Playing the Maestro (7 page)

“Ever the businessman.” Melody handed Beverly the card, trying not to think of Blake. Just the mention of his name made her skin crawl. “We have a season-ticket-holder program as well.”

Beverly read the card. “This is fantastic.” She turned to her husband. “We should see them play, dear.”

Ralph muttered an incoherent grunt, which didn’t seem so promising, so Melody pushed further.

“July Fourth is our next concert, and it’s going to be the best one yet. We’re playing
Don Juan
and a newly commissioned piece. The Wallsworth auditorium isn’t the
most
historical building in the world, but it does have some lovely paintings from the Renaissance in the foyer. ”

Beverly slipped the card into her purse. “I’ll see what I can do to convince my husband.”

As she spoke, the principal oboe gave the tuning note, and the audience quieted. Melody wondered how many trained musicians sat around her, hearing to see if the pitch was perfect from the start. Which it was.

Wolf leaned over and whispered in her ear, “Good job, even though you gave away our cover.” His breath tickled her cheek, giving her goose bumps.

Melody shrugged and smiled. “You asked me to help.”

Seiji Ozawa marched on stage, vibrant with unspent energy, and the crowd applauded.

He bowed, then raised his baton, launching the orchestra in the opening notes of Mahler’s fifth symphony, movement one: Trauermarsch. A single trumpet fanfare echoed out through the hall. The strings burst into thrilling chords, and the hair on Melody’s neck stood up.

So glorious.
These moments reminded her of why she became a flutist in the first place.

Again, Wolf took her hand, heightening her already rampant emotions. He threaded his fingers through hers, increasing the tension between them until it was hard for Melody to sit still and not squirm into his lap. This time he didn’t let go.

They sat that way for the entire symphony, only breaking contact to applaud at the end. Although it took over an hour, Melody had forgotten any time had passed, feeling the transformation in the music in her soul. She was well aware the fourth movement was written as a love song to Mahler’s wife, Alma, and to share it with Wolf was special beyond words.

After the concert, they remained in their seats, waiting for the bulk of the audience to leave.

Beverly turned to Melody as she collected her overcoat and purse. “I look forward to watching you play on the
Fourth!”

“Thanks. See you soon, then.” Melody made sure to make eye contact with her camera-wielding husband for good measure.

“I should bring you with me everywhere,” Wolf said as Melody turned back to him, beaming with pride.

“That was a coincidence, and I got lucky. I usually don’t peddle orchestra seats wherever I go.”

“Whatever it was, it worked.” He opened his program book. “I also noticed a lot of musical-instrument ads. I need to visit the local music stores in our area and see what they can do.”

“You could even target certain private teachers.” Melody thought of her own home studio. “I’m part of a local private teacher’s organization, and I can send out an e-mail asking if anyone wants to buy an ad.”

“That’s beyond the call of duty, Mel.”

Most of the people had left, leaving them in an almost empty concert hall. Melody thought it looked even grander without the people filling the antique, original leather seats. “This was such a great idea. Sitting here brings back so many memories.”

Wolf leaned in with interest. “Like?”

Melody sighed self-consciously. Maybe she shouldn’t have brought her sentimental side up. But somehow it felt right to tell him. “When I was in high school, my flute teacher took me to see Jean Pierre Rampal, the famous French flutist.”

Wolf nodded. “Yes, I know of him.”

“I sat way in the back—the cheap seats. But during intermission, I snuck up to the front row because there were a few empty seats.” A vision of a tall man in a tux with penguin tails playing a golden flute with effortless elegance flashed in her mind. “When the concert started again, I got to see him so close, I could watch his fingers touch the keys.”

Wolf’s oceanic eyes sparkled as if he enjoyed hearing her story. “That is close.”

Melody closed her eyes, taking herself back to the front row on that magic night. “And you know what? They never left the flute, not even a millimeter in the air. That’s how he played so fast. The flute had become a natural part of him, an extension of his soul.”

Wolf nodded and looked off in the distance toward the stage, as if he were trying to imagine her memory in the flesh. “Makes sense.”

“After the concert, I was allowed backstage, and I found Rampal sitting slumped in a chair. He was pretty old, even back then, and he looked exhausted.”

“Did you speak to him?”

Melody nodded. “I said, ‘Bravo.’ He looked up at me fondly, like a grandfather, and said, ‘
Merci
.’”

“That’s a great memory.”

She sat back in her seat, still feeling the glow of that day on her face. “What about you? Do you have any memories like that?”

“I do.” Wolf checked the time on his phone. “But it’s a long story and we have a reservation to keep.”

He stood and offered his hand. Still feeling as though it was difficult to pull anything personal out of him, Melody stood up and crinkled her eyes in skepticism. She slid her hand in his, feeling as though she’d done it a thousand times already. “You will tell me at dinner, right?”

He smiled, teasing her with a simmering, sidelong look. “I promise.”

Chapter Nine

Reflections

The Charles Château had its own valet parking, so Melody and Wolf slipped out of the car and let a young man drive it away. The restaurant sat along the grassy banks of the Charles River, a mile down from the hatch shell where the Pops played at the annual fireworks celebration. The sun had set, and the lights from the city reflected in the water so brightly, it looked as though a mirror city stared up at them from under the ripples. A sailboat with a white mast glided on the surface in a faint warm breeze, disrupting the reflection into undulations of light.

The front of the building had gorgeous stone architecture, with a glass atrium on top. Elegant couples dined at red-clothed tables while enjoying the view from above. Melody had to regain her senses after the initial
We’re going there?
shock wore off.

She smoothed the front of her halter-top. “You sure we’re dressed nice enough for this?”

Wolf nodded. “I called ahead to check.” He offered his arm, and she slipped her hand through it, thinking the date just kept getting better.

Watch it go down in flames from here.

An older man in a tux showed them to a corner table lit by a candle floating on water in a bowl filled with gemstones. A single rose in a porcelain vase that looked as though it could be from the thirteenth dynasty of ancient Egypt decorated the table. The hostess stood and waited as Melody and Wolf plucked their fan-shaped napkins from the tall glasses set in front of them. He filled each glass with water and asked if they’d like something else to drink.

“Water only, please.” Melody hid her fidgety hands under the table.
Better not put any more on this extravagant tab.

Wolf picked up the wine list. “Do you like white wines or reds?”

Melody shrugged. She usually bought the cheap sparkling fruit wine at the grocery store. What was it called? Strawberry Peach Breeze? She doubted they had that on the menu. “I guess red.”

“We’ll have a bottle of California Red Zinfandel, the Amador.”

Melody nearly choked on her water. The whole bottle? Did he always spend money like this? Or was it a show to impress her?

“Very well, sir.” The waiter bowed and glided away.

“It’s known for its full-bodied berry taste. Do you like berries?”

She only had strawberries every morning with her oatmeal, and blueberries every afternoon in her salad. Not to mention the fruity supermarket wine. “You could say that.”

“Good.” He sat back in his seat, as if enjoying the moment. “I owe you a story.”

Melody sipped her ice water and spread her napkin over her legs. “I’m anxiously waiting.”

“A musical story, yes?”

“Anything you’d like to share. Although I would like to hear about how you got into conducting.”

Wolf smiled. “At a very early age. Earlier than you’d think.”

Melody teased him with a brush of her fingertips on the back of his hand. “You weren’t some child prodigy, were you?”

“Far from it. Actually, I was known to misbehave during concerts, which was why my parents always took my brother and left me at home with my grandparents, who snored and watched black-and-white movies on television.”

Melody laughed, “I can’t even watch Technicolor.”

“Good, glad we settled that right away.” Wolf sipped his water and winked.

The waiter came back with a dark red bottle of wine and poured two glasses. Melody took a sip and felt like she would fall off her seat. It was strong stuff, much stronger than her fruity grocery version. She’d have to pace herself or she might say something she’d regret.

Wolf leaned over. “Do you like it?”

“Takes some getting used to.” Melody placed her glass on the table and started nibbling on a piece of fancy striped pumpernickel and rye bread crusted in almonds.

Wolf took another sip, then continued. “Finally, when I was seven, I begged my parents to give me a second chance. Johann had a school event to attend, so they offered me his ticket. We went to see the local philharmonic.”

Melody teased him with a skeptical look. “Did you behave?”

“Like an angel. I sat and watched the entire concert without making a sound. I was so enthralled by the way all the instruments came together and played in harmony, creating something great, something bigger than any one of them alone.”

Melody thought back to the first time she played in a youth orchestra and had the same feeling. “I love the sense of working together to recreate a masterpiece, of being involved in something bigger than myself.”

“Exactly.” Wolf’s eyes grew distant, and he looked away at the Charles. Another sailboat glided by them. “At the end of the concert, they had a drawing to see who would come up and conduct the last piece: the Radesky march by Strauss.”

Melody covered her mouth. “You were chosen?”

Wolf nodded, and she could see the little boy’s enthusiasm in the corners of his smile. “I was lucky. If it hadn’t been for that night, I wouldn’t be here today, sitting with you.”

Melody brought her napkin to her face to hide her blush. “How did it feel to stand in front of an orchestra for the first time?”

Wolf’s eyes shone darker and deeper than the river outside their window. “Enchanting. Like a sorcerer with a magic wand.”

His story cut straight to Melody’s heart. He didn’t talk about how well he conducted, or how talented he was, he talked about how much he loved music and how it transformed him.

“That’s why I’d like to do a series of youth concerts.” Wolf poured himself another glass of wine. He offered to top off Melody’s, but she refused. “Who knows? There may be a young Wolf or Melody sitting in the audience, someone whose heart we can light on fire, just like what happened to us.”

The only heart being lit on fire right now was Melody’s. Besides his occasional sour faces, Wolf was too good to be true. He had to have some tragic flaw, and she had to find it before she fell hopelessly head over heels and jeopardized her flute career.

But it wasn’t his fault he just happened to be a fellow musician. And her boss. No, that wouldn’t get complicated at all. As long as she didn’t let it get too far…

Dinner was amazing with food rich enough to knock her over. They shared a strawberry torte dessert, clinking forks by accident. When Wolf reached for the check and paid the entire bill himself, Melody didn’t want the date to end.

“Have you ever walked along the Charles?”

Wolf caught her gaze with intensity. “No. But I’d like to with you.”

…

The second they left the restaurant, Wolf reached for her hand. His fingers burned against hers. The air had cooled, leaving a chill on her skin, and she couldn’t tell if her goose bumps were from the breeze or the anticipation of walking alone with Wolf.

Her heart rate sped up as she whispered softly, “Still spies?”

“I think we’re beyond that now.” Wolf’s voice grew husky, making heat burn Melody’s neck and cheeks. He pulled her close as they reached the riverbank. “All night I’ve wanted to get closer to you. I don’t think I can resist any longer.”

They stopped underneath a maple tree, nestled between two large roots protruding from the earth. A faint breeze rustled the leaves above them, fluttering like Melody’s heart.

Wolf threaded his arms behind her waist. His golden-brown eyelashes framed a wild sparkle in his eyes, and Melody couldn’t believe she’d put it there. Every thought in her rational mind told her to end the date now before it got complicated, but the passionate feelings radiating from her wild heart planted her firmly in place.

What was the harm in one kiss?

Melody leaned forward, her eyes set on his warm, soft lips.

Wolf ran his hands up and down her back, smoothing over her tense muscles. She molded to his embrace and closed her eyes as he bent toward her. Her lips parted in awe of the moment.

And then Wolf’s mouth was pressed against hers, his tongue running along the curve of her upper lip. She groaned from deep within as the kiss took her to places she’d never been before. He tasted like salt and spice mingled with the sweet fruity wine they’d drank all night.

Laughter floated up from the walkway, and Melody and Wolf paused, hiding in the shadows under the tree. Two older women came into view down the path. One of them had dark hair, much like hers, but the other had gray curls that looked a lot like Ms. Maxhammer’s. Was that a cane in her hand?

Oh no.
Melody’s stomach sickened as the women approached. If she and Wolf ran, they would surely draw attention to themselves. Her whole body stiffened as she realized just how ridiculous they would have looked to the president of the board—a flutist sleeping her way to the top and a playboy maestro using his position for sex. Oh God, would the gossip fly.

Wolf must have thought the same, because his arms dropped from her sides.

The moon peeked from behind a wispy cloud, revealing a little old man with a cheap plastic cane walking with a younger woman.

How could they have thought he looked like Ms. Maxhammer? Melody and Wolf breathed with relief. But the heat of the moment was gone.

Melody pulled away, remembering who she was and who he was. She didn’t want to become his regret, someone he’d have to stare at every rehearsal until she decided to leave or Blake fired her. Besides, she hadn’t practiced since she’d seen Wolf in the hospital, and the concerto competition wouldn’t just go away. This had become too much of a distraction.

She’d wanted the kiss so badly, she’d denied all the warning bells ringing in her ears. She could bring down both their careers, destroy his reputation as a professional at his first major conducting job in the States, and taint her own image within the orchestra. Besides, he may still have to fire her, and she couldn’t bear to think those words would come from someone she was so attached to. That would end their relationship right then and there. Too much was on the line.

Wolf released her. “Let me take you home.” The finality in his voice drove all of Melody’s points home.

She cursed their situation as they walked to the valet. She wanted to stop and pull him against her, but his cool demeanor kept her from approaching him.

Besides, you’re too smart for that.
You know what it’s like to date a fellow musician, break up, and have to stare at his back at every rehearsal.
Only this time she’d be staring in his eyes every time he gave her a cue.

They stood in awkward silence as the valet retrieved the car. Melody got in, feeling as though their close encounter with the gray-haired kind had ruined what would have been an utterly perfect date. She turned to Wolf, biting her bottom lip. “I had a great time. Thank you for taking me out.”

Wolf nodded. “We accomplished a lot of research for the orchestra.”

His words punched her in the stomach.
Research? That’s it?
Seemed to her they did a lot more than that, establishing a connection that could lead to a relationship, if only they weren’t working in the same orchestra.

When they reached the Wallsworth auditorium, Melody felt like he was saying good-bye for good. This would be her only chance to try and reverse the damage—she had to let their kiss go so they could return to their professional lives. It would be stupid of them to pursue anything further.

Wolf turned and put a gentle hand on hers. “Good night, Mel.”

“Good night. Thanks again.” Her heart tore as she left his car and closed the door behind her. She couldn’t help feeling as though she was losing out on an opportunity that wouldn’t come up again.

She walked to her Fiat, sitting alone in the empty street. She checked the rearview mirror. He’d waited until she got in and started the engine.

Melody wanted to run back to his car for one last kiss, but she knew she’d look stupid after he cooled things off so suddenly back on the riverbank. In hindsight, halting the kiss was the smartest thing to do, but was it the right thing for her heart?

She needed time to think. Melody pulled into the right lane and stopped at the traffic light, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. She watched Wolf’s car turn around and disappear down the street behind her, a deep ache growing in her chest.