Fearless

by Shira Glassman

  Fearless

  By Shira Glassman

  Copyright 2016 by Shira Glassman

  Smashwords Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  Torquere Press Publishers

  P.O. Box 37, Waldo, AR 71770.

  Fearless by Shira Glassman Copyright 2016

  Cover illustration by Kris Norris

  Published with permission

  www.torquerepress.com

  All rights reserved, which includes the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law. For information address Torquere Press. LLC, P.O. Box 37, Waldo, AR 71770

  First Torquere Press Printing: January 2016

  Fearless

  by Shira Glassman

  Thanks for being at all my All-State rehearsals, Mom, and for constantly exposing me to both classical music and fiddle tunes throughout my life.

  A newly out-of-the-closet band mom falls for a cute butch orchestra teacher while snowed in at All-State.

  ***

  Robin’s clarinet solo was startlingly beautiful as it drizzled through the hotel ballroom like maple syrup on pancakes. Anyone who had a few bars rest or whole notes turned to look at the skinny brunette—the other teens were clearly impressed. Even the Ricardo Montalbán look-alike conductor lifted his eyebrow to her and smiled.

  From the glow on her face, Robin knew she’d knocked it out of the park. When the flute finally took the melody from her, she collapsed back into the folding chair and beamed toward the far side of the room.

  Lana swelled with pride and gave her daughter a double thumbs-up in response, then held up her phone to mean I got it on video! A few more keystrokes and it was up on Facebook—At All-State orchestra rehearsal, check out Robin’s solo! So proud of my amazing kid.

  She was damn good. The rest of these kids were good too, of course—the best in the state. The last time Lana had played her violin was the mid-’90s, but she still had an ear for pitch, and it was a pleasure to be around high schoolers who knew where the notes were.

  Robin and her friends had more solos coming up, so Lana flung her phone back into her purse and sat back to listen. Hey, the oboe player was pretty good, too!

  The conductor stopped the group with a swipe of his left hand. “This is very good, I just would like a little more, look at me, so I can play with tempo, okay? Yaaa daaa da daaaa daaaa daaaaa…”

  He let them finish the movement before calling a ten-minute break. Robin was ensconced in the middle of her band friends, talking animatedly, so Lana took her phone back out to check if anyone had said anything nice about the video yet. She wanted the whole world to be as dazzled by her kid as she was.

  “Hey, you’re Robin Novak’s mother, right?”

  Lana looked up and saw a familiar-looking woman wearing flannel and well-fitting jeans. She was a youthful fortyish with cropped black hair and heavy-rimmed glasses, and she was smiling invitingly.

  Lana, out of the closet less than a year, fumbled the phone so hard that it flipped like a gymnast before landing on the floor between them. “Shit,” she giggled, feeling fifteen instead of forty-three. Sure, there were plenty of straight women with short hair, but she was fairly sure this wasn’t one of them.

  The woman bent down to pick up Lana’s phone just as Lana did, and their hands brushed. “It’s not broken, is it?”

  “Nah, these rubber cases… Yes, I’m Robin’s mom; I’m Lana. I’m sorry, you look familiar but I can’t…?”

  “Melanie Feinberg,” said the woman. “Call me Mel. I conduct the string orchestra and chorus at Tulip Tree High.”

  “Oh! Okay, yeah.”

  “She’s really got it,” said Mel. “Rafael said she’s looking at going professional, right?” Rafael Vargas was the band director at Tulip Tree, and Robin’s favorite teacher.

  “Yeah, we’ve got audition trips planned for Julliard, Eastman, and Curtis,” said Lana.

  “I just can’t get over that mature tone,” Mel continued. “But, of course, all these kids are great. That’s how they got into the top group.”

  “You have students here, too, right?”

  “Yup!” Mel’s face crinkled into a big grin as she pointed to two kids Lana recognized from the violin section. “They’re mine, and so’s the assistant principal cellist.”

  “That’s great! Congratulations!”

  “I also have a violinist and a violist in the ninth- and tenth-grade group,” said Mel proudly. “We had a good year.”

  “I’m really enjoying these rehearsals,” said Lana. “It’s so nice to be around violins again. I go to all Robin’s concerts, but the way they split up band and orchestra in the public schools mean I miss out on the entire string section.” She ran her hand through her limp but abundant chestnut brown hair. “I used to play violin.”

  “What happened?”

  Lana shrugged. “Job… kids…”

  “Oh, you have other kids?”

  Lana picked up her phone, taking care not to do any more circus tricks with it since she was still a little giggly and nervous around Mel. She showed her the home screen with Robin and Nick wearing reindeer antlers on their heads hugging in front of the Christmas tree. “He’s at his dad’s place while I’m here.”

  “That picture is adorable,” said Mel. “Wow. Isn’t that basically everybody’s dream Christmas card?”

  “Right? I could sell it and put all the money toward Robin’s college.”

  “They should offer her real money, though.”

  “You think?”

  “Okay, okay!” Maestro Lopez clapped his hands, ready to begin the rehearsal again.

  Lana settled back into her seat, flushed and over-aware of herself. “Hey,” Mel whispered with a hand on her shoulder. “I’m going to go over to the junior orchestra. Nice to finally talk to you!”

  “Mm-hmm!” Lana smiled and watched her go.

  Okay, now what?

  Not for the first time, she felt a pang of resentful anger at the conservative culture in which she’d been raised, for leaving her no better prepared to flirt with women than a teenager was. When she and Steve got married, they “knew” they were doing the Right Thing, except it turned out it was all kinds of the Wrong Thing. Decades later, carried on the waves of the burgeoning gay rights movement they managed to free themselves, but now what?

  Steve seemed to be getting along just fine. He was a lawyer and he already had a nice little clique of gay lawyers and realtors and a couple of small business owners. Meanwhile, Lana didn’t even know where to start.

  In the beginning, she thought she did, but cycling through memories of the past few months proved otherwise.

  The lesbian meetups at the indie coffee house—sure, there was relief at not being the only one in the room, but she didn’t really have anything else in common with the women who showed up.

  The book club seemed like a great idea until she got too swamped with band mom stuff to read on time and chickened out of going back.

  And the political group, campaigning for equal rights legislation, was really fulfilling because it was much easier to get to know strangers if you had a prearranged topic of conversation, but it turned out to be a great place to make friends with couples, widows, and energetic youngsters barely older than Robin. Not a potential girlfriend.

  Fortunately, a dead Italian composer named Ottorino Rhespighi was all too ready to shake her out of her fretting. As the orchestra grew louder and the sound of the brass engulf
ed the room, she imagined the Roman army he’d been trying to evoke stomping on her worries as they marched.

  ***

  “Okay, we start with the Debussy when we get back here tonight! Have a good dinner!”

  The conductor dismissed the eleventh- and twelfth-grade orchestra, and Lana was soon tackled by a hug ’round the waist. “This is so fun!” Robin exclaimed. “Everyone’s so good.”

  “Did your friends have any plans for dinner? I can take everyone to Steak and Shake if you want.”

  “I dunno yet,” said Robin, looking around and taking out her phone. “Lemme see if Blanca’s group is done yet.”

  “What about Alexis?”

  “She’s still…” Robin drew closer and continued in the tiniest voice possible. “She’s trying to get Tyler to invite her.”

  Lana grinned, spying Robin’s friend talking to the second chair cello that Mel had bragged about. “Want me to play matchmaker? Go over there and invite them both.”

  Robin’s eyes widened. “That’s… almost brilliant.”

  “I’ll wait for you out in the hallway.” Lana gathered her things and pushed open the door to leave the ballroom.

  She knew there would be a crowd of young musicians, parents, and teachers milling around, but she hadn’t expected the air of alarm and confusion. The hotel staff were deep in discussion with furrowed brows, and some of the kids were just sitting in the middle of the floor surrounded by instrument cases and folders, looking lost.

  Lana waved at Mel, who was standing by the free popcorn dispenser in the midst of a small flock of students. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “The roads got snowed in during rehearsal,” Mel explained.

  “Greeeeat.” Lana made a face.

  “So I guess our choices are: lobby restaurant, or lobby restaurant.” Mel smirked. “And then, of course, there’s lobby restaurant.”

  “Don’t forget the free popcorn!” said Lana.

  “Nah, that’s for the percussion section.”

  Robin emerged from the ballroom with Alexis and Tyler close behind. “Chicken fingeeeeeeers,” she moaned in a zombie voice, her hands out in front of her still holding her clarinet case and folder.

  “Change of plans,” said Lana. “We’re snowed in.”

  “You guys are totally welcome to join us in the hotel restaurant,” said Mel.

  “Anything, as long as it’s made of food,” Robin moaned. “Oh, and we have to wait for Blanca and her mom.”

  “Blanca Martinez? Flute?” Mel asked.

  “Yeah, she’s like, practically my sister,” said Robin. “She got piccolo in the concert band this year. And she and her mom are rooming with us.”

  “Rooming with the piccolo player,” said Mel, “that’ll wake you up in the morning.”

  As soon as Blanca and her mom materialized from another ballroom, the three women led the group of teenagers over to the lobby restaurant. Naturally, by this point, there was a line, but the restaurant did its best to seat everybody—even if they were shoved off in a corner near the bathroom.

  “Can you believe this weather?” said Mrs. Martinez after they gave the server their drink orders.

  “Makes me glad we’re stuck in here all day for three days anyway,” said Robin. “It’s all cozy.”

  “What about the concert?” asked Blanca. “Isn’t that in the convention center?”

  “They’re connected,” said Robin. “There’s, like, a thing. Like a connecty-thing. You didn’t see it last year?”

  “The weather wasn’t this fucked up last year,” Tyler pointed out. “Oh, shit, I didn’t mean to curse, Ms. Feinberg.”

  Robin burst out laughing. “Did you even hear what you just said?”

  Lana couldn’t help smile herself, and Mel definitely didn’t seem to care about the language.

  “You know what, though?” Mel pointed out, frowning. “The middle schoolers are out in that Holiday Inn three miles down the road. They’re the ones who’ll be in real trouble if they can’t clear the snow.”

  “Oh, my God…” said Blanca. “I would die. I literally had nightmares I’d oversleep and miss getting here on time this morning.”

  “Then she practiced in Lana’s van,” said Mrs. Martinez.

  “Oh, boy,” smirked Mel.

  Mrs. Martinez grinned. “They don’t tell you when your daughter picks up the flute it comes with that shrill little torture device!”

  “How does everybody like playing Pines of Rome?” Mel asked the students.

  “Whales!” squealed Alexis.

  “It’s the whales from Fantasia!” said Blanca at the same time.

  “I love the part at the end where the whales fly,” said Robin, making flying-whale motions with her arms.

  Mel met Lana’s glance with amused eyes. “Before Disney did all that, it was supposed to be about different places in Rome,” Mel explained. “When I hear you guys playing I think about my trips there. It’s an amazing place, with thousands of years of history, art, culture—all overlapping. You could be standing between a building that’s two hundred years old and columns that used to be part of another building that’s two thousand.”

  “So romantic!” Blanca’s eyes sparkled.

  “Oh, man, that sounds awesome!” said Robin. “That’s so cool that you’ve been there! The only part of Europe I’ve been in is Serbia, where my grandparents came from.”

  “Serbia has some Roman ruins, too,” Lana pointed out. “There are some near Kladovo.”

  “Yeah, you don’t have to go to Rome to see Roman ruins,” Mel agreed. “Most of Europe has the odd column here and there. There’s an incredible aqueduct about an hour outside Madrid. In fact, some of the sites in a city called Nîmes in Provence—France—looked just like some of the most amazing parts of Rome. A bridge, a temple, an amphitheater like the Coliseum…”

  An image of Mel showing her around Europe’s ancient wonders flipped into Lana’s mind, and she smiled without meaning to.

  Drinks came, followed by food, and Robin finally got her precious chicken fingers. Lana dug into her club sandwich, trying to balance her hunger with her intense wish to look graceful in front of Mel. Luckily, despite her heightened awareness, she didn’t get mayonnaise on her nose.

  Mrs. Martinez’s phone chimed, and she chuckled when she looked at it. “Oh, boys. Men. No, boys.”

  “Hm?” Lana asked from behind her sandwich.

  Mrs. Martinez looked toward the kids. They were deep in conversation about some paranormal TV show that seemed to attract teens like ants to spilled soda, and thus oblivious. “My husband took the twins to his brother’s while we’re here. Look at this.” She showed Lana her phone.

  Lana found herself looking at a picture of a snow… penis. Yup, that was the whole shebang… sculpted out of snow like a snowman. She burst out laughing, almost choking on her food. “Oh, my God, warn me first?”

  “Do I want to know?” Mel asked. Mrs. Martinez showed her, and Mel rolled her eyes and smirked. “Oh, boy. Creative!”

  “These men,” said Mrs. Martinez, putting her phone back in her handbag. “What we gonna do with them, right?”

  Lana, who had no need for such answers anymore, sent Mel a conspiratorial grin—and Mel winked back! Lana’s heartbeat raced as she realized that now Mel definitely knew she’d been flirting.

  As the food on everyone’s plates dwindled, Lana realized she was craving chocolate. She’d been up since far before dawn, driving the van from home so that Robin and Blanca could get settled in before the first rehearsal, and now she felt like a treat. “Does anyone want to split chocolate cake?”

  “Ooh, you said my favorite magic word,” said Mrs. Martinez.

  “Can I have some?” asked Robin.

  “Why don’t we get one for the kids—two for the kids,” Lana corrected herself, realizing how many of them there were, “and one for the three of us?”

  “You two go on without me, I’m stuffed!” said Mel, ruling over her empty pla
te like the queen of full bellies.

  But when the waitress came around to take dessert orders—“Sorry, we ran out of chocolate cake.” She looked as if she expected to be sent to the firing squad.

  “Oh, man!” Robin’s shoulders slumped. “Can we get the peanut butter thing?”

  “Peanut Butter Paradise?” The waitress wrote furiously, then looked expectantly at the adults.

  “No, thanks,” said Lana.

  “Nah, I’m all right.” Mrs. Martinez waved one hand as she fished around in her purse for her wallet. She pointed to Blanca. “Just the check. That one’s mine. Oh, and put those two on my bill also.”

  Lana exclaimed, “Oh, you don’t have to do that!”

  “Pssh,” said Mrs. Martinez. “You drove this morning. That was a lot of work!”

  “Thanks.”

  “I hope they get the roads cleared soon,” Mel commented, “before the hotel starts running out of more vital ingredients.”

  “Chocolate could be a vital ingredient,” Lana quipped. “I’ve had a long day.”

  After the checks were paid, and everyone made quick detours to the ladies’ room, the students returned to their respective ballrooms for the evening rehearsal. Lana curled up on the same seat as before. She tried to stay focused, but the music was too soothing this time and she’d done too much this morning starting too early. She slipped into a sleep that almost felt drugged, with the warm sounds of the string section washing all around her like a bubble bath.

  Lana didn’t know how long she’d slept, roused by the orchestra reaching a less quiet part of the piece. She noticed something in the seat beside her—it was a chocolate bar, on top of a piece of hotel stationery marked “—M.”

  ***

  The next morning Lana rose to the realization that she’d developed a full-blown crush on the outgoing butch teacher. Excitement that she clicked with someone so cosmopolitan, so competent, and so cute propelled her out of bed feeling a little like she’d already drank some of the free in-room coffee whose smell now filled the room.