to applaud. The briefest hint of confusion passes as she processes what she’s hearing. She opens her eyes, which immediately grow wide with shock. The orchestra is hooting and hollering. The obnoxious trumpeter is whistling now and I decide to pardon his earlier infraction.

I’m so caught up in her—in her success and her beauty—in everything she does, that I can’t keep my eyes off her. Nor can I control my crazy-stupid, lopsided grin as I applaud from backstage.

When I finally do tear my eyes away from Katherine, I happen to glance across the stage, to the wings on the other side. Russell Atherton is watching me intently. I slip back into my normal, impassive expression, as quickly as possible and nod a greeting at him. He doesn’t return it. Probably because he’s too busy trying to work out what he’s just seen unfold between his prized pupil and his sworn enemy.

…

“Danny! I thought that was you!” Russell’s voice booms above the noise of noodling instruments and chattering musicians.

Kate is going over a few notes with the concertmistress when he finds me out in the rows of seats talking with my old college roommate.

“Russ!” Danny exclaims, throwing his arms around the ghostly man and patting his back enthusiastically. “Where have you been hiding yourself? I thought you said you’d be at the conducting conference last fall.”

“I didn’t realize you two were in touch,” I interject and am met with a withering glare from Russ.

“Do you think you’re the only one who knows Danny?” he asks me coolly.

I ignore the comment.

“Russell, stop being an old coot,” Danny teases, poking Russell in the ribs. “I was visiting my folks in Charlotte and Drew asked me to take a drive up here to…”

I catch his eye and shoot him a warning glare. Luckily, he gets the idea before Russell notices.

“…to surprise you and Maureen,” he concludes and I breathe a sigh of relief. If Russell thinks I brought Danny here to see Kate conduct, he’ll know something’s up between us.

Russ eyes me skeptically but decides to believe our guest. “Well, I’m glad to see you no matter what the reason,” he says.

“Hey, Russ,” Danny says softly, conspiratorially, “I see your fingerprints all over that girl.” He’s nodding with his chin toward Kate, who’s still up on the stage. “She’s something else, my friend.”

Russell grins proudly. “She is, isn’t she? Can you believe she was a piano major?”

“I know,” Danny says, before he can stop himself.

Shit.

“You do?” Russell asks, suddenly confused. “How?”

“Drew told me.” Danny sees his mistake immediately, but doesn’t miss a beat. “I was just asking him about her. I was wondering why I knew her name but hadn’t seen her come through the conservatory.”