Love in E Flat (2 page)

“Oh, shut up, and don’t talk to anyone. I’ll be right back.”

Lou laughed as she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. “God, I could sleep right here.” She heard a car door slam and looked to see the Yellow Cab pull away from the curb; Lou watched as a figure walked toward her. It looked like whoever it was dragged something with them. As the person walked under the stage door light, Lou realized it was a woman, carrying some large case close to her hip; it was half her size. She wore a long hooded cape, the hood loosely pulled over her head. The woman stopped and looked at Lou.

“Good evening,” Lou said, stifling a belch. “You know, my cousin is an orthopedic surgeon.” She motioned to the leather case. “He can have that surgically removed for you.”

In the half-light of the stage door, Lou caught a glimpse of milky white skin and delicate features.

“I have no time for asinine jokes. Open the door.”

Lou heard the low voice with a slight accent; a shiver went up her spine, and her mouth went dry. She folded her arms across her chest. “What’s the magic word?”

The woman glared, breathing heavily. “Open the door or I will have you fired.”

Fired? She threw her head back and laughed when the realization hit her. She reached for the door and bowed dramatically. “Well, that’s more than one word, but close enough, madam. What’ve you got in there?” Lou continued as she watched the woman struggle with her instrument case. “We have immigration laws, ya know.”

She squeezed by Lou, gently sniffing the air. “And do you have laws for drinking on the job?”

Lou felt the wine hit her when she let out a rude snort. “Look, sweetheart, just because you can strum a banjo or whatever’s in that case… Don’t get nervous.”

The woman glared at Lou, and without much more struggling, she stormed past Lou and into the dimly lit hall.

“You’re welcome, ya snooty…” Lou called out.

“Who are you yelling at?”

Lou whirled around to see Edie standing behind her and laughed. “No one.”

“You are drunk.”

“I am not,” Lou said, waving her hand. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

Edie walked ahead of her; Lou dutifully followed her through the back of the stage and out to the seats. “We have front row seats.”

“Goodie,” Lou exclaimed. They sat on the aisle on the right side of the well-lit auditorium, which filled up quickly. The low buzzing of the patrons had Lou a little excited. It reminded her of when the Cubs were in the playoffs a few years ago before they blew it, the bums.

“A big crowd tonight, that’s good.” Edie handed her the program. “I know you don’t know anything about any of this. But it might do you good to get a little culture in your life.”

Lou took the program and nodded. “Thanks, Mom.” She read the program and stopped, trying to read the name. “Who…? How do you say this guy’s name? Agata Carrot-nickoff?”

Edie looked to the heavens, shaking her head. “Forgo the Chicago-ese for a second. You put the accent on the second syllable and pronounce it Karetnikov. And Ahgata, or Agatha as we lowly Americans say, is a she not a he, and she’s a marvelous Russian and my interview.”

“Ah. Okay. Agata Karetnikov,” she said with dramatic Russian flair, “gotcha. Sounds like a skin condition.” She laughed as she glanced at Edie. “So what does she play—the kazoo?”

“No, jackass. The cello.”

Cello? Lou winced. Oh, God, it couldn’t be… She glanced at Edie, who looked so excited. Lou swallowed, nearly gulped. “A cello is kinda big, huh? Bigger than a violin.”

“Yes.” She turned toward Lou. “Do you know who Yo-Yo Ma is? And don’t make a joke about yo mama.”

Lou giggled. That’s exactly what she was going to do. “Yes, I’ve heard of him.”

“He plays the cello.”

“Bummer.”

“What?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing.”

The lights dimmed as the orchestra entered the stage and took their places. The crowd applauded when the conductor walked to his podium.

Lou leaned into Edie. “So…um…where is she?”

“Look at the program. She’s coming out after the first three numbers. The second is some child prodigy from Ukraine.” Edie examined her program. “Says here he’s only thirteen. Good grief and he’s playing Chopin?” She looked up from the program. “Oh, my God, Lou, he’s playing Nocturne 19, Opus 72.”

“Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo.” Lou looked as though Edie were speaking another language. “Is that good?”

“Good?” Edie rolled her eyes. “Wait until you hear this. And coming from a thirteen-year-old? Now no talking, no belching.”

“Okay.” Lou glanced at her program. “So what’s our Russian friend gonna fiddle?”

Edie glared. “‘The Swan’ by Saint-Saens. You’ll know it when you hear it. I hope.”

“I wasn’t born under a rock, ya know,” Lou said in a hissed whisper, though she had no clue what the song was by the title.

She heard the gentle but persistent cough from a patron sitting behind her and gave Edie a sick apologetic look.

After the first movement finished, Edie leaned over. “The boy is next…”

Lou was shocked when the youngster walked onto the stage with a purposeful gait. The audience clapped but without much gusto. She glanced at Edie, who shrugged. “Maybe this is his first time.”

“He doesn’t look intimidated, that’s for sure,” Lou whispered. “You’ve never heard of this kid? You know all this stuff.”

Edie shook her head. “Never. I hope he can do this nocturne justice.”

The boy bowed to the audience, then to the conductor. Lou grinned, thinking how adult he looked. He was a little on the tall side for thirteen. Lou could see this kid playing basketball. He had black hair; his cheeks looked rosy and flushed against his fair skin. And he looked very handsome in a black cutaway tuxedo and black bow tie.

“He’s adorable,” Edie whispered with a chuckle.

“And so serious.”

The hall was silent as he sat at the long piano. Then he started, and for the next five minutes or so, Lou and Edie sat transfixed with the rest of the audience, not moving and barely breathing. Lou watched the boy’s face as it changed while he quietly played Chopin’s nocturnal opiate, whatever Edie had said.

One moment he was intense, the next he smiled, as if he and the piano were having a conversation. Lou leaned into Edie, whose eyes filled with tears and jaw was somewhere on the floor. Not wanting to break the mood, Lou stifled the laugh and sat back. Glancing around the hall, she noticed the other patrons were much the same as Edie—all stunned into silence. Lou imagined going to a Bears or Bulls game and the fans being like this. Well, maybe it could happen at a Cubs game.

When he finished, the audience erupted, and he seemed stunned as much as they. He frowned for a moment, seemingly not knowing what to do. The conductor walked over, shook his hand, and said something to him. The boy nodded and smiled, then bowed to the audience. Lou grinned; Edie was clapping so hard and fast Lou thought she might take flight. The boy bowed one more time, then proudly sat at the piano once again.

“I can’t believe it,” Edie said wistfully. “So young to have so much talent.”

“No kidding. That was remarkable,” Lou said. “I wonder if—”

“Hold that thought,” Edie whispered. “She’s next.”

Inwardly, Lou cringed. Being preoccupied with the boy-man savant piano player, Lou had forgotten about the Russian. She offered a sick smile and nodded. The applause erupted when she walked out onto the stage. Lou swallowed—her heart sank as she watched the tall willowy figure gracefully carry the cello to the front chair right by the conductor; she showed no signs of struggling with the instrument now. Lou sat, transfixed as Agata Karetnikov smiled and nodded her thanks. Yes, Lou thought. It was her. Though she had only gotten a glimpse of her face by the stage door, Lou remembered the smooth clear complexion and the delicate nose and chin…Well, hell.

Agata smiled at the boy, who nodded—still looking far too serious for Lou. You could hear a pin drop when the conductor raised his wand. With a delicate, almost fragile hand, Agata raised her bow. The boy started first, playing the piano softly, and with just as delicate a hand as Agata. When the cellist struck her first chords in accompaniment, Lou knew the song, though she had no idea it was a classical piece or what it meant. For the next few minutes, she stared at this Russian, who, without sheet music, played so reverently, so quietly, you could barely hear her. As she played, Lou thought if a song had feelings, this woman knew how to pull them from that cello. It also showed all over her delicate features when she closed her eyes.

Lou looked at the boy, who seemed almost in a trance as he quietly played his part. It was moving and endearing, and for a moment, the pianist and the cellist locked gazes; they seemed to be answering each other, as if this was a private dance between them. It intrigued Lou; she wanted to know the story behind this piece, but fearing death, she wasn’t about to ask Edie.

Behind Lou, a woman softly sniffed, as if trying desperately to hold back a sob she may have felt. Lou watched, amazed as tears leaked from Agata’s eyes and her bottom lip quivered; the bow drifted across the strings with grace and beauty. It was the most touching, yet personal moment Lou had ever experienced. Agata Karetnikov seemed to be one with her cello, baring her soul for all to see.

And with a delicate, quiet tinkling of the piano keys, it was over.

For the merest of moments, the auditorium sat in shocked silence, at least that was what Lou thought, as if they couldn’t believe what they had just heard. Then the thunderous applause started, and Lou jumped to her feet with the rest of them. She heard the throngs of “brava” and “bravo” called out and wanted to scream it out, as well, but her throat was so tight, she couldn’t speak. She just clapped her hands, feeling inept and speechless.

Edie wiped her eyes as she applauded. Lou still looked at the cellist, who stood and acknowledged the audience. She extended her arm to the boy, who stood and bowed. Once again, the audience applauded.

Agata looked at the audience, and before she bowed, inexplicably, their gazes locked. Lou looked into the deepest blue she had ever seen. In the next minute, she saw the glare and anger in them. At that moment, Lou wished she had indeed been born beneath that rock and had it there to crawl under. She glanced at Edie, who looked from the cellist to Lou and back again.

Lou saw Edie’s confusion and sat with the rest of the patrons as Agata Karetnikov gracefully exited stage left with the boy, but not before Lou caught the glare one more time.

She knew Edie watched her. “She’s pretty good, huh?”

“Lou…”

“And what’s the story behind ‘The Swan?’”

“Louisa…”

“I thought at first it was the same guy that did the
Sugar Plum Fairy
Christmas thing because didn’t he do
Swan Lake
? I get them confused. Boy, she’s good. And how about that kid? He’s great for a thirteen-year-old. And—”

“Lou!”

“Yes?”

“Who were you talking to at the stage door earlier?” she asked, rubbing her forehead.

“Okay. You’re gonna think this is funny…”

“Oh, my God. It was her? You yelled at Agata Karetnikov?”

Lou winced as Edie’s voice rose with each syllable. She nervously looked around. “Shush, for cryin’ out loud. The band is about to play again, I mean the orchestra. And you don’t—”

Edie grabbed her by the arm. “Get going. Madam Karetnikov is going to play again. And you’re going to tell me what the hell you said to a visiting world-famous Russian cellist—”