Any interaction with women in the past fifteen years had only involved sex. His conversations with them involved words like harder, more, faster and yes, yes, yes.
“Too bad you can’t date JoJo. She, I think, would be more your type.”
“You do?”
“Yes, but she’s totally off-limits.”
Yes, she was.
Sophie took a bite of the chicken and groaned out loud. “Oh, man. Mark, you have to taste this.”
Mark took the seat next to his daughter and dug in. It was like a little bit of heaven falling on his tongue.
“Jeezus, this is good.”
“Yeah, it really is too bad you can’t date her. We could eat like this all the time.”
Yes, Mark thought. It really was too bad.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“NO, NO, NO. Again, Sophie, no good. You are not feeling this music. You are only playing, yes?”
“Actually, I think I am feeling it.” Sophie could have bitten her tongue off.
One never defended against a critique from the maestro. Certainly not Romnasky. It wasn’t done. This was his army. He was the general. If he said “Jump,” the answer was “How high?” If he said “Kill,” the answer was “Who?”
If he said she was playing without emotion, then she was.
Only…he was wrong. She could hear herself. She wasn’t new to performing. She knew when she was on and when she was off her game.
Today was maybe her B+ game, which should have been enough for rehearsal. Her sound was clean and heartfelt. Her energy was high. She didn’t know why that wasn’t communicating to him. If he was frustrated, she was doubly so.
“What did you say? Did you dare contradict me? I am the maestro. I have the ear, and my ear say you no good. The prodigy. The little-girl Mozart. Such typical American hype, yes?”
Since she wouldn’t win the argument, Sophie simply lowered her head, tried to shrug off the insults and to remind herself why this was important to her.
Mom was gone, Gram and Grandad were tucked away in their new home, in their new life. She didn’t have school friends. Didn’t have neighbor friends. Without music there would be nothing.
There would be Mark.
She dismissed the thought as irrelevant. Her relationship with him was nothing compared to her relationship with music. Music was a constant in her life. Mark was not. Who knew how long it would take him to grow bored being a father? Who knew if this time next year he would even be a part of her life? She’d looked into emancipation. As a fourteen-year-old it wasn’t easy, but maybe at sixteen? If he hung in for two years, she might be able to leave him.
Wouldn’t that be irony?
For now, though, she was stuck. So she would say “Yes, Maestro” and “No, Maestro” to whatever he wanted. In two days they were to have their first performance. Three sold-out events plus one matinee that was nearly full. Then on to Chicago. Where she would play for a whole new audience.
So many times when she’d been interviewed for various papers and magazines, the reporter would ask if she enjoyed performing. As if playing and performing could be separated. They didn’t understand that the music by itself wasn’t enough. It was the act of sharing her art that made it complete.
Like a writer who needed someone to read his book. Or an artist who needed someone to see his picture. Without the audience, the art was silent.
Yes, she loved to perform. Performing was the fun part. Yet in order to perform, she had to meet the demands of her boss. A short, fat Russian boss, who was leaving his perch to yell directly into her face.
“Maestro, maybe we should return to the rehearsal.”
Sophie could see Bay standing, holding his violin at his side. Of course he would try to interfere on her behalf. Because he was the best guy she would ever know. If only she could convince him that they should be more than buddies. However, the last thing she wanted was for him to get into trouble over her.
“You have something to say, First Chair? That maybe you want…no chair, yes?”
Sophie shook her head with enough motion so Bay could get the message and sit down. It wasn’t because she didn’t appreciate his defense; she would probably think very hard about what it all meant later that night. It was because she could take anything Romnasky could dish out. The short man didn’t scare her even a little bit.
Which was probably why he yelled so much. He knew it.
“You are lazy. You are lifeless. It is like listening to some American pop star who is all flash and no substance. I will call you Britney, yes?”
This wasn’t the first berating she had ever received. It wouldn’t be the last. It might, however, be the nastiest.
“I’m sorry, Maestro. I’ll work harder.”
He made a sound that was part sigh and part spit. She could feel the wetness on her cheek and tried to subtly wipe it off.
“Look, even now at your disgusting fingers.” He grabbed her hand and held up her fingers. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to use force in his grip, so she was easily able to jerk her hand away.
“I’m working on that, Maestro—”
“Work harder or I will find ways to make you work harder.” He grasped her hand again and squeezed to make his point, but didn’t inflict any pain.
“Hey! Back the hell away from her.”
Sophie could hear a collective shifting of chairs as the shout resonated from the darkened theater.
Like some furious cheetah, JoJo leaped onto the stage and stormed in their direction. This, Sophie did not need.
“JoJo, it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine. He put his hands on you.”
Then she faced the maestro. They were even in height but JoJo looked like a Valkyrie ready to head into battle with the little Russian.
“She’s leaving today’s rehearsal. Now. And you’re going to think about your attitude toward her before she returns.”
Sophie groaned inwardly. This wasn’t helping. It would make him angrier. They had only two days until opening night.
“JoJo, please. Let me handle—”
“Zip it. I’ve spent the past week listening to this asshole verbally abuse you. Today he crossed the line.” She turned to Romnasky. “If you want your show to go on Friday night, then you need to think about your behavior…Maestro. Sophie, we’re out.”
“You cannot say this,” he sputtered. “I say who goes. When they go. You do not control the talent.”
Sophie wanted to protest but the look on JoJo’s face stopped her. JoJo was protecting Sophie even if she didn’t understand. Given the mood Romnasky would be in after this showdown, maybe it was best to take a break. Everyone needed to calm down.
“I’ll be back on time tomorrow, Maestro,” Sophie said hoping to mollify him.
“She won’t be back until she gets an apology. She’s a teenage girl and you’re nothing but a bully. Tell that to whoever is producing this show and remind them that the sign outside has Sophie’s picture on it, not yours. Let’s go.”
Sophie followed JoJo off the stage. Together they made their way outside the Kimmel Center to the street where JoJo hailed a cab.
“You don’t understand what they are like. They’re musicians, they’re passionate—”
“Kid, you need to let me calm down for a few, okay? I know you think it’s just the way he is. I have to give you serious credit, too. You have done one hell of a job keeping your cool. But there comes a point where it’s not worth it to allow yourself to be treated that way. Okay?”
“Are you going to tell Mark?”
“Sure as shit I’m going to tell him. I’ve been videoing the bastard and I think it’s time Mark knows what you’ve been dealing with.”
*
SOPHIE SAT ON the couch while JoJo played the video of Romnasky shouting at her. She could hear his nasty words all over again. What was it with classical musicians hating pop stars so much? Sophie had been forced to carry two iPods with her at all times. One for classical mu
sic and the other superhidden secret iPod for her Taylor Swift and Katy Perry collections.
If Bay knew she liked to sing “We Are Never Getting Back Together” in the shower, she would die from embarrassment.
After Romnasky’s greatest-hit video ended, Mark sat with his hands clutched together and his elbows on his knees. She could feel the tension simmering in him. It was something she’d come to know about him. He could seem laid-back, like everything in the world was a joke or an amusement, but then on a dime his demeanor could change. Like a lion sitting in the sun licking his paws as if he had nowhere to go and nothing to eat, then bam. Prey spotted and every muscle and hunting instinct was on full alert.
Currently, she was dealing with the hungry-lion version of Mark. This version was a little scary.
She remembered her mom talking about him that way. She said it was why she fell so hard and so fast for him. Mark was the easiest guy in the world to be around, until he wasn’t. Then Mark was a man of action. Sometimes he didn’t always think through those actions, but her mom always knew that if she was bothered by a drunk in the bar or hassled walking to class or if anyone ever looked at her funny, then Mark would be there.
Acting on it.
“Tell me what to do here, Soph.”
She faced him and could see he’d clenched his teeth, too. He looked like a guy who was holding himself on the couch through sheer strength of will when what he really wanted to do was find Romnasky and remove the man’s head from his body. “You have to understand. A lot of them are like that. Temperamental, egomaniacal—”
“Assholes.”
Sophie smiled as she remembered JoJo calling him that to his face. She had thought the maestro’s head would explode. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“He put his hands on you. He threatened you. I understand music is a big deal. I understand we’re not talking about whether or not you perform in the school play. I get that this is a major show. However, I’m going to say this—I know you won’t like it—I don’t want you going back there.”
Sophie took a deep breath. Okay, this was where she needed to be calm and rational. If she reacted to his overreaction, it would only end in them fighting. As much as she hated it, he did have some authority over her life for the next few years.
Placing her hands calmly on her lap, Sophie looked at her shortened fingernails and gulped. While the polish she applied nearly every day did taste awful, it hadn’t broken her habit. Maybe she needed Nancy to find polish that tasted even more horrible.
“Okay, Mark.” She used her most polite voice. The one she reserved for talking to her grandparents or to the important people who met her backstage. “I understand your concerns. Maybe we can have Roger—you remember my agent? You met him and said you liked him. We can have Roger call Mr. Radley, and ask him to tell Mr. Romnasky to back off a little. Would that work?”
Mr. Radey was the Kimmel Center’s manager and all the shows performed there essentially fell under his control. Sophie had never dealt with the show’s producer, but she knew Mr. Radley from the many times she’d performed at the Kimmel Center.
Sophie had never involved her agent in anything like this. She considered herself incredibly thick-skinned so mostly shrugged off these difficult personalities she occasionally worked with. The few times things had gotten out of hand, her mom had been able to take care of it for her. Usually with a few comments in the ears of the right people, suggesting she might decide to limit Sophie’s touring schedule.
However, Mark didn’t know those right ears. Sophie didn’t, either. It was something her mother did for her. One of the ten thousand things she did that Sophie never recognized until she was gone.
Once the show opened the animosity would diminish. The maestro would stop yelling and start preening over his success. Sophie was certain of it.
“Nice try, but no. I don’t think that will work,” Mark said, shaking his head. “I’m going to have to talk to him, Sophie.”
Exactly what she didn’t want. She knew it was not a good idea. Cooler heads needed to prevail. Nothing was going to change Romnasky. She knew that. But as long as Mark knew someone said something to the conductor on her behalf, it might make him feel that he had stepped in and done his job to protect her. She could sense that was important to him.
“Please, Mark. Please. You have to trust that I’ve been here before. It’s all bluster.”
“Then the bluster will stop.”
“You don’t understand, he’ll never give in. He’ll never apologize. All he’ll do is leave the show and the performances will have to be canceled.”
“Your security is more important than a show.”
Ugh. How very parental of him. Sophie could feel her temper rising and struggled to keep it in check. “JoJo will be there. You should have seen her today. The second he grabbed my hand she went all commando on him. I’m perfectly safe.”
“I’ve had two notes, in two weeks, that suggest I am going to lose you. What if this man is deranged? What if he used this opportunity to conduct as a way of getting to you somehow? What if he has plans to kidnap you? Take you back to Russia?”
“Oh, please, stop with the CIA conspiracy crap. He’s Igor Romnasky. He’s an internationally esteemed conductor. He did not accept this assignment because he has an ax to grind with a prodigy pianist and wants to somehow take me out or kidnap me.”
Mark clenched his jaw even tighter, but she felt she’d scored a point there. Best not to press for now.
“The only way I will allow you to continue to participate is if I talk to this man.”
“Then that’s it. You’ll ruin everything. Don’t you want to see me succeed?”
“I want to see you safe.”
Sophie shook her head, railing at the injustice of her freaking life. “If I told you Mom would never do this, that she would never interfere directly between me and the conductor, would that mean anything to you? Because having been around me my entire professional life, she knew that what I love the most is performing.”
He sighed. “I can’t believe your mother would tolerate this type of treatment.”
“Because she knew how this worked. She saw these men and had their numbers. She was always there, waiting in the wings. She knew I could handle myself. You know nothing! You show up in the last hour and it’s all I’m-going-to-protect-you macho crap. All you are doing is ruining my career. If word gets out that a show was canceled because my daddy didn’t like the conductor…I would be humiliated. Who is going to work with me then? Who?”
“It’s just a conversation we’re going to have. Man-to-man. Then I’ll allow you to play.”
“You’ll allow. For fourteen years you have nothing to do with me and after less than a year, all of a sudden, you get to allow me to live my life. You worked for the government, Mark. Didn’t they teach you about freedom there?”
Sophie was off the couch and down the hall in seconds. With as much strength as she could summon she slammed her bedroom door shut and took satisfaction that she still felt it rattling seconds afterward.
*
JOJO SAT ON the couch next to Mark, not sure what to say. No, that wasn’t true. She knew absolutely the right thing to say, she just didn’t know if he wanted to hear it in that particular moment.
“You did the right thing.”
Mark’s head dropped into his hands. “She hates me. I don’t know…I don’t know if I can fix this.”
“She’s angry with you. She doesn’t hate you. She’s worried about this guy’s reaction. Worried about disappointing her fellow performers if the show gets canceled. Worried how they’ll look at her from now on even if it doesn’t. She’s not wrong, either.”
His head bounced up. “You think I’m overreacting?”
“No. I think you need to talk to him. I think he needs to understand that she isn’t a grown woman, but a teenage girl. She’s probably right, though, this guy won’t change his stripes. But if he’s aware there is someone a
lways looking over his shoulder, it will force him to keep himself in check. I shouldn’t have let it go on for as long as I did.”
He smiled and reached for her hand. That she didn’t immediately pull it away was not a good sign. She knew he only wanted to say thank you. She thought about the first time she shook his hand, when he’d interviewed her. The way his hand encompassed hers in a strong, but not forceful, grip. She remembered thinking she could trust his touch. And as cliché as it was, it had given her a little tingle. A tingle she had promptly ignored. Unfortunately, the feeling was getting harder to ignore. But she would continue to ignore it—the last reason being because she worked for him.
The first reason being because of who she was.
“Commando, huh?”
“I totally could have taken him out.”
“Once again, JoJo’s problem with authority rears its ugly head.”
“Someday men need to learn that they can’t yell and shout and stomp their feet and use brute force against someone weaker than they are. It’s not right. And as much as I’ve seen it happen, I’ve never once seen it work. The fear and obedience it inspires is only temporary.”
“You sound like you speak from experience.”
He was still holding her hand. She shifted to let him know she was getting up. His grip only tightened.
“Who used brute force against you, JoJo?”
She sighed. She had the choice not to answer, of course. But she knew he wouldn’t stop asking questions. “My father.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
It was awkward now. She shouldn’t have told him. As much as he might have discovered about her past, there was something she doubted he would uncover. A trip to the hospital when she was seventeen. Victim of a car accident. Only, not really. It would be hard even for him to connect those dots. She supposed telling him was her way of reminding him that he was one of the good dads.
Good dads stopped bullies from messing with their kids.
For the First Time Page 9
