Angelica glanced at Kirk. He was staring intently at her and she wondered how much he could hear. He looked at her quizzically.
Frustration rose.
“Mom, I’ll take care of it.”
She knew her voice was rising, but she was angry her mother kept harping on this when Angelica had been enjoying her break from routine. She was not a child.
Kirk placed his hand over hers holding the phone and pulled it away. “What?” he asked softly.
“She won’t listen.”
“Then hang up,” he said.
She stared at him. Then put the phone back to her ear. Her mother was talking, but she’d missed most of what she’d said.
“I have to go now, Mom. Goodbye.”
Then she hung up the phone. Staring at it in amazement, she couldn’t believe she’d hung up on her mother.
“Angelica,” he said.
She looked up.
“You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re a capable adult, fully able to make your own decisions. Why get upset over a conversation on the phone?”
“They act like I can’t think for myself. Like I have to fulfil some great scheme to be the best violinist ever in the world. And before this summer, I’ve always let them tell me what to do. I’m not sure I can stand up to them.”
“Just say no,” he said.
She repeated the phrase and nodded.
“Here’s hoping.”
The phone rang again. Angelica looked at it and then shrugged.
“Let it ring. Thanks for cutting the grass. It smells so fresh. And the roses show better without the scraggly grass. Want more tea?”
The phone continued to ring.
“Let’s move to the porch,” she suggested.
She’d never deliberately ignored her parents in her life. It felt oddly liberating. She was an adult. She could make her own choices. And right now she chose to not answer the phone just because it was ringing.
After Kirk had left, however, Angelica began to feel a twinge of guilt. She should at least see what her agent had to say. She could always just say no.
Calling him, she was surprised how anxious he was to speak to her.
“Never leave town without leaving a forwarding phone number,” he said.
“I’m on vacation,” she said, not at all pressured by Henry, not like with her parents. “My mother said you have a gig?”
“I cringe at your slang. This is a marvelous opportunity to showcase your best work in a tour of five capitals in Europe,several concerts in each venue. It’s in conjunction with the Musique Francais production. How can you refuse?”
“When and where?” she asked.
The Musique Francais was very prestigious. Her mother was right, this would be the opportunity of a lifetime—especially for one as young as she was.
“Rome, Berlin, Madrid, Paris and London. Starting the second week in September. I’ve already stalled longer than I should have, trying to reach you. You’d have to fly to London to begin rehearsals and practice next week. There is no time to waste. How soon can you be back in New York?”
