Crime & Counterpoint

by Daniel, M. S.

  “Thank you,” Henri said. “I’ll file this and let you know when the deed is available for you to pick up. Although if you choose I can have it–”

  “Give it to Shelley.”

  Henri’s brows vaulted. “Excuse me?”

  “I want to sign the club over to her,” Zach said carefully as if Henri was slow-witted.

  “She doesn’t know the first thing about running such a place.”

  “And I do?” Zach shook his head. “She’s capable of more than you give her credit for.” Pressing his palms into the gleaming desk surface, he stared at the hard man. “In fact, you can give it to her. As a present.”

  Henri’s thought swarmed in colliding waves. Cervenka must have known this would happen. The prospect of giving Shelley the club was too tantalizing to resist. At the same time, relinquishing her to this man still grated on raw nerves. Then again, Zach was Robert Weston’s grandson.

  “So what’s it going to be?” Zach asked, speaking quietly, eyes ablaze with conviction. “Either you get to be the benevolent father and we both win, or you stay dead set against me, and only I win. Because I’ve come to realize that I can’t live without her.”

  Henri’s gaze altered perceptibly. “Now you know how I feel.”

  “Then, do we have a deal?” Zach extended his hand across the mahogany expanse.

  A grudging smile of respect crept onto Henri’s features as he rose from his chair. Firmly, he grasped Zach’s smoked palm. “Deal.”

  Part IX

  Almost Like Being in Love

  81

  Three weeks later…

  “Good God!” Erik moaned, “It’s like a thousand degrees out there. What happened to the weather?”

  “Global weirding. Like you,” Ashleigh teased, fully decked out for the special evening.

  He grinned with a flirtatious wink. “That’s why I’m going Greene tonight.” He slid his hand down her hip, and she swatted him off with her Chanel clutch.

  “That was a terrible pun,” she rebuked with laughter in her voice. Dramatically, he gripped his arm like she’d used the butt of a rifle instead. And she giggled.

  James, standing by the counter, looking entirely too serious albeit handsome, shook his head woefully at the two of them. Ever since they were kids, those two flirted with each other like a couple of cats in heat – he was pretty sure more than that on a number of drunken occasions.

  He checked his watch, ever the punctual stress machine and called, “Shelley! Let’s go!”

  Behind him in the kitchen, Clint and Ben were digging into a dish of cold sesame tofu and fried rice they found in the fridge. James looked over and scowled at them. “What are you guys? Fifteen? We’re going to be having dinner at the club.”

  “Yeah but,” Ben said mouth full, “her cooking is just so good. Besides, it’s after the concert and by the time–”

  “Shh,” Clint had the presence of mind to say just as Shelley’s door opened and Melissa emerged with a mile-wide smile on her face.

  She cleared her throat. “Presenting the fabulous Shelley Janine Mitchel!” Sweeping dramatically aside, she clapped her hands in delight as Shelley emerged, looking like a sophisticated doll. From the voluptuous rings of her satin-finished curls to the new charmeuse gown daddy had bought her to the crystal-studded sandals on her manicured feet, she dripped with sensuality and refined beauty.

  “Doesn’t she look absolutely fantastic?” Melissa shrilled. “I did her hair. Don’t you love how it turned out?”

  While Ashleigh rushed over to ooh and ahh over Shelley, James and his brothers had a more suppressed but appreciative reaction. Only thing missing, James thought, was that spark of happiness. He went forward to take his turn embracing her, carefully. She had to be absolutely perfect for tonight. “Happy birthday,” he said, kissing her on her cheek. “You ready to wow everyone?”

  She shrugged, a smile failing to light her eyes. “I don’t think so,” she replied, unable to hide her nervousness.

  “Well, you will. I know it.” He offered her his arm. “Let’s get going.”

  In short order, Shelley was the first one to exit. All of them filed out the door after the birthday girl, casting each other secret smiles and excited looks.

  This was going to be a night to remember.

  At 10 Lincoln Center Plaza, Henri took his seat next to Carol with his four, strapping sons lined up like ducks in a row from eldest to youngest on her other side. He smirked with pride at his family, but almost immediately his joy faded. There was one very hard thing he would have to do today; no getting around it.

  Avery Fisher Hall – with its fiberglass-filled, concave maple surfaces suspended from the ceiling and projecting from the walls to compensate for maudlin, vibrational acoustics – was packed to brimming from the main floor to the highest balcony of its architectural shoebox design. There were approximately 2,500 patrons of the arts here for the New York Philharmonic concert featuring guest Van Cliburn finalists, past and present.

  Shelley would be performing two pieces: Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” and a Duke Ellington-type concerto for violin, piano, and orchestra that she herself had composed. It had been a massive undertaking and was supposed to have served as her dissertation project at Juilliard, but though she’d finished it, she never submitted, having essentially abandoned the program. But Henri had taken it upon himself to contact the school, and several of the jury panel had agreed to come tonight. If they found her performance and composition satisfactory, she would be awarded her doctorate. No wheeling or dealing necessary.

  But she didn’t know that. Neither did she know about the rest of what she was getting today. All that, however, would have to wait ‘til after the concert.

  Spotlights focused on the stage and the Steinway grand positioned front and center flashed. The houselights came down, darkening to almost nothing. And the studded reflectors along the carpeted, stepped aisles glowed like fallen stars. The symphony orchestra, tuning and keeping their respective instruments warm, ceased their discordant euphony.

  Henri smiled in the soft glow as the dull roar of the anticipatory throng permeating the grand theater dimmed to respectful silence. She was the finale of the night. He didn’t know if he could stand the wait.

  Bill and Barbara sat in front of them with their brood and Abigail Weston. And next to Abigail, a certain, dark-haired man who’d changed considerably. And next to said dark-haired man was Carter and Rick, each with a date.

  Carol gripped Henri’s hand tightly. Knowingly. Bringing his attention to her. She cast him a warm smile and leaned close to kiss his stubble-shadowed cheek. “She’ll be wonderful,” Carol whispered. “Don’t worry.” In an even more beguiling voice, she added, “And I have a surprise for you. But you’ll have to wait for it.”

  82

  Shelley couldn’t breathe in the soundproof practice room backstage. Not for lack of air. But for a surplus of fear. Her fingers, which were uselessly ice cold, worked overtime, running acrobatic exercises and rehearsing sections – only sections – of the pieces she had memorized.

  She couldn’t believe she was here.

  What if she forgot? What if her hands suddenly gave out and decided they didn’t know how to play at all? Her family was out there. Her dearest friends and neighbors had all come to support her. Outwardly, she was fit for any stage, no matter how grand, but inwardly, her stomach vibrated with anxiety and her heart pulsed erratically. She hadn’t had a morsel all day, nor could she have. It was so much worse this time. She hadn’t performed in front of an audience remotely close to this size since she was seventeen.

  Eight. Years. Ago.

  And what happened then?

  “Please don’t let me freeze up,” she uttered under her breath for the twentieth time. She inhaled deeply, but the air funneling through her nostrils made her unusually light-headed.

  Maybe she should have eaten something.

  Oh, why had they put her at the end? Why, why, why? If she�
��d been in the middle, a flop would have been forgotten by the end, overshadowed and outshined by scores of better pianists.

  And she wasn’t the youngest tonight either. If she had been, then they could excuse a subpar performance, stating she was just beginning. But no, she had been on the stage since the age of seven. No justification for failure now.

  Then, the knock came.

  Her heart jolted and slammed inside her chest, making her feel the confines of her strapless, sequenced gown.

  The door opened, letting in an orchestral explosion of rounded tones and the familiar ringing of a piano. A true virtuoso, she thought with self-effacement, sickness swelling inside her again.

  “Miss Mitchel?” the stagehand who had appeared said. He gripped a headset with one hand. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “Okay. Thank you.” Her voice sounded strange, coming from someone else, not herself. He left, and she was alone again.

  She began to hyperventilate, anxiety swarming dangerously, bringing tears to her eyes. As she rose from the padded bench, her hand went to her stomach, and her knees buckled. I can’t do this! I’m not good enough! I’m going to fail and fail horribly!

  Debilitating fear grabbed hold and chained her. Gripping the piano’s edge, she doubled over, dry heaving. The world tipped, and she dropped to the floor.

  Carol clutched the program in her hand, studying the concert “menu” yet again. Shelley was next, and then the big surprise. But there was something wrong. She knew in her heart.

  So without a word to Henri, she got up at the end of the current number and went all the way to the back doors where an usher opened it for her. She nodded her hasty thanks.

  Outside the hall, she headed straight for the backstage. She’d only performed here half a dozen times in her career and knew exactly where she was going. A uniformed Lincoln Center attendant stopped her, but upon recognizing her at once, he nodded with deference and let her through.

  Shelley was on her knees, clutching her arms, rocking pathetically when the door opened again. Mortified to be seen like this, she attempted to straighten up, but then she heard–

  “Shelley! What’s the matter?”

  Looking up with teary eyes, she found her mother rushing to her, arms outstretched.

  “Mom, I can’t do it,” she cried. “I can’t, I can’t!”

  Carol kneeled next to her daughter and cradled her. “It’s okay. Calm down. You perform all the time.”

  “It’s not that.”

  Confused, Carol shook her head. “Then what is it, dear?”

  Shelley shook with the power of her racking sobs. “It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry for what I did to you. I ruined your life! I deserved to fail!”

  “Is that what you…? All these years?” Carol asked, her voice hoarse.

  Shelley couldn’t answer.

  Carol thought for a moment and then took a deep breath, gaze darting around the room as if the answer would appear on the walls. Finally, she spoke. “I admit that it’s been a difficult transition for me. To go for so long without being able to do certain things.” She paused and swallowed back tears. “Ever since I was young, I wanted to be a musician. On the stage. Playing for thousands. And your abuelo… your grandpa made that dream a reality. I will always be grateful to him. But remember what I told you about him not liking your father? He thought I was throwing away my talent for a man. He thought I was going to have to sacrifice too much.” She stroked Shelley’s hair. “But the thing is, mi hija, I loved your father more than I loved music. I loved – love – my children more than being able to perform for thousands. And I’m ashamed that it’s taken me thirty-two years to finally realize that.” She made Shelley look at her. “So I’m sorry, querida, I’m so sorry for making you feel guilty. For allowing you to burden yourself.” Smiling, she brushed away tears. “But I know what matters to me now.”

  Shelley searched her mother’s face. “Are you sure?” she blubbered as rivulets coursed down her cheeks.

  “Yes. Absolutely.”

  “But I still don’t think I can, Mother!” She clutched at her stomach.

  Carol appraised her, laid a cool hand against the girl’s hot forehead, and pursed her lips. “Shelley,” she said, stern all of a sudden. “If you don’t walk out on that stage tonight, you will forever regret it. You are my daughter. And my daughter is talented, beautiful, and smart.” She poised herself. “You get that all from me, of course.”

  Through a sob, Shelley gave a small smile.

  Carol held her face. “Now as for failing… you have plenty of family and friends who will be there to catch you no matter what.” She smiled. “And besides, I’ll let you in on my secret.” She lowered her voice. “I’m going to be out there with you.”

  Almost instantly, Shelley calmed as if a virulent storm had been blown away by a powerful gale.

  Carol smiled, feeling a weight had been lifted from her as well.

  Suddenly, the door opened again and the stage hand balked at the sight of the two women on the floor. “Uh, ten minutes, is everything okay?”

  Carol grinned. “Perfect. Oh, and can you please fetch me my violin?”

  Shelley stiffened and her red-rimmed eyes darted from her mother to the stage hand who respectfully nodded and backed away.

  “Yes, Miss Descartes. Be right back.”

  Shelley’s heart pounded in her ears. “Mother?” she asked weakly.

  Carol turned to her shocked daughter and sighting the dribbly mess Shelley had become, she gave a slight gasp and immediately opened her purse. “We need to fix your face. Quickly!”

  83

  Zach was having trouble breathing. Next to him, his grandmother held his hand as he tried his best to keep his nervous energy from expressing itself in ungentlemanly ways.

  Shelley had just glided gracefully onto the stage; his first glimpse of her in months. The spotlights hit her beautifully and made her skin glow and her almost waist-length hair, which hung in soft curls down her back, shine to a glossy finish. He soaked in the heart-pounding sight, even though it was from afar.

  It was stupid, he knew, but all he wanted to do right now was run up the aisle and tell her right this second that she was incredible, that he loved her to death, and that he wanted her to play for him every day for the rest of his life.

  When the conductor gave the signal after Shelley had folded her angelic frame onto the bench, the clarinetist began the familiar low-end trill of “Rhapsody in Blue” which glissandoed up to the high-pitched intro melody flavored with jazz. The brass came in underneath in padded chords.

  Unable to take his eyes off her, he saw the moment she lifted her hands and placed them on the white and black keys. The orchestra cut out for a few measures to let her have her say. Those first notes burned into his memory and gave him a thrill he could not have anticipated. He nearly crushed his grandmother’s hand.

  Abigail looked over at him with both concern and amusement. A smile turned into a grin at his obvious adoration for the pianist.

  As the piece gained in intensity and delightful rhythmic harmony, he found he had to force himself to take a breath on a number of occasions. She was passionate and alive – her every note moving his deepest emotions. He loved the way her whole body seemed to move with her sweeping performance. She was music itself, he thought. And he wanted her.

  By the stirring end of the piece, he thought his chest might burst with the sensations she aroused. And his desire for her only heightened in intensity.

  Rancorous ovation exploded directly after the conductor cut off the final chord. He saw her slowly wipe her hands on the soft folds of her silvery white dress and flex her fingers a few times discreetly. His right leg jackhammered – anxious for her. She wasn’t done yet, and according to her father, this next one was the real trial. His eyes remained barely blinking and locked on her beautiful, spotlight-ethereal profile.

  He was oblivious to the way both Carter and Rick glanced at him with knowing smirks in the qui
et space between numbers. Carrie, holding Jared’s hand, peeked around their grandmother to grip Zach’s arm and whisper excitedly to him, “This is it!”

  Nerves fired all over his body. He couldn’t say anything back. Out of curiosity, he glanced behind him at Henri and saw the look of pure pride radiating on his countenance. Zach thought he understood the man now and even felt a sense of camaraderie with him. Same team after all.

  Then, the grand finale of the concert began with the conductor making a special announcement.

  “…Ladies and gentleman, allow me to speak off-program for a moment,” the venerable maestro said, causing Henri to double-check his handbill and frown slightly.

  “Ten years ago, due to a tragic accident, one of the premiere concert violinists of our time had to take a somewhat permanent hiatus from the stage. I think many of you know of whom I speak.”

  Henri’s pulse intensified. He felt the vacancy of the seat next to him. Carol still hadn’t returned.

  “…Since youth, she was heralded by critics worldwide for her extraordinary technical mastery of the instrument as well as her singular expressionism. Thus, she was dubbed the far more attractive Paganini.” He chuckled as the crowd rippled with laughter. “And for good reason.”

  Hands tightening around the program, Henri couldn’t take a breath.

  “…And tonight, I have the immense privilege of bringing her back to the Lincoln Center for a special performance – hopefully the first of many to come. I cannot describe to you my personal excitement over collaborating with her again. But even more so because the young talent we just heard” – he gestured to Shelley – “is our surprise guest artist’s daughter. And she composed our final number several years ago with her mother in mind.” He smiled as the audience applauded.