Nocturne (44 page)

It was just us. And it would be beautiful.

“Knock ‘em dead,” Nathan whispered, patting me on the back as I stood. He knew the plans for our song and, while he had no use for Gregory, he was excited about me doing what I do best. Pushing boundaries and breaking rules.

How those parts of my personality manifested in my relationship with Gregory over the summer still left me heavily conflicted. But, I’d process all of that later. For now, I had to meet him at center stage and tune.

Middle C.

While that was the note we’d always tuned on, we typically mouthed it to each other beforehand out of habit. Not tonight. I simply looked at his hands and checked that they were resting on the correct strings. I hadn’t the faintest knowledge of how to play a stringed instrument, but I knew exactly how Gregory’s hands looked while they played. The position of his fingers for each note, and the way his hand would tremble in solemn vibrato at the end of the piece … always the same. Always perfect.

I’d spent most of last night and this morning in silence. Gregory and I were afforded the grace of being able to spend the night together the night before. We didn’t make love. We didn’t tumble breathlessly through hotel sheets. I’d spent the night with my cheek against his chest, listening to him breathe, never sleeping. His breathing never evened out fully the way it always did when he was in a deep sleep. He was awake, too, but we stayed in that position until the sun rose and we both pretended to wake up.

As a matter of practicality, I allowed my eyes to connect with his for the brief moment we needed to start the piece. He nodded once, we took a breath together, and then …

Piano.

I whipped my head to the right, finding the pianist in her seat, playing along with Gregory. But, it wasn’t to “Clair De Lune
.”
This wasn’t the right piece. It was … it was a piece we’d played only a few times. Rather, one
he
played sometimes at the end of our practices and I would sit and watch. And, try to breathe as he played the agonizing melody of
“
Nocturne” from
The Lady Caliph.

We hadn’t put together any arrangement for this piece, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do. He’d gone off the course of our program. His eyes didn’t move from mine as he played. He was begging me to say
yes
. To agree to a life with him that had no certainty, no clear future. Gregory stripped himself bare to me on that stage, going against his musical boundaries, pushing his personal limits, and he was asking me, again …

Say yes.

I did all I could do in that moment. I brought my flute to my lips, closed my eyes, and started playing. Gregory had no way of knowing that I’d spent many solitary hours working on a complimentary melody and harmony for that piece. I wanted to feel the way he looked while he’d played that piece, so I made it my own. And, I felt it. I don’t know if I’d ever intended to show it to him, but, now wasn’t the time to sort through intentions.

I couldn’t possibly stand to see his reaction, though, so I left my eyes closed until I turned toward the audience. An audience which was stirring, because many of them recognized that the music being played wasn’t on the program, and the ones closest to the stage had likely seen the confused look on my face.

During a long rest of mine that allowed for the cello solo to shine through, my eyes scanned the crowd inside Symphony Hall Auditorium and fell instantly on my mother. She was in the VIP section near the front of the stage, naturally. What was unnatural to me was that she was seated next to Malcolm. It hadn’t occurred to me that she’d be brazen enough to bring him along. Not because of the Opera News article, they
were
in a relationship and had no reason to hide it. But because she had no idea who I was as a person, and that seeing him with her in a place my dad should have been sitting would make me uncomfortable. And sad. My grandmother was sick, and my dad couldn’t make it to the concert. I hadn’t seen him in months and longed to find his bright eyes smiling back at me as I played. Watching Malcolm nod along almost approvingly to the song was enough to make my stomach churn. His smile turned up the corners of his mouth in a way that was neither genuine, nor calming. Screw him. And her.

The desire to please Vita left me like a swift kick, and I hastily brought my flute to my lips and played the last long, slow section of
Nocturne
. The last notes I’d ever play with Gregory Fitzgerald.

Inside of a few seconds I was shattered.

I couldn’t continue any sort of relationship with Gregory. Not with things the way they were. I didn’t make eye contact with him through the rest of the song, knowing the conversation I’d have to have with him once we got backstage.

Amidst the roaring applause, I bowed a poorly contrived bow toward Gregory, and he returned the gesture. I kept a well-practiced stage smile until I was securely in my seat between Nathan and Tim.

“That was …” Nathan’s wide eyes looked for answers.

I didn’t have any.

“Thank you.”

I looked to Nathan and watched him take me in for a few seconds. He opened his mouth twice, but never said anything. After a deep breath, he shook his head and readied his sheet music for the next piece.

There were no more words.

Gregory

I’d been performing in the Symphony Hall Auditorium for more than ten years ... night after night during the season, often twice a day. I knew this hall. Front and back stage. I knew the acoustics. I knew the moods of the crowds. I knew the way this hall lifted my mood and sometimes brought me close to a spiritual state of focus and clarity.

That only made it all the more disturbing now. Disturbing that from the moment I walked in, I was off balance. Despite my efforts, Savannah and I hadn’t been able to talk, and the one chance we might have had was disrupted by Joseph, when he insisted on talking with me before the performance.

I watched her as I started
Nocturne
. As I played my soul out for her without much planning other than handing Grace Daniels the piano sheet music a few minutes before I went on stage. She’d reacted the way I’d anticipated … initially. She scrunched her eyebrows together and raised one all at the same time, the way she always did when something seemed completely preposterous. But, despite reason, which had left us long ago, she took a breath, closed her eyes like I’d watched her do at her conservatory audition several years before, and played.

Damn it, she played right along with me. A perfect accompaniment.

Except she refused to look at me.

She was
my
perfect accompaniment, and I feared that I’d ruined that chance forever.

It was so clear, the second she made her decision. Her posture, the pain in the notes, the look in her eyes when she’d finally opened them. Savannah was done with me. And as we played our final duet together, it broke my heart.

I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not ever. So I watched her for the remainder of the concert. She never looked at me again, her eyes occasionally moving to the audience, to Joseph, to the music on her stand, but never once to me.

Nathan saw me, however. He watched the entire time.

I slumped in my seat when the final crescendo was completed and the curtain closed for the last time.

But not for long … I breathed for maybe twenty seconds, four or five breaths, then I was on my feet. Walking the twenty-five feet across the stage floor to Savannah. She saw me. Her shoulders jerked as she caught her breath, and spots of color appeared on her cheeks.

Her eyes widened as I approached her in front of the entire orchestra.

“I need to speak with you.”

She darted her eyes toward Joseph, who raised his eyebrows much as he often raised his baton. The entire orchestra gathered in closer as Joseph began his end of tour congratulatory speech. Except for Nathan, who glared at me, and Savannah, who cut her eyes away.

I slipped a hand around her arm. “I mean it.”

“Can’t it
wait?”
Her voice was uneven, agitated.

Nathan began to push his way around her, toward me, and she elbowed him in the side. Joseph paused in his speech, and I straightened, standing next to Savannah and unfortunately practically on top of Olivia Mason, who had to scramble out of the way. Joseph gave me an odd look, uncomfortable in its intensity, but at that point in time, I really didn’t much care anymore. Because the one thing I was
not
willing to do was give up Savannah without us even talking. Without us having a chance to hash this out. Without at least
trying
to convince her to wait for me before she went and auditioned for Chicago.

I knew she deserved better than me. I knew she needed more than I had to offer.

But I wanted her anyway.

So Joseph continued. Platitudes about our fantastic teamwork, how we’d done more to raise the profile of classical music in the United States, a parade of unnecessary and simple-minded bullshit which might have seemed inspiring to the twenty-four-year-old set but had passed its time with me.

As he continued I leaned close and whispered, “When can we talk?”

She glanced at me with hooded eyes and replied, “Your wife is here, Gregory. Call me some other time.”

I frowned. She was right. As Joseph poured on more thanks and praise to the group, I noticed that some of the VIPs from the front row were now back stage. James and Madeline stood awkwardly next to Vita Carulli. All three of them were staring … uncomfortably … gazes alternating between Joseph, Savannah, and myself. Karin stood a little bit apart from them in a yellow skirt suit and matching heels.

“She can wait.”

A stab of … sadness … sympathy … ran through me. Because Karin’s face was twisted, grief showing in her eyes. Savannah saw it too. Everyone in the entire orchestra saw it. And in that moment I felt as if we’d been transparent. As if everyone in the room had known all along what was going on, as my actions here and now declared that Savannah, not my wife, was who mattered to me. It was a bitter choice, knowing I was hurting her and going forward regardless.

And in that moment I knew I had no choice. Whatever happened, someone’s heart was getting broken. Probably more than one. Probably mine. But I did the calculation of hurting Karin, who had lied to me just as I’d lied to her, or hurting Savannah, who meant everything to me, and there was never any choice, was there?

“Gregory …” Savannah shook her head and took a step back.

My whisper was failing, but I tried again. “She can wait, Savannah. You … I need to talk to
you. Now.
”

Nathan, still standing next to her, audibly gasped. “You motherfucker,” he said. His face went red, and he approached me. “I’ve fucking had it with you.”

Joseph stopped pretending to give his speech and stared, shocked.

“Nathan,
stop it!”
Savannah said through clenched teeth.

At that, I saw Vita and Karin meet each other’s eyes. At this point I’d made a hash of everything. I’d destroyed whatever speech our conductor was going to give, I’d likely destroyed what was left of my marriage, and, unless I did something about it now, I’d probably wrecked whatever chance I had with Savannah.

I turned to Joseph and said, “Forgive me, Joseph. But it’s urgent I speak with Miss Marshall
right now.”

Nathan puffed himself up angrily. “You aren’t talking with any—“

Without thinking, I balled my right hand up into a fist and hit Nathan Connors in the face.

Savannah and several others in the orchestra screamed as Nathan went flying back from me, stumbling over a music stand and landing on his ass, one hand suddenly cupping his nose.

I took half a step forward and Savannah shouted, “Gregory, stop!”

That’s when I felt the pain shooting through my right hand, and I cradled it against my chest. Half in a panic, because an injured hand could be a disaster for a musician. That thought ended quickly as Nathan let out a yell and charged me.

Two of the other musicians grabbed him.

“Motherfucker!” he shouted again, his face red from my fist. “Why can’t you just leave her alone? Every fucking stop on this tour you’ve been screwing her … and breaking her heart.”

Half the orchestra gasped, as if they didn’t know already, and I saw Karin’s face pale. Rage impelled me forward, but James grabbed my arms.

“Don’t!” he said. “You’ve already done too much.”

Everything went silent, however, with the sound of Savannah’s open palm slapping Nathan’s face. “Nathan, shut up!”

I stood there, part of a frozen tableau, with the orchestra ringed around me, and James holding my arms. And then the silence was broken as my wife burst into loud sobs.

His tone bitter, angry, Joseph said, “Thank you all for an amazing tour. Good night.” Then he turned and marched away, quickly.

“Let me go,” I said to James, my voice quiet. “I’m done with him.”   

I was too late, though. Savannah had already run to her mother.

I sighed, then turned toward Karin. “Let’s go.”

She stared at me, her face a mixture of grief and complete disbelief.

“Let’s go,” I repeated. “We need to talk.”