Preludes, page 11
Anne was, of course, thrilled to be featured in this first concert of the season, and she had arranged to be at the rehearsals. The first one was shortly after Labour Day, once the arts seasons and schools were starting back again after the summer break. There was nothing much for her to do at this rehearsal—the piece had been performed countless times over the last seven years, and recorded twice, and it was past the point where Anne could change any part of it even if she wanted to do so—but she had been asked by the orchestra’s board to attend, and it was always a thrill to hear how a different conductor would interpret her notes.
Her stomach jolted at the understanding that this conductor was Fred, who had been so intimately involved in the piece’s inception, and with its composer. He was far too much of an artist and a professional to allow any personal baggage to colour his interpretation, but the notion disturbed Anne, nonetheless.
Thank heavens she would only be at some of the rehearsals. In addition to her duties with the orchestra, Anne was on faculty at the University’s music school and her classes were starting up again as well. She only taught two courses on composition, but she worked with three students in the composition program and she was expected to be available at certain times. Some of those obligations conflicted with the rehearsals, but she had communicated this to the board, which in turn had cleared the matter with Fred.
She gave a bitter laugh. Not so long ago, they would have just spoken face to face and resolved such a minor issue in seconds. Now it involved formal communications through a third party.
Damn, she missed those old days.
“You must be so excited!” Jasmine fixed her with bright and curious eyes. “Does it ever get old, Anne, hearing your music being performed live on the concert stage?”
The two friends had met a couple of times since they reconnected and were now sitting by the boardwalk along Lake Ontario, watching the world go by. On the split pathway, people walked this way and that, some alone, others in pairs or in groups, some dragging along children or pushing strollers. Beside this path, there ran a separate one dedicated to bicycles and rollerbladers, allowing them to race without disturbing those on foot. Just beyond them, Lake Ontario glistened in the hot August sun. White gulls hovered in the air right at the edge of the water and water fowl bobbed up and down on the ripples that marred the smooth surface of the lake. Further out in the water the drone of a Seadoo ripped a swath through the water and someone on skis came tearing after it, while out in the far distance a small armada of sailboats poked their white masts and sails up into the air as their crews enjoyed the last days of the summer.
But Jasmine’s eyes weren’t on the bikers or the boats. They were fixed quite firmly on Anne.
Anne shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. But really, she just barely kept the huge smile that threatened to break free. At last, she gave in and giggled like a schoolgirl. “It is, really. I keep thinking that I’m still dreaming, that the CDs are little figments of my imagination.”
“And that movie!”
“Is it real?” She laughed.
The friends shared a great smile. Then Anne continued. “I have to be at the first concert, and at the reception afterwards, but the real fun is watching the rehearsals. Say, Jaz, do you want to come along to one of them?”
Her friend’s eyes shone even more brightly, if such a thing were possible.
“Really?” Then her smile broke. “Oh. I would love that, but it depends on when it is. My students, you know…”
“Even during the daytime? I thought they would all come after school.”
“Oh, most do. But some parents pull their kids from school for music lessons, and I teach a lot of very young kids during the day and do a preschool music class at a daycare. Anything to pull in a few dollars. Connor still hasn’t found work…”
Anne had wondered about this. Jasmine had never mentioned her husband’s work in any specific terms, but it seemed like he was between jobs, and not intentionally. This was the first time her friend had actually said anything, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.
Jasmine saved her from an awkward blunder. “I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want you feeling sorry for me, and I certainly didn’t want it to seem like I was asking for anything. I know that even famous composers don’t live in fancy mansions. And it’s a bit embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“Do you want to walk and talk about it at all?”
They got up from the bench and found some freezies to sip on. Then they strolled with the other pedestrians until they found a bit of a pier, nestled amongst the condominiums and marinas down on the waterfront.
“We were doing well, really. Connor had a great job as a financial advisor, and I was bringing in a bit of extra teaching violin. We saved everything we could to buy a house. Then one of his friends told him about this amazing investment opportunity in the Caribbean. Some fantastic project that would quintuple its value in a couple of years, a hotel complex in a very popular spot. The plan was to buy in and keep our small apartment in the meantime until the dividends started coming in, and then we’d buy our dream house.
“Connor was so confident about it. He worked in investment, after all, and he did his homework. It looked absolutely like a sure thing. So we put in everything we had, and more. And then, just before the project was to get going, something happened. The original conglomerate sold out to another company, who immediately changed everything about the project and demanded twice what we had put in to keep our investment. We couldn’t afford that. We had nothing left, and a load of debt.”
“But surely the first group had to give you your money back. Isn’t that how these things work?”
Jasmine sighed. She sat very still, her eyes fixed on the small toy-like boats bobbing out in the vast lake, white miniatures against a background of varied blues. She did not turn to look at Anne as she spoke. “Yes, in theory. But then things got tied up in legal and appeals, and time just ticks more slowly in some places than in others. Our lawyer keeps promising we’ll get every penny back, but he can’t guess when. When Connor’s clients found out he’d been hoodwinked, they all abandoned him, and no one else wants to hire an investor who lost a half a million dollars of his own money overnight. So it’s just me and the violin lessons now.” She stared over the glimmering water. “I’m sorry, Annie. I’m being a downer. I just wanted to celebrate your success.”
Anne wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jaz. I really am. If I hear of anyone wanting lessons, I’ll mention your name. But listen, you should come along to the dress rehearsal if you can. I’ll get you the time, or come to one of the others if that’s better. And I want you to meet my friend Sophia. She and her husband move in rather elevated circles and they may know of things.”
“Oh no! I would never ask anything like that. I don’t want charity!”
“You’re just talking to them. Leads aren’t charity. That’s all it would be. You never know who knows someone who might know someone. And you’ll love Sophia. Maybe after the rehearsal we can all go for lunch or a drink.”
The smile was back, even though it was quieter and sadder now. “Thanks. You are such a wonderful friend. I wish we hadn’t drifted apart the way we did. I’m so glad we’ve reconnected.”
Soon it was the last weekend of the summer. Monday would be Labour Day, the temporal portal that stood sentry over the year, separating the two months of summer and relaxation from the following months of work and effort. It was a rare person who was not somehow affected by this transition. Schools would start up again for those with children; performing arts seasons would begin; work became more serious.
As might be expected, this long weekend was often one of revelry, a sort of Mardi Gras before a period of Lenten restraint. Everybody was back in town from wherever they might have spent the summer or part thereof; everybody was looking forward to a final celebratory bash before buckling down to the serious work ahead. Anne was no exception.
She had been invited to three such parties over the long weekend. All of these invitations, she knew, were due solely to her position as composer-in-residence and not to her personal charms, but this was not unexpected. She was not a habitual party goer. But she looked through the invitations with a professional eye and accepted everything that she could fit into her schedule.
The first party, which she had little real desire to attend, was a backyard affair and barbecue on the Saturday afternoon. One of the orchestra members whom she knew from university had invited her, along with the rest of the orchestra. Trina was a gifted musician who had the fortune of having married into a wealthy family, and the grounds behind their suburban home were more than sufficient to hold the entire orchestra. There would be excellent food as well, Anne knew, and the company of people who spoke her language.
But the afternoon would be either hot and humid or rainy and humid, and no amount of beer and potato salad would make up for having to come up with enough pleasant things to say to all those people who likely saw her as either an interloper or some sort of other-worldly creature, now condescending to spend time with mere mortals. If not for the real desire not to seem, frankly, like a snob, she would have begged off. She wondered if Fred would be there. If Louisa, the horn player, was going to attend, he would almost certainly join her. Local social media had, after all, been twittering all summer with photos of the two together at this function and that, the magenta-haired dynamo hanging off his arm with a possessive glint in her eyes.
The idea was painful, and she wished, once more, that she had some perfect excuse not to attend.
On Saturday evening, there was to be another event, this much smaller and perhaps easier to get out of. Jasmine and Connor were going to a club to see a small jazz band and had invited her along. In theory, it was a wonderful plan. She knew relatively little about jazz, but always enjoyed it in the background, and moreover, she loved live music in its proper setting. And what better place for a jazz band than a cosy pub?
But after an afternoon in the sun, surrounded by the din of a hundred people all talking and calling to each other, drinking warm beer and smelling over-done burgers and greasy chips, she was certain that she would want nothing more for the evening than to sit at home. Home would be quiet and peaceful. She could have a cool drink of lemonade and eat fresh fruit and ice cream from the tub and not worry about finding more suitable things to say, even if it were to people she liked.
Still, it was such a delight to have Jasmine back in her life. She had forgotten how well they had got along at university, and the casual friendliness of their school days was maturing into the more intimate friendship of mature adults. She was eager to meet Connor, and did not want to do anything to suggest that she felt otherwise. And so, to the club she would go. At least Fred would not be there.
The only party that held any real appeal to her was the Crofts’ affair, to be held in the large party room in their building on Sunday evening. This was a welcome-back celebration for the orchestra’s board and staff and their partners. In true Sophia style, it would be formal and very elegant. Fine wine would be served instead of cold beer; tuxedos and cocktail gowns worn in place of shorts and flip-flops. Anne had not seen Sophia in a couple of weeks, but she could well imagine her friend buzzing about in her accustomed methodical manner, organising a small crew of waiters and prep staff to help out the caterer she had almost certainly engaged for the event.
It was not the food or the elegance of the evening that made this a welcome-ish event, but the company. Sophia had the gift of making everybody feel comfortable and welcome, and Anne loved watching her at work. And William would be there. This she knew for certain because he had called to ask if he might pick her up and attend with her. They were not a couple, per se, but arriving and departing together would send a certain message to anybody who had not already noticed.
This devolved into another session of staring at her bedroom ceiling, trying to work out what, exactly, she hoped for where the handsome William Barnett was concerned. She was not in love with him, not now, at least. This she could say for certain, and wondered if she hoped that might change. Still, while she enjoyed his company greatly when they were out together, she didn’t miss him at all when they were apart. He had been away for a week now, seeing to some project somewhere down south. Or, at least, Anne thought it was a week. He had mentioned something when they met for an outdoor concert shortly after the trip to his development up north. After the concert, he had suggested they grab a coffee and then, over chai and cheesecake, had mumbled something about an upcoming trip before asking if she would accompany him to Sophia’s function. She smiled and wished him a good and productive time while away, but she had not really taken much notice of the details. The light was suggesting an unusual harmonic progression and her mind was miles away, buried deep in the lines of some imaginary manuscript paper, subverting the cycle of fifths.
It was funny. She and William had been out several times together, sometimes to the parks, sometimes to a show. But it was almost always somewhere public, and despite the growing friendship between them, it lacked… something. Intimacy, perhaps. Not the physical sort, although he was a handsome man and the idea was not unpleasant. Should he make some more suggestive overtures, she might well accept them, and with pleasure. Perhaps, rather, there was a sort of emotional intimacy that she was missing. She didn’t really know him. Despite all the time they had spent together, she still did not sense she knew the inner man beneath his suave veneer. How strange. The thought flitted across her mind not for the first time.
She had finished a morning’s worth of work on her choir commission and was pleased with her progress. Now she was wandering around her apartment, debating going outside into the sticky heat or sitting at home eating ice cream from the tub. Both had their appeals and their drawbacks.
She replaced her manuscript paper into the drawer where she kept it and sharpened her pencil, ready for the next day’s work. It was an old habit she had, preparing her tools for the next time she picked them up. Pencils sharp and lined up, eraser at the ready. A book of composition techniques faced her from the bookshelf, and Pauline Johnson’s poetry stared at her from where she had pinned it to her corkboard. In front of all of these, Fred’s face flashed before her, a figment of her imagination and more real than the physical objects before her. That’s what she always saw when she was thinking of something else. Fred, not William.
She sighed.
Would he ever leave that space he had carved out in her heart? There was no avoiding him professionally, but surely, she could learn to live without him emotionally.
Still, Fred would be at Sophia’s party, and if Fred was in attendance, Louisa would be likewise. Now, for the first time, she longed to see William again. His presence at her side would make her feel far less like the rejected lover, the spare wheel.
Oh, why was this all so complicated? She flopped back onto her bed and ran her hands through her hair.
Hair. She needed a haircut. Something for Sophia’s party. It was a week away, and she just had time to make an appointment. It was something to do, something to keep her busy. Maybe she would even be brave enough to try a different style for a change.
Before she could convince herself otherwise, she picked up the phone to call her salon. New season, new style, new Anne. It would be done.
Chapter Thirteen
Tremolo
“Oh my God, Annie! Look at you!”
Jasmine rushed up to Anne’s table at the coffee shop and stopped just short. She held her hands in front of her in a mock picture frame to capture Anne’s face and beamed. “What brought this change about? You look fabulous, like a different person. Oh… not that you didn’t look good before, but…” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, but didn’t stop smiling.
Anne fluffed her newly shorn hair. At least, it felt shorn. It still fell to her chin, with long layers framing her face and giving the ends a bit of bounce and texture. Jessica, her hairstylist, had kept the colour its natural dark brown, but had added just a bit of apricot gloss to make her tresses glow with hidden golden depths. Not a new colour, just… more colour. The apricot brought out the blush in Anne’s cheeks, and she felt, if not younger, fresher.
“You like it?” Jasmine nodded, her eyes wide. “I’ve had that old style for so long. It was easy—just wash and pull back into a ponytail. I can still pull it back and have those fashionable wispy things around my face, but now it looks okay loose as well. This takes some work, but I feel like a grownup for a change. I’ve even bought some mousse!”
“You look like a movie star,” her friend agreed. “Smart, outrageously talented, and gorgeous, too. Think about what you’re doing to us mere mortals.”
Anne had to laugh. Jasmine had one of the prettiest faces she had ever seen. “Mere mortal, nothing. If I’m a movie star, then I’m in perfect company. What can I get you? No, no arguing. I just got my cheque from my choir commission and I insist. Latte? Chai?”
“Pah, chai! No one here makes chai like back in India. A vanilla latte will do fine.”
“Biscotti? No. Cheesecake. It’s a cheesecake sort of day. I’ll be back in a moment.”
A few minutes later, Anne returned with two tall steaming cups and two plates on a tray. The friends contemplated the choices of strawberry and chocolate cheesecake, and eventually decided to split both down the middle.
For a moment the chatter fell silent, all due reverence being owed to the cheesecake. Rich, creamy, sweet… and that bright tang of sweet strawberry, followed by the gentle bitter tones of the chocolate. It was prayer on a fork.
“Mmmm. Thank you.” Jasmine leaned back against her chair, eyes closed and a beatific smile on her face. She picked up her latte and took a small sip. “It’s a good thing I don’t do this often. I’d be three hundred pounds.” She drew her fork over her strawberry cheesecake and looked up at Anne. “So why is it a cheesecake sort of day? Not that I’m complaining at all.” Now she picked up a sliver of cake and popped it into her mouth.
Her stomach jolted at the understanding that this conductor was Fred, who had been so intimately involved in the piece’s inception, and with its composer. He was far too much of an artist and a professional to allow any personal baggage to colour his interpretation, but the notion disturbed Anne, nonetheless.
Thank heavens she would only be at some of the rehearsals. In addition to her duties with the orchestra, Anne was on faculty at the University’s music school and her classes were starting up again as well. She only taught two courses on composition, but she worked with three students in the composition program and she was expected to be available at certain times. Some of those obligations conflicted with the rehearsals, but she had communicated this to the board, which in turn had cleared the matter with Fred.
She gave a bitter laugh. Not so long ago, they would have just spoken face to face and resolved such a minor issue in seconds. Now it involved formal communications through a third party.
Damn, she missed those old days.
“You must be so excited!” Jasmine fixed her with bright and curious eyes. “Does it ever get old, Anne, hearing your music being performed live on the concert stage?”
The two friends had met a couple of times since they reconnected and were now sitting by the boardwalk along Lake Ontario, watching the world go by. On the split pathway, people walked this way and that, some alone, others in pairs or in groups, some dragging along children or pushing strollers. Beside this path, there ran a separate one dedicated to bicycles and rollerbladers, allowing them to race without disturbing those on foot. Just beyond them, Lake Ontario glistened in the hot August sun. White gulls hovered in the air right at the edge of the water and water fowl bobbed up and down on the ripples that marred the smooth surface of the lake. Further out in the water the drone of a Seadoo ripped a swath through the water and someone on skis came tearing after it, while out in the far distance a small armada of sailboats poked their white masts and sails up into the air as their crews enjoyed the last days of the summer.
But Jasmine’s eyes weren’t on the bikers or the boats. They were fixed quite firmly on Anne.
Anne shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. But really, she just barely kept the huge smile that threatened to break free. At last, she gave in and giggled like a schoolgirl. “It is, really. I keep thinking that I’m still dreaming, that the CDs are little figments of my imagination.”
“And that movie!”
“Is it real?” She laughed.
The friends shared a great smile. Then Anne continued. “I have to be at the first concert, and at the reception afterwards, but the real fun is watching the rehearsals. Say, Jaz, do you want to come along to one of them?”
Her friend’s eyes shone even more brightly, if such a thing were possible.
“Really?” Then her smile broke. “Oh. I would love that, but it depends on when it is. My students, you know…”
“Even during the daytime? I thought they would all come after school.”
“Oh, most do. But some parents pull their kids from school for music lessons, and I teach a lot of very young kids during the day and do a preschool music class at a daycare. Anything to pull in a few dollars. Connor still hasn’t found work…”
Anne had wondered about this. Jasmine had never mentioned her husband’s work in any specific terms, but it seemed like he was between jobs, and not intentionally. This was the first time her friend had actually said anything, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.
Jasmine saved her from an awkward blunder. “I didn’t want to say anything. I didn’t want you feeling sorry for me, and I certainly didn’t want it to seem like I was asking for anything. I know that even famous composers don’t live in fancy mansions. And it’s a bit embarrassing. I’m sorry.”
“Do you want to walk and talk about it at all?”
They got up from the bench and found some freezies to sip on. Then they strolled with the other pedestrians until they found a bit of a pier, nestled amongst the condominiums and marinas down on the waterfront.
“We were doing well, really. Connor had a great job as a financial advisor, and I was bringing in a bit of extra teaching violin. We saved everything we could to buy a house. Then one of his friends told him about this amazing investment opportunity in the Caribbean. Some fantastic project that would quintuple its value in a couple of years, a hotel complex in a very popular spot. The plan was to buy in and keep our small apartment in the meantime until the dividends started coming in, and then we’d buy our dream house.
“Connor was so confident about it. He worked in investment, after all, and he did his homework. It looked absolutely like a sure thing. So we put in everything we had, and more. And then, just before the project was to get going, something happened. The original conglomerate sold out to another company, who immediately changed everything about the project and demanded twice what we had put in to keep our investment. We couldn’t afford that. We had nothing left, and a load of debt.”
“But surely the first group had to give you your money back. Isn’t that how these things work?”
Jasmine sighed. She sat very still, her eyes fixed on the small toy-like boats bobbing out in the vast lake, white miniatures against a background of varied blues. She did not turn to look at Anne as she spoke. “Yes, in theory. But then things got tied up in legal and appeals, and time just ticks more slowly in some places than in others. Our lawyer keeps promising we’ll get every penny back, but he can’t guess when. When Connor’s clients found out he’d been hoodwinked, they all abandoned him, and no one else wants to hire an investor who lost a half a million dollars of his own money overnight. So it’s just me and the violin lessons now.” She stared over the glimmering water. “I’m sorry, Annie. I’m being a downer. I just wanted to celebrate your success.”
Anne wrapped an arm around her friend’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jaz. I really am. If I hear of anyone wanting lessons, I’ll mention your name. But listen, you should come along to the dress rehearsal if you can. I’ll get you the time, or come to one of the others if that’s better. And I want you to meet my friend Sophia. She and her husband move in rather elevated circles and they may know of things.”
“Oh no! I would never ask anything like that. I don’t want charity!”
“You’re just talking to them. Leads aren’t charity. That’s all it would be. You never know who knows someone who might know someone. And you’ll love Sophia. Maybe after the rehearsal we can all go for lunch or a drink.”
The smile was back, even though it was quieter and sadder now. “Thanks. You are such a wonderful friend. I wish we hadn’t drifted apart the way we did. I’m so glad we’ve reconnected.”
Soon it was the last weekend of the summer. Monday would be Labour Day, the temporal portal that stood sentry over the year, separating the two months of summer and relaxation from the following months of work and effort. It was a rare person who was not somehow affected by this transition. Schools would start up again for those with children; performing arts seasons would begin; work became more serious.
As might be expected, this long weekend was often one of revelry, a sort of Mardi Gras before a period of Lenten restraint. Everybody was back in town from wherever they might have spent the summer or part thereof; everybody was looking forward to a final celebratory bash before buckling down to the serious work ahead. Anne was no exception.
She had been invited to three such parties over the long weekend. All of these invitations, she knew, were due solely to her position as composer-in-residence and not to her personal charms, but this was not unexpected. She was not a habitual party goer. But she looked through the invitations with a professional eye and accepted everything that she could fit into her schedule.
The first party, which she had little real desire to attend, was a backyard affair and barbecue on the Saturday afternoon. One of the orchestra members whom she knew from university had invited her, along with the rest of the orchestra. Trina was a gifted musician who had the fortune of having married into a wealthy family, and the grounds behind their suburban home were more than sufficient to hold the entire orchestra. There would be excellent food as well, Anne knew, and the company of people who spoke her language.
But the afternoon would be either hot and humid or rainy and humid, and no amount of beer and potato salad would make up for having to come up with enough pleasant things to say to all those people who likely saw her as either an interloper or some sort of other-worldly creature, now condescending to spend time with mere mortals. If not for the real desire not to seem, frankly, like a snob, she would have begged off. She wondered if Fred would be there. If Louisa, the horn player, was going to attend, he would almost certainly join her. Local social media had, after all, been twittering all summer with photos of the two together at this function and that, the magenta-haired dynamo hanging off his arm with a possessive glint in her eyes.
The idea was painful, and she wished, once more, that she had some perfect excuse not to attend.
On Saturday evening, there was to be another event, this much smaller and perhaps easier to get out of. Jasmine and Connor were going to a club to see a small jazz band and had invited her along. In theory, it was a wonderful plan. She knew relatively little about jazz, but always enjoyed it in the background, and moreover, she loved live music in its proper setting. And what better place for a jazz band than a cosy pub?
But after an afternoon in the sun, surrounded by the din of a hundred people all talking and calling to each other, drinking warm beer and smelling over-done burgers and greasy chips, she was certain that she would want nothing more for the evening than to sit at home. Home would be quiet and peaceful. She could have a cool drink of lemonade and eat fresh fruit and ice cream from the tub and not worry about finding more suitable things to say, even if it were to people she liked.
Still, it was such a delight to have Jasmine back in her life. She had forgotten how well they had got along at university, and the casual friendliness of their school days was maturing into the more intimate friendship of mature adults. She was eager to meet Connor, and did not want to do anything to suggest that she felt otherwise. And so, to the club she would go. At least Fred would not be there.
The only party that held any real appeal to her was the Crofts’ affair, to be held in the large party room in their building on Sunday evening. This was a welcome-back celebration for the orchestra’s board and staff and their partners. In true Sophia style, it would be formal and very elegant. Fine wine would be served instead of cold beer; tuxedos and cocktail gowns worn in place of shorts and flip-flops. Anne had not seen Sophia in a couple of weeks, but she could well imagine her friend buzzing about in her accustomed methodical manner, organising a small crew of waiters and prep staff to help out the caterer she had almost certainly engaged for the event.
It was not the food or the elegance of the evening that made this a welcome-ish event, but the company. Sophia had the gift of making everybody feel comfortable and welcome, and Anne loved watching her at work. And William would be there. This she knew for certain because he had called to ask if he might pick her up and attend with her. They were not a couple, per se, but arriving and departing together would send a certain message to anybody who had not already noticed.
This devolved into another session of staring at her bedroom ceiling, trying to work out what, exactly, she hoped for where the handsome William Barnett was concerned. She was not in love with him, not now, at least. This she could say for certain, and wondered if she hoped that might change. Still, while she enjoyed his company greatly when they were out together, she didn’t miss him at all when they were apart. He had been away for a week now, seeing to some project somewhere down south. Or, at least, Anne thought it was a week. He had mentioned something when they met for an outdoor concert shortly after the trip to his development up north. After the concert, he had suggested they grab a coffee and then, over chai and cheesecake, had mumbled something about an upcoming trip before asking if she would accompany him to Sophia’s function. She smiled and wished him a good and productive time while away, but she had not really taken much notice of the details. The light was suggesting an unusual harmonic progression and her mind was miles away, buried deep in the lines of some imaginary manuscript paper, subverting the cycle of fifths.
It was funny. She and William had been out several times together, sometimes to the parks, sometimes to a show. But it was almost always somewhere public, and despite the growing friendship between them, it lacked… something. Intimacy, perhaps. Not the physical sort, although he was a handsome man and the idea was not unpleasant. Should he make some more suggestive overtures, she might well accept them, and with pleasure. Perhaps, rather, there was a sort of emotional intimacy that she was missing. She didn’t really know him. Despite all the time they had spent together, she still did not sense she knew the inner man beneath his suave veneer. How strange. The thought flitted across her mind not for the first time.
She had finished a morning’s worth of work on her choir commission and was pleased with her progress. Now she was wandering around her apartment, debating going outside into the sticky heat or sitting at home eating ice cream from the tub. Both had their appeals and their drawbacks.
She replaced her manuscript paper into the drawer where she kept it and sharpened her pencil, ready for the next day’s work. It was an old habit she had, preparing her tools for the next time she picked them up. Pencils sharp and lined up, eraser at the ready. A book of composition techniques faced her from the bookshelf, and Pauline Johnson’s poetry stared at her from where she had pinned it to her corkboard. In front of all of these, Fred’s face flashed before her, a figment of her imagination and more real than the physical objects before her. That’s what she always saw when she was thinking of something else. Fred, not William.
She sighed.
Would he ever leave that space he had carved out in her heart? There was no avoiding him professionally, but surely, she could learn to live without him emotionally.
Still, Fred would be at Sophia’s party, and if Fred was in attendance, Louisa would be likewise. Now, for the first time, she longed to see William again. His presence at her side would make her feel far less like the rejected lover, the spare wheel.
Oh, why was this all so complicated? She flopped back onto her bed and ran her hands through her hair.
Hair. She needed a haircut. Something for Sophia’s party. It was a week away, and she just had time to make an appointment. It was something to do, something to keep her busy. Maybe she would even be brave enough to try a different style for a change.
Before she could convince herself otherwise, she picked up the phone to call her salon. New season, new style, new Anne. It would be done.
Chapter Thirteen
Tremolo
“Oh my God, Annie! Look at you!”
Jasmine rushed up to Anne’s table at the coffee shop and stopped just short. She held her hands in front of her in a mock picture frame to capture Anne’s face and beamed. “What brought this change about? You look fabulous, like a different person. Oh… not that you didn’t look good before, but…” She caught her lower lip between her teeth, but didn’t stop smiling.
Anne fluffed her newly shorn hair. At least, it felt shorn. It still fell to her chin, with long layers framing her face and giving the ends a bit of bounce and texture. Jessica, her hairstylist, had kept the colour its natural dark brown, but had added just a bit of apricot gloss to make her tresses glow with hidden golden depths. Not a new colour, just… more colour. The apricot brought out the blush in Anne’s cheeks, and she felt, if not younger, fresher.
“You like it?” Jasmine nodded, her eyes wide. “I’ve had that old style for so long. It was easy—just wash and pull back into a ponytail. I can still pull it back and have those fashionable wispy things around my face, but now it looks okay loose as well. This takes some work, but I feel like a grownup for a change. I’ve even bought some mousse!”
“You look like a movie star,” her friend agreed. “Smart, outrageously talented, and gorgeous, too. Think about what you’re doing to us mere mortals.”
Anne had to laugh. Jasmine had one of the prettiest faces she had ever seen. “Mere mortal, nothing. If I’m a movie star, then I’m in perfect company. What can I get you? No, no arguing. I just got my cheque from my choir commission and I insist. Latte? Chai?”
“Pah, chai! No one here makes chai like back in India. A vanilla latte will do fine.”
“Biscotti? No. Cheesecake. It’s a cheesecake sort of day. I’ll be back in a moment.”
A few minutes later, Anne returned with two tall steaming cups and two plates on a tray. The friends contemplated the choices of strawberry and chocolate cheesecake, and eventually decided to split both down the middle.
For a moment the chatter fell silent, all due reverence being owed to the cheesecake. Rich, creamy, sweet… and that bright tang of sweet strawberry, followed by the gentle bitter tones of the chocolate. It was prayer on a fork.
“Mmmm. Thank you.” Jasmine leaned back against her chair, eyes closed and a beatific smile on her face. She picked up her latte and took a small sip. “It’s a good thing I don’t do this often. I’d be three hundred pounds.” She drew her fork over her strawberry cheesecake and looked up at Anne. “So why is it a cheesecake sort of day? Not that I’m complaining at all.” Now she picked up a sliver of cake and popped it into her mouth.
