Love at First Note

by Jenny Proctor

  “How many people have seen this?” I asked Lilly.

  “Eleven thousand have voted so far. That’s not too many, right? Not in Elliott-land.”

  “I don’t know. It’s probably only a matter of time before it gets more attention.” Elliott had a lot of fans who weren’t Mormon, but he was pretty public about his faith and his standards. “If any of the gossip websites come across this picture, they’ll have a field day with the speculation.”

  “You should comment and explain what he was doing there,” Lilly said. “I think his fans should know he wasn’t actually drinking and fighting. Defending your honor is a way better story.”

  She was right. Someone should speak up and defend Elliott’s character. But it felt too meddlesome for me to do it without talking to him first. “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean you don’t know? Just comment on the picture. Tell his side of the story.”

  “Not until I talk to him,” I said. “For all I know, he’s seen the picture and his press people are working on a statement. I can’t pretend like I know how to handle this stuff.”

  “It just really stinks,” Lilly said. “You should read some of these comments. People are obnoxious, talking about the white knight finally falling in the mud. It’s lame.”

  “I don’t want to read them. It’ll just make me mad.”

  I lay there after Lilly left my room, tossing and turning, unable to get to sleep. It was hard not to feel guilty. Elliott had been at the festival only because he’d been helping me. Plus, how crazy was it that all those people cared enough about the minutia of Elliott’s life to study a picture and vote on his supposed identity? Thousands of people. If they were that interested in one stupid night at one stupid festival, how interested would they be if Elliott started dating someone? Casting myself in that role, imagining that level of scrutiny turned on me? It was enough to make me queasy. But there was no way around it. There was no way I could even dream of a relationship with Elliott that wouldn’t include the unwelcome third wheel of his stardom.

  * * *

  I spent the next morning with my mom, returning to Asheville with an hour to spare before the start of my afternoon lessons. I left my purse in my apartment, then crossed the entryway to knock on Elliott’s door.

  He smiled wide when he saw me, and my heart did a little flip-floppy thing.

  “Hi,” I said. “You got a minute?”

  “Sure, come on in.” He moved aside, then followed me into his living room. “What’s up?”

  “Have you seen this?” I handed him my phone.

  He studied the photograph for a moment before dropping onto his couch with a sigh. He slid the phone across the coffee table in my direction. “How many people have seen it?”

  “It’s gone from ten thousand to twenty-seven thousand votes since last night. I did a quick search, though, if that matters. So far the traffic is limited to this one photo-sharing site.”

  He shook his head and echoed my words from the night before. “It’s only a matter of time. Thirty, maybe forty thousand hits and it’ll generate enough buzz for some gossip rag to pick it up.”

  “What are you going to do?” I sat on the couch beside him.

  “Nothing. There’s nothing that can be done. It’ll run its course, people will talk about it for a few days like it matters, then they’ll move on.”

  “But do you worry about people thinking you were at a beer festival? Won’t it bug your fans to think you were fighting? And drinking? Elliott, I’m willing to comment and explain what really happened. If it would help, I’ll totally do it.”

  “I appreciate you offering, but you can’t play their game. If you comment, you’ll confirm I was actually there. Right now 42 percent don’t even think it’s me in that photo. Explaining will only bring more questions. Who’s the girl he’s defending? What caused the altercation? Are they dating? How long have they known each other? What’s he doing in North Carolina? It’s like feeding seagulls on the beach. You give in once, and they never leave you alone.”

  “It just feels wrong for people not to know the truth.”

  “People don’t care about the truth, at least not the people who are posting that picture. They care about what sells, what sounds the most scandalous, what generates the most traffic.”

  “But truth is still truth. Don’t you have to care, even if they don’t?”

  “I care about the people who matter—my family, my close friends—what they think is important. But I can’t care about what everyone else thinks. I’d be eaten alive if I did.”

  “I guess that’s what it means to have thick skin.”

  “Yeah. It still stinks. This’ll tick off my agent more than anything—hanging out at beer festivals isn’t exactly on his list of approved album-generating activities—but you do learn to filter out the nonsense. You have to treat it like background noise.”

  I propped my elbow up on the back of the couch, resting my head on my hand. “Is it worth it? All that background noise?”

  He was quiet a beat too long, leaving an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air between us. “It’s worth it,” he finally said. “Playing is the only thing I’ve ever been good at. And I love the energy of performing. If I have to deal with some unwanted attention to get the kind that feeds my career, then that’s life, you know? You take the good with the bad.”

  “I get that,” I said. “It’s the same thing in the symphony world. There are parts of it I hate, but I could never give it up.”

  “But you did give some of it up, didn’t you?” Elliott asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I Googled you, Emma. You’re not some small-town violinist. New York, Cleveland—you’re kind of a big-shot, aren’t you?” He nudged my knee.

  I dropped my eyes and shook my head, ignoring the thrill that came from knowing he’d searched for me online. “I don’t miss New York, but Cleveland . . .” I shrugged. “Sometimes I still wonder if I did the right thing.”

  “Yeah? Would you ever consider going back?”

  “I don’t know. My mom has MS—she’s had it for years—but it’s gotten worse lately. She’s in pain most of the time and can’t always get around on her own. She’d die if she knew she was the reason I left, but I can’t say it wasn’t a big part of my decision. I feel like I need to be close enough to help.”

  “I really admire that,” Elliott said. “Why does she think you moved?”

  I winced. “I might have maybe told her a little white lie.”

  Elliott gasped in mock surprise. “You lied to your mother? I’m shocked!”

  “It wasn’t really a lie. I just . . . exaggerated a little.”

  “I sense a story coming on.”

  I groaned and pulled a throw pillow up to hide my face. “It’s not a good story.”

  “Oh, I think it is a good story.”

  I pushed out a resigned sigh. “Fine. There was this conductor in Cleveland: an associate conductor who took an interest in my career and was nice and attentive and charming, and then one night he came onto me, I lost my head for fourteen seconds, kissed him, then decided it was all a mistake and backpedaled as fast as I possibly could.”

  Understanding flashed across Elliott’s face. “So your Mom thinks Asheville is your escape from the arms of a jilted lover?”

  “It’s not entirely untrue. The timing was convenient.”

  “But not a big enough reason to make you move.”

  I shook my head. “I moved for Mom. I just can’t tell her as much.”

  Elliott’s cell phone rang from across the room, and he stood to retrieve it. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll just be a minute.”

  When he glanced at the screen of his phone, his face darkened, and he retreated into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind him. His conversation was mostly muffled, but I still caught a few words here and there, enough to guess he was having an angry conversation with his agent. I pulled out my phone and opened a web brow
ser, running a search for Elliott’s name. Sure enough, in the short period of time we’d been talking, the photo had been discovered, and a few online tabloids had picked it up, fueling the fire of speculation about his supposed presence at the festival. One annoying headline read Mormon Gone Wild?

  Poor Elliott.

  He emerged from his bedroom moments later, his jaw tight, his brow creased. “Sorry about that,” he said.

  “No worries.” I glanced at my watch and stood, wishing I didn’t have a reason to leave. “I gotta get to my afternoon lessons. Is everything okay?”

  He nodded his head sadly. “Yeah, it’s just stupid public relations stuff.”

  “Mormon gone wild?”

  “You saw that one, huh? It didn’t take them long.”

  “I’m sorry, Elliott.”

  “Don’t worry about it. His voice hardly sounded encouraging. “It’s nothing I haven’t been through before.”

  Yeah, but before it hadn’t been my fault.

  Chapter 14

  “Lilly!” I pushed into the apartment and dumped my stuff on the couch. “Are you home?”

  “In the kitchen,” she called back. “Trav’s here too.”

  “Hey, Em,” Trav called.

  Huh. It was good he was around. It’d been almost a week since Elliott and I had rescued him from his drunkenness, and he’d been pretty scarce since then. He was embarrassed, probably, and likely trying to figure out a way to apologize to Lilly. By the looks of how wrapped up in each other they were—literally limbs wrapped up everywhere, arms, legs all tangled from one kitchen chair to the other—he must have figured it out.

  “Um, should I come back later?”

  “No, come sit down,” Lilly said, though she made no move to take her head off Trav’s shoulder. “We’re just talking.”

  I pulled out a chair and sat across from them. “It’s nice to see you, Trav.” His eyes met mine, and he shifted, disentangling himself from his girlfriend. Once on his feet, he reached for my hand and pulled me up into an enormous hug. When he released me, he kept his hands on my shoulders and, with a glance back at Lilly, who was clearly enjoying his performance, cleared his throat. “Thank you, Emma, for helping Lilly see that maybe I wasn’t such a bad guy and shouldn’t be judged on one bad decision. Thank you for risking your safety by venturing into a festival full of drunken idiots to bring me home. And thank you for bringing Elliott with you. That dude’s the real deal.”

  “Why is he the real deal?”

  “One, because he saved you, and if anything had happened to you, I’m pretty sure Lilly would never have spoken to me again. But also, he had some good stuff to say to me that night. Good stuff, man.”

  “What kind of stuff?” I looked to Lilly, but she only shrugged, her eyes bright against the pale blue of her scrubs.

  “Naw, man. I can’t break the bro-code, but he’s legit. You really oughtta keep him around.”

  I sank back into my chair. “I wish I had a reason to keep him around.”

  “Are you serious? He’s into you, Em,” Trav said. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Lilly brushed a crumb off the sleeve of Trav’s plaid shirt. “How do you know this, and why haven’t you told me before now?”

  “Yes, please,” I added. “More details.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t have details. I can just tell. Plus, he talked about you Sunday night.”

  My nerves jumped at the thought, but only for a moment. “You mean the Sunday night when you were totally wasted? Forgive me for not considering you a credible witness.”

  “Specifics, Trav,” Lilly said. “We need more than drunk-man intuition.”

  He looked annoyed. “I already told you I’m not breaking the bro-code. But trust me. He likes you.”

  I wanted to believe Trav was right. I’d felt something when Elliott had given me that hug, but he’d made it very clear he couldn’t even be a fake date to a wedding, much less a real one.

  I turned my attention to Lilly. “So tell me what I’m supposed to do about this.” I pulled out my phone and scrolled to my voice mail. I hit the speaker button, then put the phone in the middle of the table so Trav and Lil could both hear.

  “Hey, Emma. This is Blake Johnson. I hope you don’t mind me calling. I’m going to be in Asheville in a few weeks, staying with my aunt, Sharon Jensen, from church? Anyway, she suggested I give you a call. I know. Totally lame way to introduce myself, but she’s convinced we’d have a good time, and . . . why not, right? So yeah. Give me a call. I’d love to take you to dinner, your choice, obviously, since I don’t know anything about Asheville. Okaayy, so I’m rambling. Call me. Only if you want to though. Right. Okay. Bye.”

  “Oh, he sounds cute!” Lilly said.

  I grabbed my phone and pulled up the last page in my web history, turning it around for Lilly to see.

  “Oh my word, is that him? He is cute.”

  “I know, right? What should I do?”

  “What do you mean what should you do? You should totally go,” Lilly said.

  “But what about Elliott?” Trav asked.

  Yeah. What about Elliott?

  “Elliott is a nonissue,” Lilly said. “It’s not like he’s asked you to dinner. But this guy has—a guy who’s cute and Mormon and clearly interested in taking you out. Go have some fun. You’re long overdue. If nothing else, maybe it’ll make Elliott jealous.”

  I didn’t necessarily want to make Elliott jealous, but I was due for some fun. I’d been working like crazy lately, between symphony rehearsals and quartet gigs and teaching lessons. Not to mention all the time I was spending with my mom. I hadn’t had an actual for-real date since I’d moved. What could it hurt, really? “Okay, I’m gonna do it.”

  “Good girl!” Lilly said.

  I grabbed my phone off the table and a water bottle from the fridge before heading to my room. “Thanks for the apology, Trav,” I said from the door. “I hope you meant it.”

  “I’m a changed man, Em. I promise.”

  Chapter 15

  I dropped another dress onto my growing stack of not-even-possibles. I’d hoped I’d find something at least slightly wedding-ish in Lilly’s closet, but most of her dresses were hardly bigger than a piece of sheet music. There wasn’t anything I could wear for Grayson’s wedding. Which meant I could wear the green dress already hanging in my closet. Or there was shopping in my future. Dress shopping. The thought made me queasy. Stupid wedding. It wasn’t that I didn’t like to shop. I was all about finding those classic pieces I could look great in for years. But I might wear a dress for a wedding like Grayson’s once. Unless maybe I went with something black . . .

  A knock sounded on my front door. I glanced at my watch. Two hours until lessons started, which meant I probably needed to practice and wasn’t in the mood for a surprise drop-in from a few well-intentioned visiting teachers. I swung the door open anyway—I’m nice like that—and was surprised to find my old Young Women leader, Laney Frampton, standing there.

  “Emma! You’re home!” She sounded relieved. “I was sure you wouldn’t be here.”

  I hadn’t seen Laney in years, since before college, even. We’d been really close when she’d served as my youth advisor because she’d been only a few years older than I was, but then she’d had a baby and I’d gone to college and our lives had veered off in different directions. It was hard to stay in touch after that.

  “I have a couple hours before lessons start. Do you want to come in?”

  She looked off to the left, then back to me, then back to the left one more time. “Well,” she finally said, “I have Oscar with me.” She reached out her hand, motioning for someone to come closer. A little boy, maybe five or six years old, moved into the doorway and reached for Laney’s hand. She looked back at me. “This is my son, Oscar. Oscar, this is my friend Emma. Can you say hello?”

  “Hello,” Oscar whispered. He moved behind Laney so all I could see was his little arm wrapped around his m
other’s leg, gripping her hand so hard his fingers were nearly purple.

  “Come on in,” I told Laney.

  “Actually I was sort of hoping . . .” She paused, then her words started tumbling out so fast I almost struggled to keep up. “So I have this job interview at the Wells Fargo right around the corner. Obviously people don’t usually take their children to job interviews, but a water pipe burst in the cafeteria of his elementary school, and I had to go straight there to pick him up if I wanted to have any chance of making the interview on time, and there wasn’t time at all to think about trying to find a sitter, so I was going to try and just endure having him along with me.” She took a deep breath. “But then your mother called to check in—she’s my visiting teacher—and when I told her where I was, she told me how close you live to the bank. So it was her idea, really. She thought if you were home, Oscar could stay with you while I go to my interview. I know it’s last minute, but he gets so restless, and I just . . .” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “I really need to get this job.”

  “Wow. Um, sure.” I glanced at my watch. “I have to leave for my afternoon lessons at two forty-five. Do you think that’s enough time?”

  “It should be. I can’t imagine the interview taking longer than an hour. Are you sure, Emma? I appreciate you helping me out like this.”

  “It’s fine. I’m happy to help.”

  Laney pulled a backpack off her shoulder and handed it over.

  “Is there anything I need to know about Oscar?” I asked. “Allergies? Aversions? Fears?”

  She shook her head no. “I don’t think so. He’s shy and has some anxiety about new situations, so it might take him a little while to warm up to you. But that’s it. No allergies. Well wait, he doesn’t love dogs, but if you don’t have one, he should be good to go.”

  “Sounds easy enough.”

  “And there’s coloring books and a Nintendo DS in his backpack. That should keep him entertained for a little while.”

  “Got it.”

  “Are you sure?”