Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 387(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 258(@300wpm)
I was still new to this group. My family name and wealth had already proved a pretty significant obstacle that I was having trouble overcoming.
After wiping my sweaty palm on my dress, I gripped the handle of my cello case and moved into the hall.
My heart thundered in 5/4 time to the Mission Impossible theme as I checked the corners before scurrying to the back servants’ stairs and halls that led away from my third story bedroom to the caterer’s kitchen, then out the back door.
I stayed just off the main drive as I made my way to 5th Avenue, refusing to stop and order an Uber until I was sure I was out of sight of the main house and no one had followed me.
I made it to the Performing Arts Library with only ten minutes to spare, the Mission Impossible theme still playing in my head.
My friend Virginia, Ginnie for short, greeted me as she blew a strawberry-scented cloud of vape smoke in my direction. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you, silver spoon?”
“Just help me with this, debutant darling,” I said, using one of our many teasing nicknames for one another. As a fellow High Society daughter, although she hated to admit it, she was my one true friend in the quartet.
She moved down the cement stairs and grabbed the other end of my cello case to help me drag it into the building.
Ginnie was the only daughter of the elite Kristiansens from Bridgeport. Her family was almost worth as much as mine. Although unlike me, she had no problem rebelling against everything they stood for, starting with her multiple piercings and ever-changing brightly colored hair, and ending with preferring Ginnie just to annoy her pretentious parents. “Like the booze,” she had said with a wink the day we met as she shook my hand.
“Just to warn you, Ian is having an absolute shit fit over the piece today.”
I groaned. We were practicing Dmitri Shostakovich’s String Quartet No. 8, a notoriously complicated piece.
As she held the door open, she mimicked Ian’s nasal voice. “Ladies, we must have a cohesive musical narrative! You are not maintaining clarity and unity through the melody. Tut. Tut. Tut.”
Although I was not looking forward to Ian’s scolding, the brooding yet frenetic piece suited my mood.
As we made our way into the auditorium, I repeatedly glanced over my shoulder.
Ginnie followed my gaze. “Are you expecting someone?”
I grimaced. “Ask me that in a few minutes.”
So far, I had seen no sign of Reid. And since this wasn’t our usual rehearsal space, there was no reason to believe he could track me here.
After about five minutes, I finally let myself relax, my eyes sliding closed as I took a relieved breath. I kept my eyes closed and started the breathing exercises that I did before every rehearsal or performance, focusing on the feeling of my own breath filling my lungs and then holding one, two, three, then slowly letting the breath out through my nose.
I took another deep breath in through my mouth, holding one, two, three, then slowly released. I had already memorized the piece that we were working on today. I wasn’t sure if the others really cared about being off book, but I preferred it. Not having to focus on the printed sheet music allowed me to feel the music, to experience it the way it was meant to be experienced.
After one final glance over the empty seats, searching for an angry, over six-foot-tall ex-Marine, I decided to focus and start warming up.
The others were busy in the green room grabbing coffees and chatting as they gossiped about this and that.
Taking advantage of being alone on the stage, on a whim I decided to play something I had composed myself. A simple melody that I hadn’t played for anyone. I hadn’t even given it a name. I wouldn’t even say it was my first attempt at composition since I’d never written it down.
It was never intended to be played for anything. It was just the melody that I felt in my soul. Sometimes it was uplifting. It was even hopeful, but more often than not, the sound was melancholic, slow, deep, and lonely.
Whenever I played this piece, it just made me feel in control when so much of my world was utterly devoid of life and choice.
As my bow slid across the final note and I let it drop to my side, barely hanging from my fingertips, a slow clap started around the auditorium.
I opened my eyes to find the other three members of my quartet giving me a standing ovation. I hadn’t even heard them come in. A blush colored my cheeks as I waved them off. “Stop. It was nothing. Just something silly I like to play sometimes.”
Ginnie took her seat as she picked up her cello. Using her bow to gesture to me, she said, “Knock it off, silver spoon, and take the praise. It was good.”