Page 63 of Solo

“No, there isn’t. But there is on the Symphony Orchestra concert program.”

I hop off the podium and walk forward to the front of the stage so that I’m standing directly in front of him, but three feet higher.

“What does the orchestra have to do with me? I’m conducting the Wind Ensemble for my final jury grade.”

He’s still smiling.

“What?” I demand. “What aren’t you telling me?”

He stands up and walks to the edge of the stage, where the footlights give him an especially ghostly look. The threads of silver in his hair are glistening and his face has taken on a bluish tint. It’s really, really creepy, but I try to ignore it.

“Dr. Giovanni slipped on the ice and broke his leg over the weekend.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry to hear that,” I say, an image of the tiny Italian man flashes through my head.

“Don’t be. He’ll be fine. And…he asked if you might be willing to take over for him on the spring concert.”

“Wait. What?”

I get down onto the floor of the stage and let myself drop over the edge so that I’m with him in the house.

“You heard me. Someone else will conduct the Wind Ensemble. You’ll start with orchestra rehearsals on Wednesday.”

I feel my breath catch in my throat.

“Oh my God… This is amazing!” And then I think about it. Did he just say Wednesday? My hand goes up to my forehead as a try to process. I shake my head down at him. “No, Russ, this is terrible… I can’t get an entire program together in three weeks!”

He scowls his disapproval up at me.

“Stop it, we both know that’s bullshit.”

I close my eyes and try to settle the churning in my stomach. When I reopen them, he’s smirking at me.

“Just because I can memorize the score in a night doesn’t mean I’ll know how to conduct it in a night,” I whine.

“Are you through with your panic attack?”

“No. But that’s beside the point. Which Dvořák?”

“The New World Symphony.”

“The Ninth?” I ask, as if another symphony has that nickname.

He nods.

“But that can’t be the only piece on the program…”

“No, it’s not. There’s an overture to start, and the Mendelssohn Violin Concerto.”

I open my mouth to freak out on him, but he swiftly holds up a hand to stop me from imploding.

“I said I’d conduct those. You’ll only have to worry about the symphony.”

Okay, forget about imploding, I’m about to explode. Far and wide.

“Wait, wait, wait. So you’re saying that not only will I get to conduct the big piece on the big symphony concert, but that you, Russell Atherton, world-class, renown conductor, are going to come out of retirement and conduct on the same program?”

“One night only, baby,” he says, doing a mildly disturbing take on jazz hands.