Nocturne(45)

I’d caught the tail end of some of his private sessions, as I was walking through the halls. While he was stern with his students, he taught them to let the instrument tell the song’s story. Such a beautiful statement that he never once shared in class. I wondered why. He was certainly expressive whenever he played; it was his rigid ideas of what music could be that I found … frustrating. Why not bend the rules and create something new when he had such command over everything else?

“This year,” James continued, “we want to have more fun and play around with duets and smaller groups apart from larger pieces. It’s not often some of us get to play together one on one …” He continued his introduction as I turned more pages of sheet music.

The pieces were fairly standard, easy if you’d been playing for twenty years, I suppose. I liked that. Madeline might have been right, maybe they really did view this as fun. Playing pieces everyone knew well gave the opportunity to make them sound out of this world. And, maybe have a little fun with them? Glancing quickly at Gregory, I guessed there wouldn’t be much rule bending here. His eyes met mine and he gave a slight nod and a half-smile.

Holy shit, a smile.

Moving my eyes back to the music, I gasped when I turned to the last page.

“What’s wrong?” Madeline leaned in to see what I was looking at.

I whispered, as James was still rambling about something. Man, he was long winded. “This is the third movement of Assobio a Jato. I know this.”

“What? Why don’t I know that you know this?” Madeline twisted her lips accusingly. She knew better than to think I’d stick solely with the music she assigned.

“It’s nothing. I was thinking about playing this at my senior recital and asking Marcia to accompany me.”

Madeline’s eyebrows shot sky-high. “Oh, you were just thinking of adding this to your recital program and are just mentioning it now?” Her playful tone caused me to roll my eyes.

“Just … shh,” I teased, sitting back in my chair.

“Okay,” James seemed to be finally wrapping up, “why don’t we let Gregory pick the first duet piece. We have lots of string opportunities since we have lots of strings hanging around this year.” James laughed a little as he headed to his seat, where his violin sat in wait.

“Let’s try the Assobio a Jato.” Gregory stood and moved to the seat in front of the ensemble.

What? This piece was not up Gregory’s alley—at all. Was he trying to branch out? For someone who seemed to be musically stuck in the nineteenth century, this was odd.

“Have fun, Madeline,” I teased, grinning from ear-to-ear. Madeline and I were the only flutes in the ensemble. Since she and Gregory had known each other for a lot of years, I figured she’d played with him at least once or twice. But, Madeline is a lot like me—free in her interpretation of sound. I was anxious to see how she would play with him in this piece.

“Uh-uh.” Her grin mirrored mine and made me nervous. “You want to practice this piece for your senior recital without telling me? Get up there and prove it.”

My pulse raced. She couldn’t be serious. “No way. Stop. Just … get up there.”

“Madeline?” James raised an eyebrow in our direction from his seat.

“Actually, Savannah should do this one. She’s been practicing this for her senior recital … evidently.”

Gregory’s eyes shot to mine and my stomach plummeted through the floor. This wasn’t happening.

“Really? Fantastic.” Damn James and his cheerful attitude.

“I, uh,” I cleared my throat, shaking my head, “it’s … I shouldn’t …”

Gregory’s eyebrows pulled in, and I watched him take a careful breath. “Nonsense, Savannah. Come on up.”

Not wanting to make a further bumbling spectacle of myself, I took my own measured breath, stood somewhat shakily, and made my way to the other seat.

“Do you mind if I stand? It sounds better when I stand,” I whispered.

“By all means.” He gestured awkwardly with his hand.

I couldn’t believe I was about to do this. I wasn’t nervous about the notes—I’d mastered those months ago. I wasn’t concerned with the other members watching me play—I’d played solos for most of them at one time or another during my years as a student here.

It was him.

Any time he played, either in the classroom or with the BSO, I was rendered speechless. He commanded my full physical attention with each note he drew from his strings. When he played, it was like it was the only time I was granted access inside his head. It was fascinating, and frightening, and heartbreaking. So much so that I often held my breath as he played, paralyzed by the sheer beauty of the music swallowing every negative assumption I had of him. Now, I was expected to play with him. God, I was about to play with Gregory Fitzgerald.

Shake it off. You’ve played in front of him before.

Once I adjusted my stand, I looked down at him and gave a nervous smile. His eyes smiled back, and he nodded once before starting the piece. He had twelve notes before I had to enter, and I spent all of them watching the way his body moved behind the cello.





Gregory


As always, Savannah’s posture was perfect, back straight, her feet spread hip width apart. For perhaps a fraction of a second she met my eyes, and I jerked my eyes away, down to the level of her hips. Then I set the bow to the strings, mentally preparing myself for the first notes. I knew this piece well, though it was an unusual one for me.