“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.