Playing the Maestro (6 page)

Melody froze. Was he asking her on a date? Because of a five-year-old? How completely twisted was that? She turned around, utterly speechless.

He pointed to Violet, looking so confident it made her swoon. “Your niece suggested it. And you can’t say no to a cute face like that.”

That was so wrong in so many ways. Going out with the conductor, her boss. Taking orders from a five-year-old. Breaking her oath and dating another musician. “Yes, I know my niece suggested it, but do you listen to everything a five-year-old says?”

His lips curled slyly. “In fact, I do.”

Every logical, rational thought told her to say no, and every crazy, hormone-induced craving screamed at her to say yes.

The craving won.

Melody met his eyes, put her hand on her hip, and challenged him. Maybe she could get this infatuation over with once and for all. One date and that was it. Then, she could focus on the important things, like the concerto competition. “No one from the orchestra can see us.”

Wolf nodded. “Leave that to me.”

Melody sighed.
I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this.
“Okay. Six it is.”

Wolf bowed to both of them, gliding his hand through the air in a flourish, like right out of a Victorian novel. “See you then.” He turned into a group of fans, small hands reaching to touch his clothes and his wig, leaving Melody no way to chicken out.

“Let’s tell Mommy about Mozart.”

With Violet hanging on her arm, Melody wondered how she’d explain this to Laini. Musicians were one thing, but conductors—they were in a whole different category by themselves. And they wanted it that way. But somehow Wolf didn’t seem like the rest.

Walking back to Violet’s room, Melody realized she’d have to go emergency shopping for a daring new outfit.

Was he different than the others?
There’s only one way to know to for sure…

Chapter Seven

Cure

Wolf packed his electronic piano into the trunk of his Buick, planning to trade in his hunk of old rental junk for a lease on a hot new sports car. Or at least something more fitting for his age. Melody drove a Fiat for Christ’s sake, and he couldn’t pick her up in an old grannymobile.

The whole thing was risky, impractical, and potentially detrimental to both their careers. He told himself it was just for research, not a real date. He had to get to know this woman who’d erased all essence of Alda from his mind.

Damn, not just erase—Melody puts her to shame.

The best part was that she didn’t even know how beautiful she was. Even in her cute star pajamas, the natural beauty in her dark curls, emerald gaze, and sensuous curves was alluring. With one look at those pajamas, he pictured cozy nights watching TV holding each other, sleeping in until late morning, eating breakfast in bed. So many of those things he’d wanted to do with Alda, but she was either too busy or too mean.

Wolf hated how quickly Alda had transformed from a sweet girl with dreams to a harpy with claws. It was that damned modeling industry. All the competition had driven her to develop a hardheaded attitude and aggressive every-model-for-herself tendency.

But that didn’t serve as an excuse for her to use people, either. As she climbed the social ladder, only a few times had he seen the vulnerable side of Alda, the side that must have loved him, if only a little bit.

His phone beeped once, and he looked down, not caring if Alda had called him all day and left a hundred messages. It didn’t matter anymore. He could tell her where to go in an instant. He didn’t need her memories. He’d make new ones.

Blake’s name popped up on the caller ID—the last person he wanted to talk to, but the sole reason why he was here in Massachusetts to begin with, and the only way to stay.

Taking a deep breath, Wolf put the phone to his ear. “
Guten tag
, Blake.”

“Wolf, my dear friend! I have some urgent matters to discuss.”

He was neither dear to Blake nor his friend, so he knew Blake’s cordiality was all a front. Somehow, an inner fear crept up. What if he knew about their date—or their research?
Impossible.
He’d only asked her out a few minutes ago.

Wolf cleared his throat, trying to settle his stomach. “What’s the matter?”

“I met with the board last night,” Blake said, his voice overly cheerful. “And we discussed the current direction of this orchestra.”

Relief fluttered through Wolf’s chest, followed by anger. “Wait, a meeting without the conductor?”
Sounds downright devious to me.

“Yes. It was a donors-only meeting to discuss what the orchestra would do with their investment. They don’t want to see a ship they’ve paid dearly for sink.”

“Why would I allow it to do that?”

“Your generosity makes our stance weak. The board agreed, matters have to be taken into our own hands to make changes that will benefit the symphony as a whole.”

“What specific changes are you speaking of?”

“Everything we’d talked about in our initial discussion, of course. I presented them your philanthropic ideals of keeping the current personnel, and they agreed although kindhearted, that is not a business decision the orchestra can adhere to and stay afloat. Of course, we are too far into rehearsals to change anything now, but if the tickets don’t sell out for the next concert,” he said, his voice turning tight, like someone trying to smile while angry, “steps will have to be taken.”

The mission of the board was to preserve the organization, and Blake must be whispering in all their ears. Wolf wouldn’t be surprised if he put down his violin the next rehearsal and stole the baton. “I’ve already told you, if the tickets don’t sell, you can fire me yourself.”

Blake’s tone grew agitated, as if he wasn’t totally in control. “It’s not as simple as I had first thought. It’s not you they are worried about. They like you as a conductor, and they want to keep you at the helm. It’s some of the other musicians who aren’t performing up to par.”

This was it. Either play his political game or take a stand. If he fired people like Bertha, he’d be no better than Blake, and the orchestra would lose its soul. “I won’t stand in front of an orchestra I’ve torn apart, destroying the original mission statement. If you want to make me the villain, I’ll head back to Germany.”

“Very well. Be advised, we’ll hold reauditions all the same, with or without you.”

The orange juice he’d drunk for breakfast turned to acid in his stomach. He couldn’t leave now. If he did, he suspected Blake would get rid of Melody. He’d seen the bad blood between them.

Wolf had to stay and fight. Not only was he fighting for his own job, but for Melody’s, Bertha Payne’s, and all those elderly ladies in the back of the violins. This was a war against elitism, the very thing that was keeping people away from classical music in the first place.

He took a deep breath to settle the anger sizzling inside him. “This whole conversation is a moot point. I’ve already collected several more donors, and I plan to sell out this next concert. This orchestra will succeed with what it’s got.”

“We’ll see. The next board meeting is scheduled directly after the July Fourth concert. For this one, your attendance will be mandatory.”

“I’ll be there, all right.” Wolf tightened his grip on his cell. “To accept their gratitude for this orchestra’s success.”

He pressed the button to end the call and slid into the driver’s seat. He had a research date to look forward to, and he couldn’t dwell on nearly impossible odds.

Chapter Eight

Sequins

Melody stood on the street corner, hiking up a rather low-cut crimson halter top with sequined roses cascading down the side. It was, by far, the most alluring top she’d worn in a long time, and a little too flashy for her taste. But after getting over the initial shock of her dating yet another musician, Laini had insisted.

Sequins? No scientist I’ve even seen did her research in sequins.

What was she researching, really? To be truthful, she was researching what kind of man Wolf was, and for that, she had to take Laini’s word for it. Maybe she
did
need sequins.

Besides, her sister had insisted, claiming the red contrasted nicely with her raven hair, bringing out the natural flush in her cheeks. Even though Melody had paired it with plain black skinny jeans, she felt like a movie star.

What kind of movie she was in, she had no idea.

Drama would be bad. Horror would be worse. A romantic comedy with a happy ending would be perfect.

A black Ford Mustang pulled up and the tinted window rolled down. Wolf leaned over from the driver’s seat, took one look at Melody’s tank top–jean ensemble, and smiled luxuriously. “Hey, how’s it going?”

Melody felt tingly all over. “A little boring standing here by myself.”

The door clicked as he pressed the unlock button. “I think I can fix that.”

That was the biggest understatement of the year.

Melody stepped off the curb and focused all her attention on not stumbling in her black heels as she opened the door and slid in. The leather seat felt cool against her bare arms, and a mint air freshener hung from the rearview mirror.

“You look beautiful.” His eyes slipped from the road to her sequins, then back to the road. She had the distinct feeling he was exerting all of his self-control not to stare.

Guess Laini was right.

“Thanks. You dress pretty well for a conductor.” She thought of Mr. Wallsworth’s plaid pants and red bow tie and cringed.

“Don’t give conductors much credit, eh?”

Melody smiled. “For you, I’ll reserve my judgment.”

“So generous you are.” He turned on the ramp for the 93 North.

Nervous jitters crawled all over Melody as they merged onto the highway. Where were they going? Would someone from the orchestra see them? “What’s the plan?”

“I have tickets for the BSO—Mahler five.”

Melody relaxed back into the leather seat in relief. Symphony Hall was a very safe date. The last thing musicians wanted to do in their small amount of free time was listen to other musicians. “That sounds fantastic.”

“I hoped you’d like it. It’s a great place to do our research for EHCS.”

Melody’s stomach sank and she felt like an idiot in her sequins. There was the research word again. Was this a date at all? Either he was playing it really safe, which was sweet, or he had an inner Blake she hadn’t discovered yet. The date could go from romantic comedy to horror before she could say
allegro
, and she didn’t even have her car to make a quick getaway.

Wolf continued. “You know, audience demographic, season programming, advertisers in the brochure.”

Melody swallowed, trying to summon an enthusiastic tone. “Great.” Her response came out flat.

Wolf put his hand on her arm. “Don’t worry. I don’t mean all work and no play. I’ve made reservations at The Charles Château afterward, a restaurant overlooking the river.”

Melody’s heart stopped. That was a five-star restaurant—a little fancy for a first date. “Really?”

“I value your input and help.”

A conductor who asked one of his players for her opinion? Melody couldn’t believe her ears. “You really want this orchestra to succeed, don’t you?” She only hoped he meant it to succeed with the current personnel. She almost opened her mouth to ask, but then decided not to spoil their date with political orchestra talk. She didn’t want him to think she was using him to keep her position.

“I have to find a way to raise money and improve ticket sales. I’m hoping together, we can learn something from tonight.”

Wow, a man who got things done. The date had just started and she was already impressed. “I’ll certainly do whatever I can.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” He smiled, breathing easy, as if he thought she’d be angry with him for taking her out to do work that would benefit both of them and all her friends.

Wow, who had he dated in the past? A diva? Melody had never seen this vulnerable side of him before, but she realized she liked it.

They drove in the middle lane at an easy pace, and he let the crazy Massholes pass him without frustration. Melody watched the city lines change on her right, feeling comfortable enough to ask a few personal questions. They were on a date—supposedly—after all.

“So, what brought you from guest conducting the Berlin Philharmonic to Massachusetts?” Blake had posted a rather impressive biography of Wolf’s accomplishments on the EHCS website, and Melody had read it more than a few times when she first hated him and then again when she had started to like him, trying to glean some personal hints about his life. She always came up empty besides the fact that he “enjoyed educating children about the classics.”

His hands tensed on the steering wheel, and she could feel the car accelerate slightly. They passed an old sky blue 1980s Chevrolet that had been sputtering along in the lane beside them for the last ten minutes. He licked his lips and swallowed before he spoke. “I wanted a fresh start.”

Curiosity ate at Melody’s self-control. She didn’t know if she should inquire further or let it go. Perhaps the first date was too early for button pushers. “I know how that feels. I’ve lived in this area my whole life, and sometimes I wonder what it would be like to move somewhere far away where no one knew who I was and start over. But then I remember my family, and I know I’d miss them. Especially my sister, Laini. Besides Carly, she’s my best friend.”

Wolf relaxed, leaning back in his seat. His fingers loosened around the wheel and the car slowed. The Chevrolet passed them again, and the old man driving while smoking a cigar gave Melody a curious look.

“That’s great you have such a strong relationship with your sister.” Wolf sighed. “I do miss my family. I guess the difference between us is that my brother, Johann, has his own life. His family and his law office keep him busy.”

There! Something personal.
Melody ate it up like a chocolate-covered strawberry.
So he has a brother…
She tried to think of another nonintrusive personal question. “Is anyone else in your family a musician?”

Wolf shook his head. “Sadly not. Although my parents have a great appreciation for the classics. They named their kids after composers, after all.”

“So you really are named after Mozart?”

“You bet. My brother is named after Johannes Brahms.”

“Another great choice.” Melody smiled thinking of the famous, swooning flute solo in Brahms four—one of her all-time favorites. “I like your parents already.”

She mentally rolled her eyes.
Stupid, stupid. Don’t go mentioning the folks on a first date
.
If
it was a date…

Wolf didn’t seem to mind. “And they’d like you, too. They always wanted me to find a fellow musician.”

Find a fellow musician
? Bingo! That could only mean one thing: it
was
a date. Melody felt the heat rise in the car despite the air-conditioning spewing through the vents. Parents’ stamp of approval, huh? She had to remind herself he was just making conversation. He hadn’t asked her to marry him or anything. Jeez, they hadn’t even kissed yet.
Yet?
“That’s funny, because my family wants the opposite for me.”

She winced. Why’d she blurt that out loud? She hadn’t told anyone except for Laini. Wolf’s charm had broken through her defenses in record time.

He glanced over at her with amusement in his eyes. “Why is that?”

Melody searched for a nicer way to say
all male musicians are jerks with batons, violin bows, and percussion sticks stuck up their asses
. “Oh, it just never worked out with the other musicians I dated.”
Please, please, please don’t ask about Blake.
It had been one date, and they didn’t even hold hands. She couldn’t imagine what Wolf would think of her.

“You just haven’t found the right one yet.”

Hope blossomed in her chest. If he could think of her as a companion for someone, then surely, she wasn’t cursed in the musician department. “You think the
right one
is out there?”

Wolf only gave her a mysterious smile.

Boston came into view, and the familiar silhouette of the skyscrapers always gave Melody a shivery sense of excitement. She’d had so many auditions, concerts, and classes in this city, and she couldn’t help but think whenever she was there, she was in the musical capital of the world,
the
place to be.

They crossed the Zakim Bridge and passed under the numerous cables supporting the massive archways. The Bunker Hill monument rose from their left and the waters of the bay rippled to the right.

“I know this wasn’t the quickest route, but we had some extra time, and I thought it was the most scenic.”

“It is.” Memories of all her old concerts with the Boston Youth Symphony and her time at NEC came to mind. “You chose well.”

They entered the traffic-clogged streets and fought their way to Mass Ave, where Melody spotted a parking spot on the street a block away.

“Very resourceful.” Wolf winked at her before he jumped out and slid quarters in the meter. Melody stayed in the car and dug in her bottomless purse to help him. She only came up with gum wrappers, a Tic Tac, and two old hair clips. Wolf came around and opened Melody’s door. He offered his hand. “Shall we?”

Melody stepped out of the black Mustang, feeling like a million bucks. Not only had she arrived in style wearing a glamorous top, but the eye candy on her arm was the icing on the cake. If only her conservatory pals could see her now. She was fantasizing about bumping into the greasy-haired guitarist she dated her junior year, or Stacey Beck, the flute snob who coveted her chair.

Remember, you’re not supposed to be seen with him.
Melody thought about Carly, any board member, or Blake turning the corner and her nerves went into hyperdrive. At the same time, the rebellious side of her thrived on the risk she may be seen.
Let them come.
Wolf made her feel as though she could conquer the world.

The white columns of the front of Symphony Hall came into view and Wolf smiled with a nostalgic look in his eyes. “Did you know this building was modeled after the second Gewandhaus concert hall in Leipzig, which was later destroyed in World War II?”

“I’d read something about it in music history class, but I hadn’t really thought about what that meant to a German musician.”

Wolf took her hand and squeezed. “It’s very special. I’m glad it’s here, Melody.”

“You can call me Mel. That’s what everyone else calls me.”

“Okay, Mel.”

She liked the way it sounded in his heavy accent. So tragically melancholy, his deep voice made her feel as though there was no sidewalk and she could float away on the wind.

Melody looked down at their hands intertwined, and ecstasy and fear both jolted up her spine.

Wolf winked. “It’s for our disguise. They can’t know we’re spies from EHCS, right?”

Melody relaxed and laughed at his excuse. “Spies, huh?”

Wolf pulled her forward, not meeting her eyes. “Yes, exactly.”

They visited the ticket booth, then took their seats in the balcony on the right. Built shallow to avoid muffling the sound, the balcony seats gave her a sense of vertigo. It felt as though if she leaned over far enough, she’d fall into the front row. Focusing on the horizon and not on the jump down, Melody took in her surroundings. The sides of the concert hall sloped inward toward the stage to funnel the sound. Above the stage was a golden plaque with
Beethoven
written across the front.

Melody nudged Wolf and pointed to the plaque. “Should be Wolfgang.”

Wolf chuckled. “I’ll let Beethoven have this one.”

As Wolf flipped through the program, Melody studied the sixteen replicas of Greek and Roman statues lining the upper level of the hall’s walls. She picked out Euripedies from her Greek mythology class in high school, and Apollo Citharoedus because of his hand held harp.

An older woman with short gray hair wearing a velvet dress sat beside Melody. She smiled and offered her hand. “Hi. I’m Beverly, and my husband, Ralph, is over there.” She pointed to an older man in a business suit taking pictures of the statues.

“Nice to meet you, Beverly.” Melody shook her hand. “I’m Mel, and this is Wolf.” Beverly’s smile widened when she shook Wolf’s hand. His charisma even had an effect on older women, Melody thought with a smile.

“Do you come to concerts often?” Melody folded her concert program in her lap.

“We’re season ticket holders.” Beverly smiled as Ralph came to join them. “Ralph comes for the pictures—this hall is on the U.S. National Registry of Historic Places—and I come for the music.” She slid off her overcoat. “What about you, dear?”

Melody considered playing along with Wolf’s little spy game, than discarded the thought. She couldn’t lie to save her life. Her face would get all flushed and her eyelids twitchy. “Oh, I’m a flutist. I play in the Easthampton Civic Symphony. Wolf over here is our new conductor.”

“Oh, how wonderful!”

Melody nudged Wolf, who was busy reading the advertisements in the program. “Do you have a card?”

“Of course.” Wolf reached into his pocket and dug in his leather wallet. He pulled out a business card with a small silhouette of a conductor on the front. He murmured to Melody, “Blake made these for me.”