Reckless Abandon(56)
Her violin box is open at her feet. A dollar bill and some change are already laying in it. When she lifts the bow to the strings, I turn my music off and my heart skips a beat in anticipation of her playing. It’s the tenth time I’ve watched her and every time I am incredibly moved. While I can tell she needs training, she has great technique. The brand of her violin is for an intermediate, which leads me to believe she doesn’t have money for an upgrade. She’s probably had it from when she was a student. At her level, she should be using a Schneider or Gunter Lobe, which are better for advanced players. Those run anywhere from two to five thousand dollars.
You don’t even want to know how much I spent on my Laura Vigato. Let’s just say it was enough to have purchased a Hyundai.
Listening to her play, I close my eyes and enjoy the song. Since I’ve moved to New York my mother has been asking if I’ve seen the Philharmonic play at Lincoln Center. My answer is consistently no. I’m not ready to see my peers doing something that I am supposed to be doing.
Yet for some reason, I can work at the school with no problem and I can come to the park and listen to this girl play without feeling despair.
I’ve thought about this a lot over the last few weeks. I know what most people would think if I told them this. They’d say, “Of course you don’t mind listening to people whose skill level are beneath you.” That’s not it. I don’t see the children at the school or this girl in the park as being inadequate or beneath me. Sure, I’m higher in skill level but I should be upset she can play and I can’t. I’m not. Instead, I find myself looking forward to seeing her walk beneath the arch and playing for the crowd. I shrug my shoulders and go back to listening to the young woman.
I eat my packed lunch of a turkey sandwich and water and do a fair portion of the New York Times crossword. I’ve never completed one without asking for help but am determined to someday.
When I see the violinist is ready to pack up, I rush up to her case and place a twenty-dollar bill inside. The first time I did so she looked surprised. Now, she just smiles and politely thanks me. She’s probably wondering why there is a weird lady who stares at her every Sunday while eating a sandwich and tips her very well. If she only knew how I envied her.
I look at my watch and see a few hours have passed; the sun will start to set soon. Autumn in New York is beautiful in the sunshine but when the sun starts to settle down, the temperatures drop considerably.
Gathering my garbage and belongings, I rise and walk over to the trash. As I’m placing my brown paper bag in the garbage pail, I notice an SUV lurking in the street just beyond the trees.
For a second, I think it’s the same one Devon drove me in the other day and then I remember something: I live in New York. There are black SUVs everywhere.
Looks like me, the chesterfield, and our good friend Pinot need to have a get-together tonight.
It turns out Asher is teaching at the school every Friday. Don’t you think Frank would have mentioned that in the hallway? A simple, “Hey, Ems, Alexander Asher, the billionaire whose foundation is funding this little school of ours, will be teaching the cello every Friday in the classroom attached to your office” would have been nice.
I also did a little digging on something Devon touched on in the car. How did I not hear the words Asher Foundation once in the last two months? According to Frank, he and everyone on the board with him signed a confidentiality agreement. They weren’t allowed to mention the foundation’s involvement until the opening.
Well, that makes sense, I guess.
What the hell do I know? What I do know is I have a problem with my Friday colleague. I would avoid him but after a long chat with Leah I decided against it.
The conversation went a little like this:
“I knew that f*cker was going to make his way back into your life.”
“Don’t worry. I just have to avoid him once a week.”
“No way, Ems. To quote the great McConaughey, “You’ve got blood in your body. Lay it on the line!”
“Um, what?”
“Lay it on the line until the final whistle blows. And if you do that, if you do that, we cannot lose—”
“Leah?”
“—we may be behind on the scoreboard at the end of the game but if you play like that we cannot be defeated!”
“We are Marshall?”
“We. Are. Fucking. Marshall. Emma. You are playing on the same field. Don’t let him push you to the sidelines. Take the ball and ram it down his throat!”
I couldn’t deny she made a valid point. As theatrical as it may have been.
“To quote the film How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, ‘You’re like a crack-enhanced Kathie Lee’.” That got a good laugh out of her.
With a weekend to process the situation, and a mini-marathon of McConaughey films, as recommended by Leah, I arrive at school with a new attitude.
I can do this.
My first order of business is to tell Frank I am going to the fund-raiser and I’d love to make a speech.
My second is to make this school one of the most sought-after music programs in the country.
I have a feeling I’m getting a reputation as a control freak. Okay, I know I have a reputation because Crystal told me. I don’t care. If this school is going to be a success, it needs to be run a certain way. The students need to be trained on par with any other acclaimed music academy. It doesn’t matter that it’s a free program. We are either the best or we don’t perform at all.