Composing Amelia (5 page)

“Guitar,” answered one, but the other two nodded to Amelia, and she sensed assessments being made. “Break a leg,” she said with a smile. Might as well be friendly; who knew whom she might end up working with someday.

The guitarist was the next in, and the three pianists sat in silence as they awaited their turns. Amelia sat on the floor, closed her eyes, and went through the songs in her mind.
C’mon, God. Please give me this.

When the first pianist emerged from her audition, Amelia stood and began to stretch. She had just barely heard the music through the heavy wood door—it sounded good. The pressure was on.

The second pianist appeared ten minutes later, looking smug. “Good luck,” she said to Amelia as she held the door open for her. Amelia gave her a smile that was at odds with her competitive thoughts. “Thanks. You, too.” She entered the hallway and followed it to the stage, where the piano sat waiting for her, flanked by the directors.

Ross and his cofounder, Gabe Reynolds, both shook her hand. “Thanks for coming back, Amelia,” said Ross. His smile was warm and put Amelia at ease.

“Of course. Thanks for the invitation.”

“We really enjoyed your audition last week,” Gabe said. “I’m looking forward to what you play today. We’ll take a seat”—he motioned to the front row—“and you can start when you’re ready.”

He gave her a smile, and Ross squeezed her shoulder before following Gabe to the steps that led to the seats. She rolled her shoulders and sat down, then ran her fingers over the keys and played a few bars of Brahms to calm herself. “I’ll start with ‘Hot Honey Rag’ and then play ‘Prelude Number Two in C-sharp Minor’ from Gershwin’s
Three Preludes,
” she said, then took a deep breath, said a prayer, and began to play.

She pictured herself accompanying a cast as she played the
Chicago
tune, imagined a full house drawn in by her music. Her execution on “Hot Honey Rag” was perfect, better than she’d played it during any practice, and even before she started her second piece, she honestly believed it was one of the best performances she’d ever given.
Too bad there are only two people here to hear it.

And then it happened. She missed a note. Then another. She continued on as if nothing had happened, but she knew even an untrained ear would have picked up the mistakes. The rest of the prelude went well, and she kept her head high as she stood and shook their hands, but she knew it didn’t matter. She’d gotten cocky and lost her concentration. She only had herself to blame.

Big surprise,
she thought.
Like mother, like daughter. Not only do you share your musical talent, you share your inability to pass up any opportunity to foil any chance of success.

Amelia brushed a finger beneath her eye as she lifted her chin against the voice in her head. She would not fall for those comparisons. She would not let herself be dragged down into those lies.
They are lies, right?

“Thanks again,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the door, trying to sound unfazed, as though the tears weren’t already falling to her cheeks. She pushed the door open at the end of the hall and was relieved to see that the room was empty. She let herself crumble then, head down as she made her way to the street doors and out into the overcast December afternoon.

She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets and blinked against the tears. Despite her resolve not to listen to the condemnation in her mind, she couldn’t help berating herself for her stupidity. She’d blown her audition on a song half as complicated as the one she’d led with and nowhere near as complicated as some of the pieces she’d played before without a problem. She’d played Chopin and Mozart flawlessly in front of hundreds of people—how could she flub an arrangement that was, to someone of her caliber, just a few steps up from beginner level? The memory of her face in the mirror before the stylist had made the first cut almost stopped her short. No matter how she changed her look, she couldn’t escape the curse of her genes.

Amelia reached the bus stop at the corner and sat on the bench, wiping tears from her face and wishing she had a tissue for her nose. She’d never been so embarrassed. If God was merciful, she’d never see Ross or Gabe again. Opening her purse, she pulled out her cell phone and was about to call Marcus when she heard someone shouting her name.

“Amelia!”

She sat up straight and looked around. It was Ross, jogging up the sidewalk toward her. She wanted to die.

“I’m so glad I caught you,” he said, breathing hard but smiling. The smile faded, though, once he got a good look at her face. “Are you all right?”

“Hey, Ross. Yes, I’m fine. I just—” Did he really not know why she was upset? “I just got some bad news,” she lied. She flashed her cell phone as if the news had come by text. Then she pulled her shoulders back. “Forgive the tears. Anyway—what’s up? Or do you always run on your way to the bus stop?”

Ross shook his head and gave a breathless laugh. “No, not usually. It’s just that you ran out of there so fast, I didn’t get the chance to tell you—you were brilliant. That was an amazing arrangement of ‘Hot Honey Rag.’ And ‘Prelude Number Two’ was beautiful.”

She stared at him, confused. “But …”

“I know what you’re going to say. So you’re not perfect. Big surprise, no one is.” His smile returned. “Overall, it was beautiful. You’re hired if you want the job.”

Amelia slowly shook her head as the words sank in. “What? Are you serious?”

“None of the other pianists came close to your talent. I was going to call you, but I thought it would be more fun to tell you in person. That was, if I could find you in time.” His boyish grin returned. “Hope this makes up for the bad news you got. Congratulations.”

Amelia let out a laugh. “Um, yes, it—it does. Thank you. I can’t believe it. Thank you so much.” She shook his hand and tried to tone down the smile that stretched her face, but couldn’t. He filled her in on some of the details of the troupe until her bus pulled up, then promised to email her with the rest that evening. With the smile still on her face, she swung into a seat and caught her reflection in the window.
I may look like Mom sometimes,
she thought,
but maybe the similarities end there after all. Be it by dumb luck or divine providence, I’ve got my first break and I am
not
going to waste it like she would have.

Marcus clapped a hand on Dane’s shoulder when they met in the sports bar. “I hear congratulations are in order, Big Daddy.”

Dane rolled his eyes and took a seat in a booth that gave them a clear view of the Anaheim Ducks game on the TV in the corner. “Yeah, apparently.”

“You’re not happy?”

Dane gave him a look. “Are you kidding me? I wait for how many years to get married, and then bang, she’s pregnant practically right out of the gate? It’s cruel, man.”

Marcus got the drift and couldn’t help laughing. “Get a grip, Dane. I don’t think sex is off-limits during pregnancy.”

“Not officially, no. But when your wife spends her whole morning puking and her whole afternoon working, she’s not exactly in the mood at the end of the day. And once the baby comes, there goes … everything. Or so I’m told anyway.”

A waitress came to their table and took their order. When she left, Marcus tapped and spun the cardboard coaster she’d left as he talked, trying not to let his own feelings on the subject taint his words with bitterness. “You’re a lucky man, Dane. I’d love to have a family sooner rather than later. I’m happy for you guys. Make sure you give us lots of opportunities to babysit, okay? Maybe it’ll change Amelia’s mind.”

Dane eyed Marcus. “Seriously? I didn’t know you were into all that.”

Marcus smirked. “Into what? Procreating?”

Dane laughed. “No, I just didn’t peg you as the paternal type. At least not yet.”

Marcus shrugged. “Well, I’m not saying I want a whole football team. But the idea of being entrusted with that life—I mean, just the science of it, the fact that God makes a whole new human being that’s got parts of you and your wife—I think it’s cool. And I think Amelia would make a great mom.” He paused to watch the fight that had broken out on the ice. “But she’s made it clear she doesn’t want children yet. Possibly ever. And if that’s really how it turns out, then I’ll be okay with it.” That’s what he kept telling himself, anyway. He grinned at Dane. “I’ll just borrow yours every once in a while to make up for it.”

Dane pointed a finger at him. “I’ll send him to your house when he starts asking all those God questions. Your training has you a lot more equipped for it than mine does.” He smacked a hand to his forehead. “Oh man, it better be a boy. What the heck am I gonna do with a girl?”

“Same things you’d do with a boy. But with pink gear.”

“Ha, yeah,” Dane said, then pegged Marcus with a stare. “So, hey, I hear you have some news, too. I can’t believe you haven’t told me about this job yet. What gives?”

Marcus gave him a skeptical look. “Dare I ask how Amelia described it?”

“Jill didn’t give a lot of details, other than it’s in … Nebraska, was it? There was apparently little discussion about the job itself and more discussion about how Amelia wasn’t particularly thrilled about the location and timing.”

Marcus couldn’t help the sheepish smile that came to his face. “Yeah, she’s not real excited at the idea. But I sure am. It’s a senior pastorship at a small independent Bible church, and yes, it’s in Nebraska. They got my résumé from the pastor of one of the churches I sent it to in Illinois; their head elder is old friends with the guy. They just dismissed their old pastor; the letter didn’t say why, but it did say that they’re coming out of a long season of legalism and heresy so I’m assuming the last guy was the reason. And now they’re looking for someone to help them redefine themselves.” He spread his hands. “I know it sounds off the wall, given the plans we had, but the challenge has me seriously stoked.”

Dane nodded. “Challenge sounds like an understatement. But wow—senior pastor. That’s a lot of responsibility. Think you’re up for it? I mean, I don’t want to knock your abilities; I’m not saying you couldn’t pull it off. It just sounds like you’d be jumping into the deep end.”

Marcus’s jaw clenched.
Don’t get defensive,
he told himself.
Dane’s just looking out for you and trying to be a good friend. Respect that.
“I hear you. And I understand the concern. I’m a little surprised myself at the invitation, but I’ve been praying, and they’ve obviously been praying, and I figure it wouldn’t hurt to explore it and give it a chance, see what happens.” Marcus wished that everyone in his world would just be supportive for once.

Dane took his drink from the waitress who had returned. “And Amelia’s not happy.”

Marcus winced. “No.”

“I’ll bet.”

“And I can understand her reluctance, especially now. I assume Jill also told you that Amelia won a position yesterday with a new theater group that’s starting in the city. All musicals, all the time, and she’s the resident pianist. Which is great, and I’m excited for her. She’s so talented; she deserves an audience. But I can’t help thinking: What about me? She didn’t even bother to feign concern over the fact that if she takes this job, I can’t take the Nebraska position.” He stabbed the ice in his drink with his straw. “Anyway it’s not like I’ve been hired or anything, so who knows, maybe it won’t matter in the end.”

“But she knows you applied all over the country. Heck, she helped you look for listings, didn’t she? And now she doesn’t want to move?”

“Well, I applied in big cities. We both wanted—still want, honestly—to be in a metropolitan area. And that’s the problem in her eyes: This church is in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Not a lot of opportunities for someone looking to launch a music career, unlike New York or Chicago or LA or Dallas. But if the churches in New York and the like aren’t calling me for interviews or offering me jobs, then what else am I supposed to do? How can I turn down a possibility of a job when it’s the first real possibility I’ve had? I can
not
work at Target forever.”

“I hear you. Well, congrats on the interview, bro.” He sat back and crossed his arms. “Marcus Sheffield, Senior Pastor. Pretty impressive.”