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With the lack of work came a flood of thoughts, mostly about Theo and what he was doing right then. I had his phone number, but it was overseas, and I couldn’t afford the long distance.
If only I’d thought to get his email. Then, even if I ended up getting blocked, at least I would have an answer.
I didn’t know how much longer I could stand the limbo, especially without work to distract me. I could only hope the graduation concert would lead to a job right away, not least for the sake of my sanity.
The hour approached and it was time to put all my dreams and machinations to the test. Getting into the sleek black Nehru-collared suit I’d happened across at the thrift store, I marshaled the troops of my mind, standing strong and proud in the mirror, trying to project how I wanted to be seen.
The entire Loki’s Laugh gang insisting on coming to share in my big night. There were even murmurs that Seth and Jonna Jinton-Black would be there. They had no doubt heard about me through the Suspicious Activity studio grape vine, as I knew at least two people directly connected to it.
I tried to not let it psych me out, particularly when I’d, foolishly, peeked out from between the red velvet curtains (the theater was old-school), and saw just how many people had turned out.
That was Ashe’s and Stephanie’s doing, no doubt. I made a mental note to thank them properly later. At that moment, I had to focus on the task at hand.
I’d once heard a story about Beethoven. At a concert after he’d gone stone deaf, he couldn’t hear it as the crowd broke into thunderous applause and had to be turned around so that he could enjoy the response.
I didn’t wish I was deaf, but that sort of focused obliviousness would have really helped right about now.
The time came and I strode out to face the throng. Head high with confidence that I tried to convince myself I was really feeling, my lucky baton clutched white-knuckle in my right hand.
My eyes were fixed on the opposite wing, only catching sight of the podium in my peripheral vision. It wasn’t stage-fright, per se. Just the full, crushing reality of the situation hitting me all at once.
I’d no doubt get used to it after multiple exposures.
If there were indeed more to come.
It began. The assembled orchestra were giving it their all. The show held nearly as much possibility for them as it did for me. My name may have been on the front of the printed programs but their names, as well as the instrument they played, were listed inside.
I lost all sense of time in the world around me. For that moment, there was nothing but the music— each note, section and movement flowing by like a river.
My hands were moving by sheer muscle memory, built up by intense practice. In a way, I was as much of a listener as the audience was.
It rushed up like a wave. The sound of applause and general adulation hit my ears as my shoulders slumped with relief and I did my best not to cry happy tears nearly as undeniable as those of anguish.
The after party was a lavish affair, held at a nearby restaurant, at least partly to butter up any influential attendees.
There were even chocolate dipped strawberries on offer, the first few trays of which were depleted within minutes. There was champagne, but most people seemed to be going easy with it.
“Great show,” someone said.
I turned toward the unfamiliar voice, still in something of a fugue state. Tall and lean, the florescent lights reflecting off his bald head, I recognized him almost immediately.
Chapter Thirteen – Becca
“You’re—” I started to say to the man who had complimented my show.
“Sebastian Greene, artistic director of the Pops Orchestra,” he jumped in, before I could finish my question.
But I would have guessed right. I would have known him from anywhere.
He handed me a card stating this very same thing. It was an unnecessary gesture, but I guess it never hurt to have some confirmation of who someone was saying they were.
“I know,” I blurted. “I mean, I’ve been listening to the Pops since I was a kid.”
“Oh, stop it, you’ll make me feel old,” he joked.
Before I could ask what he was doing there, planning to make sure to not make it sound like an accusation, he saved me the trouble.
“I heard through the grapevine that you were having your graduation concert and thought I would come and have a listen.”
“That grapevine wouldn’t happen to have been named Varg, would it?”
“Oh, no, it was Seth Black. I think he said he heard about from a Dutch chap. Theo, I believe the name was.”
My heart dropped into my shoes. I remembered telling Theo about my big night. He’d seemed interested at the time, but I didn’t think he would actually remember.
