Double Tears
Chapter 121
“Whatever story you’re telling, it will be more interesting if, at the end you add, ‘and then everything burst into flames’.”
—Brian P. Cleary, You Oughta Know By Now
“SOLO PERFORMANCE allows a great deal of room for individual interpretation,” LeBlanc said at the beginning of orchestra Monday. “We have many solo performers in this orchestra. However, even principals understand that when the orchestra plays, they are no longer soloists but are part of the blended whole.” There were a lot of nods around the room. We were getting ready to rehearse the Mozart Concerto for Flute, Harp, and Orchestra in C major, K299 for the first time. Cindy would solo. I was covering the harp part. “Hopkins!”
“Yes, sir,” I said coming suddenly alert.
“In the midst of solo performance, what is the thing a soloist cannot do?”
“Uh… Mess up?” There were titters around the room. LeBlanc scowled at me.
“The soloist cannot change the notes the composer wrote,” he snarled. “Even when you, or you and Cindy, are performing in a masquerade, the one thing you cannot do is change what the composer wrote! Practice the damn music the way it is written!”
Well, I guess he hadn’t gotten over our video performance. Apparently, however, the arranger was exempt from that restriction. I noted the part for guitar he gave me was substantially different from the harp part it was replacing. Arranged by Leonard LeBlanc. He launched us straight into the Concerto and we played twenty measures before he cut us off, lectured again, and started over. Thankfully, I wasn’t the brunt of that lecture having had only two chords to play at the beginning. I was sure I would come under fire again later. Playing the transcribed harp music was painful. I was glad when the break came and I could head out for lunch with my girlfriends.
“Hopkins,” LeBlanc said as I headed toward the door. I stopped at faced him.
“Your video performance was highly creative. I’m sorry we were so tied up in discussions I did not express my appreciation Saturday night.” Wow! That’s unexpected.
“Thank you, sir. I wasn’t sure you liked it.”
“I didn’t say I liked it,” he smirked. “I have, however, come to realize that you are the creative director of Marvel and Hopkins. Actually, I was informed of that by your producer. Ms. Levy was certainly a good choice for that role. I’m concerned, though, that you are going to take the performances to such an extreme that you will lose the focus on the music. What are your plans?”
“I understand what you are saying,” I sighed. “The Mountain Monster, as we called the piece we put together, was opportune. We were all working together at the faires and learning about live performance and becoming a unit. But that isn’t what we plan for every performance. For example, we plan to do the Suite Buenos Aires for our next piece and it is more of a recital piece.”
“Very good. You should consider an arranger for the next—for now, let’s call them masquerades—performance you do. Once you conceive of your script, so to speak, a good arranger could make sure the music is adjusted to suit it. The result will be less improvisational.”
“Thank you for that advice, sir.”
“Go. I didn’t mean to take up so much of your lunch. If you need a few extra minutes to finish, I won’t count you tardy for the second half of class. We’ll be working on the orchestration in the first movement.”
I took off and got to the table in time to open my lunch and gulp it down. My girlfriends were staring at me and practically bouncing in their seats.
“Well? Did you?” Beca burst out. I glanced nervously at Cindy.
“I don’t think we should discuss this at the lunch table,” I said. “I know everyone wants to know and the answer is ‘yes,’ but I’m not going to discuss it any further at school.”
There were no complaints, though Cindy looked puzzled. Rachel leaned against me and held my left arm in a tender caress. She just rubbed her cheek on my shoulder and whispered, “Mmmhmm. So good.”
“How are we splitting up this weekend?” I asked. “Who is riding with whom and to where?”
“Livy and I are going with Nanette to Noblesville for her race,” Rachel said. “Think you can do without us in Kentucky?”
“You know we’ll miss you,” Desi said. “My pillows won’t feel the same without your head resting on them.” She bounced her breasts a little. Rachel did seem to like to sleep on them.
“Do we need to take more than one vehicle? I can transport six. Myself, Desi, Brittany, Sophie, Beca, and Donna. Can we stand to all ride in the truck for five hours?”
“Um… I’m not going down,” Beca said. We all turned to look at her.
“My mom is getting home from Thailand this weekend. I really need to be here to welcome her home.”
“Um… Do you want someone to stay with you? We can figure something out,” Brittany said. “It’s not like I’m critical to the troupe.”
“Yes, you are!” Desi said. “Who would flap my wings? How about Donna? I mean, I want her with us as much as anyone but maybe she’d stay with Beca.”
“Don’t. Stop,” Beca said, waving her hands. “No one needs to stay with me. Um… Joan is coming down from Chicago for the weekend.”
“She can do that?”
“It’s a holiday weekend and she’s in training. They all get the weekend off,” Beca said. “Really, she works a forty-hour week and has regular holidays.”
“Em never got that. She had to work over Thanksgiving and Christmas,” I sighed.
“Yeah. We’re learning a lot. The divisions of labor are as clear in the service as they are in the workplace. Joan is a white collar computer professional. Emily is a truck driver,” Beca sighed. “There’s nothing wrong with that but no one cares if a computer animation is completed over the weekend. Everyone needs their food delivered whether it is a holiday or not.”
“Em said she got compensatory time off,” I nodded. “I’m glad Joan can come down to spend the weekend with you.”
“Excuse me, Jacob?” Cindy said.
“Hey, what’s up. You don’t have to ask permission to talk. Just jump in like everyone else does.”
“If… uh… Rebeca isn’t going to Kentucky… I mean… Would you have room for me to ride along?”
“Really? Isn’t your mom driving?”
“It’s been a little tense this weekend. She doesn’t see it as being important for her to drive me all the way to Kentucky when we’ve already shot and released our video.”
“Cindy, if your mom will give permission, we’d be happy to have you with us in the truck and for the weekend.”
I still had an obstacle to getting us all to Kentucky this weekend. I did my five mile pacesetter run during cross country practice and Jock had me continue for another five laps so I got in a full 10k run. The rest of the team was stretching out and ready for the showers by the time I finished. Jock came over and walked with me around the track.
“I’d like you to pick up the pace by five seconds, starting Wednesday. We’ve got two weeks to train for the Northrop Invitational. There’s no 10k this weekend in Terre Haute. Can you do that for me? We can cut thirty seconds off your time in two weeks.”
“I’ll do my best, Jock. I think I can do that. It’s only five seconds a mile, right?” I laughed. “Um… I was wondering, though. Since there’s no long race in Terre Haute, would it be okay if I skipped this race entirely?”
“You don’t want to run the 5k?” he asked. The plan was to take ten runners each for the varsity and junior varsity, but once they got there, only seven runners would be allowed to compete. The other three were backups in case someone got sick or injured before the race.
“It’s not really my race. I think some of the other guys should get a crack at it. We’ve got at least ten now who can crack eighteen minutes on a 5k and that’s the best you could expect from me.”
“Okay, what gives?” he asked as he steadied me while I stretched. Not near as fun as having Nan stretch me.
“It’s the last weekend of the Kentucky Renaissance Festival and I promised to help. If I can’t leave until after the races in Terre Haute, we wouldn’t get there until Saturday performances are almost over,” I said. “I didn’t think of going down for this weekend until we saw how successful we were.”
“That’s where you filmed your Mountain Monster video?” Jock asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t make a habit of this. If there had been a 10k at Terre Haute, I wouldn’t permit it.”
“I wouldn’t ask.”
I wanted to go back to Donna’s Monday evening but there was no way either my girlfriends or my parents would allow that. We’d all agreed on a Wednesday study session and dinner at her house. Nanette and Sophie would join us as well. We’d have the whole pod except Joan and Em. Dang, this was hard.
I got a phone call about nine, just as I was settling in to practice for a couple of hours. I wouldn’t have answered but when I saw Cindy’s name pop up, I was puzzled. Cindy seldom called. Usually, it was her mother who had something for me.
“Hey, my Pied Piper,” I answered. “What melody are you blowing to my ears this evening?”
“Jacob…” she sounded distraught. “I’m having trouble convincing my mother. She’s all, ‘No way is my daughter going off for the weekend with a boy!’ I can’t get through to her that we’re performing. She thinks we’re going off to have sex!”
“Oh, geez, Cindy! I’m sorry but, really, I can’t have sex with you this weekend. I’m booked solid.” I took her off guard which was what I was hoping for.
“I… but… what?... I don’t want to have sex with you!” Then she dropped her voice and turned the tables on me. “Not yet,” she whispered.
“Okay, let’s drop that line of thinking. I was just trying to lighten things up a little. What can I do? Do you want me to talk to her?” I asked.
“Would you? Could you come for dinner tomorrow night?”
“Will it be okay? I could just come by later.”
“I’m cooking. I can invite whomever I want.” Her voice was defiant. I agreed and hung up.
Mrs. Marvel had sheltered Cindy all her life and made sure nothing interfered with her practice and music. I don’t think Cindy even had much in the way of friends outside those of us who worked together this summer. But I had a feeling Cindy was working on pronouncing her independence and it wouldn’t go well with Betty Marvel. I didn’t really want to get caught in the middle of it but I’d committed to making music with Cindy. I’d have to make sure it was our focus.
Dinner went better than I expected. Fortunately, it was a lighter day in practice. We worked intervals for an hour and I had plenty of time to get home and get my homework done before I needed to be at the Marvels’ house. Mom asked a lot of questions before I left, especially about whether I needed a manager to go with me. We’d had a long talk after the concert release last weekend about roles in managing my professional career. It was a good conversation to have and I agreed that, especially when dealing with Mrs. Marvel, Mom was my go-to person. She also agreed, however, that as far as working on the nuts and bolts of any of our productions, Donna Levy was the producer. It was funny how roles were shaking out for our pod.
So, I arrived just a few minutes before six, like Cindy told me to. I joined her in the kitchen as the rest of the family seemed scarce.
“Hey, Piper. How’s it going?” I asked. I wasn’t sure which of my girlfriends had first started calling Cindy our Pied Piper but the nickname stuck.
“If I don’t burn dinner, we’ll be fine,” she breathed. She used her wrist to wipe a strand of hair out of her eyes. “Hope you like Greek food. Which this isn’t. I mean it’s not traditional. It’s just a casserole that tastes Greek. I mean it has those spices and pasta and feta cheese. So, it must be Greek, right?”
“Cindy? It’s okay. You can calm down now. All we have to do is have dinner and convince your parents your virtue is safe this weekend and we have things we need to work on.”
“Right. You’re right. It’s just another performance. Could you get the big salad bowl out of the fridge and take it to the table, please?”
As soon as Cindy put anything in the context of a performance, she calmed down. She called her family to the table and we sat together.
“Fine video,” Mr. Marvel said. “Sorry I didn’t get to speak to you Saturday night but there were all those people. Had a nice chat with your dad, though.”
“Thank you, Mr. Marvel.”
“You’ve been calling Cindy’s mother Betty all summer. Please call me Mark.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You boys should take a few lessons regarding manners. Not everyone is a coach,” he said to his sons. The oldest, Keith, was sitting across from Cindy and next to me. I was at the foot of the table. Betty sat at the head with Mark on her left and her youngest son, Luke, on her right. It was neat that the parents didn’t seem to need to command the ends of the table.
And the food was delicious. The Greek salad was tangy and the casserole was meaty. Eventually, though, the conversation got around to our trip to Kentucky. The boys weren’t a help.
“Yeah, Mom. Um… If you don’t mind, I’d like to take my girlfriend to Kentucky for the weekend, too,” Keith said.
“Jacob isn’t my boyfriend!” Cindy exploded.
“Hey, you don’t have to marry every guy you sleep with, little sister. It’s okay to have some fun.”
“Exactly how much fun have you been having, young man?” Betty demanded. She stared at her oldest son until he dropped his eyes.
“Um… Not much, Mom. When would I have time for fun?”
“Exactly,” Cindy crowed. “Who has time for fun. When we go the Renaissance Faire, we work ten or twelve hours a day. And we have to practice for our recital or we won’t have another video up for October. We have paying subscribers now. We need to deliver a music video every month! Do any of you know how much pressure that puts us under to perform?”
“Cynthia, is this too much stress?” Mark said kindly. “I know we push all you kids to be the best you can be, but if you need a break we can arrange that, too.”
“No, Daddy,” Cindy responded. “I don’t feel too stressed. I just don’t feel anyone is taking this seriously. I need to go to the Ren Faire with Jacob so we can continue to progress. It isn’t to go sneak off with a boy for a weekend.”
“And you, Jacob,” Mark said, turning his eyes on me. “Is that how you see it?”
“Yes, sir,” I said. “When we started this last spring, I promised to do what I was able to help Cindy reach her potential. The Ren Faire this weekend is an important part of our advancing our name—our brand if you will. The Festival management has gone so far as to designate a Marvel and Hopkins stage area. We have T-shirts to sell and cards printed with the address of our YouTube channel and our Patreon. By this weekend, our website will have the audio version of our performance for sale as a download. That makes it officially our first music release. People can download it to their iPhones and music players.”
“Betty? What’s the problem?” Mark said.
“I’m tired of sleeping on the ground and spending my weekend away from you,” Betty sighed. “We were gone for huge chunks of the summer and I miss my bed and my bedmate. And I don’t feel comfortable letting Cindy go to Kentucky with a boy.”
“If it’s any help,” I said, “she won’t just be with a boy. You know Desi, Brittany, and Sophie. They are all going. And so is Donna Levy. We’ll all be traveling together.”
“Donna Levy?” Mark said. “I understand she produced your video. Isn’t she an English teacher at school?”
“She’s no longer in our district,” I said. “She’s at Huntington North now and is continuing to work as our producer.”
“Hmm. How old are you, Cynthia?”
“Daddy. I’m fifteen. You know that.”
“You weren’t here for me to celebrate with. I say that if Donna Levy’s willing to take responsibility as temporary guardian, I don’t see a problem. Do you, Betty?”
“I suppose not,” Betty sighed. “Don’t grow up too fast, Cynthia. Please?”
“I won’t, Mom.”
“What’s the plan for your next video?” Luke asked. I was surprised the younger brother even knew about it. “That last one was rocking. You should do one where you’re like toreadors facing down a charging bull with your music. Rad.”
“Keep coming up with ideas, Luke. That’s a good one,” I said.
“We’re doing the Suite Buenos Aires in an intimate recital,” Cindy said.
“How intimate?” Keith asked.
“We’re working on something about halfway between what I do in my Sunday morning concerts and what we did last year at the Recital Hall downtown,” I said. “Donna suggested we do it at her house out in the country. You’ve all been there. But John isn’t sure he’d have room to get good camera angles, even with just my pod attending. And we know there are a few other people who would want to be there as well.”
“We need someplace where a group of less than twenty could relax and enjoy the recital but that isn’t so big they’d be lost in the cavern,” Cindy said. “We’re going for a sound that feels comfortable in a living room but I really don’t want to do it at Mr. LeBlanc’s house. That’s too stressful.”
“I read about an interesting venue in Los Angeles when I was last out there,” Mark said. “Intimate concerts were performed as audience members lay around on a bed of pink Himalayan salt.”
“Mark, really?” Betty said.
“It’s supposed to be very healthy for you. They use it in spas and even sell lamps made out of it,” Mark said as he dipped more casserole.
“I’ve agreed to let Cindy go with them to Kentucky this weekend. I’m not agreeing to sending the two of them to Los Angeles!”
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