(Blue Notes 2)The Melody Thief (17 page)

The opening measures of the solo flew by with their arpeggio passages, giving way to the secondary theme with its lilting melodic line. Back and forth, soloist and orchestra wove the complex tapestry the composer had envisioned. In this piece, the cello and the orchestra were both integral to the music. Perhaps this was why Cary adored it so much, and the sense that he and David created the music together made this performance so much more satisfying than any other until now. For a short while, Cary just lost himself in the music as his fingers found their way with ease through the treacherous double-stops and arpeggios that made this such a virtuosic composition.

His eyes filled briefly with tears as the last notes resonated from the cello and the final movement came to a close. For a moment, he was utterly lost to understand the depth of his own emotion. How many times had he played the same notes over the past twelve years, since he had mastered the piece? And yet this time, it was entirely different. He came back to himself with the thunderous applause from the audience, and struggled to regain his composure.

“I’ve never heard you play as well,” David said as they both walked to the edge of the stage to take their bows. It was true; he never had. And he was pretty sure he understood why.

Back in his dressing room afterward, Cary sank into the couch and closed his eyes for a few minutes. It had become a bit of a habit for him to meditate after a performance—it was something Aiden had suggested to him years ago and which he had initially laughed off. Today, more than any other, he needed the time to decompress.

The door opened a crack and Alex Bishop peered inside. “You decent?”

“Never,” Cary answered with a snort. “Come on in.”

“I hope you don’t mind.” Alex walked into the room. “I brought someone with me.”

Cary was about to say something clever when he caught a glimpse of blond hair in the doorway. “Antonio?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Antonio said, “and someone told me the music here was good.”

Grinning broadly, Alex closed the door behind him on the way out.

“You came all this way just to hear me?”

“Why not?” Antonio said, taking Cary into his arms and giving him a tender kiss.

Cary melted into the warm embrace, partly out of sheer exhaustion, but even more out of relief. “I missed you,” he whispered. Why was he afraid to say it louder? He loved this man.

Antonio kissed his hair and exhaled, his breath hitching with emotion. “I missed you too, caro mio. Two weeks is too long.”

“How long can you stay?” Cary knew he shouldn’t feel so needy, but the performance had left him a bit off-kilter, and he needed reassurance that Antonio wasn’t leaving the next day.

“I’ve asked my colleague to handle things at the office. I’m going to stay until you’ve finished the recording. If you’ll have me, of course.”

“I’ll have to think about that.” Cary edged over to the door and locked it behind him. “But first I need to get out of this sweaty tux and take a shower.”

“I could help. I’m told I’m good at bathing other people.”

Cary pulled Antonio’s jacket off, unknotted his tie, and began to undo the buttons on his crisp white shirt. “That’s just what I was counting on.”

A
NTONIO lay back on the couch half an hour later while Cary, still shirtless, hummed and combed his damp hair. There was a knock on the door, and Cary opened it to find the stage manager standing there.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Redding,” she said, “but there’s a gentleman outside who says he needs to speak with you. He says his name is Redding.”

“Justin?” Cary wondered aloud. He hadn’t been expecting his brother. Cary smiled at the thought that Justin had been able to take a day off work to make the drive up. “You can send him on in,” he told the woman.

He walked back into the changing area and quickly pulled his shirt off the hanger and put his arms through the sleeves. “Sorry, Justin,” he said as he turned and headed back into the sitting area, “I didn’t realize….” But it was not Justin.

Antonio had gotten to his feet and was closing the door behind a man whom Cary did not recognize. The newcomer was about Cary’s height, and looked to be around fifty years old, judging by the graying hair at his temples and the lines around his eyes and mouth. He had gray-green eyes, his face was pale, and he looked nervous. For a split second, Cary could almost imagine he was seeing a much older version of his brother, with the same strong jaw and high cheekbones.

“I’m sorry,” Cary said. “When the stage manager said your name was Redding, I just assumed you were my brother.”

“I didn’t mean to take you by surprise,” the newcomer replied. “I had meant to do this with a bit less drama, but I wasn’t able to reach you by phone, and I really needed to see you.” He offered his hand and Cary shook it, noting the tremor that ran through the other man’s arm. “My name is John Redding.”

John Redding?
The room suddenly felt hot and cramped. He dropped John’s hand and took several steps backward, nearly backing into Antonio.
But that’s….

Antonio stepped forward to reach out and shake the man’s hand. “Antonio Bianchi. Good to meet you. Are you Cary’s relative?”

“I… yes,” John Redding said, now looking nearly as uncomfortable as Cary. “I… I’m Cary’s father.”

For nearly a minute, Cary stared dumbly at John. “No,” he said at last, his mind unable to make sense of this pronouncement. “My father died when I was a baby.”

“I…,” John began in a halting voice, “I had hoped to handle this better. Give you time before I showed up at your doorstep and dropped the bombshell.”

Cary felt his jaw tighten. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call security and have you hauled out of here,” he demanded, glaring at his visitor.

“Because you need to hear me out. Because even if you believe what I’m telling you is a pile of garbage, you want to know for sure. Am I right?”

“Cary,” Antonio said in Italian, “I’d be happy to escort him out of here if you’d like.”

“No.” Cary finished buttoning his shirt and tucked his shirttails in. “It’s all right.” Then he added, in English, “You’ve got two minutes to convince me this isn’t all bullshit. And don’t think I won’t have you thrown out if you’re messing with me.”

“Would you like me to wait outside?” Antonio asked under his breath.

“No.” Cary took Antonio’s hand and squeezed it. “Stay. Please.”
I need you.
Then, addressing John, he repeated, “Two minutes.”

“Fair enough.” John sat down heavily on the couch.

Cary took one of the chairs facing John, and Antonio stood behind the chair, his hand resting on Cary’s shoulder in a silent gesture of reassurance. “Go on,” Cary said, taking strength from Antonio’s solid presence and drawing a deep breath in an attempt to calm his racing heart. “Tell me why I should believe any of this.”

“Your mother was Janet Fontana, and your older brother is Justin,” John Redding began. He looked at Antonio but appeared to find no reassurance there, because he quickly looked back at Cary and continued, “You grew up in a suburb of St. Louis, in a three-bedroom ranch on Athena Drive.”

“Anyone who has access to the Internet would know those things.” Cary knew he sounded harsh, but he didn’t care. He was angry. And although he’d hardly have admitted it, he was also curious.

John looked down at his hands, as if trying to decide what more he could say. “I met your mother at Washington University. I was an English major. She was a music major. Choral studies and composition.”

Choral studies? Composition? I didn’t even know she had been a music major.
It made sense, though. Funny, how he had always accepted the fact that his mother knew so much about music. Still, he said nothing but waited to hear more, unconvinced.

“We dated for about a year before she got pregnant,” John continued. “She dropped out of school when we got married. Your brother was born six months later. About four years after, you came along.

“It was rough. I had a hard time finding a job in my field, so I started working construction to make ends meet. Janet was depressed… she had trouble sleeping, and she lost a lot of weight. Right after you were born, she was diagnosed with lupus.”

Cary swallowed hard to hear this. His mother had never told anyone except him and Justin about the lupus.

“Ironic, isn’t it, that she died of cancer, in the end?” John added with a bitter shake of his head.

Cary stood up abruptly and pulled his tie off a nearby table. “So you expect me to believe…,” he began as he struggled to knot the tie with shaking hands. “You expect me to believe that you’ve known how to find us all these years, but—what?—you just…
didn’t
?”

“I left her, Cary. Filed for divorce. She was hurt. Angry. She didn’t want me around you boys. Said I was a bad influence. I can’t really blame her, either. I had nothing. I lost my job, and I couldn’t find any other work.” He sighed. “At least there was some money in our retirement account to cover the house payments after the savings ran out.”

Cary looked at the pathetic knot he had tied.
Fucking tie!
He unknotted it and, by sheer force of will alone, managed to retie it so that it wasn’t so lopsided. “What do you want?” he asked without turning around. His voice was even and controlled, but he shoved his hands into his pockets so John wouldn’t notice how they still shook. He caught Antonio’s eyes reflected in the mirror and saw both concern and sympathy there.

“What do you mean?” John asked.

“You want money?”

“No. I want to get to know you. Be a part of your life again. Justin’s too, if he’s willing.”

“You’re joking, right?” Cary felt bile burn at the back of his throat.
Twenty-eight years, and now he wants a relationship?

“No,” John repeated. “I just—”

There was a knock on the door, and Alex peered inside with a knowing grin. “Hey, guys. I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other, but…. Oh, damn. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You’re not interrupting anything,” Cary said. “My visitor was just leaving. Tonino and I will meet you in a minute. Tell David I’m sorry for taking so long.”

“Sure. No problem.” Alex closed the door, leaving the three men alone once more.

“Listen, Cary—”

“No,” Cary snapped. “
You
listen. I’m not interested in getting to know you. I’ve been doing fine for—what?—all of my
life
without you.” He tossed his clothes and toiletries into a small rucksack and pulled on his suit jacket.

“Please. At least think about it before you tell me to go to hell. I can wait as long as you need. A week. A month. Whatever.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a piece of paper, which he offered to Cary. “This is my cell number. I’m staying with friends outside of the city, but I’ll be moving to New York in a few weeks.”

Cary snatched the paper out of his father’s hand and shoved it unceremoniously into his pants pocket.

“I think you must leave now, Mr. Redding,” Antonio said, his voice firm.

“Please just think about it, Cary. Please.”

Antonio opened the door and motioned John through it, then closed it with a deep sigh and turned back to Cary. “Caro,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” He tried to sound as though nothing was wrong, as if he didn’t care. He knew Antonio wouldn’t buy it for a second, but he also knew Antonio wouldn’t press the issue, either. “We have a party to go to, right?”

Antonio took Cary in his arms and held him tight. “I love you.”

Cary’s muttered “Thanks” was barely audible over Antonio’s sigh. He would
not
cry. He
didn’t
cry, he reminded himself.

It was nearly three in the morning when they fell into bed. Antonio, jet-lagged, had fallen asleep during the limousine ride back from the donors’ party. All evening, Cary had been outgoing, making small talk with the guests, laughing and flirting with the symphony’s donors (male and female), who clearly relished the attention. The life of the party, Doris had called him.

Underneath the extroverted persona, however, Cary teetered on the brink of an emotional precipice. He knew Antonio had seen the fear in his eyes and the way his hands trembled. Now, as he lay with his head against Antonio’s chest, he also knew Antonio was forcing himself to stay awake a little longer, even though Antonio wouldn’t press him about what had happened in the green room. He would wait until Cary was ready.

“Why did she lie to us?” Cary whispered into the darkness. “I know she must have been angry with him. But still… to lie to us….”

“Would it really matter now?” Antonio asked. “To know why she lied?”

“No. I guess it wouldn’t change anything, would it?”

Antonio kissed his head, and when Cary didn’t say anything, he said, “My father died when I was an adult. At his funeral, there was a woman I did not recognize.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I asked my mother who she was. She told me the woman was my father’s mistress. Just like that. As if it was usual. Like it didn’t matter.”

“She came to the funeral? Knowing you were all there? And your mother
let
her stay?”

Antonio’s smile was sad. “Yes. I think the woman really loved him. My mother loved him too. Maybe they understood each other. I don’t know.”

“Shit.”

“That day, I realized my father wasn’t the man I thought he was. And I was very angry with my mother, that she knew what he had done, and didn’t tell him to leave.”

“Did you speak with the woman?”

“No,” Antonio admitted. “But I yelled at my mother. I said some terrible things. Things I regret, even now, years later. But she forgave me, of course. She’s my mother. On that day, I acted like a child.”

“Why? It seems pretty reasonable, being angry at your parents about something like that.”

“Yes. It was. For a
child
. A child expects his parents to be perfect. But a man understands his parents have problems, that they make mistakes, and they can be selfish. A child cannot easily forgive that. But a man—an adult—he can
understand
it. And then he can forgive.”