nice guy, a more than adequate lover, and a loyal friend. Of course, the fact that he was handsome was a plus. She liked their uncomplicated, straightforward relationship.
He put his elbows on either side of her head and rose up. “What if you don’t get the job?”
She stretched, enjoying the sensation of having him inside her. “There is no chance of that happening, baby. I know I am good. Felix knows it too. When I play tomorrow and drive him crazy with my achingly lovely tunes, he is going to bend over backwards to offer me the first chair.”
Sean stood and walked away into the adjoining bathroom. Christina lazed for a bit, casting her thoughts back to the orchestra hall where she practiced daily or played with others. Tomorrow, Felix, the concertmaster, would announce her to be the first chair and she would be responsible for tuning her entire section, for making sure everyone was ready before each performance.
What would it be like to have that honored position of first chair? How would she feel when she sat still, one hand holding the cello, the other drawing the bow over the strings as she gave birth to her solo symphony? The applause of the audience, the deep bow she would take – for a second, she was actually on that stage, experiencing the delight of that moment which would soon come.
It would be bloody good, she decided. She’d earned the honor, and she intended to do full justice to it when the time arose.
~~~
At three in the afternoon, she marched up the steps of the stage, her cello in her hand. For the audition, she’d decided to dress in a conservative black skirt and a white, full sleeved shirt. Her hair was tied in a neat bun behind the back of her head. Silver hoop earrings were the only accessory she wore, apart from her Cartier watch.
This was the defining moment of her life. Christina imagined there would many moments such as this in her future. As the first chair cellist she would be required to do all solo performances whenever the orchestra performed – and she just knew how grand, satisfying, and awe-inspiring such performances could be.
Christina took her place on the chair, adjusted the cello, and held the bow in her firm grip. Her heart pounded as she cast a glance at Felix, the concertmaster, who was seated on the front row with the orchestra manager. The short, slight paunchy man would decide her fate. She reminded herself that her destiny was in her own hands. She had worked long and hard, and nothing could stop her for making it to the top.
Without preamble, she burst into the song, the notes rising and falling with each small movement of the bow and her hand that manipulated the strings. The sound she created was both pure and strong. Her hands remained steady as she delved into the core of the music, her entire being vibrating with the beauty of the warm, high notes. It was fast and furious, with a few soft sounds as the song dipped and then built to a final crescendo. Finally, she removed the bow and took a bow.
Her heart thumped with fear. For a second into the song, her hand had slipped. One note that went wrong, but then she had picked up the pace. Had the concertmaster noted the slight error? His impassive face told her nothing. Picking up her cello, she walked down the steps and back to the waiting rooms.
With deliberate care, she put the cello in the case and flopped on the chair. Her body quietly vibrated with the sound of the song that she’d played. Music was her first love, the reason for her living. Christina didn’t just enjoy the high of playing on the stage, she relished the practice time, the learning of a new symphony, and the pride that burned deep in the heart once she mastered a new song. She could imagine doing this her entire life, devoting her time to becoming better at her craft with each passing day – and today would be the first step in the right direction. Soon, she would be doing solo performances for presidents, kings and
He put his elbows on either side of her head and rose up. “What if you don’t get the job?”
She stretched, enjoying the sensation of having him inside her. “There is no chance of that happening, baby. I know I am good. Felix knows it too. When I play tomorrow and drive him crazy with my achingly lovely tunes, he is going to bend over backwards to offer me the first chair.”
Sean stood and walked away into the adjoining bathroom. Christina lazed for a bit, casting her thoughts back to the orchestra hall where she practiced daily or played with others. Tomorrow, Felix, the concertmaster, would announce her to be the first chair and she would be responsible for tuning her entire section, for making sure everyone was ready before each performance.
What would it be like to have that honored position of first chair? How would she feel when she sat still, one hand holding the cello, the other drawing the bow over the strings as she gave birth to her solo symphony? The applause of the audience, the deep bow she would take – for a second, she was actually on that stage, experiencing the delight of that moment which would soon come.
It would be bloody good, she decided. She’d earned the honor, and she intended to do full justice to it when the time arose.
~~~
At three in the afternoon, she marched up the steps of the stage, her cello in her hand. For the audition, she’d decided to dress in a conservative black skirt and a white, full sleeved shirt. Her hair was tied in a neat bun behind the back of her head. Silver hoop earrings were the only accessory she wore, apart from her Cartier watch.
This was the defining moment of her life. Christina imagined there would many moments such as this in her future. As the first chair cellist she would be required to do all solo performances whenever the orchestra performed – and she just knew how grand, satisfying, and awe-inspiring such performances could be.
Christina took her place on the chair, adjusted the cello, and held the bow in her firm grip. Her heart pounded as she cast a glance at Felix, the concertmaster, who was seated on the front row with the orchestra manager. The short, slight paunchy man would decide her fate. She reminded herself that her destiny was in her own hands. She had worked long and hard, and nothing could stop her for making it to the top.
Without preamble, she burst into the song, the notes rising and falling with each small movement of the bow and her hand that manipulated the strings. The sound she created was both pure and strong. Her hands remained steady as she delved into the core of the music, her entire being vibrating with the beauty of the warm, high notes. It was fast and furious, with a few soft sounds as the song dipped and then built to a final crescendo. Finally, she removed the bow and took a bow.
Her heart thumped with fear. For a second into the song, her hand had slipped. One note that went wrong, but then she had picked up the pace. Had the concertmaster noted the slight error? His impassive face told her nothing. Picking up her cello, she walked down the steps and back to the waiting rooms.
With deliberate care, she put the cello in the case and flopped on the chair. Her body quietly vibrated with the sound of the song that she’d played. Music was her first love, the reason for her living. Christina didn’t just enjoy the high of playing on the stage, she relished the practice time, the learning of a new symphony, and the pride that burned deep in the heart once she mastered a new song. She could imagine doing this her entire life, devoting her time to becoming better at her craft with each passing day – and today would be the first step in the right direction. Soon, she would be doing solo performances for presidents, kings and
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