The opus one

Richard cursed quietly to himself, as up ahead a trumpet player squeezed into a practice room Richard was about to claim for his own. The guy had materialized around the corner and beaten him to the room. He didn't even glance at Richard as he closed the door.

Dickhead. School hasn't even started yet, and already this place is a zoo, he thought to himself. He hefted his shoulder bag with a sigh and continued walking down the hallway past the occupied rooms. Musical fragments faded in and out of each other. Why do the oboe players have to practice in rooms with pianos?

Up ahead, a door opened. Richard quickened his pace, holding open the door as a girl walked out.

"Thanks," she said.

"No problem. It's crazy trying to find a room here."

"Yeah, for sure. What do you play, piccolo?" she asked, eyeing his bag.

"No, piano," he answered. He didn't need to ask her, as she was carrying a French horn case.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry? What's wrong with the piano?" Richard asked, surprised at her comment. Was she a brass snob, or something? he wondered. She's cute about it, though.

"Nothing, but ... You won't like this room." She looked apologetic.

Richard peeked around the door and groaned. It was one of the empty rooms. He hadn't yet learned which ones had pianos and which didn't.

"I'm Emily," she said, holding out her hand.

"Richard," he said, taking her palm in his. It was warm, and slightly damp. He figured he was sweaty too, and he hadn't even sat down to play yet. The rooms had no cooling, since vents would transmit sound from one room to the other too easily. Richard vaguely wondered how long summer lasted around here. The late-August humidity and heat permeated the building, and got trapped in the practice rooms where students would add their own heat. By late afternoon, as it was now, the rooms were almost unbearable.

But there was no other place to practice, being a pianist. Not exactly an instrument carried on the shoulder, or easily fit in half of a dorm room.

"Well, I better be going," she said.

"See ya," Richard said.

She squeezed by him in the narrow hallway. Richard closed the door to the room and then continued walking. He passed the three 'Piano Majors Only' rooms, but they were full, as usual.

Finally he found a room. He almost missed it, but then he noticed there was a gap in the patchwork symphony that played as he passed the doors. He backed up and peered through the small square window, and thankfully there was a piano in the room. And no oboe players.

Before he even sat at the bench, he was already feeling the prickles on his forehead, as sweat began to bead up. But there was nothing for it; he couldn't open the door and flood the hallway with his playing. He had his first lesson tomorrow morning, so ditching the practice was out of the question.

Richard stretched as he looked at the stack of music he had brought. He wasn't quite sure what he would play for her.

Should I choose the Liszt, go for impressive? Or Beethoven? I think I play that one section really nicely. Or the Scriabin? She is Russian, after all.

Richard adjusted the bench and sat down, running his hands through his hair. He selected a book from the pile, opened it, and began his warm up routine as he ran the piece in his head.

Three hours later, Richard was done. His throat was dry and his head was swimming. He hadn't drunk any water, but that was typical. Not many things could break him out of his concentration, not even a heavy thirst. Now that he had finished though, he realized his mistake and wandered out in desperate search of a water fountain.

The water tasted like a mix of concrete and chlorine, but he drank greedily anyway. He could almost feel the water soaking through him like liquid through a dry sponge.

When he walked back down the hall to collect his stuff, Emily was peering into his room. She didn't have her instrument with her, though.

"Oh, hey," she said, when she saw him. "I'm looking for my roommate. We were supposed to go eat dinner a half-hour ago."

"Who's your roommate?" Richard laughed to himself at his question. Not that I know anybody here yet.

"Sandra d'Arcy. Do you know her?"

"Nah, I don't," he said, with a shake of his head.

"All right, I guess I'll keep looking. See you later." She smiled and started to move past him.

"Uh, where are you going to go eat?" Richard asked.

Emily stopped right in front of him. Richard didn't back away, but she did slightly.

"I don't know, probably the Domino's pizza down the road."

Richard made a face.

"Yeah, I know, it's nasty," she said, "but it's cheap. Do you have a better suggestion?"

"No, I've already eaten there twice myself, unfortunately," he admitted.

Emily laughed. "Do you want to come?"

"Uh, sure. I think I'm done practicing. This room's an oven." Richard unconsciously wiped at his brow for the hundredth time that afternoon.

"Tell me about it."

"They should put in space heaters. It would probably cool the rooms off."

Emily laughed.

"Excuse me," said the trumpet player who had earlier beaten Richard to a room. He was walking hurriedly towards them.

"Hey, Jimmy," Emily said brightly.

"Oh, hey," he said blandly, squeezing through and hurrying off.

He's friendly, Richard thought to himself. He gave Emily a questioning look. She just shrugged wide-eyed.

"Let me get my stuff packed," Richard said, gesturing into the practice room.

"Are you in the dorm?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Cool. You want to meet in the lounge in twenty minutes?"

"Okay."

"I'll try to find Sandra meanwhile. Bring your roommate if you want," she added.

"Nah, he's not even here yet."

"Oh, all right. See you in a bit."

Richard looked after her as she walked off. I can get up in front of hundreds of people to play and not feel any nervousness; why do I feel a little anxious now?

Richard convinced himself it was his upcoming lesson with Ms. Tertychnaya that was weighing on him a little.

I'm ready, he reminded himself.

Sandra d'Arcy was incredibly gorgeous. Not just cute, not just pretty, but gorgeous. When Richard saw her and Emily come out of the stairwell and stand in the foyer, it took him a few seconds to realize they were waiting for him. As he jumped up off the couch, he hoped they didn't notice he was staring.

"Richard, Sandra," Emily introduced. Richard started to move his hand out, then took it back, feeling awkward. Then Sandra started her hand out, and for a moment there was a silly arm dance as they tried to decide whether to shake hands. Finally they did, amidst some laughing.

"Shall we?" Richard asked, holding open the door to the dorm building.

The trio stepped out into the warm evening, walking in a line but not too closely. A group of people were playing a pickup game of soccer on the lawn. He thought he'd seen a few of the people earlier that day in the practice rooms.

"So what do you play, Richard?" Sandra asked.

"Piano. You?"

"Voice."

Figures, Richard thought. She's too pretty to be buried in an orchestra pit.

"Cool," he said.

"Are you a first year?" Emily asked.

"Yeah, you two, uh, too? Also?" he asked.

They were.

"I hope this orientation stuff this week isn't too long," Richard said.

"Yeah, hopefully we don't have to do stupid games and stuff," Sandra said.

"Or sit through long meetings about common sense," Emily added. "If it's common sense, then why are they showing us? 'Lock your doors at night ... Don't let strangers into the building... ' Well, duh!"

"Yeah, I hate that stuff!" Richard exclaimed. "In high school we had these safety classes and they were so stupid. It was stuff for five-year-olds and shit."

Richard winced at having let out a bad word so soon, but the two girls didn't seem to be bothered by it.

"I mean, if you haven't learnt that stuff by now, you probably would have been kidnapped already," Sandra added.

"Weren't we supposed to get a schedule for the week?" Richard asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon at the first meeting," Sandra said.

"Ooh, I can't wait!" Emily said.

"Do we really have to eat at Domino's?" Sandra asked, as the blue and red sign came into view. She wore a grimace on her face.

"I vote for wandering the area and looking for something better," Emily said. "You guys?"

"Yeah, me too," Sandra chirped.

Richard hesitated for a moment. He didn't have much cash, and he had to stretch it out until the meal plan kicked in. That meant two more days of eating out.

"Uh, sure. As long as it's cheap. Otherwise I'll be starving the rest of the week until we hit the cafeteria."

"Eh, you'll probably starve there, too," Emily said. "I hear it's nasty."

"Yeah, Tapler Dining Hall." Sandra spat the words out. "They're under new management. Some hotel took over or something, but a polished turd is still a turd."

"Thanks, that's really appetizing, Sandra. I can't wait until Friday night," Emily said sarcastically.

"So where to?" Richard asked.

It feels good, being on my own, he thought. His nervousness was gone. Maybe it wasn't the lesson.

"Let's go up that way," Emily said, pointing. "Looks like there's stuff there."

They crossed the street and made their way towards a section of shops.

"So where are you from?" Emily asked Richard.

"New York. The Bronx, actually."

"What's your accent? It doesn't sound like New York," Sandra noted.

Richard was surprised: most people couldn't detect it. But she is a singer, so she would be in tune with those things, he reminded himself.

"I'm Italian," he said.

"Ah, parla Italiano?" Sandra said.

"Si, " Richard replied, surprise crossing his face.

"Bene, eccellente. Allora possiamo parlare e Emily non capirà!"

Emily was watching the exchange, amusement on her face. "Hey, I heard my name! Great, now you two can talk about me and I won't know what you're saying!" she said dramatically, rolling her eyes.

"No, we won't do that. That's rude," Richard assured her. "But how do you know Italian?" he asked Sandra.

"I'm a singer, remember?" Sandra chided.

"Yeah, but, I didn't know you actually learn all the languages you sing."

"Well, I like to. Otherwise, how can you really understand the text?"

"True. I never thought of that," Richard admitted, nodding.

"But some singers don't. They just learn to pronounce the words, and they know what they mean, but don't speak the language."

"Hey, how about here?" Emily said, stopping suddenly and peering into the window of a small restaurant.

Richard glanced at the menu. The prices weren't exactly like cheap pizza, but they weren't too bad.

"Sure," he said.

Sandra shrugged and opened the door.

The aromas inside of Belinda's Café were enticing. The menu was eclectic: interesting sandwiches and salads, and then five or six cooked dishes that weren't the typical café food either. Emily suggested a booth, and Richard sat across from the girls. The server brought three waters with the menus.

"Anything to drink? We have a good wine selection," the waitress offered.

I guess she thinks we're old enough, Richard thought to himself.

"Can we get the house red?" Emily asked without hesitation.

Sandra and Richard looked at each other. The server eyed the trio for a moment.

"You're all of age, right?" If she suspected otherwise, she kept it out of her voice.

I probably shouldn't have shaved back at the dorm, Richard thought. The stubble always adds a few years.

They all nodded in agreement. The server smiled knowingly and went to get the wine.

"You do drink wine, right?" Emily asked quietly, when she had left.

"Yeah, of course," Sandra said. The two girls looked at Richard expectantly.

"Come on, I'm Italian. What do you think?" Richard said. "I make my own, even."

"Really?" Emily said, eyes flashing. "That's very cool!"

"Yeah, my family makes wine. We've done it every year since I can remember," he said. Richard let out a short laugh. "I had my own wine glass for dinner when I was twelve."

"That's awesome. I wish my parents had been cool like that," Emily lamented.

Richard just shrugged and smiled. Show off, he thought to himself.

Their server brought and poured the wine, and took their order.

"Cheers," Emily said, holding out her wine.

"To new friends," Sandra said.

"New friends," Richard agreed. The three clinked their glasses together.

"I like this place," Sandra said, looking around. The dark wood paneling made the high-backed booth they sat in seem even more secluded.

"Yeah, too bad we'll be eating cafeteria food in a few days," Emily said.

"Ugh, I don't even want to think about that right now," Sandra groaned.

"So where are you two from?" Richard asked, changing the subject.

"Near Columbus, Ohio," Sandra said.

"Near the White House," said Emily.

"Is your dad the president or something?" Richard joked.

"Pfft, yeah right. My dad hates politics."

"Why does he live in Washington then?"

"Why do musicians live anywhere? That's where the job opening was."

"What does he do?"

"He conducts Baltimore."

Emily said it as simply as if he worked in retail or something.

"Your dad is Clark Rathbourne?" Richard exclaimed, eyes almost popping out of his head.

"Yeah."

"Jeez, that's awesome! Screw making wine ... That's really cool! His recording with Reston of the Tchaik piano concerto is in my top ten."

"Yeah, he's proud of that one too, though he'd never admit it," Emily said. "He takes himself way too seriously to admit it."

Richard looked at Emily in amazement. He always knew, vaguely, that music school would be a place where he'd meet some incredible musicians, but the reality suddenly hit him full on. I'm sitting across from the daughter of Clark Rathbourne, one of the country's top orchestra conductors.

"I'm just his daughter," Emily said dismissively, as if reading his mind. She looked a little uncomfortable.

Richard realized he was staring. "I'm sorry, of course. I didn't mean to make a big deal out of it."

"No problem. I get that all the time." She took a long drink of her wine.

Is she annoyed with me? Richard wondered.

"She gets tired of people talking to her about her dad," Sandra added. Emily rolled her eyes, but didn't dispute Sandra's comment.

Richard made note of that, and decided not to bring up Clark Rathbourne again.

A few hours later, the server poured the last bit of the wine into their glasses. Richard opened the check she had set down.

As he looked through his wallet, he wondered about the wisdom of ordering the second bottle of wine. Paying for the entire meal was out of the question now, although he wanted to do so out of chivalry. He was buzzed, and thus feeling generous. Maybe I can just eat ramen the next two days.

The girls, meanwhile, had eyed the bill and each placed a twenty on the table. Richard vacillated for a moment, and then decided that he wouldn't even have enough for ramen if he footed the whole bill. It's not a date, anyway, dumb ass!

He placed a twenty down on top of theirs.

"Looks like it's Domino's the rest of the week," Richard lamented.

"Yeah, but this was way fun," Emily said. Her voice had gotten bubbly over the course of the second bottle. Any friction from the discussion about her dad was long gone.

"We should do this every week," Sandra agreed with a grin.

"Wouldn't that be cool?" Emily said.

"Whoa, hold up," Richard interrupted. "I have like fifty dollars left for the next two weeks, until work study kicks in."

"Fifty bucks? Heh, Domino's is right then!" Sandra said.

"Looks like we'll need a booth for two next time," Emily said, nudging Sandra.

"Hey, thanks a lot!" Richard cried. "So my family doesn't have a lot of money," he admitted glumly.

"Richard, we were just teasing you," Sandra said, patting his hand.

"Yeah, chill," Emily agreed. "I can spot you some cash until you start working. What are you going to be doing anyway?"

"I think front desk duty."

"Sounds real fun," Emily said sarcastically.

"Are either of you studying at work study?" Richard asked.

"Nah," Emily said.

"I am. I'm an usher for concerts. Sucks."

"Sucks? I'm going to be stuck answering phones for ten hours a week."

"And I'm going to be ushering cranky old lechers to their seats while they try to look down my blouse," Sandra complained.

Emily and Richard laughed.

She has a point, Richard thought. Although I'd try and look down her blouse if I was an old lecher, too. Richard's eyes inadvertently dropped to Sandra's chest for a moment, before he caught himself and looked back at her eyes. Sandra was watching him with a smile. If she noticed his glance wandering, she didn't show it.

"Want to switch?" Richard asked. "You have a much better phone voice than me, I'm sure. And no one will want to look down my, uh, blouse. Not that I'd wear one," he added quickly.

The girls giggled.

"So you'd go topless?" Emily asked. Sandra let out another giggle.

Richard considered them for a moment. "Sure, why not?"

"That would be brilliant!" Emily exclaimed. She laughed wildly. "Maybe the whole usher staff should show up topless one night!"

Sandra smacked her arm. "Dream on! Easy for you to say, Miss I'm-not-doing-work-study!"

"Well, the guys at least should do it," she amended.

"Yeah, that's not going to happen. Brenda is the usher coordinator and I've heard she's a real dictator."

"Oh well, one can dream."

Emily held out her wine glass unsteadily over the center of the table.

"To topless ushers!" she said loudly. The people at the next table looked over with a mix of smiles and frowns.

"Shh!" Sandra and Richard admonished, as they clinked their glasses together. But they couldn't help laughing with Emily.

The walk home was noisy, but fun.

Irina Tertychnaya mostly thinks in English now. She wasn't sure when the change had happened. She found it amusing that in the twenty years or so that she had been at the Wexford Conservatory, she had changed her internal language, and yet her accent was as thick as the day she first stepped foot through the glass doors of the school. Marrying an American artist probably helped the change; she no longer spoke Russian other than the occasional chat with Yuri, the principal bassoonist of the orchestra.

There was not a significant Russian population in this city, and she was rather glad for it. She didn't need to be reminded of the horrors of her youth anymore. She had lived with them. Once was enough.

She sighed. Late to the first lesson. Not a good start for Mr. Mazzini.

"Come," she said, leaving a few moments of silence between the rap on the door and her call.

A tall young man entered her studio. He looked like he had just woken up, and his eyes were a bit red.

"Will this time not work for you, Mr. Mazzini?"

"I'm sorry?" he said.

"You are late. If you prefer the afternoon, we can change."

The man looked at his watch.

"I'm sorry. Wasn't the lesson at nine?"

"Yes, Mr. Mazzini. It is two minutes after nine."

He looked a bit taken aback. Irina chuckled to herself. He won't be late again.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to find the alarm ... I mean, I was trying to find the room, and my alarm..." he stammered.

Irina waved him silent. "Play, Mr. Mazzini," she said, gesturing to the bench sitting in front of the worn black piano.

He looked at her for another moment, and then set down his bag on the floor. As he started taking out his music, she got his attention with a cough.

When he turned to her, she gave him a quick shake of the head, and gestured to the piano again.

He straightened up, and then sat on the bench. Irina watched his large hands work the rollers to lower the bench. He tried the height several times, finally getting the bench low enough. She took note of the position so she could have it ready for him in the future. It was the last time he would need to waste lesson time fussing with it.

He breathed loudly and deeply, and his hands shook slightly as he laid them on the piano. Then he began.

Irina smiled a little as he pounded out the opening octaves of a Liszt piece, Après un lecture du Dante. The piece was perhaps overly bombastic for starting his first lesson with, but he was young. She wasn't surprised at his choice. She had given enough first lessons to know how eager students were to impress her.

This time, she was impressed, although not by his choice of piece. He was the first person to play something different than what he had played at his audition half a year earlier. That pleased her; he had not stopped working after being accepted to the conservatory.

She listened carefully, and after a few minutes smiled again. He has impressive technique, but still has much to learn about music, she thought.

He stopped once, a glitch in memory, and then went on. That didn't bother her. The piece was demonic in more ways than one. He might not have been expecting to play without music, although he should have been prepared.

After he played a few minutes of the first slow section, Irina stood. She watched his strong hands from over his shoulder, waiting for him to reach the return to the darker theme. It would be cruel to stop him in the middle of the climactic build up, so she waited until the tremolo which signaled the end of the euphoric dolcissimo section. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay, Mr. Mazzini."

He stopped almost reluctantly, and sat stone-still, looking at the keys.

Irina returned to her chair, crossing her legs. "Start again."

He looked at her, face drawn, and then turned to the keys again. After he played the first few bars, she stopped him again.

"Where is the melody?"

He thought for a moment, and then fingered the upper voice of the chords.

"I guess it's that," he said.

Irina stood and moved around to his left. She reached in to the keys, and smiled slightly as he shied away from her body as it brushed his shoulder.

Much to learn about life.

"What about this?" she said, playing the lower notes of the chords. "Or this?" She played the inner voice. Each moved with a different feeling.

"Uh, I don't know. Those are part of the chords, I guess?"

"Mr. Mazzini, in music you cannot guess. You cannot say, 'I don't know.'"

His complexion turned a little red.

"Play that for me again. Just the first phrase."

He complied, but she stopped him after the first few notes.

"No, Mr. Mazzini. Like you played before. With authority."

He took a breath and started again.

"Think about the melody you showed me," she said softly near his ear.

He played through the chords as before.

"No. I do not hear it. Play me the melody alone."

He played the six notes singly.

"Again. It must sing. Do you know who Dante is?"

He nodded. Again he played. This time he stopped himself and tried again.

"Yes, better. Now, play again, both hands. I want to hear the melody."

"Is that the way it should be phrased?" he asked.

"It does not matter right now. Play it how you hear it to be."

He started again.

"Again," Irina chimed, as he reverted to chords. "Melody!"

She smiled as he successfully transmitted the melody through the chords.

"Yes, that is good." Irina returned to her chair. "Riccardo, you play well."

He looked up at her, smiling ever so slightly. Was it at her use of his real name, or from the praise, she didn't know. She could tell he didn't think she was happy, but she didn't press the issue. She wouldn't often be telling him how well he played. Praise was a minimal motivator unless used judiciously.

"You play well, but you cannot guess," she repeated. "You must think about the music you play. Every note is important, or we would leave it out. But why is that note, or this note, important? That is up to you to decide. To interpret."

Richard nodded.

"Now, let us look at the other notes in the chords. Play the lower voice for me."

He has great potential, Irina thought to herself. Of course he does, or I wouldn't have accepted him. The things I can teach him...

"I think she doesn't like me," Richard said.

"Did she rip you a new one?" Emily asked. She was sipping from a glass of fruit punch provided at the orientation session. I'm glad he came over to talk to me, she thought.

"Maybe a few new ones. I got there a minute late, literally, and she was all over me for that."

"Well, first lesson ... I wouldn't get too depressed yet. There's plenty of time for that, later."

"Heh, right. We spent an hour and a half on just two pages of one piece. At this rate, I better start figuring out what'll be on my senior recital!"

Emily laughed. She was happy to have bumped into Richard the day before. She knew a number of people attending the school, through music festivals and summer orchestra programs. But pianists were not in that loop, being for the most part soloists. It was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn't constantly going on about how great Tanglewood had been, or what guest conductor had graced the stage at Spoleto. Or talking about her father. Richard had been gracious enough to let that go the night before, and she appreciated it.

"Where's Sandra?" Richard asked.

Figures, she thought. The pretty ones have it so easy. She wondered if having Sandra as a roommate would make meeting guys hard. Will she just suck them away from me as they approach? But Emily liked Sandra enough that it wasn't a problem. For now, at least.

"She said she was going to be a few minutes late. She likes to make an entrance. Singers, you know..."

Richard chuckled. "Yeah. So what's on our schedule, then?" Richard studied the paper he had grabbed from the stack.

"A week of fun and games," Emily said acerbically.

"Art museums should be cool though," he said.

"True," she agreed.

"Dinner at the dean's house, bus tour of the city, tour of Crantz Hall, and a bunch of meetings. Fun."

"Common sense meetings, I'm sure."

"Yeah. Dorm safety, crap like that."

"All right, people!" cried the resident hall director. "Sit, please!"

"Should have saved some seats," Richard said, as the lounge couches and chairs quickly filled up.

The pair sat on the floor, leaning back against an end table.

"All right, let's go around the room. Introduce yourselves. Say your name, your year, your instrument, and what was the highlight of your summer. I'll start. My name is Joey. I'm a second year masters student in the bassoon department, and your dorm director."

Emily listened as the group of mostly first-years followed Joey's example. As expected, most tried to trump the previous speaker with their summer highlight.

"My summer highlight was attending a masterclass by Perlman..."

"I played a recital in the Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie..."

"Blah, blah, blah..."

"Emily Rath Bourne, first year, French horn, and playing beach soccer every night was my summer highlight."