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“I’m not asking for pity,” I told him in a rush. “I’m just being honest. I can’t really hate it, you know? When I’m not empty inside, it’s inspired me to make something beautiful.”
There was a long pause, then Forrest said, so quiet I could barely hear him, “I’m sorry I said that. I don’t think you’re empty, Jules.”
“But I am. Or…I was. But I’m finding myself again.” And it hit me, almost like a physical blow, when I realized just how true that statement was.
Forrest paused again, then asked in a tone I’d never heard from him before, “Will you play for me again? Just for a little while?”
In that moment, there wasn’t a single request I would deny him. I didn’t know what it meant, but I decided it was in my best interest not to look too deep.
* * *
I wasn’tsure if it was playing for Forrest or if it was his words, but something about that night directly led to me sitting in a cramped, stuffy office with my CV in hand, staring at the beady eyes of the symphony director.
I knew of him—his name had some peripheral importance since he oversaw three major symphonies on the East Coast. A couple had traveled to London, and I vaguely recalled playing with one of them as they performed one of Nicolai’s new pieces over the Christmas holiday. I don’t think the man—Alessandro—recognized me, but he did recognize everything that was printed on the paper I handed to him.
“My only concern,” he said, which was the first time he’d spoken in minutes, “is that you have no direct recommendations. Your resume is most definitely impressive, and I understand why calling Mr. Ivanov could evoke some personal bias. But surely there’s someone—”
“No one in London is willing to risk his…” I didn’t know how to end that. Ire wasn’t serious enough, but revenge felt a bit too dramatic. I sighed and rubbed my sweating palms on my trousers.
Alessandro’s brows rose. “May I ask you something, Mr. Adamos?”
“Of course,” I said. I was the one being interviewed after all.
“Do you think he’d give an honest opinion of your work if it were in a professional setting?”
Panic threatened to engulf me, but I swallowed it back. “I couldn’t tell you. I would like to believe that he’s a professional and wouldn’t let personal feelings get in the way, but we’re all human, and we didn’t part on the best terms.” I thought of my parting words to him and knew he’d take any opportunity to make sure I would never get a leg up. Ever again.
“Indeed we are.” His thumb rubbed along the edge of the paper, then he winced at what I assumed was a paper cut. He sighed, then looked up at me. “It would be colossally unfair of me to turn you away from auditions simply because you’ve had some bad luck where your heart is concerned. Your music will speak for itself.”
My heart gave a giant thud in my chest.
“We’re losing seven of our members to Paris next season. Two of them from my cello section,” he added.
My heart thumped again.
“I would like to hear you play. I know it’s the holidays, and having you come in right before Christmas—”
“Mr. Ricci, I’d be happy to come in any time you ask. I have very little going on since moving back here.” I knew I sounded desperate, but there was no point in hiding it now. I needed this.
His lips quirked, and I could tell the man was fair. I doubted I was going to sway him with a sob story, but he might be willing to give me a chance. Maybe he didn’t think Nicolai was worth all the hype.
Or maybe he was just toying with me.
He grabbed a business card from the edge of his desk and scribbled something on the back. “Come through the side entrance at eight a.m. I’ll be doing auditions all week, and I can’t guarantee exactly who will be sitting on the audition panel, but you’ll be given a fair shot.”
“Is there anything you’d like me to prepare?”
“At least one original piece and two others you feel best showcase your skill. I’m not talking complicated,” he added, a hint of warning in his voice. “Don’t come in here thinking you’re going to impress me by playing sinfonia concertante and making me sit for a damn hour.”
I almost laughed because I understood what he was trying to say. I’d seen it all before, more times than I wanted to count. But that line of thinking was for people who hadn’t had all their pride beaten out of them.
And God knew that wasn’t me. Hell, the fact that I was sitting there in his office was a damn Christmas miracle, and the idea of playing something I wrote myself?
I didn’t let myself think about it right there in that moment. If I did, I would have thanked him and withdrawn myself from consideration because Forrest was right. I might have made some progress on an old, teenage work, but what I’d done in the last few weeks was…
Pathetic.
I snapped back to reality as I was acting on autopilot, rising to shake Alessandro’s hand, smiling and thanking him for his time. He didn’t seem to have noticed that I’d drifted, or if he did, he didn’t care. He walked me to the door with a hand pressed to my lower back in a way that felt almost fatherly.
