chapter SIXTEEN
When you’re trying to pick up the pieces of your broken life, it’s hard to sweep up the mess when someone keeps throwing shards of glass at your feet. That’s how I feel knowing Asher is back in my life.
A year ago, I would have locked myself in my room and poured my feelings into my music. Now I have to find a new healthy outlet for my feelings. In my new Manhattan life that includes walking to Washington Square Park.
Every Sunday since I moved here, it has become my haven.
As I walk into the park, I brush my hand along the marble of the Washington Arch, a thirty-foot–tall monument in honor of our first president.
It is one of the most recognized landmarks in the city, as it resembles the Arc de Triomphe in Paris.
If I were to pick a song for this place it would be “La Vie en Rose.”
While the park has lush grass areas, I prefer to sit with my iPod on a bench in the grand stone circle at the foot of the park and watch the spray shoot out from the large fountain in the center.
From the men who play chess on the stone table, or a gentleman who does charcoal sketches from his spot under a shaded tree, the park is always filled.
Parents come with their children to play in the playground or dip their feet in the fountain in the warmer months.
Today, it is chilly but not freezing. I lean back and let the autumn sun warm me.
I scroll through my music and select Edith Piaf.
When I lived in Pittsburgh, I had a favorite park I loved to visit.
Same in Cedar Ridge. Growing up, Luke used to be my weekend park buddy.
He’d play on the jungle gym while I listened to my music and wrote in my journal.
As he got older, he started bringing his bike and then his skateboard.
He was my tagalong, and I loved it. I wasn’t the type of older sister who complained about her little brother following her around.
Leah did enough of that for the both of us.
By the time I was fourteen, I was responsible enough that my parents would let me take my violin to the park to practice.
I’m pretty sure it was more because they couldn’t stand the sound of it being played loudly in the confines of our small house.
Luke would skate around while I worked on my bowing technique.
A couple times I caught Luke putting a hat at my feet as if asking for tips for my playing.
I’d just kick the hat out of the way and laugh.
It’s a memory I’m reminded of every weekend when I sit on this bench. Around now, a young girl, about early twenties will show up with her violin, stand by the fountain and play her instrument in exchange for tips.
On cue, she arrives.
Walking through the archway, her brown hair is in a ponytail and her head is down. She is wearing a checkered jacket, jeans, and sneakers. In her hand is her violin case.
I watch as she takes her usual spot near a bench and bends down to place the black case on the ground.
She lifts the violin with her left hand and picks up the bow with the right.
It’s now that she finally raises her head and takes a look around, observing the crowd nearby.
It is a fascinating thing to watch. She seems almost timid until she has that powerful piece of maple in her hand. Then she becomes fierce.
Her violin box is open at her feet. A dollar bill and some change are already laying in it.
When she lifts the bow to the strings, I turn my music off and my heart skips a beat in anticipation of her playing.
It’s the tenth time I’ve watched her and every time I am incredibly moved.
While I can tell she needs training, she has great technique.
The brand of her violin is for an intermediate, which leads me to believe she doesn’t have money for an upgrade.
She’s probably had it from when she was a student.
At her level, she should be using a Schneider or Gunter Lobe, which are better for advanced players.
Those run anywhere from two to five thousand dollars.
You don’t even want to know how much I spent on my Laura Vigato. Let’s just say it was enough to have purchased a Hyundai.
Listening to her play, I close my eyes and enjoy the song. Since I’ve moved to New York my mother has been asking if I’ve seen the Philharmonic play at Lincoln Center. My answer is consistently no. I’m not ready to see my peers doing something I am supposed to be doing.
Yet for some reason, I can work at the school with no problem, and I can come to the park and listen to this girl play without feeling despair.
I’ve thought about this a lot over the last few weeks.
I know what most people would think if I told them this.
They’d say, “Of course you don’t mind listening to people whose skill level are beneath you.
” That’s not it. I don’t see the children at the school or this girl in the park as being inadequate or beneath me.
Sure, I’m higher in skill level, but I should be upset she can play and I can’t.
I’m not. Instead, I find myself looking forward to seeing her walk beneath the arch and playing for the crowd.
I shrug my shoulders and go back to listening to the young woman.
I eat my packed lunch of a turkey sandwich and water and do a fair portion of the New York Times crossword. I’ve never completed one without asking for help but am determined to someday.
When I see the violinist is ready to pack up, I rush up to her case and place a twenty-dollar bill inside.
The first time I did so she looked surprised.
Now, she just smiles and politely thanks me.
She’s probably wondering why there is a weird lady who stares at her every Sunday while eating a sandwich and tips her very well. If she only knew how I envied her.
I look at my watch and see a few hours have passed; the sun will start to set soon. Autumn in New York is beautiful in the sunshine but when the sun starts to settle down, the temperatures drop considerably.
Gathering my garbage and belongings, I rise and walk over to the trash. As I’m placing my brown paper bag in the garbage pail, I notice an SUV lurking in the street just beyond the trees.
For a second, I think it’s the same one Devon drove me in the other day, and then I remember something: I live in New York. There are black SUVs everywhere.
Looks like me, the chesterfield, and our good friend Pinot need to have a get-together tonight.
It turns out Asher is teaching at the school every Friday.
Don’t you think Frank would have mentioned that in the hallway?
A simple, “Hey, Ems, Alexander Asher, the billionaire whose foundation is funding this little school of ours, will be teaching the cello every Friday in the classroom attached to your office” would have been nice.
I also did a little digging on something Devon touched on in the car.
How did I not hear the words Asher Foundation once in the last two months?
According to Frank, he and everyone on the board with him signed a confidentiality agreement.
They weren’t allowed to mention the foundation’s involvement until the opening.
Well, that makes sense, I guess.
What the hell do I know? What I do know is I have a problem with my Friday colleague. I would avoid him but after a long chat with Leah I decided against it.
The conversation went a little like this:
“I knew that fucker was going to make his way back into your life.”
“Don’t worry. I just have to avoid him once a week.”
“No way, Ems. To quote the great McConaughey, “You’ve got blood in your veins. Lay it on the line!”
“Um, what?”
“Lay it on the line until the whistle blows. And if you do that, if you do just that, we cannot lose—”
“Leah?”
“—we may be behind on the scoreboard, but if you play like that we cannot be defeated!”
“We are Marshall?”
“We. Are. Fucking. Marshall. Emma. You are playing on the same field. Don’t let him push you to the sidelines. Take the ball and ram it down his throat!”
I couldn’t deny she made a valid point. As theatrical as it may have been.
“To quote the film How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days, ‘You’re like a crack-enhanced Kathie Lee.’” That got a good laugh out of her.
With a weekend to process the situation, and a mini-marathon of McConaughey films, as recommended by Leah, I arrive at school with a new attitude.
I can do this.
My first order of business is to tell Frank I am going to the fundraiser, and I’d love to make a speech.
My second is to make this school one of the most sought-after music programs in the country.
I have a feeling I’m getting a reputation as a control freak.
Okay, I know I have a reputation because Crystal told me.
I don’t care. If this school is going to be a success, it needs to be run a certain way.
The students need to be trained on par with any other acclaimed music academy.
It doesn’t matter that it’s a free program.
We are either the best or we don’t perform at all.
Don’t think I am going to shy away from Fridays. No sir. If Alexander Asher wants to teach in my school then he is going to get the same treatment as everyone else.
As Friday rolls around, I find my confidence is at full peak.
Walking to the back of the classroom, I pull a folding chair to the corner and take a seat.
The afternoon students are arriving, their cases in tow.
Watching these kids walk into the room reminds me how incredible this place really is.
Not only is this school providing music lessons for free, but they also gave out instruments to the students pro bono.
The amount of money that went into this is astounding.
I take out my iPad and Bluetooth keyboard, preparing to take notes. If it weren’t for this little device, I don’t know how I’d get any work done.