Page 17 of Solo

Kilpatrick stands up, rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath.

“I’m telling you, Doc, if you don’t talk someone else will. Don’t say I didn’t give you first crack at it!” he calls out over his shoulder as he exits my office.

I get up to close and lock the door behind him. What a weasely little shit! And who the hell has been telling him about what goes on in my class? I sit back down and consider what he’s just said to me. I’m tough, sure, but a hard-ass? I’ve had my share of asshole professors in my time. Mean sons of bitches who’d fuck with us just to fuck with us. But that’s not me.

I set a high bar for my students because they need to know what it’s like out there. I’ve been out in the world of professional classical music and if they’re not prepared—if they’re not tough enough—they’re going to get chewed up and spit out faster than they can call mommy and daddy to come get them. I refuse to do my students the injustice of letting them think it’s going to be easy for them once they leave the safety and security of Shepherd University. It’s not. And they need to be prepared for that reality.

And that includes Katherine Brenner. Even though she irks me. Even though she brings out the worst in me. Even though I know it’s not her fault. It just doesn’t matter.

Chapter Seven

Kate

“Let it go. Let it go. Let it go. Let it goooooo…”

Ughhh! That stupid song from that stupid movie is haunting my dreams. God! I wish whoever’s playing that shit would just let it go. But they don’t. The tune keeps playing and playing and playing. It stops at some point, only to return a short time later.

By the third refrain, my subconscious begins to accept that this isn’t a dream at all. I’m really hearing this. And from close by. Groaning, I lift my head and, through bleary eyes, spot my phone on the table next to me.

I crossed the line between under the weather and sick as a dog somewhere in the middle of the night and I’ve been in and out of a hazy stupor ever since, not quite able to discern what’s real from what I’m dreaming. This is definitely real. Not a dream, unfortunately. The image of a cartoon character is lit up on my display. She’s got long, white hair, a bluish complexion, and a crown made of icicles. The Ice Queen is calling me, and that’s never a good thing.

“Hello?” I answer, my voice hoarse from sleep.

“Hello, Katherine. This is Leandra Styverson, your father’s press secretary?”

“Yes, Leandra. I know who you are,” I mumble.

“Are you all right, Katherine? You don’t sound so good…”

“I’m fine, thank you, Leandra. What did you need?”

“Uh, well, I’m calling on behalf of the senator. He’s going to be in North Carolina next month, on the campus of Shepherd University. He’s participating in a political town hall and he’d like for you to attend.”

When I don’t respond immediately, she continues.

“I’ve arranged to have a ticket held for you at will call. I would recommend dressing in something a little less casual than you’re used to. There will be television crews and it’s entirely possible you’ll be picked up on camera.”

“I see.”

“So we can expect you to be there then?”

“No.”

Long pause. This response can’t have come as a surprise to Leandra. This is hardly the first time we’ve done this dance.

“May I ask why?”

“Leandra,” I say on a long sigh, “we both know that the only reason he, or, more likely, you want me there is so there’s someone in the audience for the camera to cut to when they’re talking about him. The sweet, devoted daughter. It’s all about—what do you call it? Optics, right?”

She doesn’t respond for a long, uncomfortable second.

“Very well, I’ll pass on the message.”

“Great. Thank you, Leandra. Good-bye—”

“Wait, please, Katherine. There’s something else,” she squeezes in before I can hang up and resume my hibernation under the blankets.

“What?” I moan, unable to keep up the feeling fine facade.