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She kept her face impassive. She didn’t like the idea of being like Geoffrey in any way. He was cold, calculating, and manipulative. But he was right that she’d done what she needed to do to get off the streets. She’d done what she had to do to get a job and keep it. Hopefully, this would be the last time she had to “prove” herself to Geoffrey. There wasn’t anywhere higher to climb in his world.
Four
Monday morning,Mark stifled a yawn as he shuffled onto the stage of the Kennedy Center for his first rehearsal with the DC Symphony Orchestra. He held his violin and bow in one hand and a to-go cup of coffee in the other. He had played with the DCSO many times before, but he’d never been contracted to play an entire season with them.
He’d slept a little on the train and a little at home—which had been heavenly—but what he really wanted was a full night’s sleep in his own bed without next-morning obligations.
The concertmaster’s chair was empty. Sandra, the normal concertmistress, had moved down a chair for the year to accommodate him.
He frowned. It wasn’t fair to Sandra. She was a fantastic musician and deserved her position. But they’d chatted a few times since he’d signed the contract and she’d assured him she was fine with it. Said she’d be glad to let Mark take the brunt of the new Maestro’s rumored “passionate temper,” as she called it.
Sandra nodded to him as he sat down next to her. She was an attractive woman in her mid-forties, with wavy, strawberry-blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and bright blue eyes.
“How are you doing?” he asked as he lifted his violin onto his shoulder and ran his bow over the strings to check the tuning.
“Pretty good.” She glanced at the empty podium “Not sure about this new guy.”
“No kidding. Have you met him?” Mark hadn’t. They’d exchanged a few texts here and there, and Mark had decided, if nothing else, the guy promised to make the season a unique experience.
“Briefly. The board hosted a cocktail party last week so we could meet him ahead of time. He’s...” She pressed her lips together, eyes sparkling with amusement, and wagged her eyebrows. “Passionate. It will be an interesting season.”
“So I’ve heard,” Mark said dryly.
“Do anything special on your last free weekend before settling down for a while?”
Why did she have to remind him about settling down? “Final tour concert last night in New York. Was invited to the party after with the members but I needed to be home in time to be here this morning.” He rolled his eyes.
She gave an understanding smile. “Ya know, some of us get together on Saturday nights, when we don’t have performances, to hang, usually at mine and Dot’s place. You’re welcome to come anytime.” Dot was Sandra’s roommate who played the flute and sat in the middle of the orchestra. She was an older woman who liked to dress as if she lived in the forties, with puffy skirts, horn-rimmed glasses, and bright red lipstick. It worked for her.
Mark smiled. “Thanks. I might take you up on that.”
Sandra’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
He shrugged. “Why not? We’re all equals here on the stage.” Her mouth dropped open and he made a mental note to find out more information about the get-togethers. He was going to be around the orchestra members for the entire season. Having friends and a social life was a luxury he’d not enjoyed in a long time. And there was nothing like a giant bitch-fest after a bad week of rehearsals.
He flipped through the music in his folder on the stand, mentally cataloging it again. He’d barely looked at it since receiving it a few weeks ago. Most of it he was intimately familiar with, though he’d not played in an orchestra in many years. He was looking forward to a few of the pieces, including Tchaikovsky’s Violin Concerto in D Major, but the new maestro’s obsession with modern composers made Mark once again question his decision to sign the contract for the season.
Sandra grimaced and shook her head.
Mark grimaced. “You look like you love it as much as I do.”
She glanced around and lowered her voice. “I hate that modern shit. It sounds like barnyard animals screeching at each other.”
Mark leaned his head back and laughed until tears came to his eyes. “I’m so glad I’m not the only one who despises it. Though I’ve never thought of it in those exact terms.” He grinned at his stand partner. “You have a way with words.”
Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink and Mark grinned. He always enjoyed making a woman happy. Especially a woman in charge of turning music pages at the concerts.
Mark worked his way through a short warm-up to get the feel of the room. He’d thoroughly warmed up earlier in the morning at home. After a few minutes, he went to the podium to lead the tuning of the instruments and then sat back down in his chair, anticipating Maestro Novak’s appearance. After about five minutes, he glanced at his watch, wondering where the new conductor was.
After several more minutes of waiting, Maestro Novak appeared at last with a flourish at the far side of the stage wearing jeans and a red velvet paisley blazer, his dark hair pulled back into a queue. He flashed a million-watt grin and swept across the stage, greeting the cellists as he passed by. Mark stood, respectful of Novak’s leadership position in the orchestra. The rest of the musicians stood with him, as was customary.
Novak walked along the first row of musicians, shaking hands and giving enthusiastic greetings. He kissed Sandra’s cheek and made her blush. When he came to Mark, he grabbed Mark’s hand with both of his. “I am so excited you are playing with us, Mark,” he said, his Mexican accent heavy, though understandable. “I am grateful Maestro Pavolini persuaded you to come on board with us for the season.” He gave two heavy pats to Mark’s shoulder and then stepped onto the platform, sweeping his dark gaze across the members. The stage grew silent and the musicians watched Maestro expectantly. He raised his baton and there was a scrambling of instruments and music, as everyone anticipated the announcement of the piece they were going play first.
Mark’s stomach clenched as Maestro Novak closed his eyes and moved his hands the slightest bit, as if hearing the music in his mind. He opened his eyes, filled with intensity, and counted off the beat of the piece.
The piece no one knew they were playing.
How did this bode for the rest of the season? Was he the kind of conductor that didn’t explain things properly and expected everyone to read his mind? Would he throw a fit if they didn’t?
