Solo (Symphony Hall)

by Lauren E. Rico

  “All right, Miss Brenner. But if he wasn’t acting at your behest then you might want to have a little chat with him about letting you fight your own battles. He’s not doing you any favors.”

  I’m not sure who to be more upset with—Russell for going against my wishes and confronting Markham, or Markham himself for making sure that I knew about it. I sit back, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. My headache just got about ten times worse.

  “Yes, you’re right. I’ll do that. It’s just…it’s hard to make Professor Atherton do anything he doesn’t want to do.”

  “Yeah. I know,” he mumbles.

  What? Is it possible that, for once, Dr. Drew Markham gets it?

  I’m about to expel the largest, longest sigh of relief when he steals all the oxygen from my lungs.

  “Of course, if you’d refrained from giving him an earful in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation now, would we?”

  And just like that, my tiny drop of relief is replaced by a wave of discomfort so overwhelming that I know I have to get out of this room before things get ugly. Uglier.

  I have to stop and swallow, fighting back a sudden, unexpected wave of nausea. Oh God. I’ve got to get out of here, and fast.

  “Okay, you’re right, Dr. Markham. I apologize. You’re right, I never should have said anything to him and I’m sorry that he did that to you. May I please be excused? I’m really not feeling very well.”

  He gives a half snort, half laugh.

  “Miss Brenner, if you think you’re going to get out of your assignment by playing sick—” he starts to caution but I have to cut him off.

  “I understand. May I please be excused?” I whisper.

  “You don’t have any questions about your project?” he asks.

  “No, thank you,” I mutter distractedly, wiping the sweat that’s starting to form on my brow.

  “All right, Miss Brenner. Go,” he says, holding my paper out for me to take. I grab it and my bag, and then make a run for the door.

  In less than sixty seconds, I’m down the hall and retching in the ladies’ room. When there’s nothing left to come up, I sit on the cold tile floor with my back against the stall and I breathe until the urge to cry leaves me.

  Chapter Six

  Drew

  I love my Thursday afternoons because I love order and organization. And my Thursdays are all about the order and the organization. After a few obligatory office hours, I’ve got the time to concentrate on my lesson plans and wade through the ever-growing piles of paperwork on my desk. I’m just about through with this week’s mountain of minutia when there’s a knock on my office door. Surprising, since everyone knows better than to bother me in my office on a Thursday.

  “Come in,” I call out from my desk, not bothering to get up.

  When the door opens, I’m greeted by a tall blond guy, probably a little older than me. I’m certain I’ve never met him before, but there’s something that’s vaguely familiar about him.

  “Excuse me, Dr. Markham? May I have a moment of your time?”

  “Uh, sure, I guess. Come in.”

  “Okay if I sit for a minute?” he asks with a pleasant enough grin and I nod toward the chair in front of me.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sure I’ve seen you before but I can’t place you. Are you a Shepherd professor?”

  “No, I’m not. My name is Kevin Kilpatrick, I’m a reporter for the D.C. Courier.”

  That’s where I know him from. But not from his byline. I just saw his name and picture in an email being circulated by campus security. He’s one of the press members who’ve been banned from campus. But I don’t tell him that, because I’m curious to see where this is going. I put the assignments I’m grading aside and fold my hands on my desk. He’s got my full attention now.

  “Yes, of course. What can I do for you, Mr. Kilpatrick?”

  He pulls a small notebook and pen out of his pocket, flipping pages as he’s speaking.

  “I’m hoping you can give me some insight into one of your students. Katherine Brenner?”

  Seriously? Does he think I’m a fucking idiot? I stare at him, unwilling to respond to such an asinine request. Finally, he gets the idea and continues anyway.

  “Yeah, so, maybe your thoughts on her as a student, the influence her father has at this university, how the other faculty and students feel about her. That sort of thing.”

  I tilt my head to the left just a hair, taking him in from a different angle, just to fuck with him. He shifts in his seat uncomfortably.

  “Mr. Kilpatrick,” I say at last, “surely you know that I’m not permitted to comment on any student at Shepherd University. So why are you here?”

  He gives me a sheepish shrug. “I don’t know. Something tells me she’s not your favorite pupil.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He flashes a cryptic smile. “Let’s just say that word around campus is that there’s no love lost between the two of you. And do you know what that tells me, Dr. Markham?”

  I sit back in my chair. This should be good.

  “No. But please, enlighten me.”

  “It tells me that you see something there. In her. You see a side of her that other people don’t. Maybe the real Katherine Brenner. Now, I’ve met the girl, Doc, and I have to say, she’s not all rainbows and sunshine, if you know what I mean.”

  “I don’t,” I say flatly, but he’s unaffected by my tone.

  “Do you find her to be difficult in your classroom, Doc? Because I’m curious to see if your observations are the same as mine.”

  I lean forward, over the top of my desk and he moves in closer, as if I’m about to tell him some deep, dark secret. For a split second, his eyes light up with anticipation.

  “First, stop calling me ‘Doc,’” I spit. “Second, I don’t know who the hell you think you’re talking to, Mr. Kilpatrick, but I have no intention of violating the privacy of any student—whether I like them or not.”

  “Okay, so you don’t like her then.”

  He starts to scribble furiously in his little notebook.

  “That is not what I said!” I protest.

  “You didn’t have to.”

  He grins. I scowl.

  “Come on, don’t be like that,” he coaxes, waving his hand at me dismissively. “I can keep your identity a secret. No one will know you were the one who made the comments. I know you’re a hard-ass in the classroom—it’s not surprising that someone like her would rub you the wrong way. Well, here’s your chance to tell the world about Senator Brenner’s daughter. Is she an entitled bitch? Does she get a free pass cause her daddy’s a politician? Go ahead, you can tell me anything. I’ll make sure the whole world knows the truth.”

  I’d give anything to knock the obnoxious grin right off his fucking face, but I can’t. Instead, I take a deep breath, close my eyes for just an instant, and keep my voice as even as possible. “I think you should leave now, Mr. Kilpatrick.”

  He doesn’t budge. In fact, he’s looking downright comfortable in my office chair, as if he’s some long-lost friend who’s stopped by to reminisce about the good old days.

  “She’s quite the student. Did someone tell you to give her a pass or special treatment? Or maybe someone offered to pay you off to give her good grades?”

  I can feel my face getting hot as my blood pressure starts to rise, but I just stare at him without so much as a twitch for a response.

  “No?” the reporter asks, raising an eyebrow and then jotting something else down. “Well, what about romances? Have you seen her with any particular guy? Or, better yet, any particular girl?”

  I get to my feet so fast that my chair rolls back and hits the wall behind me with a crash.

  “Seriously? This is what you consider news?”

  He shrugs without so much as blinking an eye.

  “Doesn’t matter what I think is news, Doc. It’s what the people want to read. What they want to buy. Senator Tucker Brenner is going t
o announce his bid for the White House very soon. That’s going to put him and Kate into the spotlight. I intend to be the one who’s there with the scoop on the daughter of ‘Senator Satan.’”

  “Out.”

  “Oh, come on…”

  “Get. Out. Now!” I growl.

  The jackass doesn’t move from his chair.

  “If you’re not gone in the next ten seconds, I’m going to call campus security. Then they’ll call the police and charge you with trespassing, Mr. Kilpatrick. Hard to work from a jail cell, you know. And with a snow storm on the way, who knows how long you’d be stuck there.”

  Kilpatrick stands up, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.

  “I’m telling you, Doc, if you don’t talk someone else will. Don’t say I didn’t give you first crack at it!” he calls out over his shoulder as he exits my office.

  I get up to close and lock the door behind him. What a weasely little shit! And who the hell has been telling him about what goes on in my class? I sit back down and consider what he’s just said to me. I’m tough, sure, but a hard-ass? I’ve had my share of asshole professors in my time. Mean sons of bitches who’d fuck with us just to fuck with us. But that’s not me.

  I set a high bar for my students because they need to know what it’s like out there. I’ve been out in the world of professional classical music and if they’re not prepared—if they’re not tough enough—they’re going to get chewed up and spit out faster than they can call mommy and daddy to come get them. I refuse to do my students the injustice of letting them think it’s going to be easy for them once they leave the safety and security of Shepherd University. It’s not. And they need to be prepared for that reality.

  And that includes Katherine Brenner. Even though she irks me. Even though she brings out the worst in me. Even though I know it’s not her fault. It just doesn’t matter.

  Chapter Seven

  Kate

  “Let it go. Let it go. Let it go. Let it goooooo…”

  Ughhh! That stupid song from that stupid movie is haunting my dreams. God! I wish whoever’s playing that shit would just let it go. But they don’t. The tune keeps playing and playing and playing. It stops at some point, only to return a short time later.

  By the third refrain, my subconscious begins to accept that this isn’t a dream at all. I’m really hearing this. And from close by. Groaning, I lift my head and, through bleary eyes, spot my phone on the table next to me.

  I crossed the line between under the weather and sick as a dog somewhere in the middle of the night and I’ve been in and out of a hazy stupor ever since, not quite able to discern what’s real from what I’m dreaming. This is definitely real. Not a dream, unfortunately. The image of a cartoon character is lit up on my display. She’s got long, white hair, a bluish complexion, and a crown made of icicles. The Ice Queen is calling me, and that’s never a good thing.

  “Hello?” I answer, my voice hoarse from sleep.

  “Hello, Katherine. This is Leandra Styverson, your father’s press secretary?”

  “Yes, Leandra. I know who you are,” I mumble.

  “Are you all right, Katherine? You don’t sound so good…”

  “I’m fine, thank you, Leandra. What did you need?”

  “Uh, well, I’m calling on behalf of the senator. He’s going to be in North Carolina next month, on the campus of Shepherd University. He’s participating in a political town hall and he’d like for you to attend.”

  When I don’t respond immediately, she continues.

  “I’ve arranged to have a ticket held for you at will call. I would recommend dressing in something a little less casual than you’re used to. There will be television crews and it’s entirely possible you’ll be picked up on camera.”

  “I see.”

  “So we can expect you to be there then?”

  “No.”

  Long pause. This response can’t have come as a surprise to Leandra. This is hardly the first time we’ve done this dance.

  “May I ask why?”

  “Leandra,” I say on a long sigh, “we both know that the only reason he, or, more likely, you want me there is so there’s someone in the audience for the camera to cut to when they’re talking about him. The sweet, devoted daughter. It’s all about—what do you call it? Optics, right?”

  She doesn’t respond for a long, uncomfortable second.

  “Very well, I’ll pass on the message.”

  “Great. Thank you, Leandra. Good-bye—”

  “Wait, please, Katherine. There’s something else,” she squeezes in before I can hang up and resume my hibernation under the blankets.

  “What?” I moan, unable to keep up the feeling fine facade.

  “The senator would like to have dinner with you, even if you don’t come to the event on campus.”

  Even in my hazy state, I know what a bad idea that is.

  “No. Absolutely not. I’m not interested in being a photo op.”

  “Katherine, he wanted me to tell you that he’s arranged a private room at Villa Romano. His security team will clear the venue beforehand and no one will know you’re coming. He promises that it will be just the two of you. No photographers.”

  I consider this. My father is a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them. If he’s promising me privacy, he means to deliver it. The question is whether I want to have him all to myself.

  “Fine,” I say at last, in exasperated defeat. “What’s the date?”

  Leandra can hardly contain her surprise and excitement. “Wonderful! It’s Friday, April seventh. That’s exactly two weeks from today.”

  “Tomorrow,” I correct her.

  She pauses.

  “No, actually, I’ve got the calendar right in front of me.”

  “But today is Thursday,” I say, wanting nothing more than to stop talking. My throat feels as if I swallowed a gallon of gas and tossed a match in after it.

  “No, afraid not, Katherine. Today is Friday, I’m quite certain of that.”

  And then it occurs to me—I have no idea how long I’ve been asleep. I know I’ve gotten up a few times to drink something and take a few pills, but I just assumed…

  “Leandra?” I ask, my voice suddenly shaky.

  “Yes, Katherine?”

  I’m terrified to ask the question. Terrified to know the answer. “W-what time is it?”

  “Four o’clock,” she says. “On Friday.”

  What? No. No, no, no!

  “I’m sorry, I have to go,” I say breathlessly, even as I’m disconnecting the call.

  That can’t be right, can it? I scramble to bring up the main screen on my phone and there it is in big, glowing digital numbers.

  4:04 p.m.

  Shit!

  I find the remote for my television set and scan through the channels until I find one that’s twenty-four hour news. And there it is on a banner at the bottom of the screen.

  Friday, March 24th. 4:05 PM.

  Oh my God!

  I’ve somehow lost an entire day. The day that I was supposed to spend recopying the midterm project before getting it to Markham. I should have just turned it in the way it was yesterday, when I was feeling better. Or was that the day before yesterday?

  Don’t panic, Kate.

  Think, Kate.

  Okay. Let’s assess. I drag myself out of bed and hobble over to the table where the sheets of manuscript paper are spread out. The project is done, it’s just a little messier than I’d like. He’ll likely ding me for that, but probably not enough to lower the grade. I scoop up the pages, fasten them together with a paperclip, and stuff them into the big envelope I’ve set aside for them. Too late to drop this on campus. Markham’s already gone for the day, so I’ll have to get it to him at home.

  I take a deep breath and concentrate on slowing my heart rate. It’s okay, I’ve had to do this before and I know where he lives. I can be there in twenty minutes, if I leave right now. With no time to change, I just throw on
a hoodie over the yoga pants and T-shirt I’ve been sleeping in. I look like crap, but I don’t plan on getting out of the car so it doesn’t matter. I’ll just roll right up to his mailbox, stuff the envelope in the newspaper holder, and be on my way before he even knows I was there.

  My headache is still a constant, and I’m a little dizzy, but I think I’m well enough to drive the ten miles or so. I’m going to have to be. I grab my keys and look around for my shoes. The first thing I see are the flip-flops I wear to go down to the laundry room in the basement of the apartment building. My toes will be chilly, but I can crank the heater in the car. Within five minutes of hanging up on The Ice Queen, I’m headed down the stairs and to the parking lot. Three feet out the front door I realize I can’t see my car. It, like everything else in my line of sight, is buried under six inches of snow.

  …

  Winter storms in the mountains of North Carolina are nothing to take lightly. My little car climbs a hundred feet or so, then spins out and slides back down fifty of those feet. Luckily, all the sane people are already buttoned up tight in their nice warm homes and I’m the only lunatic braving this weather right now.

  When I decided that there was enough time to get this assignment to Markham’s house, I didn’t consider the fact that his house sits higher up on the mountain. By the time I turn off on the steep, winding road leading to his neighborhood, I’ve fishtailed about a dozen times, spun out twice and, at one intersection, I did a slow-mo 360. But I’m almost there now.

  With a little help from a wrench and YouTube, I figured out how to get the Corolla’s battery cables back to their happy place. And thank God for that because just a few days later, the poor little engine is having to work unusually hard against gravity and ice as it climbs to the higher elevation. I have the accelerator pressed all the way to the floor and still, I’m barely inching along. Eventually the terrain levels out and the car settles down, along with my stress level.

  I spot the turnoff for Windsor Court and make a slow, wide left to avoid gliding into the curb. As I drive past the big houses, I look at their sprawling lawns, now nothing more than blankets of fluffy white snow. A few people are out and about, bundled up tight as they shovel or snow blow. There are a group of teenagers having a snowball war on one property, while younger kids build a snowman across the street. They remind me of what it was like growing up at our home in Virginia.