by CD Reiss
“Trust me, if you play in the orchestra, I’ll be there.” I gently squeezed the hand under mine. “Will you?”
“Maybe.” He leaned closer to me, hands still sandwiching mine.
“I’ll go anyway. Just to spite you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” I leaned into him enough to catch his scent of sanded wood.
“Not to spite me,” he whispered. “You’re manipulative, but you’re not malicious.”
I should have been insulted, but I wasn’t. He spoke truth without judgment.
“You don’t know me.”
“That doesn’t make me wrong.” He was so close I could feel his breath on my lips.
“Test me.” My words were no more than an exhale of affirmation.
Too soon. It was too soon. We had a few hours between us. Barely a date. And already I was almost kissing him on campus grass, wishing we were alone.
I didn’t do this. He was a stranger. His mouth might fit on mine like a puzzle piece and he might taste the way I imagined sex would, but I didn’t know him.
I shifted away from him. “I’m sorry, I have to get to class.”
“Sure, sure.”
We stood. The weight between my legs moved half a second more slowly, as if subject to different physical laws.
“Can I walk you?” He handed me my bag. “I can carry this tonnage.”
“No, I’m fine.” I slung it over my shoulders.
He picked up his jacket. “Can I call you?”
“You’ll play orchestra?”
“Is that the price of seeing you again?”
“Yes.” I dug around my bag and came out with a pen. I clicked the top. “Give me your hand.”
He held it out, and I wrote my number on the palm.
“I’ll try not to sweat.” He grabbed his case and stepped back.
“Try.” I stepped back.
“Okay then.” Another step back. “This is a heartfelt but not final goodbye.”
Why was it so hard to walk away? It was as if there was a string between us, and every step pulled it tighter. How far could we go without snapping it?
The only way to know was to turn and walk to class.
I waved, turned, and walked. When I was on the brick path, following traffic to my methods class, I looked over my shoulder. Gabriel was standing there, watching me go.
Professor Gannon passed him, waving to me with his tattoo sleeves exposed to the spring air. “Hey, Carrie.” He looked back at Gabriel. “Am I interrupting?”
“No.”
“You going to Mudd? I’ll walk with you.”
“Okay.”
With a last wave, Gabriel walked toward Thornton, keeping the string that connected us safe.
Chapter 7
LOS ANGELES - 1995
“Mrs. Thorne.” Aiden Klerk slid into his chair. His English accent gave him an air of easy competence, and his gray hair spoke of decades in the business of unearthing secrets and protecting the wealthy. He’d agreed to see me the same afternoon I called. The office was so close to the airport, the scream of landing planes was constant background noise. “What brings you?”
“I understand you know how to be discreet.”
The insides of my thighs ached where Peter had bruised me the night before. He didn’t always hurt me, but when he did, it was to prove a point. I was his. Other men might look at me, but I was his alone. A musician might move me to tears, but he owned my orgasms. The previous night, we’d seen Adam Brate. When Peter sensed a part of my heart belonged to the ghost of another man, he’d claimed me with unusual brutality.
“Depends on the assignment.”
“Have you heard of the composer Adam Brate?”
“Not much of a music person, myself.”
“He’s famous for a three-movement concerto called A Ballad of Blades.”
“That rings a bell, but I haven’t heard it.” He didn’t shrug, but his tone was the equivalent.
“In a few years, he’s going to be as famous as Yoyo Ma, but he doesn’t show his face. No pictures. No interviews. No one knows his real name. He came out of nowhere.”
“Sounds like he doesn’t want to be found.”
“Does that matter?”
“Not to me. But it matters to him. What I don’t know is why it matters to you.”
The abrasions at my elbows where Peter had tied me down were covered, but I tugged my sleeves anyway. “It does, and that’s all you need to know.”
“Not if you want me to find him. I don’t work in the dark, Mrs. Thorne.” His crystal-blue eyes were noncommittal. He didn’t need another client. He wasn’t desperate or hungry. I needed to have to appeal to his curiosity to convince him to take the job, but the novelty of knowing a musician’s identity wouldn’t cut it.
“This conversation is confidential. I need your word.”
“You have it.”
“Not my husband or family.”
“Your maiden name is Drazen? Right?”
“Right.”
He put his elbows on the desk and folded his hands in front of him. “Full disclosure, your father has hired me before.”
I cleared my throat. Nothing came out.
He waited.
“It’s not a problem,” I finally said.
“Good.”
A deep breath later, I began. “I have reason to believe his name is Gabriel Marlowe, and he’s supposed to be dead.”
Chapter 8
LOS ANGELES - 1993
I found out later that the Thornton School’s composition recitals didn’t just attract family. Film and TV music supervisors came to see what new talent was doing. They were known to buy original pieces right there, which explained some of Gabriel’s disappointment when his piece wasn’t chosen.
“I didn’t know you were so interested in classical music,” Daddy said when I asked him to get me tickets to the spring concert. I’d called him from the phone in my apartment the same day I’d sat with Gabriel in the grass.
“A friend of mine is playing.”
“Who would that be?”
Daddy could hold his tone in check, but there was no hiding the piqued interest or underlying suspicion. If I said Gabriel’s name, he’d assume romantic interest, and he’d be right.
Instincts are unconscious calculations of minute data acquired from learned experience. They’re your body telling you what your mind hasn’t consciously analyzed. So when my skin tingled and my lungs constricted at the thought of telling him I wanted to see a guy named Gabriel Marlowe, I knew something wasn’t quite right.
“Shelley. I don’t think I’ve mentioned her.”
“I look forward to meeting her then.”
“You’re coming?” The tingle on my skin turned to sweat.
“Of course. Do you want to bring a friend?”
The tickets were so scarce, I hadn’t anticipated bringing anyone, but a buffer wouldn’t hurt. “Andrea. You remember her?”
“I do. I’m bringing someone I want you to meet.”
My breath exited my lungs and I forgot how to replace it. Daddy often brought business associates over for dinner. He sat them next to my older sister, Margie, who spent those meals rolling her eyes and cutting the men apart with a wit so sharp they didn’t feel the blade. Daddy used to sit me across from his guests, as I was the next oldest, but when Trevor Stoneman spent the meal ignoring my sister and staring at me, the next dinner had me sitting out of the line of sight of Brandon Wein. Which was just as well, since he wound up in prison for mail fraud.
“Who?” I asked.
“I’ll see you there.”
I hung up wishing I hadn’t promised Gabriel I’d go.
“Thank you,” I said to Andrea in the Bing Theatre lobby, before the show. The event was formal. I was in a soft pink evening dress I’d worn to a LACMA event in January and heels so high I’d instantly regretted them.
“You don’t have to thank me. It gave me an excuse to wea
r this again.” Andrea twirled in her Victorian-style, corseted red gown that would have looked like a costume except for the black boots and hand-knit rainbow scarf. Her hair was tied in little knots with scraps of gingham fabric. Somehow, it all worked.
“Now remember,” I said. “We’re here to see Shelley.”
“Right.” She sipped her whiskey sour from the skinny red straw. “Second solo. Your friend. Not the hot violinist who returns hundred-dollar bills.”
“Yes.”
“Why can’t you tell your father about him?”
“There’s nothing to tell. Half a kiss.”
“You can tell him he’s your friend.”
“No.” I poked my club soda. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“He’ll know. Daddy. He’ll know Gabriel isn’t just a friend and he’s not appropriate for me.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means…” I didn’t want to verbalize my instinctual reaction, but Andrea wouldn’t accept anything less than my deepest doubts and fears. She was a frustrating friend sometimes. “It means my father is really into how things look. Gabriel isn’t one of us. He’s not… money is a thing. A real thing to my family. It’s messed up, I know. And he’s an artist. Artists don’t fly. They’re not stable. So I can tell… I can just tell it’s going to set Daddy off. We’re going to opposite sides of the country after graduation, so I don’t think causing a problem is worth it.”
Andrea swirled the ice at the bottom of her glass. “Carrie, that’s really fucked up.”
“Everyone has a cross to bear, I guess.” Not wanting to get sneaked up on while discussing my family burdens, I scanned the room. “He’s here.”
Dad was already on his way. Six-four, mid-forties, in a custom suit, my father was the epitome of the distinguished older gentleman, even without the auburn hair graying at the temples.
“You look like him,” Andrea said. “Who’s the guy he’s with?”
The man laughing with my father as they wove across the lobby was in his early thirties. Another custom suit over broad shoulders. Charcoal, with an aubergine tie and gold clip. He had perfect teeth, a dimple in his chin, perfectly parted sandy-brown hair, and when he saw me across the room, his smile faded into something more resolute.
“Carrie,” Daddy said then kissed my cheek. “This is Peter Thorne.”
When I shook his hand, Peter met my gaze, and his topaz brown eyes went as comforting as a predator’s as it moved to soothe its prey.
The concert was fine. The music was fine. We sat in the third row, four across, with me between Peter and Andrea. I’d never been so uncomfortable in my entire life.
In the lobby before the starting bell, my father had recited Peter’s resume as if he was looking for a job. Peter was appropriately modest about his millions, or maybe even billions, in banking. Daddy was appropriately immodest about my acceptance to Duke. And when Daddy made sure we filed into the row in a certain order, I knew that more than the seating was being arranged.
There was nothing wrong with Peter. Not on paper. He was handsome and respectful. As the first solo composition was introduced, he kept his hands in his lap and didn’t spread his legs past the boundaries of his seat.
But when Gabriel saw me from the front row of the string section and sent a smirk my way, I resented the banker’s presence. He was taking up space in my mind where I wanted to hold the sight of fingers expertly pressing the strings and a jawline stretched to hold a violin in place. Gabriel was in time with the section, doing the job of supporting the solo without adding the flair I knew he was capable of. My smile after Shelley’s piece didn’t go unnoticed. I caught Peter looking at me with a sense of satisfaction that wiped the smile right off my face.
In twenty-plus years, I’d never told my father no. Not even as a toddler.
First time for everything.
There was a reception after the concert, but all I wanted to do was get out of there.
“Let’s get dinner,” Daddy said as we filed out the center aisle, and suddenly I didn’t want to get out so quickly.
Peter was looking at me, gauging my reaction. “I think Carrie wants to hang out with her friends.”
“We can go to Tristan’s,” Daddy argued. “Andrea, can you join us?”
“Sure!” she said from behind me.
“There. She’ll be with her friends.”
Peter leaned down and whispered to me, “Don’t worry. I won’t let him drag you out.”
His smile was comforting, and his slight nod promised he knew I felt trapped. He understood, and he was going to take care of it.
The press of bodies continued to the lobby. The orchestra members were already out and clustering with family, instruments slung over their shoulders or tucked under their arms. I looked for Gabriel but didn’t want to find him.
Instead, we ran right into Shelley, who I recognized from seeing her on stage.
She had two long brown braids and glasses that made her eyes look huge. I walked into her while trying to find a guy I needed to avoid.
“Sorry,” was all I had.
She nodded and turned away as if she didn’t know me. Which she didn’t.
“Hey,” Peter said. “Isn’t this who you came to see?”
Technically, yes. Actually, no.
“She’s busy,” I said. “I’ll see her later. So how do you know my father?”
“We’ve done some business together.” He shrugged as if it was nothing. “I love orchestral music. I think he’s trying to seduce me into a deal. What do you think?”
I cast my eyes around for my father and Andrea. They were chatting by the doorway as people filed out. “I think a concert shouldn’t change the terms.”
“You’re wise beyond your years.”
The compliment washed over me like a warm bath on a cold day. My cheeks tingled and I turned away. Gabriel was two steps away, working against the flow of traffic to get to me.
“We should—” I didn’t have a chance to finish.
“Carrie,” Gabriel said with a radiant smile and glittering eyes. “You came.”
“I did. Hey, Gabriel, this is Peter. He’s a friend of my family.”
He measured Peter like a young lion deciding if it was time to take on the pride alpha. Peter was handsome, older, wealthier, and in no way a threat for my affections. But you wouldn’t know that from the way Gabriel shook Peter’s hand, keeping his gaze on Peter’s as if he needed to let him know I was territory he’d defend.
“Gabe,” a woman said from behind him. She was short, with a straight black bob. Over an unremarkable navy jacket, she’d wrapped an Hermes scarf so precisely, the brand showed at center front. “Who is this?”
“Mom,” he said, letting his hand slip away. “This is Carrie. And Peter.”
He introduced me as if he’d mentioned me before. I took her hand. It was bird-boned and heavy with silver rings.
“Nice to meet you. My son forgets my name is June.”
“Hi, June.”
“It was so nice of you to come and see Gabriel play in the orchestra. Could you see him from your seat?”
“I could.”
“Did you hear the good news?” she asked.
“Ma, really?”
“What?” I loved good news as much as the next person.
“You didn’t tell her,” she said to him in mock surprise. “He’s so modest. He’s a finalist for a Caruso Fellowship.”
“Yeah.”
I had no idea what a Caruso Fellowship was. “That’s great!”
“National prize,” she said. “For new artists. He’ll study in Italy for the summer and stay on to play in the orchestra at Teatro La Fenice.” She put her arm around Gabriel’s waist and squeezed him close. “That’ll show them who to pick for a solo.”
“That’s amazing!” I exclaimed, trying to keep the wedge of disappointment out of my words. I’d be in North Carolina, a million miles away, but we’d agreed to part ways
after graduation for good reason. I couldn’t hold him.
“Congratulations,” Peter said with a smirk.
Gabriel’s jaw set. “Thank you.” He practically growled it.
“Well,” I said to break the tension, turning my attention to June, “I bet you’ll miss him.”
“He’ll be back,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Won’t you?”
“Yes.” He and Peter were still eye-fighting.
“Carrie”—my father’s voice came from behind me—“are you coming?”
I had answers. Yes, we’re coming. Or, please meet my friend Gabriel and his family. Even, I’m not feeling well and I have to skip Tristan’s. But I watched June’s face change from benignly pleasant to attack-ready. I shot Gabriel a look, but his eyes were on my father’s face.
“Dad, this is my friend.” My words tripped on the thickness in the air.
“You,” June hissed.
“Ma.” Gabriel put his hand on her arm.
“You son of a bitch.” She let her son hold her body, but her words would not be leashed so easily.
I was confused. What was happening? Without knowing the details, I didn’t have the tools to smooth it over.
Daddy was unruffled. Placid, even. “It’s been a pleasure. Shall we?”
He turned and went for the door. Andrea took my hand. I tried to will Gabriel to notice me, but he was completely focused on his mother. I didn’t know what he thought, and the hole in my knowledge sucked my attention down it.
Andrea pulled me. Peter waited until I was on the way out before he followed, creating a human barrier between me and the woman who looked as if she wanted to scratch out my father’s eyes.
“What the hell was that?” Andrea murmured as we walked out.
“I don’t know.”
The limo driver opened the back door, and we slid in.
“Dad,” I said after the door closed. He and Peter sat across from Andrea and me. “Do you know that woman?”
