by M. J. Duncan
“So, I’m going to be practicing non-stop until it’s time for me to leave for London,” Mallory said, the vaguely apologetic look on her face enough to draw Gwen back into their conversation. “Which means I won’t have much time to spend with you.”
“I understand.” Gwen nodded and plastered what she hoped was a reassuring smile on her face. “You’re going to crush the audition, I know it.”
“What did I ever do to deserve you?” Mallory mused softly.
Gwen smiled tightly as the genuine affection in Mallory’s tone made her feel like she might be physically ill. Nothing. You have done nothing to deserve the things I’ve done.
“Are you okay?” Mallory asked, showing an unusual amount of awareness of Gwen’s inner turmoil.
Gwen swallowed thickly and nodded. “Fine.” She made a show of checking her watch. “We better get inside. Rehearsal’s going to start soon, and I haven’t warmed up yet.”
NINE
Even after six years of calling the main auditorium at Walt Disney Concert Hall home, Gwen was still left in awe every time she walked through the stage door. There was not one area of the building that wasn’t architecturally striking—Gehry had truly outdone himself on every aspect of the building’s design—but the main performance area was something else altogether.
The walls and ceiling that ebbed and flowed outward from the stage, directing sound to the furthest reaches of the balconies so that each of the 2,400 seats in the auditorium could hear every note perfectly were covered in the same hues of Douglas fir that could be found in accents throughout the rest of the building. The seats were upholstered in a bright, wildflower patterned fabric of red and gold and teal, a color combination that could have been garish but which only served to further accentuate the hall’s gorgeous woodwork. The seats themselves surrounded the stage in an intimate halo before funneling outward, the width of the rows shortening the further they were from the stage, rising section by section, until they met the balcony that spanned the far wall. The stage itself, crafted of pale Alaskan Cedar, seemed to glow amidst the richer color tones of the hall, naturally drawing one’s eye to it. Gwen had played in some incredible concert halls in her life—some newer, a lot older—but as far as she was concerned, not one of them came close to the breathtaking design Frank Gehry had crafted here in the middle of downtown Los Angeles.
“All right, people, some housekeeping before we get to work,” the symphony’s conductor, Albert Rhode, called out, clapping his hands as he made his way onto the stage. Young and spry, with wild hair and the most contagious energy Gwen had ever encountered in a conductor, he was a favorite with fans and musicians alike, and she personally dreaded the day his contract expired and the rest of the world would undoubtedly come and try to steal him away.
The crowd on stage quieted as the musicians finished their conversations and turned toward their leader. Mallory was already focused on her work, her eyes flicking from the sheet music she held to their conductor, and she didn't even glance in Gwen’s direction as she made her way toward her seat.
Luke did catch her eye though, his right eyebrow cocked questioningly, and Gwen blew out a soft breath as she shook her head. His left eyebrow joined his right high on his forehead, and she mouthed, “Later” as she stood her cello in front of her seat in the shadow of The French Fries—the iconic organ whose pipes extended in an almost haphazard fashion from the wall behind the stage—and did her best to appear attentive as she turned her eyes to Rhode as he ran through some general notices and a couple of rehearsal changes that would be emailed out to them all following rehearsal. It was the typical beginning-of-the-week type stuff, and she only really began to listen when he cleared his throat and looked hopefully at the hundred and six faces in front of him.
“As you all know, my son has been receiving treatment for his cystic fibrosis from Children’s Hospital Los Angeles, and they have asked if we, as a symphony, would be willing to send a small group to play at their annual black tie gala at the Taglyan Complex next Friday. I know that this is late notice and that many of you will have already made plans for the night, but if you are available, I would like to put together a small ensemble to perform.” He smiled. “Naturally, as this is a charity event, we won’t be accepting any payment for our services so that as much money as possible goes back to the kids. Now, by a rough show of hands, who thinks they would be able to help out?”
Gwen immediately raised her hand, as did Luke and a handful of other musicians. She was not surprised to see that Yves, who was standing beside her, did not raise his hand—he had been talking of his trip back home to Paris for months now and she knew he would be out of the country—nor was she surprised that Mallory’s hand also stayed down. A charity gala for a children’s hospital was not a flashy enough venue for her to consider without quite a bit of prodding, but with her anticipated audition in London looming, there was no way she would give up a night of practicing to take part in a makeshift performance such as the one Rhode was suggesting.
Rhode looked around the stage and smiled, his wild curls bouncing with each nod of his head, silently acknowledging and thanking all who had volunteered. “Excellent. If you raised your hand, please stay after rehearsal so we can discuss the details of the event and try to come up with a set list that can accommodate everybody.”
Gwen and her fellow volunteers all tipped their heads in understanding.
“Well,” Rhode continued, “as it’s the summer season and we don’t have a performance until next Tuesday at the Bowl, let’s start with a quick little Pirates to warm up, and then we’ll tackle the first three pieces from West Side Story.” LA Phil played a series of concerts at the Hollywood Bowl each summer for the venue’s “Classical Tuesday” series, and this year he had worked with the symphony’s creative chair to put together a fun program of well-known music that would hopefully draw larger crowds to their regular season performances that would resume at Disney Hall in the fall. “Because I know some of you are still recovering from the trip back east, we’ll call it early after that so you have time to catch up after being gone for so long. Tomorrow we will do the remainder of the West Side score, and we’ll pick up our regular rehearsal regimen Wednesday morning.”
Smiles and nods greeted his announcement as everybody moved to take their seats and ready their instruments, and Gwen closed her eyes as she ran the fingers of her left hand down the neck of her cello, lightly pressing the strings into the wood as she centered herself. After the last thirty-some-odd hours of utter chaos, she was more than ready to lose herself in her music for a while. She sucked in a slow, deep breath as she moved her left hand to the proper starting position, and then opened her eyes as Victor Vagin played the A note for the orchestra to tune their instruments to.
When they were ready, Rhode jumped up onto his rostrum in front of the orchestra, and held his hands up in front of himself at chest-height, the bulb of his conducting baton held lightly in his right hand while the tip rested against his left. She watched his eyes scan the stage, waiting to see that everyone was indeed ready to begin before he smiled.
He seemed to hold everyone’s eyes at once as he lifted his hands apart and began silently counting, moving his arms slowly up and down once, twice, and on the third up, they began to play. The cinematic theme was an upbeat and lively ensemble piece that more than served to loosen their fingers and lips, and it was Rhode’s preferred warm-up piece—though The Imperial March was a close second. They played through the Pirates theme twice before settling into their real assignment for the day, and although Gwen would have preferred a longer, more demanding rehearsal, she still felt marginally better by the time Rhode released them for the day than she had when she walked onto the stage.
Gwen remained in her seat as those who had not volunteered to perform at the charity gala gathered their music and instruments, and watched as Mallory exchanged a few words with Mark Chang—the associate concertmaster, and her second-in-command. She was undoubted
ly leaving him instructions to pass along to the rest of the first violins section, and Gwen forced a small smile when Mallory’s steely blue eyes locked onto hers from across the stage. A few murmured words later and Mallory was making her way past the rostrum to where Gwen sat in the cello section, looking beautiful and controlled and confident. She was not a woman easily ignored, especially here in her element, and Gwen’s stomach once again tightened with guilt as she stopped in front of her.
“Do you mind if I skip our usual lunch today so I can go home and begin practicing?”
Gwen shook her head as she got to her feet. “Of course I don’t mind. Go. Practice.”
“Thank you.” Mallory shifted her bow to her left hand. Her expression was contrite as she ran her right hand through her hair, and she sighed as she reached out to give Gwen’s arm a light squeeze. “Really. Thank you for understanding how much this means to me.”
Gwen nodded, her pulse tripping over itself at the feeling of Mallory’s fingers idly stroking her inner forearm, which in turn made her throat tight with the confession she could not possibly speak. She hated that Mallory being so sweet made it harder for her to stomach what she had done, but she deserved to suffer. She licked her lips and tried to find something to say, but was saved from the task when Mallory just smiled and gave her arm one last gentle squeeze.
“I’ll call you later. Have fun picking music for the gala,” Mallory said as she let go of Gwen’s arm and took a step toward the stage door.
Gwen bit her lip as she watched Mallory go, and shook her head when she turned back to the rostrum to see Luke making his way over to her, with his clarinet resting lightly on his shoulder like a baseball player on their way to the warm up circle.
“So, that looked like fun,” Luke said lightly, though his gaze was concerned. “You okay?”
“I’m fine. She’s going home to practice.” Gwen shook her head at the questioning look in his eyes. “Not now, okay? I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay. Well, since you’re single for the afternoon, you wanna go to lunch once we’re finished here?”
What she really wanted to do was go home and sleep until it was time to wake up and come back to work the following morning so she wouldn't have to keep thinking about how completely fucked up everything was, but lunch would work too. Anything to keep her from being alone with nothing to distract her from the mess her life had become. “Sure. What’s sounding good to you?”
“I’m guessing you’d rather not eat right around here…” His voice trailed off as he waited for her response.
Gwen nodded. The last thing she needed was for anyone they knew to overhear them. “You guessed right.”
“All right. How about Philippe's? It’s close, but not too close. I’m supposed to meet Jay in Pasadena around two to meet with a cake guy one of his friends from work suggested we check out, and it’d be easy to jump on the 110 from there. Or there’s always Langer’s.”
Having been born and raised in Manhattan, Gwen was always up for a good Jewish deli, but she wasn't in the mood to stand in line for the popular deli. Never mind the fact that out of his suggestions, it was the thought of a double-dip and some homemade lemonade that her empty stomach growl. “Philippe’s sounds good. I can go for a French dip.”
“And pie,” Luke practically moaned, rubbing his stomach.
“Or a pickle,” Gwen suggested.
“That too,” Luke agreed. He had the metabolism of a teenager, and was able to put down more food in one sitting than she could eat in an entire day.
“Okay,” Rhode called out. “So, thank you, firstly, for volunteering to help. I really do appreciate it.” He smiled. “And now, onto music. The set list should be fun, something to set the mood for the gala’s attendees to really enjoy themselves so they’re more generous with their donations. I have a few ideas, but I’d like to hear your suggestions before we make the final decision…”
Everyone left standing on stage had played with one of LA Phil’s chamber music groups or another at multiple times over the last year, so it was not hard for the group to come to an agreement as to which pieces they should play. And, after agreeing to a few additional rehearsal sessions after the full orchestra’s usual rehearsals between now and the event to make sure they had their sound down, the group broke apart to enjoy the rest of their day.
Once their instruments were safely returned to their cases, Gwen asked Luke, “You want to drive over there together, or drive on our own and hope we can find two parking spaces?”
Philippe’s was a local landmark, famous for being the birthplace of the French dip sandwich, and finding a parking space in the small lots near the building at the base of Chinatown was more often than not an almost impossible task.
“I’ll drive, since my car is smaller and I’ll be able to squeeze into a spot easier,” Luke offered. “You think it’d be safe to leave our instruments in your car in the garage here, or should we lock them up here?”
There were two main risks to leaving an instrument in a car—damage from the heat that would build up inside the vehicle and theft—and Gwen pursed her lips thoughtfully as she considered their options. The parking garage beneath the concert hall was both shaded and under twenty-four hour armed guard so their instruments would be more than safe in her car, but she hated the idea of leaving her cello unattended. “I think I’ll put mine in a locker, but if you want to leave yours in my car so you can get out of here faster afterwards, you’re more than welcome to do it.”
Luke checked his watch. “I should have time to run back in here and grab my clarinet and still make it to Pasadena on time.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” He waved a hand at the wall of lockers behind the storage area for larger instruments like harps and timpani drums that could not travel easily from stage to home. “I’m starving. Let’s get this shit locked up so we can get some food.”
TEN
While Gwen knew that Luke couldn’t possibly talk about his trip to Santa Barbara for the entire duration of their lunch, she was glad that he seemed happy to prattle on about the different vineyards he and Jay had visited until they had not only ordered their lunch, but also found a seat at a secluded booth in the back room of the restaurant. The place was packed, as usual, and she had been genuinely surprised that the booth was available. Seating at Philippe’s took the form of function over privacy, with the majority of seats being at the long tables that filled the center of the sawdust-covered concrete floor of the restaurant. The tables were shoved end-to-end to facilitate seating as many customers as possible, and it was not unusual to find perfect strangers happily chatting away with each other as they enjoyed their lunches.
“So…” Luke drew the single syllable out for a good five beats to serve as a segue as he reached for the small plastic container of horseradish mustard. He arched a brow at her as he slathered a generous amount onto the top of his sandwich. “How’d it go with Mallory? She seemed eerily calm when you guys came into rehearsal considering what you were going to talk about.”
“I couldn’t do it,” Gwen murmured, shaking her head.
Luke nearly dropped the mustard container he was holding. “What? Why?”
Gwen shrugged and motioned for him to pass her the mustard. She hadn’t eaten since Saturday night, and even the guilt that sat leadenly in her stomach wasn’t enough to keep her from trying to eat now that she had food in front of her. “Yount at London has suddenly announced his retirement and they’re going to be holding concertmaster auditions at the end of August. She’s going for it, of course, and I just didn’t have the heart to do anything that might affect her chances, ya know?”
“Seriously? I haven’t heard anything about that.” Luke’s brow wrinkled thoughtfully. “Has it been announced?”
Gwen shook her head. “Supposedly by the end of the week. Will—the bassoonist who was her flatmate at the Royal Academy—called to let her know.”
“He’s the one we all wen
t to the pub with when we were on tour there last summer?”
Gwen nodded. “Yeah. That’s him.”
“Right,” he drawled, studying her carefully. “So you didn’t tell her.”
“I couldn’t. She deserves that position on blind talent alone, but that’s not how jobs are won and I’m not going to do anything that’ll affect her preparations for it. I’m an asshole for what I did and I’ll be an even bigger asshole when I break up with her in eight weeks or whenever the audition is over, but she deserves this time to prepare. To have everything in her life as steady and stable as possible so all she has to think about is the music.”
Luke’s brow furrowed as he shook his head. “Dude.”
“I know.” Gwen nodded. “Believe me, I do. But if I can give her this one good thing after what I just did…” She shrugged. “She’s going to hate me either way and we both know it, at least this way she can hate me from the comfort of her dream job in London.”
Luke blue out a loud breath and shook his head again. “Fucking hell, Gwen.”
“I know.” Gwen slathered a thick line of mustard on her sandwich and then set the container on the table between them. “It sucks. Everything about this sucks,” she muttered.
“You can say that again.” Luke picked up his sandwich. “So you’re sticking this out for another two months or whatever until after the audition.”
“Yep.”
“And you’re okay with that?”
“I have to be. After everything I did…” She shrugged. “I owe her at least this much.”
