Kimberly Stuart by Act Two: A Novel in Perfect Pitch Page B

nod.
    The beginning measures were a train wreck. Her eyes were glued to the score, she was unsure of the Italian pronunciation, and she had all the grace of a box turtle as she moved with the music. In my benevolence, I did not roll my eyes. As the recit drew to a close, I decided to let her continue into the aria, knowing within a few phrases of the coloratura, she’d bow out on her own.
    Mallory put down her score and stepped away from it slightly. She drew in a slow breath from the diaphragm and began. I went from catty indifference to disbelief as my mouth hung open. Her phrases became languid and sweet, air moving through each line with energy and life. Her eyes came alive, sparking with the text as she described the betrayal of a lover. The diction was still shaky in parts, but as I finished the final few measures of accompaniment, I was weak from emotional involvement in her performance.
    Silence fell. I looked up from the piano keys. “Mallory,” I said, “where has that been the last month?”
    She shrugged. “I guess I connect with this piece.”
    I nodded slowly. “It shows. Your lines are like taffy. You draw out emotion in places most singers your age would skip right over. And while I’ve always thought your tone was pleasant, today it was magnificent.” I shook my head, mostly to myself. “I thought you’d fall flat on your face.”
    Her face hardened instantly. “Why? Because I’m at a no-name college instead of at Juilliard or Eastman?” She started gathering her things even though we still had ten minutes left.
    I stood up and put both hands firmly on the top of the piano. “Actually, because you have given me no reason to believe otherwise. Your treatment of me and of the music you’ve been studying has been, at best, mediocre. But today, for a dramatic change, you were excellent.”
    She let out a short laugh and tossed her music into a bulging purple backpack. She hefted it onto a bony shoulder and stood in front of me. I saw in her face one of the many reasons I’d never regretted having children, so many of whom end up hating their parents anyway. “Ms. Maddox,” she said, “I’m glad you liked me today. But guess what?” She enunciated much more clearly in English than Italian. “I’m only studying with you this semester because my voice teacher requested it of me. She thinks I harbor secret longings for a career in New York, though I’ve never said anything to that effect. She thinks studying with you will inspire me, motivate me to want fame like the great Sadie Maddox.” She said my name like the words might infect her. “She’s wrong. But I’m here anyway. Let’s just make the best of it, shall we?”
    She turned to go and I put my hand on her shoulder to stop her. “Listen, missy,” I said, my voice low. “ I am the one making concessions here.” I could feel my heart pounding and my hands starting to shake. “Do not presume to tell me you’re doing me a favor.” I stepped between her and the door and looked at her, eye to squinty little coed eye. “Come every week with your A game or I’ll transfer you right back to Sweetie Pie Voice Teacher who doesn’t know New York talent from a cockapoo. Are we agreed?”
    For the first time in our relationship, Mallory looked impressed with me.
    â€œGot it,” she said, blinking once.
    I moved aside and let her leave.

    The rumble of Mac’s truck filtered through the heavy front doors of Kjellman. I buttoned my coat and pulled on a pair of cinnamon gloves with matching beret. Using all my body weight, I persuaded one of the doors to open and stood for a moment under the roof. The world was awash with lumbering, wet snowflakes that dropped unceremoniously from a milky sky. Mac strode up the walk like it was seventy degrees and sunny instead of fifteen and a personal injury