Page 15 of Not Another Love Song

Ava chuckled, the sound like a bell tinkling in the distance. “No, Gwen. We’re auditioning you to replace me. As first chair.”

Gwen felt like the ground was tilting, the air growing thick. “Right. No, of course. Right.”

Nathan smirked and scratched his short, coppery beard. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

She swallowed. Images and sounds flooded her—memories, dreams. The first hum of the bow across the strings. Applause, solely for her, echoing off the 14th Street subway station tiles. The feeling of the stage lights on her face, the quiet of the audience as she lifted her bow, ready to share a moment in time with them. Was that what first chair was? First chair was solos and featured performances. First chair was also hard work and leadership, becoming an important member of the family, becoming indispensable.

“Absolutely,” she said. “What time should I be there?”

When they smiled at her, she swore she could hear applause in the distance, rolling like thunder, chanting for more of her.

CHAPTER FOUR

Jacob’s joyous cackling burst through her phone speakers. “Aaah! Get your ass home! I’m buying dinner!”

“I can’t. I have to book a practice room.” Gwen crossed Eighth Avenue with barely a glance at oncoming traffic.

“We have to celebrate this, Gwen!”

“I have to practice,” she hissed, darting through the crowds gathering for Broadway matinees. “I—I have no idea what I’m going to play, or—”

“Gwen. Do me a favor?” Jacob said. “Can you stop where you are? Just hit pause for a second?”

Her feet stopped. She leaned against the outside of a building and closed her eyes. “What?”

“This is a good thing. This is heading in the right direction. And this is what you deserve.”

“I can’t do this meditation bullshit in the middle of Times Square, Jake.”

“Just pause and tell me you’re happy?” His voice lifted, leading her.

Gwen took a deep breath. “I’m happy. This is…” She cleared her throat. “This doesn’t just happen, you know? First chair is something I never would have dreamed of.”

“That’s not true. You’ve been talking about moving up the ladder since your first season. This means solos, which you’ve also been talking about. Maybe it’s a step toward a solo career!”

“First chair is not a stepping stone, it’s a destination.” She hefted her tote higher on her shoulder and pushed through the tourists again. “It’s kind of like…the rest of my life, maybe. I don’t know. I could be first chair of the Manhattan Pops until I retire, and that’s job security. That’s a life. It’s also not something I have ever envisioned for myself.”

“Then don’t take it,” he said. Gwen stopped at the corner and frowned. “Don’t audition if it’s not the destination you want.”

Gwen looked up at the billboards flashing over her head, letting her future wash over her. What destination did she want? Featured soloist gigs, like Hilary Hahn and Sarah Chang? A pop career like Lindsey Stirling? Where were those opportunities? Where was she supposed to find them from seventh chair at the Manhattan Pops?

“I do want it,” she said, deciding. “I want the opportunity to audition. I want first chair.”

“Hell yeah, you do!”

She snorted. “I’ll be home by six.”

After she hung up, Gwen was tempted to call Mabel—to ask her what piece to play, what to wear, what to research. But she could just hear it now: What about Juilliard?

She dropped her phone into her bag and hurried to Carnegie Hall for a rehearsal room.

Gwen was twenty-five minutes early, reading the nameplates on every door on the way to Nathan’s office and killing time so she wouldn’t gnaw her fingernails off in anticipation.

She’d only been to one audition in her life, and that was for the Manhattan Pops. It was such a stark contrast to today. Four years ago, she hadn’t told a soul, looking over her shoulder on the subway like somehow Mabel would find out. Gwen was supposed to be in Intro to Psych, three of nine units Mabel was helping her pay for at the community college.

Mabel had wanted her to take general education classes while she prepared to audition for Juilliard and Manhattan School of Music again. Every time Gwen mentioned the Manhattan Pops, Mabel would get quiet and tell her that real symphonies would hire her someday. Ones that played Mozart and Bach. Not “Jingle Bells” once a year.

But Gwen liked “Jingle Bells” and Lady Gaga and the Broadway singers that would appear for guest engagements. She’d gotten to sit in the balcony at Carnegie Hall with her high school every time there was a scheduled field trip, and it was so vastly different from the “real” symphonies Mabel idolized.

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