Chapter 4
Josh
I have to play this fortissimo. Then the leitmotif, an octave higher. Before that, a pause.
Yes, that could work.
I let the pencil whiz noisily over the sheet music. When only the moon shone into the piano room, it was still empty. Now, in the warm light of dawn, it’s filled with notes, key signatures, wild scribbles, and annotations. My mouth is dry, my shoulders tense.
Nevertheless, I turn back to the piano and try to find a strong accompaniment melody with my left hand to the leitmotif. Maybe in C minor? With closed eyes, I let the composition resonate within me.
Inevitably, I see the face of the dark-haired woman from the toy store in front of me. Unlike yesterday, her expression is tense. My music cannot reach her.
At this moment, I know for sure. The piece is good, but it's far from perfect. Something is missing, but what?
I search for alternatives, changing the key, the tempo, and the phrasing once again.
No, no, no. It's not working like this.
With a powerful motion, all my fingers land simultaneously on the keys. Then I slump onto the piano stool. I won't be able to impress the fans with this piece. It takes more than a beautiful melody. It needs a soul that enchants everyone instantly. I massage my temples with effort.
A knock on the tall grand door thwarts my attempt to concentrate. It's already hard enough to withstand the pressure, but distractions are the last thing I need right now.
"Yes, please?" My words sound tired, and so am I. I've locked myself in this room all night to compose. Everything should be ready for the tour before Sophia arrives. At least then we'll have a little time together.
Behind the door, I hear an awkward clearing of the throat. "You should have some breakfast. I made an omelet."
Jasmin. She is the best housekeeper one could imagine. Tamika chose her, and she has proven to have a good eye for it. Despite the pressure weighing on me, a smile creeps onto my lips when I think of her face lined with fine wrinkles, her impeccable clothing, and the warmth in her gaze.
"You like that, don't you?" I hear her say apologetically.
She has only been with me since I moved into the villa last autumn, but she has already memorized all my preferences. She knows my moods and knows what I need. But today, she is mistaken. I cannot afford to take a break. I have to keep going to finish the piece.
"That's kind of you. Please leave it outside the door," I try to sound fresh, but I fail. Fortunately, she can't see my extended yawn.
On the other side of the white-painted door, it becomes quiet for a moment. "Are you sure?"
"Yeah, of course. I have everything I need." Except for a new set of compositions that will astound my listeners and make them choose me as the Newcomer of the year.
"Alright. See you at lunch." The words reluctantly leave her mouth, but then I hear her place a tray on the semi-high cabinet next to the door.
Time to turn my attention back to composing. Once again, I study what I've already written today. I play the beginning, gather all my concentration, and try to hear where I still need to make changes.
There.
That's it!
Despite my tiredness, I jump off the piano stool, motivated. Because I not only know something is missing here but also know what it is. I just need to find the score where I've seen this sequence before. It had that one special feature that fits perfectly into the new piece as a melodic variation.
With that, my listeners will shine. Just like the woman with the delightful dimples and sparkling earrings who keeps appearing in my thoughts.
She wore a facial expression full of love and bliss as if my music catapulted her into a completely different world.
It's hard for me to tear myself away from this image. But I must if the piece is ever to have that effect.
So I hastily let my gaze sweep over the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on the wall. Where could the score be? Up there, at the end of the room, the symphonies are stored. It's possible that I sorted it there.
I reach for the library ladder, slide it along the rail to the right spot, and climb up quickly. Neither on the fifth nor the sixth shelf do I find what I'm looking for. I focus on the seventh shelf, but the score is not there either. It's only on the tenth shelf that I spot the collection of the desired composer. I pull out the drawer box. It would be better to take it downstairs and search calmly, but I don't have the time for that. So I lean against the ladder's treads and balance the box on my left forearm. Hastily, I open the top compartment.
Suddenly, the rung beneath me gives way. A brief jolt runs through my body, and my control threatens to slip away from me.
In search of support, I instinctively pull my hand out of the box. I get caught on the drawer and lose my balance.
Everything sways.
I have to hold on.
Immediately.
Gravity takes hold of me. The ground rushes toward me. Stuffy air flows over my face.
A sharp scream escapes my mouth.
Then suddenly, everything is silent.