Chapter Three
By rehearsal on Wednesday, Gwen had pushed Xander Thorne far out of her mind. Or at least she’d tried.
She arrived at the rehearsal space on Eighth, pulling the door open just as Ava Fitzgerald stepped out of her cab.
“Good morning, Gwen,” she said with a smile, the sparse streaks of gray in her dark hair gleaming in the morning sun.
Gwen’s heart jolted, just like it did any time Ava Fitzgerald spoke to her. As first chair of the Manhattan Pops, Ava was technically Gwen’s boss, but more important, she was her hero. She’d had a career as an international soloist for years—the kind of career Gwen would kill to have—before taking over first chair in the Pops, the orchestra her own father had founded.
Mabel had rolled her eyes when Gwen asked why Ava Fitzgerald had stopped her solo career to join the Pops. “Because she’s an idiot, that’s why. Any symphony would have had her, as guest soloist or as first chair, but she threw it all away.” Mabel had slammed the register drawer closed and flown over to scream at the children pounding on the keyboards.
Even as a kid, Gwen had known there was something more behind Mabel’s irritation. Mabel never talked about how she knew Ava Fitzgerald, but Gwen had seen her at the music shop more than once, trying to convince Mabel to apply for grants or offering her help with advertising ideas. Mabel turned her away every time. The first time she had been properly introduced to Ava, Gwen had just finished tuning her violin an entire half step up in an attempt to play a trick on Mabel. Gwen had been playing in the practice rooms, waiting for Mabel to notice and tell her something was off when she heard a woman arguing with Mabel about some kind of application.
“I don’t need your help—”
“I didn’t say you did. I just saw the application and thought of this place—”
“Gwen!” Mabel had called out, and Gwen jerked. She peeked her head out the door. “Come meet Ava Fitzgerald.” The woman—Ava—had smiled at her, and her eyes had dropped to the violin in her hands as Mabel continued, “Ava is the best violinist in the world”—and then grumbled—“just ask her.”
Ava glared at the back of Mabel’s head before pushing a curl away from her face with a deep breath. Ava settled her eyes back on Gwen and smiled.
“Hello, Gwen. You play violin?”
“Yeah—yes.”
“How long have you been playing?”
“Um, almost two years.” Gwen ran the hair of the bow across her fingertips, pulling her eyes away from Ava’s smooth curls.
“That’s wonderful. Can I hear your scales?”
As Ava leaned against the doorjamb, smiling softly, Gwen finally placed her. The woman who had given her a one-hundred-dollar bill in the 14th Street subway station. Her heart pounded, and her fingers buzzed in anticipation. She lifted the violin to her chin and set the bow to the strings.
And winced—she’d forgotten about the tuning she’d done to mess with Mabel. The scales sang out at a half-step up. It wasn’t noticeable unless you had an ear for it, so Gwen pressed through some arpeggios, hoping to make up for her nerves.
When she pulled the bow away and looked up, Ava had a familiar expression on her face—the same look Mabel had worn when Gwen had first played scales two years earlier, asking her for a third time if she’d ever been trained in violin before.
Ava tilted her head. “You play in the subway stations, don’t you?”
Gwen felt her entire body sing. She swallowed as her throat tightened. “Yes, sometimes.”
Ava smiled. “I remember you.”
She blinked quickly, unsure how to respond.
“Keep playing, Gwen,” Ava said, adjusting her Louis Vuitton purse on her shoulder. And just before she disappeared from the doorway, she said, “Oh, and ask Mabel to take a look at your violin. It’s tuned half a step up.”
Gwen had stared at the space Ava Fitzgerald had occupied, her skin tingling and her breath short. It was as if a record player had just clicked, the needle finally finding the grooves.
She’d noticed the tuning. Mabel hadn’t noticed it. Maybe they were the only two people in the world who could hear it.
I remember you.
It was worth more to her than the one-hundred-dollar bill.
Whenever Ava spoke to her at Pops rehearsals, Gwen felt a shadow of that initial conversation pass through her—the same thrill to be talking to someone who maybe could understand everything about her.
“Good morning,” Gwen echoed, stopping on the street and waiting for Ava to walk to the door. “Did you have a nice weekend off?”
“No, of course not.” Ava laughed. “I was in Houston for a workshop. Beautiful city, but I didn’t get to see any of it.” She took the door from Gwen and gestured for her to enter first. “Have you ever been?”
“No, but, uh, I haven’t been anywhere.” Gwen fell into step next to her. Ava was almost half a foot shorter than she was, but she wore heels to every occasion, graceful as any runway model.
“That’s a shame. You’re so young. Almost twenty-three, right?”
Gwen’s eyes snapped to her. “I—yes, in June.”
“Have you really been with us four years?” Ava asked, holding the door to their room open for her. “Your audition feels like yesterday.”
Heat rose in her cheeks as she remembered the day she’d pulled on the dress she wore to her grandfather’s funeral the year before and taken the train into Manhattan to audition for the opening in the violin section. Ava had been behind the table with Nathan Andrews, the conductor of the Pops (and Ava’s husband). When Ava had leaned forward on the table and asked, “Aren’t you Mabel’s girl?” Gwen had almost fainted on the spot.
The memory of it still made her head spin. Gwen was about to split off and head toward the back of the violin section when Ava caught her elbow.
“Do you have a second after rehearsal today? I’d like to discuss something with you.”
Her blood ran cold. Ava was friendly and caring, but they didn’t have private discussions. Ever. A voice in her head screamed, You are fucked, but she shook it off and nodded with a smile.
Ava squeezed her arm and turned to greet the woman who played second chair.
Before she could worry too much about it, Gwen turned toward the orchestra and felt that sensation of calm and harmony course through her blood—the same feeling she got before every rehearsal or performance. When the Pops had tuned together during her very first rehearsal, she’d felt something click into place in her chest. It was some piece that had gone missing the day her mother sat her down and explained what breast cancer was.
That calm. That wholeness. She felt flickers of it with Mabel, sharing a good meal or talking about symphonies. It sparked to life when she’d met Jacob, before she’d learned she would have to share him—that he would never truly belong to her like she could belong to him. And she’d just started to truly understand her grandfather’s humor before a different cancer swept him away too.
But listening to the Pops tune…actually tuning with them, contributing, being a part of something bigger—it was as close to belonging as Gwen had felt in thirteen years.
She moved toward her chair in the fourth row, squeezing past Henry, the violinist who sat on the inside and reminded her so much of her grandfather. Only about half the seats were filled, most of the players still milling around and chatting.
Her eyes cast over to Xander Thorne’s seat to the right of the conductor’s stand—empty. She hadn’t expected otherwise. He never arrived early, and rarely on time. Nathan had started stalling at the top of rehearsal just to make it less awkward when he walked through the door.
Her friend Mei flagged her over, and Gwen set down her things before crossing to the trombone section.
Mei hugged her and asked, “How was that wedding?” But before Gwen could say a word, she jumped back in with, “Oh, my god, I subbed in on Wicked—you should have heard this girl’s voice crack. It was insane. I don’t even know how to describe it, Gwen—”
“Wicked ? The Saturday matinee?” one of the trumpet players called over. “I was there!”
“You were subbing for Wicked ?” Mei spun to him. “I didn’t see you.”
“I was in the audience—”
“Of course you were, Jeremy. You know, some of us have to work—”
Gwen loved Mei. She was a double espresso in the body of a wiry Chinese girl. Her trombone was bigger than she was, but not nearly as loud. Gwen’s eyes flicked to the door again before focusing back.
“Talk to me when you’re done paying off your yacht, Jeremy,” Mei hissed.
“It’s a houseboat. I told you—”
“I’m not listening, Jeremy!” She spun back to Gwen. “You didn’t tell me about the wedding. Did you get to eat the food? I love it when they let you eat the food. What kind of cake was it?”
“We were only there for the ceremony—”
“They didn’t give you a plate? What kind of a cheap ass— I’m not talking to you, Jeremy, so you can turn around and sit your ass back in the trumpet section where you belong. Was the wedding dress pretty at least?”
Gwen quickly replied while she could. “Gorgeous. Gorgeous everything. A mansion in Jersey. I think there were swans in a pond.”
“Jeremy! Did you have a wedding at your house this weekend? Gwen says she played at some asshole’s mansion.”
Gwen laughed, about ready to leave Mei to her terrorizing, or flirting—whatever she called it—when the door to the studio was yanked open and Xander Thorne strolled in, Ray-Bans on, cello case on his back. She checked the clock: 9:54.
When she glanced back at him, his head was turned to the violin section, eyes hidden behind his sunglasses still. Gwen sidestepped until she was concealed between the trombones and peeked over Mei’s shoulder while she ranted at Jeremy.
Xander got to his chair and took off his glasses. His eyes roved over the violins, searching. Gwen’s throat felt like sandpaper.
“You sick?”
She turned quickly to Mei. “Sick?”
“You’re flushed.” She clapped a hand to Gwen’s forehead and then her cheek. “And warm. Girl, don’t get me sick.”
“Then stop touching me,” Gwen said, slapping her away. “I’m not sick.”
Their rehearsal assistant raised a hand at the front of the room and called out, “Five minutes, folks.”
Gwen still needed to rosin her bow and tune. She walked swiftly back to her chair, refusing to look up to see if Xander Thorne had spotted her. Going through the motions of setting up her music and unpacking her instrument, she focused on the tuning throughout the room, keeping her eyes down.
Nathan Andrews stood from the rehearsal table and called out, “Welcome, everyone! Good morning.” Murmured greetings sounded from around the room. Gwen lifted her eyes and smiled.
He was an energetic and captivating man in his fifties, thin but round-faced, giving him the appearance of someone much younger. He’d swept into the Manhattan Pops fifteen years ago, fresh off reshaping the Seattle Symphony, and immediately started turning a profit for the Pops. There was old gossip about Ava and Nathan’s torrid romance in the early days—apparently Ava hadn’t been completely divorced, and Nathan hadn’t been completely single—but Gwen didn’t pay any attention to it. It wasn’t her business.
“Did everyone have a good weekend? Anything exciting to report?” He rubbed his hands together and glanced around with bright eyes.
Gwen waited for the inevitable moment. And not a second later, Diane waved a hand two rows ahead of her and shared the news of her family reunion that got rained out that past Friday. Rubbing her brow, Gwen exchanged a look with Mei of utter boredom. Any opportunity Diane had to discuss her weekend, her diet, her disdain for certain TV shows—she took it.
While Nathan politely moved the conversation along, Gwen looked over at the cellos by accident.
Xander Thorne was watching her.
She looked down at her music, pretending to fuss with the pages, and kept her eyes from wandering. She focused on the sound of the orchestra coming together as one, the way the music fell warm and heavy on her skin. The way her violin strings sang with the others, responding to a call from the trumpets, laughing with the piccolos, humming with the violas.
But every time she glanced at Nathan or Ava, Xander Thorne was in her line of sight. It was normal to see him during rehearsals—as first cello he sat directly across from Ava—but she usually didn’t have to wonder if he could see her. When his gaze was locked on the violins, was she just imagining that he was looking past Ava to the fourth row? Gwen felt her shoulders creeping up toward her ears, a sure sign her playing was tensing up.
After working the difficult string section a few times, Nathan said, “Excellent. Excellent. I think I’m hearing too much bass. Ava?”
Gwen watched Ava nod. “Agree. Xander, pull them back. And remember to watch me for cues. I’m not just decoration over here.”
The strings chuckled, and Gwen cracked a smile. She glanced at Xander. He didn’t agree or take the note with a “thank you.” His lips were tight, and his expression was petulant as he stared back at Ava.
“Thank you, everyone,” Nathan said, clapping his hands together in the signal they’d come to know as “rehearsal dismissed.”
As Gwen packed up, she remembered that Ava wanted to meet with her, and her nerves started dancing in her stomach. She was slow to put her violin away, careful with her music, and downright sloth-like in repacking her tote bag.
“You play differently at the Pops.”
She looked up at the deep voice. Xander Thorne stood next to her chair, his cello packed away and his Ray-Bans unfolding between his callused fingertips. Her stomach did a not-so-fun flip-flop thing as she not only realized that he was watching her play, but also that he had hung around to tell her.
She took in his comment and was grateful he’d seen her play the instrument she’d been well trained in for a change.
“Thank you,” she said, all other vocabulary leaving her.
“It wasn’t a compliment.” He slipped his sunglasses on, grabbed his cello case, and turned to the door.
Her lips parted. She tried to think of anything to say to that, but instead just watched him walk out as embarrassment stained her cheeks. When a shadow fell over her, she jumped to see Nathan smiling at her.
“Gwen. Do you have time for a chat with me and Ava?”
Her breath caught. Ava and Nathan both? She shook herself out of her Xander-induced trance. “Yes, absolutely.”
“Wonderful. Once everyone’s out, we’ll sit.” He gestured to the rehearsal table, and then turned to speak with the timpanist.
Gwen glanced to Henry in the chair next to her. He lifted a gray, fuzzy eyebrow at her and said, “Be sure to ask for severance.”
“Shut up.” She nudged his shoulder and laughed, trying to push down the shaking feeling that he might be right. It was ridiculous to think that Xander had actually contacted the board about her performance at Saturday’s wedding and gotten her fired, but his parting shot was stuck in her mind.
It wasn’t a compliment.
As she waited for the last person to roll out the door, Gwen wandered to the tea and coffee cart, brewing a paper cup full of green tea. She settled at the rehearsal table, and soon after, Ava pulled a chair across from her.
“How do you like the new medley?” Ava asked, tucking a loose chestnut curl behind her ear.
“Oh, it’s great. I love Bernstein.” She smiled, trying to keep from bouncing her knee under the table.
“Are you liking the music this season?” Ava rubbed the knuckles and wrist of her left hand, her short burgundy nails a bright contrast against her light skin. “Is there anything you can think of that would be a good addition?”
“Me?” Gwen blinked at her. “Oh, umm. I mean, I love the music the Pops chooses.”
“But Nathan and I”—Ava gestured to him as he took a seat at the head of the table between them—“are old curmudgeons. I want to know what music you’re drawn to.”
Nathan muttered the word “curmudgeon” under his breath and sipped his two-hour-old cappuccino.
“Well,” Gwen started, unsure. “I did just play a wedding this weekend, and the music was awesome. Some really unexpected stuff, like not always love songs, but the guests seemed to really like the pieces when they recognized them.” They were watching her, listening like they had genuine interest. “I just wonder if it would be cool to have more medleys where people don’t know what’s coming, you know?”
Nathan nodded, and jotted something down on his notepad.
“Actually, Xander was in the wedding. It was a nice coincidence, but, um…” She was talking too much, but she couldn’t stop now that she’d started. “You should ask him too. He arranges most of the music for Thorne and Roses, so he might have some ideas or…”
Ava’s eyes were warm, but there was a tight smile on her face. Nathan cleared his throat and clicked his pen closed.
“Not a bad idea,” he said, but there was a politeness to his tone that made her think asking Xander Thorne’s opinion was out of the question. “Gwen, we wanted to take a moment to chat with you about a few things.”
“Great,” her voice croaked out.
“As the next season approaches, we’ve had to make some difficult choices,” Ava began. “I’m stepping down at the end of this season and moving into a supervisory position on the board of directors.”
Gwen stared at her. “Oh,” was all she could say. It was impossible to imagine the Pops without Ava.
“There will be some shuffling in the strings,” Nathan said, “and we wanted to ask how you felt about moving up.”
“Of—of course. I’d be honored.” Currently, Gwen was the seventh violin, four rows back. Nothing to brag about. “Whatever the orchestra needs, I’m willing to do it.”
A soft smile lifted Ava’s lips. Something glimmered in Nathan’s gaze.
“Gwen, will you come to Carnegie tomorrow to play for a few members of the board?” Nathan sat forward in his chair. “Prepare a few pieces. Very informal.”
Her pulse raced. “Informal” felt like the very opposite of what this was.
“So it’s an audition,” Gwen clarified, looking between them.
“Yes. We’re looking to replace Ava.”
Her throat went dry, and her skin suddenly felt tight and itchy. “And you’re auditioning me to—to backfill those chairs?”
Ava chuckled, the sound like a bell tinkling in the distance. “No, Gwen. We’re auditioning you to replace me. As first chair.”
Gwen felt like the ground was tilting, the air growing thick. “Right. No, of course. Right.”
Nathan smirked and scratched his short, coppery beard. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”
She swallowed. Images and sounds flooded her—memories, dreams. The first hum of the bow across the strings. Applause, solely for her, echoing off the 14th Street subway station tiles. The feeling of the stage lights on her face, the quiet of the audience as she lifted her bow, ready to share a moment in time with them. Was that what first chair was? First chair was solos and featured performances. First chair was also hard work and leadership, becoming an important member of the family, becoming indispensable.
“Absolutely,” she said. “What time should I be there?”
When they smiled at her, she swore she could hear applause in the distance, rolling like thunder, chanting for more of her.