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“Okay, okay,” I said and took a long pull from my gin and tonic. I felt a hand on my arm.
“Hey.” Melanie’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “I’m proud of you. I know it took a lot for you to do that.”
“Yeah, well…”
“But how was it? What did you play? Did you feel nervous?”
I couldn’t lie to Melanie. Our friendship just didn’t work that way. “I don’t want to talk about it right now.”
“Sure, sure. Booze it up a little. Relax. Celebrate the first step on the road back to concert violin-ing, instead of personal assisting.”
I smiled thinly and took another long sip. A really long sip.
The group chatted about the various orchestras they played for or were vying for a spot with, and Regina talked up her musical shindig that was—she reminded me frequently—a week away.
Eventually, it was my turn to get the next round. I asked Melanie to come with me to help carry, and while we waited with the crowd around the glittering bar, I came clean.
“I didn’t audition for the Phil,” I blurted.
Melanie’s face contorted into concern. “Oh, hon. Is it still so bad?”
“It’s worse,” I said. “I didn’t freeze up, or fuck up, or even play at all. Mel…” I clutched her arm, “Iforgot. It didn’t even cross my mind.”
Her concern morphed into perplexity, her brows coming together under her thick, dark bangs. “You…forgot? You won yourself an audition for the New York Philharmonic and youforgot?”
“I practice every day,” I said miserably. “But I don’t know what I’m practicing for. It’s all rote. Aimless. There’s no joy in it, and when you practice your art, you’re supposed to feel joy, aren’t you? You don’t do it for money or fame, you do it because youhaveto do it or your head will explode, right? But I can’t feel that anymore, and I don’t know how to get it back.”
Melanie listened to all this as the crowd talk-shouted around us. Finally, she narrowed her eyes from behind her cat glasses. “It’s that Noah, isn’t it?”
“What?No. It’s not his fault. I wasn’t even thinking about that audition, Mel. It wasn’t even on my radar. And not because he’s demanding or takes up all my time. Believe me, if he had known, he’d have kicked me out the door.”
“He doesn’t have to take up your time to interfere. He’s taking up your headspace.”
That, I couldn’t deny. And I guess it was all over my face.
Melanie gaped. “Oh Christ, are you in love with him? He’s an asshole!”
The two gals in front of us turned, smirking.
“Nothing to see here, move along.” Melanie shooed at them, then looked at me. “Isn’t he?”
“No,” I said. “Not to me. To himself, maybe, and it spills over. I don’t know. He keeps telling me he’s no good for me.”
“Maybe you should listen.”
I thought of our kiss and the typewritten page I found in the office. “Maybe. But I’m getting mixed messages. I can’t tell if he’s saying that because he cares for me and it’s true and he’s trying to protect me, or if it’s a lie. A version of ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’”
The line moved up. Based on my own past experience behind the bar, we were still three people away from getting the bartender’s attention.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” I said. “He’s thoughtful, and smart, and has a gentle side no one sees. A side I don’t think he even realizes he has. He’s eloquent and protective and I know that if he could just learn to live with his disability…he’s got a chance.”
Maybe we have a chance.
Melanie watched me, her lips pursed.
“What?”
“Damn, you got it bad.”
