chapter Seventeen
I wake at five a.m. and pull open the curtains to look out at the street below. It’s less crowded than last night but still alive with early risers. The corner of the window catches my eye. It looks foggy, but when I peer closer, the white patch has texture. Frost. I’ve never seen it before. I shiver and close the curtains.
This calls for a hot shower. From the sounds of it, I’m not the only one up early. Water runs in the adjoining bathroom. It shuts off while I undress, and it’s then that I hear Isaac singing. I have no idea what the tune’s supposed to be, but he gives it his all. I raise my fist and knock out the first part of “shave and a haircut.” Tap, tap-tap, tap, tap. I wait for the response.
Tap. Tap. “Two bits.”
I giggle and step into the shower.
The audition isn’t until after lunch, so we use the morning to walk around campus. Isaac clearly enjoys his stint as tour guide. Every fifteen feet he has another story to tell about some funny event associated with the spot—a prank, a party, a run-in with a famous musician. He shows me the residence hall, the academic building and nearby landmarks. The campus is tiny so it doesn’t take long. Before I know it, we’ve run out of buildings, and the slumbering butterflies awaken.
“Isaac, it’s time. I need to warm up.”
“Want to get lunch first?”
“No. I wouldn’t be able to keep it down.”
He nods knowingly. He throws his arm over my shoulders—I wince as little as possible—and leads the way.
The practice rooms are impressive, not at all what I expected. I had counted on small, smelly, outdated closets with orange shag rugs and spray-painted soundproofing material on the walls. When Isaac opens the door for me, a little yip of excitement slips out.
I look around to make sure no one else heard me. These are roomy, state-of-the-art rehearsal rooms with Steinway model Bs! No cookie-cutter uprights at the NEC, I’m happy to see. I shed my coat. Isaac doesn’t.
“Want me to stay, or do you want to be alone?”
I curl my lip and do that eyebrow thing R.J. loves so much. “Don’t you dare go anywhere. Unless you’ve got somewhere else to be, I mean. What I mean is—”
“I get it. Relax. Don’t have anywhere else to be, so unless you want me gone, I’ll be right here with you. Okay?”
“Okay. Sorry. Nervous.”
“Understandable.”
I take a deep breath and plunge into a full-keyboard scale, followed by the corresponding arpeggio and chords. I flex my fingers. Cold.
“Isaac? I need a favor. Remember that thing Dave did with me the first time I met him? When he came to the studio?”
“The Musicophilia relaxation thing? Yeah.”
“Could you help me with that? If you don’t want to, I understand.”
“No problem. Bet it’ll be good for your shoulder.”
“Thanks. You don’t need to say anything, just, if you could—”
The weight of his hands sends an electric current from my shoulders to my toes and everywhere in between. I close my eyes and pretend it’s Dave who touches me, not Isaac. I think of Dave’s velvet voice and the soothing words he used all those months ago in my studio. That was the day I realized I really do have a thing for Isaac.
Stop.
This line of thinking is not working. I try again. I focus on my breathing: Steady, deep, even. Better. In no time at all, my hands are warm and tingly, my fingers relaxed and ready. My shoulders pulse under Isaac’s touch and the energy in the room is palpable, like the smell just before a sudden thunderstorm. I take a deep breath and blow it out.
He gently squeezes my shoulders, but before he lets go, he gently runs his thumbs over the back of my neck, teasing the little curls at the nape. I nearly slide off the bench.
No time to think about that. I plunge into the pieces with all the energy, precision and emotion I can muster. Considering I feel like a coil about to spring, it’s not hard. Isaac makes some observations and offers a few tips, and before I know it, it’s time.
It’s time.
It’s time.
It’s time.
It’s time to see if I’ve got what it takes to get into the school of my dreams.
***
Musicians fill the hallways outside the Keller Room. Their activities reflect the intense emotions each is feeling. Or not. I raise my eyebrows at Isaac when we walk past a guy asleep on the floor with his head inside his black fabric tuba case. The naked tuba sits upside down next to his head. Another boy about my age paces across the hall from one side to the other and taps on his forehead every few seconds. Now and then, he yells at the small woman who tries to stop his back-and-forth progress. Most huddle in pairs, whispering and pointing at the sheet music they hold.
We choose a spot against the wall and stand side-by-side, taking in the crazy atmosphere. Forehead Boy drops a couple of F-bombs at the now-crying woman I assume is his mother. A door to our right opens, and a girl with short blonde hair walks out and into the arms of her much older twin. I’m jealous of both Forehead Boy and Blondie—at least they have their mothers with them to abuse or hug, respectively. I don’t even have my daddy to put his hands on his hips and tell me what I should and shouldn’t feel.
No, I’m glad it’s Isaac here with me. It’s perfect, really. We started this journey together, and we’ll end it together. But, when this is all over, when we fly back to Mobile, will that be the end? I won’t need his help anymore. Somehow, getting what I want—an audition—loses a little of its luster.
“Isaac Laroche! How wonderful to see you here, my friend.” A short man with gray hair and squinty eyes shakes hands with Isaac and pulls him in for a man-hug, complete with back thumping. There are gasps from the others in the hall. “I hoped I’d see you. And this must be the Julianne I’ve heard so much about.”
My jaw slaps my chest as Sasha Rozum—the same one I saw perform last night—takes my hand and air-kisses both of my reddening cheeks.
How does—what—he knows my name?
“Juli, I’d like to introduce you to Sasha Rozum, my mentor and friend.” Isaac tries to suppress a smile, but it peeks out on both sides of his mouth until he gives in and flashes me a brilliant, mischievous grin that only adds to the absolute awesomeness and impossibility of the past few seconds.
I blink a couple of times, but I can’t think of a thing to say. If I open my mouth, I’ll probably scream like a fangirl.
Isaac chuckles. “Sasha, you just accomplished the impossible—made Juli speechless.”
I shoot him a look and recover. “So pleased to meet you, sir. I’m sure you hear this all the time, but I’m a huge fan.”
“Thank you, Julianne. Meeting a fan never gets old. And I shouldn’t tell you this”—he leans in conspiratorially—“but your biggest fan stands right next to you. I’ve been hearing about your abilities since summer, when you and Isaac began working together.”
I blush again, but his words can’t be true. They just can’t be or—
“Wait till you hear her audition, Sasha.”
Say what? It hits me.
“Wait, you’re…?”
“On the audition panel? Yes. I am one of three who will be listening. Isaac tells me you’re a Rachmaninoff devotee?”
“Yes, sir. Actually, you’re the reason I love Rachmaninoff. I saw your performance on TV when I was little—the one at the Tchaikovsky Competition in Moscow. You played Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor and that was it. I’ve been in love with him ever since.”
“Juli, tell Sasha what you’re playing for your last piece today.” Isaac winks and puts a reassuring hand on the back of my neck.
I blush again and look at the floor. “I’m playing Sonata No. 2 in B-flat Minor, sir.”
“Indeed? What a treat this is! I look forward to it.” His eyes twinkle. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, the next audition is about to begin, and I mustn’t neglect my duties. I’ll see you when it’s over.”
As soon as he’s out of sight, I turn on Isaac and smack him with the sheet music I’ve twisted into shreds. “Isaac Laroche, you have a lot of explaining to do! Why didn’t you tell me you know Sasha Rozum? And you told him about me. And you knew he’d be here!”
Oh, I’m an idiot.
“You knew all along,” I say, “even last night when we went to see him. How could you keep that a secret? I am so going to kill you. When we get out of here—”
“You’re welcome.”
Hands in his pockets, he smiles down at me with what Granny called a shit-eating grin. And I melt. Right into him. I’ve gone from smacking him like Forehead Boy to Blondie-the-hugger. R.J. is the only person I ever hug—like, really hug—on a regular basis, so I expect this to feel foreign. I’m surprised how well I fit into his contours.
He doesn’t push me away. Instead, he wraps his massive arms around me, one around my shoulders—no wincing this time—and one cradles the back of my head. He smoothes my hair and tucks a strand behind my ear. I listen to his heart quicken a little, his breathing even like waves on the shore, and I wonder what’s changed. Why he’s suddenly so comfortable touching me when he’s spent the past eight months pushing me away.
I don’t want to believe it, but a voice that sounds a lot like hers echoes in my head. It tells me that when this is over, when I’m done with the audition, he’ll drop me again. He’s only pretending to help me through the next hour. I decide I don’t care. I press my hands into his back, both of us motionless except for Isaac’s thumb occasionally brushing my cheek. Minutes tick by and I’m calmer than I’ve been in months. Hard to believe it’s all an act.
And if that’s true, then why—
“Julianne Casquette?”
I draw in a sharp breath.
It’s time.
It’s time.
It’s time.
“Are you coming in?” I ask Isaac.
“Can’t. Against the rules.”
I nod. The folded note in my pocket makes me smile. Just a little. I can do this.
Isaac squeezes my hand and I enter the Keller Room on shaky legs.
***
I exit the room on even shakier ones, but for an entirely different reason. Isaac leans against the wall directly opposite the door. His arms are crossed in his classic battle stance, though his face is a mask of gentle concern and anticipation.
God, he’s beautiful.
I take five confident strides until there’s only a whisper between us.
“They loved me.”
He smiles and the small movement of his lips displaces what little air separates his from mine. A throat clears behind me and Isaac’s head jerks up. His smile widens.
“Isaac, you did not exaggerate. She is brilliant. Her sonata rivaled mine. I should dock you points, Julianne, for besting me. However, because you admit to being a fan, I’ll let it slide.” Sasha winks and shakes hands with Isaac while I twist a curl around my finger to keep my head from detaching and floating away. “I assume I’ll see you again soon,” he says, first looking at Isaac and then turning to me. “Both of you.”
He walks down the hall, and the two of us watch him go. I turn to Isaac, whose heavily lidded eyes tell me exactly what I want to know.
“Kiss me?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Just before our lips touch, he grins and whispers, “No biting this time.”