Not Another Love Song

Chapter Twenty-Four

Gwen had always hated December in New York. It was cold, but didn’t snow, which made her agitated—like you knew something was supposed to be happening, but the universe wouldn’t give it to you.

She received a box in the mail about a week after Boston. Sonya had boxed up all of Gwen’s personal items from Alex’s apartment and had sent a note stating that if anything else was missing to please contact her at the following number. She was furious for an hour, then cried for the next four.

So, he was just done?

She learned from Dom of all people that Lorenz had taken the band out of town for rehearsals for the tour. So she didn’t expect him knocking down her door to talk things out anytime soon anyway.

She texted him once, asking how rehearsal was going. The text didn’t go through. Gwen stared down at the phone, realizing that this was the first time in her life that anyone had blocked her. She sent a message to his Instagram account and his email and heard nothing.

The apartment felt crowded with Jacob and Declan trying to comfort her. They were always on top of her, no matter what corner she tried to hide in. Declan wanted to know more about the contracts Lorenz had with Alex, but Gwen had never known the specifics of them.

“Just a lawyer’s curiosity,” he said, making notes in his phone.

She finally told Jacob that it was all right for him to go sleep at his boyfriend’s place. She needed space.

She attended rehearsals like normal and didn’t think about how she used to walk in hand-in-hand with Alex. It wasn’t until the week before the Christmas concert that Nathan finally announced that Xander Thorne’s absence was because he would not be at the concert. They had hesitated—probably in the hope that he would magically walk through the door one day. His sub played all the rehearsals, but when Gwen asked Ava why they hadn’t announced anything, she said, “He hasn’t turned in his letter of resignation. Just an email from Lorenz that he would be out through the end of the season due to the tour.”

Gwen shook her head, pressing her lips together. That was possibly the most disrespectful way to handle this situation. The most Lorenz way to handle this situation. Nathan informed her that Lorenz still hadn’t officially declined a Valentine’s Day concert.

He smiled at her with crossed fingers. “It may still be on the table!”

She nodded, conjuring as much of a grin as she could.

He pulled her aside at the end of a rehearsal. “I’ve been thinking about the ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside’ arrangement,” he said.

“Yeah. We can cut it,” Gwen said tiredly.

“Well, actually, I’ve been thinking about inviting a guest soloist in for a few pieces. ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside,’ the ‘Silent Night’ arrangement…things like that. We need to pick some ticket sales back up once people realize Xander Thorne isn’t with us at Christmas. Thoughts?”

Gwen felt like someone had punched through her chest. Those were her solos. Those were the first chair’s moments that he was giving away.

But she’d known this could happen, hadn’t she? Ever since she’d watched Hilary Hahn at the New York Philharmonic, and Mabel had told her that the first chair has to step aside and welcome the guest.

Gwen kept her face impassive. “Oh, of course. I should say that I was looking forward to those moments, but I understand the need for more sales.”

Nathan squeezed her shoulder. “You will still shine in other places, I’m sure of it. What about Xander’s solo before the end of act one? Think about a piece to do there.” He smiled his brilliant smile and left her to think about what she could possibly do to fill Xander Thorne’s shoes.

Mei dragged her to a bar after rehearsal one day, forcing a drink into her hands and begging for information.

“You look like someone poisoned your cat, and then ran it over with a car.”

“I don’t have a cat,” Gwen said glumly, stabbing at her ice with the straw.

“You should get one. This aesthetic you’ve got going on is really starting to say Cat Lady.”

Gwen frowned at her and tugged at her lumpy sweater.

“So what happened? He went on tour and broke up with you?” Mei asked, flagging the bartender for another drink.

“No, I broke up with him. I think. We fought about leaving the Pops for the U2 tour.”

“Um, why wouldn’t he?” Mei pulled a face. “That’s literally the dream.”

Gwen stared at her. “Your dream is to go on tour with U2?”

“Who would pass that up! Gwen.” Mei grabbed her arm. “Gwen, tell me you didn’t break up with him because he left the Pops.”

“No, not just that…” She stared into her glass. But maybe that was what had happened. “I don’t like long goodbyes. We weren’t seeing eye-to-eye, he was going on tour for almost a year, so I made it quick for us.”

“Girl, I did long-distance from Kansas to Hong Kong. Why are you blaming the tour?”

Gwen sat with her thoughts, trying to parse where her head had been at. Mei changed the subject, and Gwen was glad to hear about how frustratingly vanilla Jeremy was in bed.

On December 22nd, the day the U2 tour kicked off in Los Angeles, Gwen was at rehearsal for the Pops, going through the motions. They had decided to have one of the guest soloists sing the male part of “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” while the guest violinist played the female part on violin. They’d rehearsed it yesterday, and everyone thought it was hilarious. Gwen smiled like she should. She laughed like she should. The guest violinist was a lovely woman who had toured with several orchestras. Gwen should have spent more time asking her questions and getting to know her, but she couldn’t be anything but cordial. She didn’t have the energy.

Nathan pulled her aside at their last break and said, “Any thoughts on what you’d like to play in lieu of Alex’s solo? Maybe something original you’ve worked on?”

Gwen blinked at him. “I don’t write music, Nathan.”

“But I thought you helped Alex with his arrangements.”

“I did, in a way.” She felt irritation bubbling in her.

“Isn’t there anything you wrote? Something you own that could be played?”

She pressed her lips together and thought of how Nathan took credit for Mabel’s work. Maybe she should play that violin solo and tell the world who wrote it. A petty voice in her loved that.

But it wasn’t her story to tell. Or her composition. She thought of the accompaniment to Alex’s love song. The melody she’d played in his studio while they stared at each other, in the moments before he said he loved her.

“I don’t…I don’t think there is anything.” She looked down. “I could play a solo, but not an original composition, no.”

“All right,” Nathan said with a bright grin. “Think about it and let me know. Original compositions will always please the audience, though.”

He squeezed her shoulder and went to talk with the stage manager. The numbness that had been taking over for weeks suddenly melted. She stared at Nathan as he worked with the orchestra for the rest of the day. If original compositions always please the audience, then why was Mabel and Ava’s composition “not a good fit” for the Pops all those years ago?

Gwen felt a fire brewing in her stomach. She looked around at the orchestra—at Henry, who didn’t joke with her anymore, at Diane, who tried to give her notes at the end of every rehearsal, at the brass section that no longer invited her to drinks. Was this her family? Was this worth losing Alex over?

The conversation with Mei rang in her ears as they played through “I’ll Be Home for Christmas,” and an absolutely insane idea flared to life in her mind.

She needed to see Alex.

She needed to take it all back. No, she couldn’t leave the Pops for a rock group she wasn’t even part of. That was still unchanged in her mind. But she didn’t need to have one or the other.

At the last fifteen-minute break, Gwen placed her violin in one of the lockers and took only her tote bag and coat. Mei saw her as she came out of the bathroom.

“Where you going, girl?”

Gwen turned to her, breathless. “I’m going to LA. I’m going to see Alex.”

“YES! GWEN, THIS IS SOME GOURMET LOVE STORY SHIT! YES—”

Clapping a hand over Mei’s flapping lips, she shushed her. “Don’t! Can you please just tell Nathan that I got sick and I had to go home? I just need to go. I’ll be back for tomorrow’s rehearsal, I promise.”

“Get your man, Gwen Jackson!” Mei jumped up and down as Gwen raced out of Carnegie Hall.

She hopped on an E train, and in forty-five minutes she was getting off at JFK. She went to the desk and took the next departing flight to LAX for two thousand dollars, all of the money she’d saved so far as first chair.

Once Gwen was settled into the middle seat in the back of the plane, she took a moment to really think about what she was doing. This flight would land at six-thirty. It would take an hour to get to the concert venue, which left her half an hour before Thorne and Roses took the stage. If she didn’t make it in the half hour, she could wait for him after.

The sudden realization that she was flying across the country to see Alex swept through her veins and dropped into her chest. She would get to hold him and breathe him in. She would get to smile at him and watch him smile at her in return.

The adrenaline of the past ninety minutes drained away from her, and she realized she had no plan. She couldn’t just walk through the backstage door at a U2 concert. She needed to let him know in advance.

The flight attendant over the speaker was already instructing passengers to put devices in airplane mode. Gwen quickly opened Instagram and messaged Dom.

Hey, I’m coming to the show tonight to see Alex. Can I get on a list? I’ ll be there at 7:30.

She waited for the bubble with the three dots until the flight attendant finally scolded her, and she turned off her phone. She relaxed back into the seat and watched a movie with penguins.

What did she want to say to Alex tonight? Take me back?— that wasn’t really it. She wanted to tell him he was right. She didn’t expect to join them onstage tonight, but she might tell him that she should have said yes and traveled the world with him.

She had Pops rehearsal tomorrow morning at ten a.m., but she couldn’t think of that now. All she could hear in her ears was the crowd of the Boston concert. All she could feel were the stage lights. She felt like she could finally breathe again, like she hadn’t had air since Nathan asked her to play a solo and pretend it wasn’t supposed to be Alex’s solo. Since before that.

The plane landed ten minutes early, and without a bag to pick up, Gwen walked straight to the taxis. She checked her Instagram messages and found a friendly thumbs-up from Dom about four hours ago along with a series of Cool! Is it a surprise? Should I tell him?

The taxi pulled up to the venue in record time, and the driver actually knew where the performers’ entrance was, regaling her with stories of which celebrities he had driven here before. They passed the electronic sign boasting U2’s promotional shots, and then it flashed to Thorne and Roses with a beautiful shot of Alex in black and the rest of them in red, all holding their instruments. Near the service entrance there were metal barricades up, keeping back the twenty or so people camping out with U2 signs, ready to miss the concert for the opportunity to see Bono at the stage door.

She paid the driver and stepped out onto the loading dock. There was a security guard at the front of the barricades, looking surly. When she reached him after the long walk down the drive, she said, “Hi, I’m hoping I’m on the list?”

“I’m sure you are,” he said sardonically.

She grimaced. “Uh, Gwen Jackson? Here for Thorne and Roses?”

He looked her over and said, “I don’t have you on the list.” He didn’t even consult a list.

“Okay. Um, is there another door? Or someone who would have—”

“Miss Jackson,” she heard bellowed behind her.

Gwen spun, and just beyond the barricades there was a black sedan. The driver was stepping out of it, buttoning his suit jacket. He wasn’t familiar, but she retraced her steps back to him when he beckoned her. He pulled open the door to the back seat.

It was ominous, but he knew her name. He expected her. He was going to take her to Alex.

She slid into the back seat and found another person sitting next to her. Following long legs in a designer suit up to a worn face, she felt her heart stop when Calvin Lorenz gave her that smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Miss Jackson.”

All hope she had for this insane spur-of-the-moment trip evaporated. “Mr. Lorenz.”

“I hear you flew all the way here just to see Xander,” he said, his voice lilting. “That’s very sweet.”

Dom ratted her out. Accidentally? Who knows. She took a deep breath. “I don’t want to be in the way. I just want to talk to him.”

“Unfortunately, you are in the way. Quite often.”

The car started to drive. Gwen reached for the door handle in a panic and jerked it a few times. Locked.

“Where are we going?”

“Back to LAX,” Lorenz said. “I want to see you safely back on a plane, Miss Jackson.” He pulled from his inside pocket an envelope and handed it to her. Inside was a ticket for the red-eye back to JFK.

“Pull over,” she yelled to the driver. “I’d like to get out of the car.”

He ignored her and pulled out of the parking lot onto the street.

“Here’s the problem, Miss Jackson. Xander doesn’t want to see you. He asked me to personally take care of this.”

Gwen didn’t believe that for one second. “I don’t need to distract him before the concert. I can see him after. Just for an hour—”

“Miss Jackson,” he said, a condescending grin on his face, “I told him to choose. I told him it was you or the band. He didn’t choose you.”

Her chest tightened. She felt something cold slithering down her spine. It was the first time Lorenz had said something that sounded familiar enough to be the truth. Would Alex give up his career for her? Would he let go of Xander Thorne and the entire career he’d built with the Roses if given the ultimatum? She remembered the wounded look on his face when she’d told him Xander Thorne was just a persona.

Gwen turned away from Lorenz’s knowing eyes and stared out the window as they entered the freeway.

“I want to be very clear, Miss Jackson,” he said. He tapped a rhythmless beat against his knee. “If you continue to harass Xander or any member of this band, I will be forced to serve you a restraining order, like I do for his other crazed fans.”

There was a rock lodged in her throat. She kept her gaze out the window, knowing that fighting him would be pointless.

“Do you understand?”

She blinked back tears and said, “Yes.”

Lorenz tapped away at his phone for the rest of the ride, ignoring her.

At the airport, she blocked Alex’s number. She needed to cut out whatever traces of him were left in order to move on.

On the plane, she watched the same penguin movie. The flight attendant checked on her more than once, and it wasn’t until halfway through the flight that Gwen realized she’d been crying.

The U2 tour kicked off to rave reviews. She found pictures online of Xander Thorne and the Roses opening. The clips of the performance there looked remarkable. The lighting and the venue were better than she could have imagined.

And Xander Thorne played magnificently.

Dom had messaged her back several times, asking if she’d made it, if she needed help getting inside, what hotel she was staying at. He claimed he hadn’t told anyone, in case it was a surprise, but Gwen didn’t know how else Lorenz could have found out.

Two days later, on Christmas Eve, she waited backstage at Carnegie Hall, Squeaky in one hand, her bow in the other. As she leaned against the wall, she was glad not to see Nathan and have to pretend she was happy to be there.

He’d asked her again about a solo piece the morning after her red-eye, and she’d nodded numbly. Now here she was, still deciding what would happen when he introduced her to the crowd at the end of act one. It was the Christmas concert, so clearly the piece should feel uplifting and joyful. But Gwen didn’t feel either of those things.

She rolled her neck, trying to get rid of the tension in her shoulders that crept in more and more often these days. Alex was in San Francisco tonight and tomorrow. And then they headed over to Sacramento for the twenty-sixth, and then to Portland and Seattle for the rest of the weekend.

The stage manager gave her the cue, and Gwen pasted on a bright smile as the door was pulled open and the stage lights sliced into her eyes. The crowd cheered. She waved up to the top rows where the students sat and heard her name screamed from the rafters. She could pretend she was at the Chase Center, listening to the audience demand more from her again.

She turned to her chair—her chair—and her eyes swept over her orchestra.

Her orchestra.

She could pretend.

The first song went smoothly. And then Nathan took the mic and introduced the guest violinist who’d be playing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” with the male singer.

Her song. Her solo. Her opportunity.

Gwen smiled and applauded as the guest violinist—a very kind and gracious woman—took the stage. She had to shift her chair to the side so the guest could fit. And Gwen couldn’t help but think of Mabel’s analogy. She’d made a gorgeous meal out of this orchestra. She’d spent all day—all year—making this orchestra delicious. And now it was time for the guest to sit at the table, and for Gwen to step aside. She’d be thanked. She’d get a bow. She’d even get the solo performance at the end of act one that Alex usually got.

But was that enough? Was that what she’d wanted when she picked up the violin?

Carnegie Hall applauded loudly, but not nearly as loudly as the Boston concert venue.

Before she knew it, Nathan was introducing her, using words like protégé and apprentice and other buzzwords that the patrons loved but Gwen knew to be false.

She didn’t learn how to play the violin here at the Pops. Mabel had taught her for free. Mabel gave her the opportunity to express herself through music, and Nathan had simply given her her first paycheck.

The audience clapped for her, and Nathan stepped back. Gwen supposed that meant it was time for her to play. She searched her mind, hoping for something to inspire her. There was the Chaconne, Beethoven’s Concerto…but Nathan was hoping for something original.

She brought her bow to her violin and recalled the love song Alex would play for her in the mornings. She didn’t dare play his cello part, but the violin part she wrote over the top of him sang from her fingertips.

Without Alex, it felt incomplete, hollow. She tried her best to mimic the emotions she’d felt when she’d had the spark of an idea for it, but that opened a well in her chest. She remembered the way he’d watched her play, desperate to hear what was in her heart. The way he’d followed her lead and let her rewrite his song.

She played her arpeggios and danced her melody around Carnegie Hall, closing her eyes and imagining Alex there with her. Imagining the cello part—and relishing that she was the only one who could hear it. A secret that the two of them shared forever.

It was so much easier to play than anything else. She didn’t feel tense or stiff. Who did she have to impress? Even if you work at being perfect, people leave. She thought of her mom screaming off-key lyrics into a wooden spoon, Mabel setting down the intermediate practice books on her music stand, Alex tearing the violin music away from her at the wedding and telling her to just play.

Just play.

Maybe she liked love songs after all. As long as she was playing them with Alex.

Building toward the end, Gwen realized she’d never played an ending. She’d been interrupted. He had played a sour note and made a face, and she had laughed. And he’d told her he loved her.

Her lip trembled. The melody took a turn. Her body quivered with the need to recover, to find a way to end. But the song didn’t have an easy ending. It was still unwritten and unperfected. Her elbow pulled quickly, filling the phrases, and her face pinched closed in concentration, trying to block out the memory of Alex and his smile and his large hands that created such beautiful music—

Her throat tightened. And her eyes filled with tears behind her closed lids. This was a mistake. She shook her head, searching for her footing again. It didn’t feel like a love song anymore. It felt like yearning and hope and decaying dreams all in one piece. She felt as if the tears escaping her eyes were just like the melody pushing past her fingertips, no longer needing her anymore. They told their own story.

She tugged the bow across her violin, and found a tonic. It wasn’t right, but it was an end. She took a gasping breath, and as her eyes opened and her tears fell, Carnegie came to its feet, drowning the sound of her sobs.

She smiled, like the pain was a necessary part of the whole. Like all music was supposed to come at a price.

Bowing for every tier, she looked up to the students waving a sign that said, We Love You, Gwen! She inclined her head at the board members in the first tier, finding Ms. Michaels and Dr. Bergman on their feet, whispering quickly to potential donors. And in all of Carnegie Hall, there was one person seated, staring at Gwen like she knew she wasn’t done yet. Like there was clearly more to the song. Ava Fitzgerald clung to the balcony railing, tears glistening down her face.

Gwen retook her seat and stared down at the next page. The show must go on.

“Isn’t she just fantastic!” Nathan bellowed into the microphone, and the crowd quieted. He looked at her, and there was a sparkle in his eye that Gwen didn’t like. “You know, I think I speak for Gwen when I say…being parted from a loved one at the holidays is very difficult.”

Her breath caught, and it felt like bile was creeping up the back of her throat. He couldn’t possibly be trying to milk this…

She stared at him in disgust as he turned to the audience and said, “Our own Xander Thorne had an incredible opportunity come his way. He’s touring with U2 right now!”

The audience applauded, and Gwen’s mouth felt dry.

“We’re hoping to have him back soon.” And with a little tilt of his head, he said teasingly, “Possibly around Valentine’s Day.”

The subscribers cooed. The kids in the balcony screamed. And Gwen watched as Nathan used her broken heart to make money. She was shaking.

“Keep an eye out for that!” he said with a playful point. “But it is very difficult to spend the holidays without your person, as Gwen’s beautiful performance just a second ago can attest. And our final song of act one is in the same vein.”

“I’ll Be Home for Christmas” was next. Gwen stared down at her sheet music and dragged herself through the motions. At the end, she let Nathan escort her offstage, feeling rage and despair swirling in her gut. He spun to her as the doors closed.

“Gwen, that song was gorgeous.”

She nodded and tried to move around him, knowing that if she allowed herself to speak she would say something she would regret.

Ava stood there in the hallway, twisting her hands and watching Gwen closely. She must have come down from the balcony after her solo.

“We need to get it recorded!”

Gwen paused, her violin hanging from her fingertips. Ava’s mouth opened, wordless and useless.

“Recorded,” Gwen repeated, turning to him.

“Yes, we can put it on the Pops’ album! It was stunning, and it will sell so well—”

“It’s not yours to sell.”

Nathan blinked at her. “Of course. Apologies. If you’re interested in producing it yourself, I’d be in full support. I’m just so taken with it.” He clapped his hands together and beamed at her. “I knew you could compose—”

“You did not.” Her words were clipped and sudden.

“Come again?”

“Alex knew I could compose. You knew I could sell tickets.”

His smile faltered. “I didn’t mean to imply—”

“You did. You did mean to imply. I’m not your protégé. I belong to Mabel Rodriguez as much as Ava’s violin solo in Washington, DC, did.”

She heard Ava gasp faintly.

Nathan’s brows were lifted in confusion. “I feel like I’ve offended you, so I’ll put a pin in this for now. Look,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. “It’s been a difficult week for all of us. I know you miss Alex, and I know how disappointing it was not to be able to see him.” He seemed to catch himself. “At this time of year. To not have him here.”

Gwen’s eyes narrowed. How disappointing it was not to be able to see him.

“Did you…” Her breath came to her in a quick rhythm. “Did you know about LA?”

She watched as Nathan took a pause before responding.

From behind her, Ava said, “LA?”

“I asked Mei how sick you were, and she told me enough to not worry. I can’t say I was glad to hear you were planning to be across the country just days before our performance.”

His expression was disapproving but kind. But something wasn’t sitting right with her.

“Because that would have lost you a bunch of money, wouldn’t it? If you hadn’t been able to use me as a marketing tool,” she said. “And if—god forbid—I’d decided to stay in LA, and join the U2 tour…Well, you’d never recover from that, right?”

Nathan tilted his head at her. “Yes, absolutely. That’s why I’m so glad you chose to stay with us and honor your contract.”

“You called Lorenz?” Gwen said, knowing already that it was true. “You gave him the heads-up that I was coming to LA?”

Nathan’s jaw clicked. “Listen, Gwen—”

Her stomach dropped. She felt like a resolution had been reached in a song that had gone on for too long.

Ava stepped forward. “Gwen, darling. Why would he? They don’t see eye-to-eye on anything.”

“Except how much more money they’d make as long as Alex and I stay on opposite sides of the country,” she said.

Nathan sighed. “Gwen, you’re so very young. I know that when your heart is broken, you would throw away everything to just have it feel right again. The only thing Lorenz and I have in common is the desire to keep both of our protégés focused and to avoid distractions.”

Gwen heard a quiet gasp from Ava.

Lifting her head, she stepped into Nathan. “I’m not your protégé. You will need to find someone else to sell your tickets, Nathan.”

She turned on her heel just as the door to the stage opened, admitting the rest of the orchestra for their intermission. She stopped at Ava, who looked like she might be sick. Gwen held out her violin to her.

“You’ll have to play act two. And you can have the chair back,” she added. “I don’t want it anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”

She grabbed her bag from her locker and walked out into the December air, taking a cab uptown to Washington Heights.