Virtuosity (25 page)

Gigi was a friend of Gemma’s mother, so the owner always welcomed me with a smile and usually a free cup of hot chocolate. Today, when she saw Jeremy, she clobbered him with a hug, then gave us the table by the window with a view of the big stone church across the street.

“That church,” I said as I opened up my laptop. “It reminds me of one in downtown Chicago. Do you remember? That beautiful one with the courtyard near the Drake.”

Jeremy took a newspaper from a stack behind him and sat across from me. “I know the one you’re talking about, but
that
church,” he gestured out the window, “is older than America.”

I sighed. “Of course it is. Did I really just try to compare British and American architecture? How insensitive of me.”

He grinned and folded the paper open to the crossword puzzle.

I looked over my new emails. Spam, spam, spam, delete, delete, delete, but then an address jumped off the screen: [email protected]. I knew that name. My finger shook as I brought the cursor over the email and clicked. Two months of hard-earned calm drained away.

Dear Miss Bianchi,

I have spent the last two weeks angry. Finally, this morning, I found myself just enough less angry to be able to sit down and write this letter to you. For the record, I detest email. The informality offends me.

I would call you if I had your telephone number, or stop by and have this conversation in person if I had any idea where you were, but I don’t. Besides, I fear what I would do to your mother if I found her instead. That leaves email.

Your little letter, by the way, created quite a storm, but I’m sure you know that. If I had written you directly after your grand confession—in the midst of the Guarneri Foundation’s humiliation with all those newspaper articles circulating world wide, and the absolute decimation of credibility the classical music industry suffered—it would not have been a pleasant note. Hate mail, dare I say. However, as I mentioned before, I am now less angry, and though I’m not known for giving
compliments, I can generally say what needs to be said, when it needs to be said. So. Thank you. Your bravery is rare.

It may or may not be of interest to you, but I have decided to return to Juilliard in the fall. Retirement does not suit me. It would not surprise me one bit if you were finished with violin. The industry may very well be finished with you. As you know, it is not a forgiving or generous one. However, I do not love the industry or the people in it. I love music. And it would be a terrible thing for music if you were to let scandal and humiliation force you from it. I understand that up until a week ago you were enrolled for the fall semester. I would suggest you rethink your decision to withdraw.

Sincerely,

Dr. Nanette Laroche

I glanced up at Jeremy. He was still doing the crossword puzzle, squinting and tapping his pencil on the table’s edge. All around me people were chattering,
licking frosting off their fingers, laughing. Staying here would be easy. I’d stay at Gigi’s and run on the beach and be with Jeremy between tours. I’d be happy.

I reread the email, and felt the flicker of something inside of me. Something new. I had a choice.

Acknowledgments

Thank you to my agent, Mandy Hubbard, and my editor, Anica Rissi, for being so amazing at what you do and fun to work with too. I kind of want to be you guys when I grow up (and yes, I know we’re all pretty close to the same age). And thanks to everyone else at Simon Pulse who worked so hard for
Virtuosity
.

Thanks to my siblings—Amanda, Steven, David, Michael, and Joshua—for keeping it real. You people are hilarious and smart and inspiring all at the same time.

Amy Hillis, Virtuosity’s first reader and friend extraordinaire, you convinced me I was a writer when I wasn’t too sure, and then you watched my kids and forced me to go
to that writing conference when I wanted to chicken out. You rule for that and for so many other things.

A special thanks to the violin teachers who have shaped my life: Edmond Agopian, Danuta Ciring, Igor Gruppman, Nick Pulos, Gwen Hoebig, Lorand Fenyves, and all the other musicians who have shared their talents with me.

Thank you Serge and Linda Martinez for loving me like one of your own.

Beth Tingle and Andrea Bingham, thank you for your lifelong friendship. Nobody else may have thought so, but the three of us together were hysterically funny at age seven. Ditto for age seventeen. Ditto for now.

And a shout-out to Olivia and Emily, my fabulous mother’s helpers. My kids love you, and so do I! This book would’ve taken much longer to write without you. Keep reading, girls.

And finally, Mark. Thank you for making me laugh when I’m about to cry, and for always knowing the right thing to say. You … complete me. Just kidding. No, you really do, though.