Chapter Thirteen
Ava was able to secure an interview with the New York Times. For Gwen…and Xander Thorne. The perfect team.
That’s how Gwen found herself sitting on the patio of a small cafe on 68th Street on Saturday morning, waiting in silence for the interviewer to return from picking up his cappuccino at the counter. Waiting with her knees tucked as far into her body as possible. Like she was some kind of human folding chair. Because the alternative…well, the alternative—
Xander’s knee bumped hers as he recrossed his legs.
“Sorry—”
“I’m—yeah.”
Silence again.
He’d ordered an espresso. And the tiny cup looked so silly in his huge hands that she almost laughed whenever he sipped.
His Ray-Bans were on. He was in black again.
And everything about him—from his clothes, to his holier-than-thou attitude, to the way he didn’t acknowledge her except for when their knees touched—made Gwen feel like an idiot in her yellow sundress.
“Thanks for waiting.” Mark, the interviewer, tumbled into the chair opposite them, and Gwen smiled. Friendly. Approachable. One of them should be. Mark would come to the concert that night to review it, and the story would be printed in Sunday’s Times. “So, Gwen!” He waved a hand at her, flipping open his notepad. “You are the youngest violinist to take first chair in New York history.”
“In the western hemisphere,” a voice mumbled next to her.
Both she and Mark looked at Xander as he sipped his comically small cup, content to interrupt.
She looked back at Mark. “That’s what they say,” she offered with a grin.
“You must be excited,” Mark prompted her.
“Absolutely. I’m beyond honored that the Manhattan Pops offered it to me. I’d never envisioned this for myself, so I’m thrilled for this opportunity.”
Gwen had learned by now that all interviews were the same. Same answers, just different phrasing to the questions.
“What did you envision for yourself then?” Mark asked.
She hesitated. Now that wasn’t a question she’d been asked. “I…I guess I’ve always wanted to play solos and be a featured violinist, but I never thought that first chair would be my first step.” She grinned. The body next to her shifted.
“Now, you taught yourself how to play the violin. Almost a child prodigy, is that correct?”
“Oh, no.” She blushed. “I would never call myself a prodigy. I started playing when I was eleven”—Mark wrote something down—“but I had a tutor working with me.”
“Where did you play? High school band?”
“No, my high school didn’t have music classes. I learned at a music store in Queens…” She paused, hating that she was about to clue Xander in on a piece of their shared history, but knowing that Mabel could use a mention in the Times. “Mabel’s Music Shop.” Not allowing herself to see his reaction, she hurried on. “But I used to play at the Union Square subway station. I’d set up at rush hour with my case out for tips.”
She smiled, having learned by now that this was a charming story that people chuckled at, and not something that she tried to forget.
“And what did you use that money for?” Mark asked with a grin.
Food for her and grandpa.
New shoes.
Once—once—a movie ticket. She’d signed up for a theater rewards card at the concession stand and got a free small popcorn. She rationalized that at least she got dinner out of it.
Gwen swallowed and smiled brightly. “Clothes, candy, and movies.”
Mark chuckled. And she could feel a pair of Ray-Bans turned on her.
“And were your parents supportive of your music?”
And there it was.
It was easy to lie to strangers in the Plaza ballroom as they pried. It was even easy to dodge the magazine interviewer when they asked if there was musical talent in her family. But to be asked point-blank about her parents by the New York Times…
“I…don’t have those,” she said, laughing awkwardly into her iced latte. “My mother died just before my eleventh birthday. She never got to hear me play the violin. But my grandfather loved hearing me practice when…when he was really sick and… yeah.”
She could have handled that better. She winced at her stuttering.
Mark’s eyes roved over her. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, with the sincerity of a human person, but the eagerness of a reporter who’d found an angle. “Does your grandfather come to Pops performances?”
“He’s also passed. He died the day before my high school graduation.”
She recognized the pity in Mark’s eyes, but she also felt like maybe he’d known the kind of answer he wanted before he’d even asked the question. He apologized again, and scratched out something on his pad. She tried to ignore the quiet figure next to her.
“Did any of your family ever get to hear you play violin?”
“Was this feature supposed to cover both of us?” said a harsh voice to her right. “Or am I excused?”
She narrowed her eyes at him. While grateful for the interruption, it was an interruption nonetheless.
Mark cleared his throat, turning his attention to Xander. He asked about Thorne and Roses, the recent tour, when they were recording again, and SNL. Xander answered succinctly and without passion. Gwen slurped her latte whenever he was being a dick.
There were times when he started talking about the music that she could glimpse Alex Fitzgerald in his features. She recognized in him the way Alex had searched for words in some of his YouTube videos, like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. When Mark asked a question he didn’t want to answer, Xander pressed his lips together, just like Alex did when he was displeased with his own playing. She wondered what it would have been like to meet Alex first. She was attracted to Xander, but she might have been able to fall in love with Alex, she thought.
“And you’ve been with the Pops for just over a year now?” Mark asked him, breaking Gwen from her thoughts.
“That’s right.”
“And with all the success you’ve had with Thorne and Roses, why stay on with the Pops? It seems like your career is really taking off. What is it about the Pops that keeps you coming back?”
Gwen turned to look at him, wondering the same thing. She stared at his impenetrable sunglasses and watched him swallow.
It was silent. A taxi honked down the street, and tourists chattered in other languages. But at this café table, it felt like a vacuum. She watched him take a deep breath and still say nothing.
“I think…” Gwen squeaked. “I mean, there’s such an opportunity this season to showcase his original pieces.” She smiled at Mark, who was scribbling, probably noting the absence of an answer more than the one she was giving. “This season includes a Xander Thorne original cello solo in our concert program. He played it for the orchestra yesterday, and it’s magnificent.”
“Can’t wait to hear it,” Mark said, smiling tightly. He glanced between the two of them and then asked, “And did you two meet at the Pops?”
Now it was Gwen’s turn to pause dramatically.
“Yep.” She sent him a pained grin. “We met at his first rehearsal.”
He was silent next to her.
Mark wrote something down and asked, “And have you been to any Thorne and Roses concerts? Do you enjoy the group?”
She blinked at him, choosing her words carefully. “I haven’t had the chance yet, but I’ve downloaded every song.”
Mark closed his notebook. “Well, thanks for meeting on the morning of the concert.” He sipped down his cappuccino and stood, extending his hand to both of them. “I hope you live close.”
“Yeah,” Gwen said, standing. “I’m just up in Washington Heights, and Alex is only a few blocks away.”
She grinned at Mark and watched his eyes flickering in curiosity. Alex was perfectly still, clenching his jaw.
“You’ll need to strike that,” Alex said, his gruff voice directed to Mark.
Gwen blinked. Should she not have mentioned where he lived? Was he famous enough now that something like that mattered?
Then it hit her. Alex.
She’d called him Alex.
And like a good interviewer, Mark knew exactly who he was, ready to walk through the door Gwen had opened for him. He tilted his head, starting to ask another question.
“Thanks, Mark,” Xander cut him off. “Hope you enjoy the concert.” He stood, shaking Mark’s hand again, a bit too firmly.
Gwen flushed scarlet as she grabbed her bag, waved goodbye to Mark, and tried to slip away to the subway. She’d been thinking about the young violinist who used to allow people to call him Alex, and she’d slipped up. The last time she’d called him Alex was at his apartment, when she—
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that.”
She spun. He stood at the entrance of the café patio, about to head in the other direction.
Her chest tightened. Embarrassment flooded her from her blunder, but she couldn’t help but prod at him.
“Your friends called you Alex. At the wedding,” she said.
He stared at her, Ray-Bans shielding him. “I wasn’t aware that we were friends.”
It suddenly felt like a cloud settling over the sun, cooling the pavement and sending a wind through the air.
Gwen swallowed. “No, I guess we aren’t.”
She turned and headed home to get ready.
She’d bought a new outfit for the concert with her first paycheck. While the rest of the orchestra women got away with recycling dresses each concert, Ava had always had a new black dress—almost like a guest of honor. Articles were written highlighting her fashion choices.
So, at Ava’s insistence, Gwen had gone with a jumpsuit with a tailored tuxedo jacket. “It will separate you from everyone. Keep you youthful,” Ava had said.
She was just slipping into her heels when a knock was rapped on the bathroom door.
“Gwen, I want pictures,” Jacob called from the other side.
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “It’s not prom, Jacob.”
“It might as well be! Get out here!”
Jacob had gotten back together with Declan last week. She had no idea what happened to Nicky; all she knew was that Declan and Jacob were back on. She was glad for them. She’d grown fond of Declan and had missed him.
She straightened the lapels of her tux jacket and smoothed her pants legs before pulling open the door and stepping out into the hallway.
Jacob’s eyes widened into saucers, and he gave a low whistle as she twirled. “Damn, girl.” He lifted his phone and snapped a pic. Declan was in the kitchen, but promptly dropped the spoon into the enchilada sauce and screamed.
“Gwen, you are stunning!” Declan ran to her, making her twirl in circles.
Jacob ran into his bedroom yelling over his shoulder, “We got you something.” He returned with a small blue box. A box that looked suspiciously like—
“Tiffany’s? Jake, are you serious?” Gwen’s eyes widened, and she felt like she needed to sit down. She’d never seen a real Tiffany’s box in her life, much less been gifted something from there.
“I mean, technically Declan got you something because I am, how you say, le poor.”
“It’s just a little something,” Declan said with a squeeze to her elbow. “For your first concert as violin number one.”
“First violin, babe.”
“Whatever. Just open it.” Declan grabbed the box from Jacob and thrust it into her hands.
Gwen’s fingers trembled as she pulled the top off. Embedded in the velvet foam were two earrings, elegant studs. Diamonds sparkled up at her, shaped into the treble clef. She swallowed, against her throat closing with emotion.
“Guys, you didn’t have to—”
“Yes, we did.” Jacob kissed her temple. “This is such a big night.”
Gwen tried to keep her tears at bay while she traded out the fake diamond studs she had in for the Tiffany earrings.
After taking pictures with the boys and letting Declan help her choose a lipstick color, she took an Uber over to Carnegie Hall, and met Ms. Michaels and Ava at the office for the board members.
Ms. Michaels gasped, saying, “Oh, the Times will eat you up.” Her eyes traced Gwen’s outfit while she spun in a circle for them. “How was the interview today?”
“Good,” she said. “Al—Xander was in a mood, though. I don’t know if that will make it into the papers.”
Ava rolled her eyes. “Wonderful.”
“Thank you for sharing the feature with him,” Ms. Michaels said. “I knew we could guarantee a spot in tomorrow’s paper with both of you.”
“Of course.” Gwen smiled, forgetting the reflection of her confused eyes in a pair of Ray-Bans.
Mabel called her while she was with Ava, and she quickly stepped out of the office and answered it.
“Just wanted to say how proud I am.”
Tears welled in Gwen’s eyes, and she thanked her. “Any advice before I go on?”
“Not at all,” Mabel said, voice getting drowned out by the city street she was on. “You have everything you need.”
Mabel ended the call shortly after, even though Gwen could have talked to her forever. She hadn’t attended a single Pops concert since Gwen started there four years ago, but now that Gwen knew a bit more of her history with Nathan and Ava, she supposed she didn’t hold it against her anymore. It still hurt to know she wouldn’t be there in the crowd for as big a night as this. It was as if her own mother refused to attend. Gwen rolled her shoulders back and headed down to Stern Auditorium.
An hour later, she waited backstage with her violin. Squeaky. She smiled. She hadn’t called it Squeaky since she was a child. Hadn’t thought about that nickname until Alex asked her.
Xander. She was supposed to refer to him as Xander.
What a stupid fucking name.
“Places for act one,” the stage manager called out, walking the halls to knock on bathroom and changing room doors. “Onstage places for orchestra, standby for first violin, standby for conductor.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said as she passed.
She hadn’t seen Xander yet. It was common for the orchestra to tune up, wandering from stage to backstage until places, but she still felt the absence of him.
“Ready?” Nathan appeared at her side, looking dapper as always in his tux. She smiled at him, and he lifted her hand to spin her in a circle. “You look gorgeous, Gwen.”
She bit her lip and looked down at her too-tall heels. “Your wife got her hands on me.”
“She does that.” He chuckled. “I’m very proud of you.”
She looked up, finding his warm blue eyes on her.
“I don’t have expensive makeup on, you know,” she chastised him. “If you make me cry, it will be a mess.”
He grinned and chucked her chin.
In no time at all, the stage manager was calling her to the stage, a bright light was on her face, and a crowd of thousands was applauding her. She smiled up to the top tier, where the high school students who got in for free sat.
She moved to her chair—her chair. And just across from her sat Xander Thorne in his tuxedo. Gwen looked away before her eyes lingered too long.
Grinning at the first oboe, she asked for the A. She lifted her violin to her chin, and listened as the most beautiful sound swept through her ears. An orchestra tuning. Her orchestra.
She almost didn’t catch it in her haze. Like a fly buzzing in a quiet room. Or an itch between your shoulder blades. The orchestra quieted, but Gwen stood there, staring at them.
Someone was out of tune. She felt it in her blood. Just the tiniest bit out of sync. Somewhere in the second violins. Or maybe the clarinets. No, it was strings.
She was standing there, with her back turned to three thousand people, waiting for someone to tell her what to do. It was her job to make sure the orchestra was in tune. And maybe no one would really notice if one violinist was off. But their partners would. And the entire performance would be spent trying to retune them mid-song.
She’d never in her life seen a first chair ask for the tuning a second time. But she’d heard what she’d heard, right? Or maybe it was nothing.
Nathan wasn’t here. He was waiting backstage for her to sit down. But a familiar pull tugged at her, turning her eyes to him, like a string on her violin, vibrating, drawing her to Xander.
His eyes were on the second violins, brows drawn together and eyes searching. And that settled it.
“Roger,” she said. And the first oboist jerked his head to her. “Again please?”
The crowd shifted behind her. And the orchestra looked among themselves for the traitor. And when they played the A again, she watched an older gentleman in the second violin section twist a peg, tightening his instrument. He looked at her and nodded, blushing slightly.
The instruments quieted, and Gwen bowed her head, thanking them. As she took her seat, her eyes drifted to Xander, sitting across from her with his Stradivarius between his thighs, watching her. A small twitch of his lips that she felt humming in her chest.
Her body heated, and she looked away to find Nathan entering.
Nathan introduced her to the crowd after the second song. She stood and waved. The orchestra applauded with the audience, and she saw from the corner of her eye a pair of large hands clapping around the neck of a cello.
Xander Thorne played his solo as the second-to-last song in the first act. He stood, turning his chair forward to face the audience, and when Nathan introduced him, Gwen heard girls screaming from the top tiers.
Nathan had some lovely words of praise for Xander, but she saw Xander’s lips press together, annoyed. Nathan introduced the song as Fugue No. 1, Unaccompanied.
Gwen blinked at his profile as he settled in the chair. She didn’t know why she had expected something like “Autumn Rain” or “First Beginnings” or something awfully sappy for a Xander Thorne original. Of course, he would choose something complicated, with classical influences, rich with meaning and meant to fly over the heads of ninety percent of the audience.
He still played the same mistakes she had performed. Like his original version of the song that he’d copied into sheet music had evaporated. His jaw was set, and his eyes closed, much more connected than his performance for the orchestra earlier in the week. His head moved, free of his neck and shoulders, soft curls in his hair flowing.
The raindrop section…fingerpicking his way through the complex notes. It was so much more romantic on his Stradivarius than on Ruby. Only pure strings and echoes, nothing diluted through speakers.
He flipped his hand around the bow in a beautiful dance, ending the fingerpicking and moving toward the storm. Her body throbbed, remembering. She dragged in a trembling breath as he approached the end, his shoulders shaking and tensing.
A pause. And she waited for the final note, resolving and pulling pleasure through her veins.
It never came.
The bow lifted from the strings. And he opened his eyes, bowing his head to the audience as they came to understand that the song was over. A slow building applause.
Gwen felt…angry. Like he’d—like they’d—
Well, honestly…like he’d stopped right before she came.
She glared down at the last song of act one, ignoring his large body as he repositioned his chair, facing her again. She felt the song still buzzing in her.
Maybe he didn’t equate the song with her. Maybe it wasn’t all about her. It was “Fugue No. 1,” after all, possibly the first of many. Maybe he was just setting up for more sections.
She still felt overwhelmed with…
She concentrated on rage. That was an easier emotion.
The applause died down, and Nathan retook the stand. She chanced one look at Xander before the moment was over. She expected his gaze on her, glaring at her, smirking at her.
He stared down at his music pages, flipping to the next song, eyes turned down. He ran a hand through his hair before his fingers settled on the neck of his cello. His lips quivered, his teeth worrying at the inside of his mouth.
He didn’t look up at her. Gwen shook her head, clearing it. Not everything was about her.
Nathan reintroduced the guest singer, and Gwen finished act one with a flustered brain and a heated body.