The Violin Conspiracy(45)

He chose the young blond woman on the right who looked not much older than he was.

“Hey. How’s it going,” Ray said.

“May I help you?” She looked him up and down.

He checked to see if he’d spilled anything on his shirt. Nope. Clean polo shirt, clean jeans. “Yes, I’m checking in. Ray McMillian.”

She punched a few keys. “I don’t seem to have you in our system.”

“Try Rayquan.” He spelled it.

He was dimly aware that a well-dressed couple entered the lobby, taking their places in front of the wispy-haired clerk on the left.

“I see you booked online,” his front desk clerk was saying. “I’m afraid that it’s late in the day, so all we have left is a single with one twin bed.”

“I requested a queen-size bed.” He searched for the reservation on his phone. “My confirmation said it was available.”

“Yes, I’m sure it did. I’m afraid that this is the last room we have at that price.”

“I’m not sure I understand,” Ray said. “I’m booked for two nights in a queen room.”

“Well I don’t know what to tell you. This is all we have available.” She stared off into space, uninterested.

“There we are,” the other clerk was saying to the couple. The man was wearing a long coat that looked expensive. Diamonds glittered in the woman’s ears. “A queen-size bed, yes?”

Ray looked over at the other clerk, then at the blond woman in front of him. She pretended not to notice. “You know what, fine,” he said. “I’ll take the twin room.” He adjusted his grip on the violin case. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

“It’s Kara. Will there be anything else?”

“No, Kara, there won’t be anything else. It really is a shame that you are so selective on who to give your nice rooms to here. Maybe I’ll overlook this when I’m asked to endorse this hotel.”

Did that seriously just happen? The elevator went up six floors and he found his room, barely more than a closet, overlooking an air shaft. He put the duffel bag on the leprechaun-size desk, lay down for a minute on the bed, violin next to him. Ten million dollars.

Fifteen minutes later, Janice texted him and he joined her in the lobby, violin in tow. They decided to find someplace nearby for a late lunch. The doorman gave a friendly nod. Ray stopped. “Hey, man, have you worked here long?”

“About nine years, sir.”

“Please, it’s Ray.”

“Nice to meet you, sir. I’m Mike.”

“Is it me, or…”

The doorman chuckled. “You don’t even have to finish that sentence. Trust me, it’s not you. That happens all the time. They look at you like you don’t belong. Like they’re doing you a favor. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Thanks. You know, if I stay here again, I’m going to look for you, okay, Mike?”

“Thank you, sir.”

After they’d headed out, Janice said, “Since you’re in New York for the first time, and since we have to celebrate, you need to have a real New York experience. That means New York pizza.”

It was an afternoon he never forgot. He left the impoverished student behind and stepped into the shoes of a classical music violin soloist: carrying his Grandma Nora’s $10 million violin, eating New York pizza, shopping for a new wardrobe at Bloomingdale’s: suits, a tuxedo, blazers, and trousers. Everything to be hemmed, tailored, customized.

Two hours later, it was time to pay. He kept worrying about how he would pay for any of this.

“Okay, sir, your total comes to $3,463.47.”

Janice handed the sales clerk her credit card. “You’ll pay me back,” she said to Ray. “I think you’re good for it.”

The next day was a whirlwind: breakfast in New York, picking up his tailored wardrobe, then the flight back to Charlotte, then meeting Markham University President Suzanne Herz. Ray showed her the violin, the certificate of authenticity in its leather folder. Herz made a phone call, and soon the university’s publicity liaison had joined them. Ray again went through his story. They all agreed that an interview with the Charlotte Herald seemed like a great first step and that they’d feature a special article about Ray and the violin in the next alumni magazine.

That night Ray called his mother. They hadn’t spoken since Christmas. “Mom, this is very important. Everything is about to change for all of us.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’d like to tell everyone at once. Can you get in touch with everybody? All your brothers and sisters. Let’s set up a video call for tomorrow night, seven p.m.”

“This better not be something crazy. Ain’t nobody got time for craziness.”

The next night, one by one, Ray’s aunts and uncles joined a video call. When they’d all assembled, he put everyone on mute, glanced over at the violin case for reassurance. Aunt Joyce was mouthing something.

“Everyone, I have some news. I found out recently that PopPop’s fiddle is worth a lot of money. It was made in Italy around 1724. It’s called a Stradivarius. What that means is that my violin is one of the most rare instruments ever made. It’s been tested and confirmed.” He showed them the certificate of authenticity. “It may even be in the local news. People will try to buy it. Some of them may contact you and try to get you to convince me to sell it. They may make some really good offers, but I need you all to understand that the fiddle is not for sale. My plan moving forward is to start playing concerts and recitals.