Hadrian quickly outgrew the shabby violin he purchased in the West Village shop. Fully engaged in the earth Internet now, he learned that the best instruments were centuries old, mostly originating from a country called Italy. He genuinely hoped to play one some day. The prince also sought to better understand the process for becoming a recognized musician. When attending the Lincoln Center concerts, Hadrian carefully studied the biographies in the program guides. Prestigious competitions and music schools appeared to make a successful career. The prince had to find a recognized teacher, one that would accept him without prior credentials. Eventually, he noticed the Julliard School lived next door to the Lincoln Center complex and he instructed Jessica to immediately make a large donation in his name.
Simultaneously, a restless prince insisted on a change in scenery and abruptly decided to follow Shayne to Chicago for a road game – despite his friend’s objections. The game was scheduled for late on a Saturday afternoon. He had always wanted to visit other cities. More importantly, Chicago was home to one of the most prestigious luthiers in the world, one who brokered the great Italian instruments to the South Koreans, the Chinese and the Europeans. On any given day, Jeff Fushi, proprietor of Bein & Fushi, could host twenty million worth of inventory in his great velvet safe. This elegant business sold everything from the Ruby Stradivarius to the Fritz Kreisler Bergonzi violins. Counted, as clients over the years were the world’s foremost soloists and members of the great orchestras. Their autographed photographs adorned the walls.
Hadrian arrived early on Friday via Air Jessica. He also made plans to see a young artist perform the Barber concerto with Chicago’s great orchestra. Hadrian even purchased his own ticket without assistance from the computer. He was becoming nimble at navigating this new home. That evening, the prince sat alone in a gilded box just above the soloist where the sensuous piece thoroughly pulled him into a deep meditation. On the final note of the evening, the audience roused the prince with their great collective shout. He wanted to be that person on stage.
The following morning, Hadrian woke early and traveled by taxi to the Fine Arts building on south Michigan Avenue. The building’s vaudeville facade sat across the lovely Grant Park and Lake Michigan. Originally, Chicago’s Fine Arts building served as an old carriage house, which subsequently evolved into a sanctuary for the arts. Under an austere porcelain ceiling, Hadrian angled through a crowded lobby, stepping into a metal cage of an elevator. The wood floor sagged with his weight. Hadrian smiled to himself. “The charm of earth.”
Bein and Fushi’s sales office and workshops were on the top floor overlooking the Great Lake. Hadrian strode into the shop and was greeted by warm wood floors that helped assure all their instruments sounded rapturous. A large oil painting of Paganini hung in the foyer. Carefully humidified air brushed softly against the skin. He could smell rosin and glue.
A dry looking man with a disastrous come-over greeted the prince, “Can I help you?”
Although Hadrian wore an elegant - Angela supplied - blue blazer, he still had the face of a nineteen-year-old boy. The store’s clerk was arrogant. “We weren’t expecting anyone at this hour straight off in the morning.” The man thought the prince was here to sell something.
“Should I have called ahead,” Hadrian pitched his voice and could see the man’s eyes immediately focus on his words?
“No of course not, young sir. What can we do for you?”
“Yes, I am a violinist and am in the market for a great violin, a primary bow and then a second bow.”
“Of course, sir. Let me fetch one of our sales people. I merely dispense strings and other equipment. Please head to the main room and make yourself comfortable.” With a butler’s efficiency, the crisp little man indicated the appropriate direction.
Hadrian strolled though French doors into a magnificent space that overlooked the blue green lake. An old Steinway stood in the corner. Hadrian bounced onto a springy velvet couch that had seen better days.
Another young man, who couldn’t have been much older than Hadrian, strode into the great room. They wore almost identical clothing. The sales person had a pale complexion, a full mouth and he combed his black hair straight back like a vampire. “Hello, my name is Anthony Franks, but you can call me Tony. I hear you are looking for a violin and bows.” He had an erudite way of speaking English, from the old movies. To the prince’s ear, the young man sounded affected.
The two made friendly eye contact. Hadrian held the other’s gaze for longer than etiquette required. Until recently, the prince had always believed his appearance was unremarkable. A blond body was an oddity on his world of dark, hairy people. Here on earth he was learning that his appearance provided some advantage, as earthlings appeared eager to interact with him.
The salesman asked, “First, I need to know your price range?”
“Your website features an Andrea Guarneri violin. I’d like to play that. As to bows, I am interested in anything from Mirecourt.” By now with his advanced ear, Hadrian had lost much of his accent. The prince’s command of English was near perfect.
Prior to this visit to the famous shop, Hadrian had done his homework for the best instruments. Along with the Stradivarius violins, Guarnerius was also a preeminent family of makers. In the early sixteen hundreds in earth’s history, a young Andrea Guarnerius apprenticed at the famous Cremonese shops of Stradivarius and Amati. Historians estimate that two hundred and fifty of his violins are still in existence. Andrea’s more famous grandson became known as the maker of the incomparable and coveted Del Gesue violin that could fetch millions at auction. Still, Andrea’s instruments unquestionably delivered a provocative sound that was and is coveted by all.
Anthony carefully laid the Guarneri violin with a Vuillaume and small Amati on a felt covered table. The Guarneri had a warm brown varnish whereas Stradivari is known for its red hue. Hadrian first tried the Vuillaume and Amati. After playing each for five or ten minutes, he concluded that those were indeed fine sounding instruments, far better than what he was currently using. When he tried the Andrea Guarnerius, he knew upon playing the first note that the other two weren’t quite in the same league.
Tony Franks was smiling. “Yes, the old instruments are louder. That bow you’re holding is a Tourte and the others are a mix of lesser French bows with one Hill. “I’ll leave you alone to work through the collection.”
At this point, the unaccompanied Bach was the only music the prince knew from memory. Carefully, he worked through a sonata rotating the three instruments. He tried to discern the best combination of bow and violin. An hour flew without his realizing it. The Bein & Fushi salesman poked his head through the door. “From what I hear outside, the music says the Guarnerius?”
The prince replied, “I guess the choice is obvious. Then, there is the Tourte bow, which really helps pull the sound out.”
“The two seem made for you,” gushed the salesman. He sensed a large commission and from a walk in. Tony Franks added, “Of the minor Guarneri violins, this Andrea is the closest I’ve heard to his grandson’s quality. And this particular one is in superb condition.”
Hadrian put the violin down. “I’ve been told that we need to negotiate. I looked closely at auction prices. Violin’s made by the grandfather range between three hundred to a half a million, depending on the condition.”
Tony looked with affection at the violin. He pretended to be thinking… Slowly, the salesman shook his head to disagree, “Yes, that might be a price range. We feel this particular instrument is the pick of the litter. The violin was newly discovered and has hardly been played. We’ve seen a lot of interest in it.”
“I see,” said the prince coldly.
“We might be able to do something with the price if you committed to purchase today and with a bow.”
“I could purchase right now if the price was right.” Hadrian used subtle voice. The prince’s personal charm would have its way.
“We’re asking five hundred
for the violin alone. We could add eighty for the Tourte and throw in the Voirin at no cost. Before you answer, let me please confer with my boss. Jeff Fushi is actually here today.”
Minutes later, the proprietor of Bein & Fushi waddled into the room with Anthony Franks in tow. He was a blueberry of a man with a flashy tie, a silk suit and an obvious curly wig. Jeff Fushi’s large brown eyes gave his potential client a careful once over. “I heard you through my office door. You play well. Really well. With whom are you studying?”
Hadrian expected questions. Although profit was their motive, Bein & Fushi had some responsibility to know where these treasures went. Hadrian honestly answered, “I was recently accepted at the Julliard School.”
A consummate salesperson, Jeff Fushi smiled warmly and exclaimed, “Congratulations.” Although he was not a musician himself, thousands came through his doors. Everyone in this business visited the famous luthier one time or another.
Quickly, a price was agreed upon. Hadrian paid with his credit card. Needless to say, the prince had a princely credit line. With taxes, the final bill was slightly over six hundred thousand dollars for everything.
On the North side of town, Shayne received Hadrian’s message about the new violin while he was practicing with the team at the DePaul University gymnasium. He shivered in the damp space. The cool air didn’t give his muscles an opportunity to unwind from the flight. Ben Smith stood next to him and could easily discern Hadrian’s animated voice. After the tabloid headlines, Ben was furious with Shayne and wasn’t shy about speaking his mind. He said loudly, “Isn’t it as gay-as-it-gets he got accepted to Julliard?” Ben wore a sarcastic expression. Shayne waved him away. “Do you have to say that so loudly?”
He continued to admonish the younger man, “Anyway you slice it, this don’t look good, you hanging with this kid. Come on. They had photos of you, together in your own bed. No fucking clothes on.”
One of the coaches screamed, “Wright. No cell phones. I’ll fine you next time.” The man waived them back onto the court.
Shayne knew that Hadrian was looking for something to do with his life. “Why couldn’t the kid become a golf or tennis pro instead? Hadrian had a freakish knack for any sport. I can barely win when we play our own pick-up games. He had to choose the fucking violin?”
Jumping to the coach’s order, Shayne ran out on court, but he didn’t have his heart in today’s pass and shoot drills. “I like women. I am not gay. Hadrian is the fucking problem,” he kept saying this to himself for weeks now. The issue, however, was the irrepressible memory of that evening. His once great life was at the mercy of that “fucking memory.” Shayne was incapable of making decisions based upon logic. He could only follow the dangerous urge, which went in one direction: down and down and down.
Cat and Mouse
Her colossal mass hovered above earth’s atmosphere silently watching and waiting. Without having to simultaneously lead an assault on the queen’s main computer as well as maintain operations a galaxy away, Jessica could now easily merge with all of earth’s systems and effectively run the planet as she chose. After the accidental sighting by the Americans, Jessica threw a new cloak around herself, a fastidiously hand painted one. She simultaneously placed a dense shroud of silence over Hadrian and all of his technology. And due to the failed mission to save the king, Jessica had to decisively detach from all operations on Teramar as Cataline and the others hunted her.
Miles below the starship in an office in the United States capital, Dr. Justine Martin, NASA’s Managing Director, was delivering a presentation to the security council’s two old men, Jolly Perkens, the FBI Director and Robert McNamara of the NSA. After three or four newsless slides rolled across the screen, Director Perkens suspected that this normally efficient woman really didn’t have the information they sought. He asked her point blank, “Is there an alien ship hovering above the planet or not?”
The room was getting warm. Jolly’s glistening forehead began to shine at her in a distracting manner. The two men were obviously anxious and becoming impatient. This was the team that had to deliver a palpable explanation to the president. Justine offered a tart reply, “Am I allowed to say maybe?”
The bull let the steam roll from his snout. Justine ignored the dramatics and continued in a purposely-unemotional tone, “We’ve been running endless regressions to identify patterns in the signal. Whenever our analysts were near a breakthrough, our main computers would unintentionally flip to whirling beach balls. The interference was persistent and quickly became anticipated.”
“What are you saying, Justine? There’s a space creature out there that’s fighting with you,” drawled the former agent. McNamara looked on with an icy assent. This wasn’t the first time the two directors had seen unknown phenomenon. These kinds of investigations always overlooked some obvious clue, never holding up to be the great mystery they purported at the outset.
“Justine, you got nothing but paranoia,” drawled Jolly Perkens. “The White House is calling my office every day now. You’re saying we tell the president you can’t figure it out?”
Sometimes, Justine hated these two. The old bastards still treated her like a hippy scientist. “I flew jets in combat for Christ’s sake!”
Rallying a battered patience, she said, “Gentlemen, there’s more.” Her face now offered amused confidence. Looking each in the eye, she finished, “After repeatedly being frustrated by this thing - shall we call it - the president authorized the build of a completely separate laboratory in the deepest heart of NORAD. There, we sealed the room from all connections to outside machines, from the Internet, the electrical grid and our phone systems. All personal communication devices were left outside the room and the lab ran on it’s own power with a generator inside. We created the most secure computer room in the history of mankind. And gentlemen guess what happened once we completed this elaborate set-up? On our first attempt, we ran our regression all the way to the end.”
Justine couldn’t suppress the triumph on her face. She then dramatically gestured to the screen that highlighted the path of the alien beam, from its position in space, through the atmosphere, to the North American continent and eventually to Manhattan’s upper eastside, landing on the penthouse floor of an apartment building.
“I have the exact address and apartment number. Yes, it is a penthouse. And do you know who lives there?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “New York’s famous basketball star, Shayne Wright, lives there.” A handsome photo of Shayne from the league’s website appeared on the screen. “The photo was a nice touch,” she thought.
Bob McNamara, himself a longtime basketball fan, chuckled in disbelief. “This is nuts Justine. We’re going to look like idiots. We can’t show this to the White House.”
“Maybe crazy? And maybe it’s not,” she said dryly.
The bull wasn’t as skeptical. The girl went to great lengths here. He moved to the edge of his chair and asked, “Do you think whatever is behind this is listening to our conversation right now?”
“Probably. The only time my group enjoyed true privacy was when we implemented extreme measures. This thing has been stalking us.”
With nervous eyes darting around the around the room, Director Perkens whispered, “To state the obvious - it sounds like we need to talk to Shayne Wright?”
Naturally, Jessica was listening to all of this and running the probabilities. “Should I give all three of them heart attacks or maybe a fatal disease?” Her logic always returned to the primary variable: “Too many people know about this. The industrious earthlings will never stop coming.”
Her logic train ran in all directions. “If I could convince these NASA scientists their primitive machines stumbled onto a natural phenomenon? Possibly, involve other scientists on the planet?” The great computer knew she had to reverse this stubborn trend created by the resourceful Dr. Justine Martin. These people were getting close to the truth.
Magnificent Mile, Chicago, Illinois
After a hard practice at DePaul University, Shayne returned the prince’s call, who answered on the first ring. In a voice nobody could overhear, the star athlete whispered, “Got your message about the violin.”
“I’m playing it right now at the hotel. Loud. Fucking loud.” While Hadrian’s English had improved by leaps and bounds, he still had a boy’s love of slang. That word “fuck” amused the prince to no end.
“How much did it set you back?”
“A lot. I thought that was one of the things that made us friends. We’re both rich and don’t discuss money.”
“That’s not what makes us friends, Hadrian. How much was it? I’m curious.”
“Around a half mill which included two fancy bows.”
“Whewwwww…That ain’t chump change.” Shayne thought the price was staggering. “I didn’t realize there was that kind of market.”
Hadrian said, “That art you have hanging in your house costs how much?”
Although Shayne’s voice sounded upbeat, this talk of Julliard and violins was as Ben constantly reminded him, “so gay.” This subject was pushing him off the phone. He had no interest in Hadrian’s music career whatsoever. Shayne dutifully ground out the invitation, “Well, Derek Mint is throwing that party. Most of the team is going. Are you up for it?”
“Thanks. I was planning to come.”
Teramar: The Gathering Night Page 18
