The Violin Conspiracy(70)
“Hey, uh, morning,” Ray said.
Nicole sat the items down and kissed Ray. He worried about morning breath, but she didn’t seem to mind. “Morning, handsome. Sorry to wake you up. I was hoping I’d be back before you noticed I was gone.”
“I—”
“Thought I ditched you, right?” She grinned. “Not a chance. I picked up an early breakfast for us. I have got to catch my train at six thirty-two, though.”
“Oh.”
“I hope you like egg on an everything bagel.”
“Oh man. You actually remembered that?”
“Of course I did. Here, this one’s yours.” She handed him one of the coffee cups. It was cool. Orange juice. He’d told her last night that he didn’t drink coffee.
He took a swig, kissed her again. “How much time do we have?”
“I need to leave here in forty-five minutes, tops.”
“Plenty of time,” he said.
* * *
—
Later that morning, hours after she’d left and he’d fallen back asleep, his phone rang. A 212 number he didn’t recognize. “Mr. McMillian? I’m David Talbot. I’m an executive producer at 60 Minutes. I was in the audience yesterday afternoon at Carnegie Hall,” the man went on. “I was very impressed. That was a sold-out crowd. Not bad for a Thursday-afternoon recital.”
“I guess they liked my playing.”
“Which is why I’m calling. I wonder if you’d be interested in having us do a piece about you? I’ve been following your career for a while, and yesterday’s performance wasn’t an anomaly. We’d like to explore that on the show.”
“So,” Ray said. Took a breath and said again, “So. You want me to be on 60 Minutes.” He tried to wrap his head around the conversation.
“Yes, we do.”
Chapter 21
60 Minutes
5 Months Ago
Twenty minutes until he performed with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. The Chicago Symphony Orchestra! He thought his head might explode. He’d asked Anderson Cooper (Anderson Cooper! When he met Anderson Cooper and Anderson Cooper had introduced himself as “Anderson Cooper,” Ray thought he was having an out-of-body experience) and the cameramen to give him a minute. Now it was just him, and the violin, and the panic that was threatening to overwhelm him.
Nicole had flown in and was sitting with Janice in the audience. Although he’d seen Nicole only twice since their time together in New York (once he’d flown to Erie, and the other time she’d met him after a performance in Ann Arbor), they were talking and texting regularly. When he’d called to tell her that David Talbot of 60 Minutes told him the show wanted to film him performing with the legendary Riccardo Muti, Nicole had screamed and actually dropped her phone. When she’d picked it up and called him back, she’d asked him, “Can I do anything? I know you must have everything set up, but if I can help, I’d love to. Want me to pick up your dry cleaning?”
“I want you to come,” he’d said impulsively. “I can get you a ticket. Will you? It would really mean a lot to me.”
Both Janice and Nicole had asked if he wanted them backstage, and he said of course they should sit in the audience, he got free tickets and someone should use them. Now he regretted it. Should he ask them to come back now? No, of course not. There wasn’t time.
More than anything else, he worried about letting everyone down—Nicole, Anderson Cooper, Grandma Nora. And especially Janice, who had called in every favor she had to get him here. What if his bow slipped? What if his harmonics didn’t sound? Or worse, what if his coordination was just off? What if he just played notes instead of making music?
He called Janice.
“Is everything all right? Where are you?” Her words were a little hard to hear above the hum of the crowd.
“Everything’s fine,” he said, unconvinced.
“It’s Ray,” he heard Janice saying, probably to Nicole.
“I just called to say thanks for everything.” And then, unprompted, “I’m just so worried about screwing up tonight.”
The silence stretched. Had she hung up? But then her voice poured over the line, golden. “What was that piece you auditioned with?”
“What are you talking about?”
“When you were in high school. You played Vivaldi, right?”
“Why are you bringing that up now?”
“Because I think you should remember it yourself. You were so nervous and you outplayed everyone. On that rental instrument. Remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. I had no training. I was a mess.”
“You were a seriously talented mess,” she said. “It wasn’t your grandmother’s violin that got you here. It’s your own talent. Remember that, okay? And remember why you’re doing this.”
Her words echoed between them, and he found that he could take a breath. And then another.
He could hear Nicole’s voice in Janice’s phone. “Can I talk to him?” and a moment later: “Ray? What did you eat at that Indian restaurant we went to? After the Carnegie Hall performance?”
“Huh? What—vegetable tikka masala. Why?”