CHAPTER23
Over dinner, Ian learned they all were coming to the next evening’s concert.
“Don’t think that lets you off the hook, playing tonight,” Aldana warned. “Not for a single teeny-tiny instant.”
Amos, her husband, said, “Not the most polite request I’ve ever heard.”
“He brought his guitar. It’s there in our front room.” Aldana smiled across the table. “If you want some begging, honey, just say the word.”
“It’s fine,” Ian said.
And it was. The evening was warm, and the insects were being kept at bay by torches rimming the dining area. Their welcoming acceptance was as clear as the rising moon. Ian played two pieces; then the younger children started to squirm. He accepted their applause, played an encore, then bid them all a good night.
During the walk back to Kari’s new home, Ian told her about his conversation with Israel Saban, the conductor. On the surface, it had gone much as expected. Saban had broken down the two pieces into their component parts. He had focused almost exclusively on the orchestral score, identifying themes and highlighting elements that flowed into Ian’s primary guitar work. The only time Saban had delved into Ian’s actual playing was at those points where he wanted something different from how Ian had played them on his CDs.
Under other circumstances, Ian would have thanked the conductor for taking such care, as Saban had obviously listened to Ian’s earlier performances with the scores in his hands.
Instead, he had remained almost completely silent.
Saban had addressed Ian with frigid scorn. The conductor started their conversation by recounting the upheaval Ian’s actions had caused him, the orchestra, the festival, even city officials. Everyone involved had been pushed to the limit by this detestable guitarist. Well, his spoiled-star attitude had crossed the line. Saban would not put up with any more such antics. He wanted to make sure that was perfectly clear.
Which was the one time Ian spoke during their conversation. “Perfectly.”
When Ian finished relating the worst part of an otherwise good day, they walked the night-clad lane linked by far more than their hands. The only sounds were the kitten’s constant purring and their footsteps along the pavement. The quiet was as comfortable as the starlight.
Ian marveled at the ease he felt over confessing his shame to this remarkable lady.
Finally, Kari asked, “What will you do? I mean, during the performance.” When Ian did not respond, she added, “Playing for a conductor who hates you, that must be terrible.”
“Knowing the pieces helps. Which I do. Backward and forward.” Another few steps, then, “I’ll do my best to focus on the music. My role especially. Once we get going, it will be okay. I hope.”
She tightened her hold on his hand. It was her turn to ask, “How can I help?”
They stopped there in the middle of the starlit lane. “Do you really want to?”
“Yes, Ian. Very much.”
“Be there. On the stage. Where I can see you if things go bad.”
Her eyes glowed in the dim illumination. “You can make that happen?”
“I’m the soloist. It’s a rare request in a classical concert, but I’ve seen it happen. I’ll ask them to give you a stool, so you’re high enough for me to see you. You’ll be positioned back behind the curtain, stage left.”
“I actually don’t know what to say.”
“Yes would be nice.”
“Of course, yes. I’m honored, Ian. And so deeply touched.”
It was the most natural thing in the world to kiss her. He kept his arm around her as they continued on.
“Can I make a suggestion?” he asked after a while.
“Of course.”
“Kari, I hope you won’t take this the wrong way.”
“I won’t know about that unless you tell me.”
