Virtuosity (22 page)

Except then everything I was running from caught up with me and my lungs felt like they were going to seize up. I could run, but everything still followed me.

When I got home, Diana was still asleep. I limped upstairs and stripped out of my running clothes.

Diana was right. I couldn’t be a nobody, not after everything I’d sacrificed. It wasn’t fair. And nobody was exactly who I’d be if I refused to play tomorrow, or if I turned her in. Turned
us
in.

“Suck in.”

I obeyed. Diana zipped up the back and arranged the top layer of indigo chiffon so it fell just right. I looked out the window into the dark street.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

I turned back to the mirror. The dress was a fairy tale in blue, the layers of the skirt flowing like water from the fitted bodice.

“Tomorrow is your night, Carmen.”

I nodded.

“We’ll have your hair done up like this with the pearls in it.” She took two handfuls of curls and twisted them up onto the top of my head. “You’ll look like a princess.”

She smiled. She was so good at that, putting on the right face and making herself feel that way. She really believed everything was perfect right now.

“Now go take this off, and get ready for bed. You have to get a good night’s sleep tonight.”

That wouldn’t be difficult. I had barely slept last night, and the weight of today, of
both
days, was more than enough. I’d sleep. I was too exhausted to even check my email.

I didn’t get Jeremy’s email until Friday afternoon. By then it was too late.

Carmen,

Congratulations. I mean it, but I know you probably won’t believe me. I really do, though. I won’t lie and say I’m happy for you, because I’m not really happy about anything right now. But no matter how I feel about not playing tomorrow night, I know you deserve to be there. I hope you win. I just can’t go listen. I think you probably understand. My family cancelled their flights here, and I’m flying home Saturday morning. It’s not how I expected to be going home, but it’ll be a relief anyway.

I feel like an idiot for what happened, for asking you to let me win. I should never have done that. I’ve spent the last few years
trying to give my brother some great grand gesture, but I think deep down I know it’s never going to be enough. For me, I mean, not him. He’s the kind of little brother that thinks I’m a hero even when I’m a complete jerk. I guess what I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t feel bad for me. My winning the Guarneri wouldn’t have changed anything for Robbie—it wouldn’t have cured him or made things fair. Competition isn’t about who needs to win the most. I know that, but I just somehow forgot.

I told you this before, and I know you didn’t believe me then, but maybe you’ll believe me now. I was never pretending with you. Maybe it would have been easier if I was, maybe I wouldn’t feel like such rubbish now if it had all been a game, but it wasn’t. You just surprised me. A beautiful, talented girl, showing up every time I turned around—I did what any normal guy would do and fell in love with you. Maybe that’s why I feel so terrible right now. Honestly, I don’t know where the Guarneri pain ends and the Carmen pain starts.

This is longer than I thought it was going to be, but it feels good to talk to you, even if I’m not really talking to you. I miss you. Play your best tomorrow.

Jeremy

I shuddered. It was too late. The time to make decisions, to be brave and do the right thing, had already come and gone. Or at least that was what I told myself.

I’d already had my hair styled: blown straight, re-curled, then twisted up onto my head with the little pearls embedded exactly as Diana had dictated. My dress was hanging on the back of my door, waiting to be put on, while I sat at my computer in my pantyhose and slip, trying to distract myself until it was time to go.

I’d already taken two Inderal. Diana had brought them in with a glass of grapefruit juice while I was practicing. She’d watched me take them. “Two now to calm you down, and three before the performance,” she’d said. “We can talk about weaning you off them gradually after tonight.” I didn’t believe that, but I didn’t argue either.

The numbing was too sweet. I closed my eyes and felt the calm spread through my body like cool water. I had to
make it through the night, perform and collect my prize without thinking too hard. I had no choice.

We had to leave in an hour. It
was
too late, but if that was true, why couldn’t I stop reading his email, again and again and again, like it could somehow save me from myself? Why couldn’t I press delete.

I unclipped my dress from the hanger on the back of my door, and put it on. Diana was right about it. It was perfect. Too perfect for how I felt.

A knock at my door startled me. It was Clark’s bang-bang, not Diana’s tap-tap-tap. “Are you decent?” he called.

“Yeah.” I opened the door.

“Wow,” he said, and just stood there. “All grown up.”

“Don’t get sappy on me, Clark. I’m already a wreck.”

“You don’t look like a wreck. You always seem calm before you play. Your mother on the other hand is downstairs shaking like a leaf. You’d think she was the one going onstage.”

I managed a smile for him, but all I could think about was Jeremy’s email.

“I’m supposed to tell you the Glenns are coming to the performance tonight, and that they want to take you out for dinner tomorrow—a
celebratory
dinner.”

“I’d rather just go for pizza with you.”

“Maybe you should tell them that. It’s your celebration, right?”

Not really,
I thought.
Not at all
. “I guess.”

“I just came up to wish you good luck. I’m so proud of you.” He paused, looking embarrassed. “You’ve just turned out to be such an amazing young woman.”

Now was the time to tell him. To say it and end this whole horrific thing.

I looked away. If he saw into my eyes he’d know—everyone would know how far from amazing I was.

He stepped forward to hug me and I melted into his warm arms. “Your best is always good enough for me, Carmen,” he whispered into my ear. “You know that?”

I nodded, and willed the tears not to come.

“Just do your best.”

His words felt like a kick in the stomach. My air was gone.

He released me and turned around to go. “Your mom says we’re leaving in forty-five minutes,” he called over his shoulder. “I’ll go make you some dinner. Salmon and quinoa: brain food and slow-release energy. You’ll be unstoppable.”

I couldn’t answer. Still no air.

My best. This was not my best. Jeremy and Clark, they loved a Carmen that didn’t even exist anymore. But if she didn’t exist, if I’d traded her for music, maybe music wasn’t worth having.

* * *

Slipping out wasn’t hard.

I could hear Diana in her room putting her makeup on, getting ready to go, and Clark in the kitchen, banging around with a pot and a spatula while shouting at the ref for whatever sporting event he was watching.

First, I packed up my laptop and slid it into the top of my violin case. Then I put my heels on, slung my violin over my back, and flipped off the light switch. As an afterthought, I went back to my desk and scribbled a note:

I went to fix things.

—Carmen

I left the note on my bed, then I tiptoed down the stairs and out the front door. Catching a cab was easy; deciding where to go was not. “Can you just drive around for a few minutes?” I asked the cab driver.

He looked like a chain smoking Santa, from bushy beard to round pink cheeks. “Sure,” he said, and shrugged as if teenage girls in evening gowns were always asking him to circle the block on Friday afternoons. He flicked a cigarette butt out of his window. “Got a machine gun in there?” he asked pointing to my violin case, and chuckled.

Hilarious. I smiled politely. “Sure do,” I said, then stared out the window so he’d stop talking to me and let me think. A breeze ruffled the leaves on the poplars that
lined the street. I wanted to be outside, away from people, but not alone. Maybe the beach.

“Can you take me to Michigan Avenue and Lakeshore?”

“Sure,” the cab driver said. “Just past the Drake?”

“Yes, please.”

The cab sped up, and I tried to distract myself by peering into the windows of the cars we passed. Backseat people-watching was usually good entertainment, but my mind refused to be diverted. I couldn’t stop trying to picture what Jeremy would do when he found out. Kick a hole in the wall, maybe. Swear. Cry. I felt like I knew him so well, but I didn’t. I’d never even seen him angry. And I didn’t know if he’d hate me forever, or if some day he’d look back and see it wasn’t my fault.

Clark’s reaction would be something else. He wouldn’t hate me, but he would be furious with Diana. And that would be my fault. They’d been married for ten years, but betrayal was something people got divorced over. I forced my mind forward. I couldn’t think about the possibility of losing Clark if I was going to go through with this.

“Here we are,” the driver said, pulling over to the curb.

I paid him, and pulled myself—gown, violin, computer, and all—out of the cab.

In front of me the beach stretched left and right, icy lake edged with toast-colored sand. From the looks of the
thinning crowd, it had been just warm enough for the brave ones to swim, but the air was already cooling and most people were out of the water. Clusters of shivering, sandy people, wrapped in towels and huddled around picnic baskets dotted the beach.

I took off my shoes and hooked the heels around my violin case strap. The sand felt dry and crunchy beneath my feet as I walked halfway to the water’s edge. I chose a spot just far enough away from people to avoid getting stupid comments about my beach attire, then I put down my violin case and sat on it.

My computer was slow to boot up, so I surveyed the beach while I waited. The sun, floating just above the waterline, glowed a burnt shade of orange. It was the same color as my violin. I looked away, my eyes aching from the glare, and positioned myself sideways so I could see my screen without the sky behind it. I was running out of time.

I opened my email, clicked on “New” and began to type, feeling the sun sink beside me as I wrote. By the time I was done, the lower lip of the sun was just barely melting into the horizon, spilling fire into the lake. I read the email over. Not perfect. But good enough.

I had just enough time to find the email addresses I needed. Most of them were in my contacts list, and the others weren’t hard to find. The trickiest were the competition
organizers and the three judges, but the Guarneri Competition had a decent website.

I read it over one last time. If I was going to send it, it had to be now. The concert was supposed to start in a half hour. I looked over to the blazing horizon. The lake had become a pool of lava under the half-dipped sun. I took a deep breath and tapped send.

I’m writing to explain why I won’t be performing tonight. Hopefully at least one of you gets this email in time. I’m sorry I didn’t write it sooner, but once you all read what I’ve written, I’m sure you‘ll agree with my decision to withdraw.

On Wednesday evening, several hours after the announcement of the three finalists, I discovered that Dr. Daniel Schmidt and Dr. Yuan Chang each received $500,000 to exclude Jeremy King from the finals. I can’t explain how I found out or who paid them. I know I look guilty, but it wasn’t me, and if I had done it I wouldn’t be writing this email. I just had to come forward. It has also occurred to me that the two judges in question could simply deny the accusation,
and I certainly don’t know anything about tracking money or looking into bank records or any of that. I’m guessing, though, that Dr. Laroche would have an opinion as to whether or not her colleagues were biased. I find it very unlikely that she agreed with their decision not to advance Jeremy.

You’re all probably wondering why I waited until now. I wish I had a better reason, but honestly, I didn’t come forward earlier because I wanted to win this competition. I’ve always wanted to win. At least I thought I did, but now I know what I wanted was to be the best. Winning tonight wouldn’t prove that. The best is completely irrelevant now. Again, I’m sorry.

Carmen Bianchi

I sat and watched the sky turn from orange to pink to violet and then darken. The wind blew and I shivered. If I’d have been thinking when I left the house, I’d have brought a sweater instead of my violin. Why had I brought it? Habit. I never went anywhere without it, but tonight it was just a useless weight to lug around on my back, a place to park my
butt on the beach. A burden. I never wanted to play it again. Not that it mattered. My career was over anyway.

I thought I’d feel better once the email was sent, but I didn’t feel better at all. I didn’t feel anything. Probably the Inderal.

A gust of wind picked up sand and whipped it at me. It was time to go, but I had nowhere to go to. I twisted my body and looked up toward the towers at the north end of the Magnificent Mile. The Drake. I wondered if Jeremy was in his room.

Chapter 19

T
he balcony felt cold under my cheek. Ten floors below me the traffic of Lake Shore Drive purred, but it seemed miles away. Everything before me was perfectly still: a black starless sky over Lake Michigan, my bare arm jutting out between metal bars, and the burnt-orange scroll of my violin rising out of my clenched fist.

It would be as easy as opening my hand. I could just uncurl my fingers one by one, and when the last one relaxed, the violin would slice the night sky like a blade, plummeting to the ground below. Then it would be over.

I exhaled and felt my body flatten against the concrete. My mother would be furious about the gown. Her personal
dressmaker had twisted and tucked and pleated the filmy chiffon until it looked like a waterfall, flowing cascades in three shades of blue. Now it was bunched beneath me, probably soaking up dirt, grease, cigarette ash, and whatever else hotel balconies collected.