Reverie

by Rico, Lauren

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Mila says, sounding a little flustered. “Uh, anyway, so he says he waited for almost two hours– that’s my friend the page, not the person who writes the names. Anyway, he told me he could hear them arguing. Finally it came down to this lady. She said she was voting for Cal. They argued some more but she wouldn’t change her mind.”

  I’ll be damned. It was that bitch Louise Kutter. I should’ve known.

  “I’m really sorry, Jeremy…” Mila says.

  “Why don’t you take your mediocre ass over to the cello section and keep your mouth shut for a change?” I say so softly that only the three of us can hear.

  “Jeremy!” Julia exclaims in an equally quiet voice.

  Mila’s chin starts to quiver, and tears spill from her eyes and down her cheeks. For once, she has nothing to say. I stand aside and hold my hand out in the direction of the stage in an “after you” gesture. It’s her cue to get the hell out of my sight. She takes it.

  When I turn around Julia is glaring at me.

  “Jeremy Corrigan! How could you do that?”

  “Do what?” I ask defensively.

  “You’re not a child, Jeremy. You can’t just say whatever you want. You have to filter sometimes.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you can’t just go around saying things like that to people. She didn’t do anything to you.”

  I roll my eyes at her. It’s so pathetic, this need to worry about hurting other people’s feelings.

  “Don’t be so naive, Julia,” I say and walk away from her out onto the stage.

  When I saunter back to the horn section, there are a few other musicians gathered around Cal congratulating him. They scatter awkwardly when they spot me approaching. I’m playing the principal horn part on this concert and he’s my assistant. I take my seat ahead of him, waiting for a snide remark about the competition, but there isn’t one. For now, he seems content to tune up quietly and run a few passages under his fingers. The other three players in our section make a point of not looking our way. They’re probably afraid something ugly is going to happen between us up at the head of the section. They don’t know the half of it.

  “Hello! Hello!” Maestro Hagen dashes out to his podium from back stage. He looks like a chubby little penguin in his tuxedo. The toupee appears to be anchored tightly to his head. Hair glue, perhaps? Thumbtacks? Who the hell knows what the batty old coot does. At any rate, he’s been in a much better mood for the last week, much to Julia’s relief, I’m sure.

  “Well,” he begins, looking around the orchestra, “we’re running a bit short on time this evening. They will open the doors in about fifteen minutes and it is a full house. Let me just take a couple of minutes to go over a few things. First, please watch the tempo on the Hebrides overture. Bassoons, you tend to rush us a little bit so please keep an eye on me. The Tchaikovsky is going to require every bit of stamina every one of us has. So please, pace yourselves accordingly! That goes for the brass in particular. Jeremy, let Cal do some of the heavy lifting so you can be fresh for the solos. Finally, I’d just like to take a moment to acknowledge our Kreisler finalists. I could not be more proud to have Cal and Julia representing us.”

  Applause and hoots from the orchestra.

  Then the Maestro looks back at me.

  “And Jeremy, while I’m sorry you are not among them, we are all aware of what a brilliant horn player you are. Your success will most certainly not be defined by any competition.”

  There’s some scattered applause for me as I give him a forced smile and nod.

  “Please do not forget that I will be offering a few comments to the audience before the Tchaikovsky. Alright then. Backstage with you!”

  The little penguin-man shoos us off the stage so they can let the audience take their seats. I see Julia in a corner putting rosin on her bow. She’s doing her best to disappear. I must have really upset her earlier when I snapped at her. Better do some damage control. She has her back to me, and doesn’t notice my arrival.

  “I’m sorry,” I say contritely as I wrap my arms around her from behind. I push my nose into her hair and take a deep breath. She smells good.

  Julia leans back against me.

  “No, I’m sorry. You’re a grown man. It’s not my job to tell you how to act. It’s just that Mila...well, she’s a little clueless. She doesn’t mean any harm. Please don’t be angry with her. She just thinks you’re the hottest thing on two legs, and it would break her heart if she thought you didn’t like her.”

  I don’t like her, but I do like that Julia has come to her senses and backed down.

  “You’re right,” I say in a simulation of sincerity. “I’ll apologize to her later. I was just upset about the Louise Kutter thing.”

  She turns around to face me.

  “Louise Kutter? How do you know it was her?”

  “I just know.”

  In fact, there’s no doubt in my mind.

  “Oh. I’m sorry, Jeremy,” Julia says, reaching up to touch the side of my face. “Are you going to say something to her?”

  I’m going to do more than that.

  “Nah. I’ll let it go. She has a right to her own opinion.”

  The noise from out in the audience is getting louder as patrons find their way to their seats.

  “Please take the stage, everyone! Tuning in five minutes!” the stage manager calls out.

  Julia stands on her tippy toes and kisses my cheek.

  “You go out there and show them what a mistake it was not to pick you,” she says firmly.

  I have to smile. Sometimes Julia comes out with exactly the thing I want to hear. This is what I’ve tried to explain to Brett when he wonders why I haven’t dumped her yet. Not only is she a good lay, but she really believes I’m as great as I know I am. Why not keep her around a little bit longer?

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say. “How about we grab a nightcap after the concert?”

  “Oh, I was planning on sticking around to get an hour or two of practicing in after the concert tonight…”

  “Hey, didn’t you say Matthew is out of town?”

  “Yes, he’s in DC for the White House Christmas party tomorrow…”

  When Matty is away, The Mouse will play…

  “Perfect! Let’s go to your place then.”

  She looks skeptical.

  “Jeremy, I really need to put in some more time on my recital music.”

  I pretend I haven’t heard her, and drop my voice so only she can hear.

  “What do you say we spend tonight in that big old bed of yours? Take advantage of a little privacy, hmmm?”

  The pink rises to her cheeks at the suggestion behind my suggestion. She nods shyly.

  “Good. Now get out there and tell Mila to stop crying already. I’m not mad.”

  Julia gives me one of her impulsive, hard hugs where she throws herself against me. She may be small but this girl has a way of knocking you off your feet if you’re not careful, good thing I’m careful.

  35

  The applause dies out as Maestro Hagen takes the stage and walks to a microphone that has been placed in front of his podium. He addresses the audience.

  “Tchaikovsky described the opening of his fourth symphony as: ‘that fateful force which prevents the impulse to happiness from attaining its goal, which jealously ensures that peace and happiness shall not be complete and unclouded.’”

  Hagen speaks the quote and pauses to let it resonate.

  “As you hear the brilliant brass fanfare, listen for the dark undertone and remember the composer’s words: ‘that fateful force which prevents the impulse to happiness from attaining its goal.’”

  With that, the penguin hops up onto his podium to face us, his hair flopping ever so slightly. Maybe it’s not anchored as well as I first thought. He raises his baton and, for one brief moment, time stands still. One hundred pairs of eyes are glued to him, one hundred people hold their breath i
n anticipation of what is to come next. The maestro gives us a smile and a wink before dropping his arm into the powerful swooping downbeat that sets the tone for the entire symphony.

  The horns are in motion, starting the fanfare alongside the bassoons. In an instant, the trumpets are there, too. Together we create a splintering wall of sound. But Hagen was right. This is no light little regal fanfare. It is a proclamation of the inevitable darkness that eventually envelops us all. You’d think there’d be no place to go after such a powerful opening. Ironically, the movement grows even more intense as the theme is deconstructed. It breaks down and spreads across the orchestra, infiltrating every voice of every section. Yes, it is the same theme as in those stirring opening notes, but now bits and pieces of it surface and unfurl in melodic fronds.

  The second movement is as powerful in its understatement as the first movement is in its grandiosity. It is ushered in by a single oboe, a nostalgic voice of pining for days long gone. From there, the symphony dovetails into a coy scherzo of plucked strings, until finally the fourth movement washes over us in a wave of triumph, punctuated by the fateful theme that started it all.

  Maestro Hagen doesn’t even conduct the last several frantic measures. He extends his baton outward in front of him, the way a sorcerer might aim his magic wand. He holds it there, pointed at us, beckoning, challenging us to play to a speed and intensity which even he cannot direct, until the last roll of the timpani and ring of the brass die away into the rapt audience.

  It’s as if they are paralyzed for a split second, but then the spell is broken and a sea of people, row after row, are on their feet. They applaud and cheer, hoot and whistle. Hagan points to the horn section. My section. We stand and I bask in the swell of applause that greets me. It’s a good night. Five curtain calls and three encores later, I find Julia backstage, waiting by my horn case.

  “That was amazing!” she says. “The horns were brilliant, Jeremy! You were unbelievable!”

  “Thanks, Jules,” I say, starting to pack up. She just stands there watching me, a strange expression on her face. “What?”

  She smiles.

  “What?” I ask, with just a hint of irritation.

  The color is creeping up again, from under her collar, up her neck and to her cheeks. She drops her voice.

  “It’s just… you’re so good, at everything; and so sexy I can’t stand it,” she says in a low voice that gets my attention. “You’re right. I’d rather be with you tonight than practice. I can’t think of anything but going home and getting into bed with you.”

  I arch an eyebrow at her.

  “Oh, yeah?”

  She nods. I smile. The good night isn’t over yet.

  “Come on,” I say.

  “Where?”

  I give her a lascivious smile and she follows me out of the concert hall stage door and through the intricate series of corridors that brings you back into the main part of McInnes. Just as I suspected, the practice rooms are deserted at this hour, especially just after the last concert of the semester. I pull Julia along behind me and into the room at the end of the hallway.

  Once we’re inside, she reaches for the light switch but I put a hand over hers and we stay mired in the pitch black of the tiny space. I have a vague idea of where the piano is, and the music stand and chairs, so I drop my horn and aim for a clear patch of sound-insulated wall paneling to the left of the door. Julia is giggling a little.

  I pull her into a tight embrace and lean down to kiss her. Her tongue meets mine hungrily and she’s making soft little happy noises. I drop my hands from her without losing contact with her lips. I’m not sure if she’s even aware that I’ve loosened my belt and dropped my tux trousers to my ankles along with my boxers. I’m good and hard already.

  I separate from her just enough to pick her up, put her back against the wall and step into her, so she has to wrap her legs around me to secure herself. When I reach down to pull her panties aside, they are soaked. I run a finger up and down her length and she lets out a garbled cry when I find her clit. I nudge it from side to side. Her legs are locked around my back now and she’s holding on for dear life.

  “Uh...” she moans every time I make contact.

  When I start to work it with my thumb she practically screams. She’s ready and so am I. I position my cock at her sopping entrance and slam into her with a force that pushes her hard against the wall.

  “Oh… Oh, God…Jeremy, you make me so wet…”

  I know I make her wet, but the fact that she knows it is more exciting to me than the actual fact of it. Now, I push her hard against the wall, pulling back and slamming into her again and again until it is clear she’s close. I pull out and wait several delicious seconds, running the head of my cock up and down, getting her more and more excited.

  “Please…” she begs. “Please, Jeremy, now…”

  I oblige with one final stroke that brings her to a frenzied climax.

  She’s loud. And I like that, too. I enjoy that fact that I can make her come, or not, whenever I want to. I catch up to her with a few quick strokes that send palpable shivers of sensitivity through her body as I come. She clings to me, her head on my shoulder, her arms wrapped around my back.

  “No one…” she whispers into the darkness. “No one makes me feel the way you do.”

  That’s exactly what I’m counting on.

  36

  “Jeremy, I’m telling you, I don’t cook,” Julia says, as I look through the kitchen cabinets and jot down items on a shopping list

  “Don’t, or won’t, Jules?” I ask, shooting her a dirty look over my shoulder.

  “Can’t, Jeremy. I can’t cook. And even if I could, how could you expect me to pull together a fancy dinner when you never even mentioned that we’re having company?”

  I open up the refrigerator and examine some of the condiment bottles on the door.

  “I don’t need excuses, Julia,” I say without looking at her. “Maybe if you’d pay attention, you wouldn’t miss stuff like this.”

  “Pay attention to what? You haven’t spoken more than ten sentences to me all week!”

  “Maybe not, but one of those ten was ‘we’re having company Saturday night.’ What the hell is wrong with you, Julia?”

  She shakes her head at me in disbelief.

  “Nothing. There isn’t a thing wrong with me. It’s you, Jeremy.”

  I close my eyes and stand very still, giving her the distinct impression that I’m trying to control my anger.

  “Julia, things are not going to go well for you if there isn’t a respectable meal on that table for Christmas.”

  “Jeremy, you have to understand. I haven’t missed a holiday with Matthew in over fifteen years. I’m not going to start now. He’s my family. Besides, I haven’t seen a practice room in days. I’d planned to spend most of Christmas Eve at McInnes…”

  I cut her off.

  “First of all, you and Matthew are not family. I’ve told you before, it’s him or me. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “You never said that!” she says, putting her hands on her hips.

  “And as far as the practicing goes,” I continue as if she hasn’t spoken, “I wouldn’t worry too much about that. There’s no way you’re going to beat out any of the other finalists. Don’t bother trying to practice your way up to their level. It’s nothing but sheer luck that got you this far. Wouldn’t surprise me if Sam Michaels told the committee all about you. They probably felt sorry for you, threw you a bone.”

  The pain I have inflicted is written over every square inch of her face. She has grown a chalky white color and I see her start to tremble.

  It’s been a slow, even progression to this point over the last couple of weeks. I’m going out more and more, telling her less and less. I ignore her attempts at affection, rejecting her again and again. We barely speak. And sex? Well, lets just say I’ve changed the whole tone of that. Not so much romance as mechanics. My needs, my desires are the
only ones that matter from here on out. Julia is off-balance all the time. And that’s just how I want it.

  “So, turkey. What, like fifteen pounds?” I ask her, returning to the list that I started earlier.

  I think she’s going to say something but she makes the wise decision to refrain. After a long moment she simply nods her head.

  “Good. And sweet potatoes, not that candied crap but real potatoes…”

  “Can I…” she starts to ask quietly.

  I give her a look that stops her mid-sentence.

  “Can you what?”

  I put the list down and take a step closer to her.

  “I just wondered if maybe… if I could ask Matthew to come here for dinner since you don’t want me to go there?”

  I don’t need to say a word. The look I give her says it all for me. Julia simply hangs her head down and walks back to my bedroom. Brett has heard the whole conversation from where he’s sitting on the couch, making notes in the score he’s playing for the Big Apple Ballet next week.

  “Harsh,” he says, once she’s gone.

  I shrug.

  “She’ll never learn if I don’t teach her.”

  “Jeremy, the final round is in two weeks. I don’t see Cal backing out. Maybe you should just...”

  “What? What should I just do, Brett?” I cut him off. “Accept defeat and let the moron steal my gold medal? My career? Uh-uh. Not going to happen. He’ll back out.”

  “Dude! I was just going to say maybe you should cut Julia loose. She’s a distraction. Breaking it off with her will push her over the edge. Just do it, so you can focus on... other things.”

  “No. Matthew brought her back from the dead once before, he can do it again. I’m not taking that chance. She stays right here where I can keep an eye on her.”

  He shakes his head and looks back down at the music.

  “How much more of this do you think she’ll put up with?” he asks as he erases a notation.

  “Oh, Brett, you have no idea what a girl like that will take. Don’t you get it? This is like going home for her. She’s like me. She had to learn to live like a normal person, but she isn’t a normal person. Now, all she wants is approval. All she wants to do is please me. What she doesn’t know is that I can’t be pleased.”