“Why not before?”
He looked at me steadily. “Because an acknowledgment offered under duress is not an acknowledgment. It is a ransom payment. He may deserve the credit, but I will not allow him authorship of my response.”
“If what he needs is the acknowledgment delivered in public,” I said, “what you’re planning is arriving too late.”
“No, the timing is correct. He disagrees.”
“And if he’s past the point where your terms mean anything to him—“
“I accept the arithmetic, Mr. Reyes. I am not arguing against your assessment. I am telling you what I will do.” He glanced toward the window. The live oaks threw shadows on the marble. “I will not conduct this concert under negotiated terms. That is not stubbornness. It is the only thing I have left to protect that is entirely mine.”
I stood.
“Mr. Reyes, I know what this could cost me.”
He reopened the score. The conversation was over.
Eamon took the update in the kitchen while drinking a cup of coffee. Luca was in the courtyard tending the lemon trees.
“So,” Eamon said, “either that acknowledgment is what Henri wants and the problem resolves itself, or he wants control of the moment and Dominic’s decision changes nothing.”
“I suspect it’s not enough.”
Eamon swallowed the last of his coffee.
“If the shot comes from the balcony,” I said, “Dominic is standing in the cleanest sightline in the theater.”
“Then we move the mark.” We returned to the Orpheum that afternoon, accompanied by Dominic with his full consent.
The stage manager met us near house left. Dominic addressed him first.
“I want the podium further upstage. Six feet. Acoustic refinement.”
“That changes the visual balance.”
“Yes.” Dominic adopted an entirely convincing flat and faintly irritated tone. “Fortunately, the audience came to hear music and not to observe my relationship with the front edge of the stage.”
Micah appeared from stage right with tape and a blade. He took in the request, crouched at the original mark, and worked without questions: lift, peel, measure, replace. He set the new position six feet upstage, close against the orchestra risers, just inside the shadow line the proscenium threw across the deck.
After moving the risers, it would look like a minor revision from the house seats. From the balcony, the sight line to the original position would be eradicated.
Dominic stepped onto the new mark and raised one hand. He glanced over his shoulder. “Two inches left.”
Micah adjusted. Dominic tried the new position. “Better.”
He stepped down, baton in hand, and looked at me. He shrugged. “Move it wherever you need to. I’ve been making artistic revisions for fifty years.”
Eamon smiled. I had not seen him smile all day.
Micah peeled the backing from the last edge of tape and pressed it smooth with the heel of his palm. He rose and began gathering his tools. Then he stopped.
He stood at the new mark for two or three seconds longer than the job required, looking at it. Not checking his work. His work was done. He was examining the position itself.
He picked up his tape roll and walked back to the wing. I watched him go.
Eamon appeared at my shoulder. “You saw that.”
“Yes.”
