Playing the Maestro (2 page)

How could such a pretentious snob exhibit such unbridled, raw emotion? Melody watched his transformation from arrogant rigidity to sincere reverence throughout the entire piece. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, he pulled on her heartstrings, and every note she played sang to his desires. He made poor old Mr. Wallsworth seem like a toad with a stick. For the first time, she believed Wolfgang Braun could turn this orchestra around.

Too bad he thought she was the biggest idiot to ever play flute.

The piece concluded with a final fanfare of trumpets, and she held the last chord, feeling the rumbling of timpani in her gut. Wolf cut off the fermata, and the orchestra settled back in their seats with satisfied grins, like they’d delivered the empty audience to heaven and back.

Carly turned to her. “Wow, you go girl.”

Melody wiped sweat from her headjoint. “I was lucky.”

“Hardly. You were on fire.”

She’d been more than on fire. For the first time since graduating from NEC, she’d completely and utterly let go. Under Wolf’s conducting she’d played better than she ever had before.

Wolf caught her staring at him, and a strangely complicated emotion crossed his face before he tore his eyes away and addressed the orchestra. “We have some hard work to do, but not bad.”

Not bad?
Melody wiped down her flute so rigorously she could have taken off a layer of silver along with her fingerprints.

Wolf closed his score. “Fifteen minutes for break. No more.”

As the other musicians walked off the stage to chitchat and snack, Melody planted herself in her seat in indecision. Wolf stood on the podium, marking his score—probably circling every single note the orchestra missed. Should she try to smooth things over? Melody stood with determination and walked through the rows of violin seats to the podium.

Wolf gazed up from his score with smoldering sapphire eyes, reminding her of her dream Gillette commercial guy. “Yes?”

Melody blinked away the fantasy. “I wanted to formally introduce myself.” She held out her hand. “Melody Mires.”

He stared at her hand for a long, drawn-out heartbeat before taking it into his own. His fingers were large and rough, like he cut wood with an ax in his spare time—or more like splintered it with Thor’s hammer. “Nice to meet you.” She found it hard to let go.

Remember what you came to do.

Melody released his hand. “Um. Mr. Braun, even though there was a misunderstanding today, I want to make sure you know that I’m one hundred percent committed to making this orchestra a success.” Her hands turned clammy as her gaze traveled the lines of his rigid cheekbone, down to his perfectly sculptured chin.
Man, close up, he’s even more gorgeous.

Wolf raised his eyebrows. “Your comment is noted.”

“Noted?”
What the hell did that mean?

He held her gaze for another heartbeat, dropping to her nose, and then her lips. Melody burned under his scrutiny.
What does he see? Or is it what he
doesn’t
see?
Either way, he certainly intrigued her.

Wasn’t I just swearing off male musicians for the rest of my life?

Wolf pursed his lips, as if trying to stop himself from saying more. “Yes, so if you’ll excuse me…”

Anger rose inside her. Sure, she’d approached him to smooth things over, but he couldn’t treat her orchestra like they were student musicians. She may not have had her music, but he wasn’t perfect, either. Making faces at the orchestra was hardly a mature way to handle their inadequacies. “I’ve
noted
your excessive disdain for tuning notes as well.”

His eyes flashed with surprise, as if he hadn’t known about his litany of sour expressions. Never mind the Gillette commercial, he should have been on reality TV.

Melody smiled sweetly, as if her comment were a joke, and walked away. She held her composure all the way off the stage and into the bathroom, where she leaned against the cold wall.

She was flushed and shivering at the same time.

…

The music still echoing in his head, Wolf closed his score and watched the last of the musicians trickle off the stage. He was fairly sure the bows of those older women in the back row of violins never touched the strings. He wondered if they knew, or if they kept moving their arms thinking the sound was coming out.

He ran his hand through his hair and tried to assess the situation. A league of grandmas playing the violin was the least of his worries. He loved a challenge, but this was a train that had derailed long ago.

His eyes gravitated toward one empty chair in particular—the principal flutist’s. The look on her face when she said she never received the music reminded him so much of the look on Alda’s face when she said she never used his Visa. If that wasn’t enough, the way Melody had boldly approached him demanding he take her side and insulted his expressions was unacceptable. Did they have no manners in America?

The resemblance between his ex and the new flute player was uncanny, right down to the perfect freckles on the bridge of Melody’s nose, her cute, bobbing head of dark curls, and those sparkling green eyes. He had to remind himself Melody Mires was not Alda Schuhmacher. She may have been telling the truth about her music—which would make Blake the biggest
arschloch
of them all.

Speaking of the violin-playing snake, Blake slithered from the curtains on stage left. Wolf stood and turned for the exit, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“Hold on! Just a second,” Blake called from across the empty seats.

Wolf sighed and turned around, hoping this wasn’t going to be about what he thought. “Mr. Templeton?”

Blake adjusted his little, round glasses. Perfect iron creases were pressed into his button-down shirt. How did he achieve such precision at nine at night? Probably the same way he kept every single note in concert tune and every single dark hair on his head in flawless symmetry. Blake reminded him of the American Ken dolls the girls at school had growing up.

Blake pointed at him, shaking his finger like Wolf had performed a sly magic trick. “It’s not what you can do for me. It’s what you can do for this orchestra! The rehearsal was spectacular. Three board members sat up in the balcony, and they’re already talking about next fall’s season!”

Wolf forced a smile, feigning appreciation of Blake’s compliments. This job was everything he’d always wanted. So why did he feel like such an
arschloch
?
Because of the conditions under which I accepted the position.
Hell-bent on leaving Berlin, he’d been too eager to shake Blake’s hand, and now, after actually meeting the people in the orchestra, he didn’t have the heart to do away with any of them if he could help it.

He’d already tried to distance himself, and all it did was make him out to be a pretentious snob. He’d clearly managed to piss off the principal flutist.

“Blake, about the terms of this arrangement—”

“Yes, yes. That’s exactly what I came to talk with you about.” Blake crossed his arms as if he was afraid someone would burst in at any moment. “An orchestra is only as good as its worst player, and I’m sure you noticed tonight that there are several people who are not…” He winced as if it hurt to say, even though Wolf doubted this subject upset Blake much. “Pulling their weight so to speak.”

He’d noticed all right—a bassist whose arm shook with so much vibrato, the pitch couldn’t possibly stay in tune. A percussionist who missed the triangle part—not because he miscounted, but because his strike missed the instrument altogether. A French hornist who invented his own notes. Bad as they were, he could feel their passion for music. Ms. Mires might have thought he was grimacing at their inadequacies, but in fact, he was thinking of how he could ever bring himself to fire them.

“I know some of these players are past their prime,” Wolf conceded. “But they’re the heart of this organization. Take them out, and you lose the orchestra’s soul.”
And mine as well.

Blake flipped through his stack of papers and pulled out Wolf’s contract. “You are obligated to improve the quality of this orchestra and ticket sales, per section B of your contract. My personal suggestion, if you want to stay here in America, would be to conduct reauditions as soon as possible. I know many able musicians willing to come in—musicians who don’t forget their music.”

Wolf turned away, peering out the window where the principal flutist chatted with the principal oboe on the corner of the sidewalk, illuminated by the glow of a golden streetlamp. Sure, he knew why Blake wanted to get rid of her, and she made him uncomfortable for his own personal reasons. Not only did she resemble his ex, but her impetuous need to claim her innocence and her obvious ridicule of his expressions did not bode well for a team player in an orchestra. He had to remind himself, though, that she’d sight-read that piece almost perfectly.

“Let me handle the terms of the contract my way. I can assure you I will raise the level of this orchestra and outsell all of your previous concerts without firing anyone.” He put his hands up. “If I don’t, you can fire me yourself.”

Blake’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Very well, Mr. Braun. You’ve been warned.”

Just as Wolf thought he was rid of him, Blake raised his finger. “And one more thing. Mr. Wallsworth hired a lot of his friends and fellow war veterans to fill this orchestra. Heck, he even had his wife playing piano in the back on pieces that didn’t have it in the score. To correct this blatant show of favoritism, the president of the board has asked that you keep entirely professional relationships with all the orchestra members.”

The president of the board, eh? Little old Gertrude Maxhammer, with her diamond earrings and silver walking cane, was more of a wolf in disguise but with a shrewd business sense. Good thing he’d have no problem with that rule. Alda’s twin sat in the flute section. “That won’t be difficult.”

Blake scrunched his face, as though Wolf had just slighted the attractiveness of the whole orchestra. “Very well.” He spun around, flung open the door, and walked out.

Wolf slumped into the makeup chair, staring at himself in the mirror. Growing up, music had been so simple, his way of expressing emotions he couldn’t put into words. Practicing had taught him discipline, while his piano teacher had given him the tools he needed to understand how to work with others, appreciate real beauty, and preserve the classics. Now it was all a political game, a moneymaking machine in a world where classical music was about as necessary as powdered wigs.

He wandered back to the window. The principal oboe had left, and the flutist—wasn’t her name Melody?—opened the door of her silver Fiat 500. She threw her case in the backseat and paused. She’d taken the pencil out of her hair, allowing the dark curls to cascade down her back in ebony rivulets.

As if sensing someone was watching her, Melody whirled around and caught his face in the window. Her expression changed from suspicion to surprise. Wolf immediately looked away, focusing on the buildings across the street, and when he looked back, the Fiat was already barreling to the streetlight at the end of the block. She drove just like she played—with impulsiveness and wild abandon—and he found himself smiling at her aggressive maneuvers to slip into the faster lane.

Sich am Riemen reißen!
Or, as the Americans would say:
Get a grip, man.

He’d just ended his relationship with Alda three months ago. The last thing he needed was another sly woman to tempt him into distraction, a sassy, outspoken American at that. He bet Miss Mires had broken a few hearts in her day, and his wasn’t going on her list.

Grabbing his messenger bag, Wolf decided what he needed most was a pint of Heineken and some time to relax. He had to think of a plan to get this orchestra on its feet, and he only had two weeks until the next concert.

What he needed was a miracle.

Chapter Two

Incoming Tide

Wiping sweat from her chin, Melody put her flute to her lips and played the last notes of the final movement of the Mozart Concerto in G. She’d only had a few memory slips, and each hour she spent going through it solidified the notes and phrase structure in her mind.

Almost there.

As she took a deep breath, the theme from Beethoven’s fifth rang out from her dinner table in computer monotone. Melody sighed, turned off the metronome, and checked the caller ID on her cell.

Laini. What would her sister want at nine in the morning?

“Hey, Laini, what’s up?”

“The heat, that’s what’s up, girl.” Her sister laughed. “Violet and I are going to the Cape today and I was wondering if you’d like to come along.”

Last night’s rehearsal had thrown her off so much, she hadn’t even thought of the afternoon, or evening for that matter. “Hold on.” Melody flipped open her appointment book, the one thing she stubbornly refused to go digital. At this point, she couldn’t afford a data plan or one of those new Droid phones.

Maybe someday when flute teaching makes me rich. Ha.

She’d known full well what she was getting into when she picked music—her parents had warned her many times. But after hearing how much they hated their jobs, she’d decided to go for her dream, even if it meant also going broke.

She checked her schedule. “Looks like I’m clear.”

“Well, slap on your itsy-bitsy pink flamingo bikini ’cause I’m coming to get you.” Laini hung up and Melody shook her head. While she’d inherited Mom’s diligence and determination, her older sister had Dad’s authoritative, take-charge attitude and persuasive charm.

Two and a half hours later, Melody, her sister, and her little niece Violet pulled up to a three-bedroom log cabin on a peninsula overlooking Nantucket Sound. Two canoes bobbed by a small dock and a private white-sand beach stretched out for a mile to the right. Laini and her husband Derek had bought the residence for their anniversary several years ago.

Violet clapped as Laini parked the car. “Yay! Beach time here we come!”

Melody could already feel her skin peeling from the sun. She adjusted her tank top, wishing SPF 500 existed.

Violet squirmed in her car seat. “Do you think we’ll find turtles?”

“No, hon, but maybe we’ll see some crabs.” Laini unbuckled her seat belt.

“Crabs. Icky.” Violet scrunched her face. Laini opened the door and breathed in the fresh air. “She’s got a thing for turtles now. Ever since Elmo went to the pet store in a
Sesame Street
special, she’s been asking for one.”

“Lucky you.”

“Yeah, right. You know how long turtles live?” Laini said with a laugh as she walked around and lifted Violet out of her car seat.

Violet ran to play in the grass as Laini approached the crumbling rock wall beside the house. She pulled out the third stone from the top and opened it, revealing a spare key. “Go ahead and take Violet down to the beach. I’m just getting some extra towels.” Using the key, Laini entered the cottage.

Melody took Violet’s hand and walked toward the beach, feeling the cool ocean breeze on her cheeks. Holding the little girl’s hand brought out a motherly side of her she only felt around Violet. Seagulls cawed and dove into the sun-tipped waves. The air smelled like oysters and brine.

They walked down a path to the beach and spread a patchwork quilt on the white sand. Laini caught up to them and dumped the towels on the quilt.

“Last one to the water is a rotten turtle!” Laini ran into the water with Violet, and Melody watched with envy, wondering what it would be like to have Laini’s normal life. Her sister was everything she was not: tall, blond, curvy, and Violet was her mini-me.

As Laini and Violet crashed through the waves, Melody spread suntan lotion over her pale-as-sheet-music legs and wondered if she’d ever have a family. She’d always been the eccentric one: practicing for hours in the basement, skipping her prom for a flute competition three hours away, turning down dates because she had concerts on the weekends, while Laini married her high school sweetheart, worked as a part-time grant reviewer for the Make-A-Dream Foundation, and started a family.

“Auntie Mel-D.” Violet ran up to her with her hands full of shells. “Look what Mama found.”

Melody leaned over her little hands while Violet dripped water on the blanket. “They’re beautiful.”

Violet smiled shyly, then ran to her plastic bucket and shovel. Behind her, Laini plopped on the blanket, beads of seawater sprinkled on her back. “You going in?”

Melody considered the icy water and slimy seaweed. “I think I’ll pass.”

“Too bad. You look amazing in your little bikini.”

Melody glanced down at her flat stomach. Sure, she watched her weight and ran to improve her lungs for flute playing. But amazing? What would Wolf Braun think of her sprawled out on a patchwork quilt in the sun? Melody shook her head.
Where in the hell did that thought come from?

She grabbed a Sprite to hide the redness in her cheeks.

Laini pointed to Melody’s stomach. “If only my body went back to that after I had Violet.” Her sister wore a one-piece bathing suit with beaded cover-up.

“What’re you talking about? You look stunning.”

“For a mother.”

“No. For anyone.” Melody nudged her sister’s arm. “I’m sure Derek thinks you’re beautiful.”

“Yeah, but he’s supposed to, Mel.” Laini laughed. “Hey, how’s it going with that violinist?”

Melody almost spit her Sprite up all over the beach. “I couldn’t stand two hours with him. The date ended before it even began.”

“Another self-centered egotist?”

“You guessed it.”

“I’m telling you—you need to get away from those musicians. No offense, girl, but they’re all too high strung.”

Melody took another swig of soda. “None taken.” She looked away to a seagull stealing a French fry from the blanket beside them. If Laini knew about her secret, guilty attraction on the gorgeous new maestro, she’d beat the Sprite out of her. Not only was he a musician, but he was also her boss. Any move she made toward him would look like she was doing it to preserve her job. The last thing she wanted to be known as was a flute whore.

No, my illogical attraction is staying right here with me.
Besides, she wasn’t planning on acting on any of those crazy, impulsive feelings. Not this time. One Blake was one too many.

Violet had grown quiet beside them. Melody turned around and suddenly saw her drop her shovel into the sand. The little girl clutched her chest and started gasping.

Laini’s eyes widened and she threw herself toward her daughter. “Don’t panic, honey. You’re going to be fine.” She turned to Melody. “Get her inhaler!”

Melody dug in the backpack frantically, throwing out towels, cameras, and wrapped-up peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwiches. Her heart sped in her chest until she couldn’t breathe. “I can’t find it.”

“I need it now!”

Finally, her hands closed on a small capsule at the bottom. “I have it!” She bolted across the blanket and jabbed the inhaler in Laini’s hand. Her sister stuck it into Violet’s mouth. “On the count of three, honey.”

Melody pulled at her hair while Laini counted. The little girl’s ribs protruded from under her skin as her small body fought for air. So tiny. So fragile. And Melody could do nothing to help her.

“One, two, three!”

Violet inhaled, and Laini depressed the propellant canister. The little girl sucked in a deep breath and her mother held her as she calmed down. Laini kept repeating, “It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.”

Melody’s whole body shook. So much could change in the blink of an eye. She cared so much for Violet, it made her wonder if she wanted a little mini-me of her own.

“She’s okay.” Laini smoothed Violet’s hair and wiped tears from the little girl’s cheeks. “It’s probably from the heat, although she’s been out in weather like this before with no problem.”

The water crashed behind them, much closer than it had been half an hour before. A storm brewed on the horizon, giving Melody a suffocating feeling, as if maybe there was more to Violet’s asthma attack than they thought. She grabbed the blanket. “I’ll move our stuff closer to the dunes.”

“Don’t bother. Let’s pack up. Violet’s not going to want to play anymore, and it looks like the weather’s turning for the worse.”

Thunder cracked around them, and Violet put her hands over her ears and whined. “Loud noise is scary.”

Laini lifted her daughter, shielding her from the wind rolling off the waves. After stuffing their bags, Melody stared into the gray nothingness above the sea, wondering if she would ever have the courage to make a change in her life, maybe even by settling down and having a family like Laini.