RUSH (City Lights, #3)(97)

*

A screen was set up on the stage, shielding me from the seats in the audience, but I’d been to enough auditions to imagine it clearly: a panel of directors—maybe three, maybe more—sitting in the middle rows with a table set up for them. They’d have already reviewed my audition submission, which listed the three the pieces I was prepared to play: Sibelius, Mendelssohn, or Mozart.

The young man led me to a chair behind the screen.

“You don’t have to sit,” he said in a thick German accent indicating the chair. He smiled kindly. “Up to you.”

I wasn’t permitted to speak; the panel couldn’t know anything more than my name, to prevent bias, so I nodded and heaved a breath. I sat in the chair and took out my borrowed violin. It was a middle-of-the-road model. Fine for students or semi-serious musicians. A quality instrument but not a classic. I wondered if it was enough. I wondered if what I was about to do was enough.

“Charlotte Conroy,” said an older woman’s voice from the theatre. Sabina Gessler, the director of the Vienna Touring Orchestra, maybe.

“The cadenza of the Mozart, please.”

I swallowed hard. Of course. And not just the Mozart, but the cadenza of the concerto, the movement in which the violinist breaks from the orchestra and let fly with everything she has. The fireworks. The beating heart of the piece.

I readied my bow and closed my eyes, listening to the phantom orchestra in my head playing the melody, and put my bow to strings, half-curious myself as to what was going to happen, as if I were out of my body, watching from above.

And then I played. The first notes glided off the strings and I fell in.

No other composer could reach across the centuries and rip my heart out like Mozart. Like coming home again; that feeling of walking through the door in Bozeman, Montana and seeing my family, Chris included, gathered around the table, waiting for me. A feeling like I’d been searching for something for a very long time and I’d finally found it. A feeling of relief, of hope, of love…I played and Noah’s beautiful face swam before me, his sightless gaze landing on my chin, as it always did, and that was perfect and right because it was him. I played and everything I thought I had lost, all that music, came pouring out of me, surging over the pain and grief, not washing it away, but cleansing it in salt water tears, turning it into something I would always live with, instead of that lived within me, hidden and heavy and dark.

And when it ended, I felt as if I’d slept for years, or lost a thousand pounds, or could breathe again when all this time I had been drowning. I lowered my borrowed violin and bow and looked around, dazed. I had begun the piece sitting in the chair and now I was standing, though I don’t remember getting to my feet. My cheeks were wet. My breath came short. A shuffling of footsteps came from in front of me and the screen was suddenly torn away.

A woman of middle years with blonde hair and a neat blue suit stood before me, staring. Sabina Gessler, the director of the Vienna Touring Orchestra. Up close, I recognized the sharp brown eyes from her publicity photo, only now they were red-rimmed and shining.

“Charlotte Conroy,” she said, her accent thick.

“Yes,” I breathed, shocked to find the tears were still right there, drawn out by this woman’s emotions that were just as strong as mine and emanating from her like a vapor.

“Senden Sie sie weg,” she called over her shoulder to the other two panelists who were both on their feet, staring. “Alle von ihnen.”

One started to protest but Sabina held up a hand and they went instantly silent.

“Do you know what I just tell them?” she asked me, stepping closer.

I shook my head no.

The woman stood before me, clutched my shoulders in her hands. “I tell them to send the rest away, Charlotte Conroy. All of them.”

I felt my face crumple in a vain attempt to hold back the flood, but when Sabina herself burst out in a tearful, joyful laugh and hugged me to her, I just let go. She stroked my hair and I smelled the silk of her blouse, her perfume that was like nothing my mother had ever worn but smelled comforting and familiar nonetheless.

“You play with your whole heart,” Sabina said. “With fire and lust and love and joy and pain.” She held me at arm’s length and wiped a tear from my face. Her features turned sharp, her eyes scrutinizing but playful too.

“But question: you do this every night?”

I laughed and nodded and we embraced again, as if we’d known each other for years. But sometimes that’s just how it is with people; a connection is made and it can transcend space and time.

It can make family out of strangers.





Chapter Thirty-Five


Charlotte

I arrived back at the townhouse near midnight. I’d had to work out a few details of my new position with the VTO, and then Melanie had insisted on calling the gang together to celebrate at the Pony Bar.

“She played the Mozart,” Melanie told Regina and Mike and Anthony, “and then they sent everyone else home.”

Regina nearly spit out her craft beer. “Jesus, Char. What did you do?”

“They sent everyone else home,” Melanie said again. “What else do we need to know?”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” I said, thinking the others would be put off, but my friends were generous with their happiness for me, and only lamented that they’d miss me when I was away in Europe.