Page 33 of This Side of Beautiful

She waved her manicured hand. “We love that you can play more than one instrument, and we think you would be an asset to our program. We can sit and discuss it more if you like.”

I looked slightly over her shoulder at a painting of a violin on the wall behind her. “I’m about to tour and finish my second album. I don’t see how I would have time to teach.”

“We are willing to work around your schedule to have someone of your caliber.” She smiled, and I refocused on the slight gap in her teeth. Or was it something else?

I scoffed. “My caliber? I’ve been a musician all my life, and no one has ever been interested in me until I won a Grammy. My ability to compose for any genre of music you place before me didn’t just happen this year. Suddenly, I’m validated and worthy of attention from your so-called prestigious school?”

“So-called?” She reached for her pearls, or at least where I imagined they would be if she’d remembered to wear them. “We have worked with the best in the world, and our students are extremely successful.”

“I know. Look around. My mother is a graduate.” I gestured around the expensively decorated living room full of rich hues of red and brown. The paintings on the wall were worth at least ten grand apiece.

A strong hand squeezed my shoulder, and my gregarious father, holding a glass of his favorite bourbon, joined in the conversation. He chuckled as he warned me with his tight smile. “My son is bitter that he wasn’t accepted when he applied to your program at sixteen. He ran away from home after he received the rejection letter to chart his own path… a very successful path, and I couldn’t be prouder of the life he has now.”

Dr. Howard’s eyes widened. “Oh, I see. Then, Landon, you must look at this invite as a full-circle moment to show our school’s grand mistake in not choosing you. Maybe you can join our selection committee and choose applicants like the young man you were.”

“That’s an excellent point to consider.” I tightened my jaw, wanting to yell at the lie that my father had contrived to explain my rude behavior. They’d wanted me to attend Juilliard, and I’d purposely messed up the audition. I hated my parents’ refusal to love, respect, and treat me like their son and not a prize to tout or shun, depending on my accomplishments.

I longed for the parents that Cedrick had, who only wanted to spend time with him, without ulterior motives. Mine always had an agenda whenever they summoned me here. I couldn’t relax with them while grabbing home-cooked food and talking about my music or friends. They always wanted to convince me to perform somewhere alone or with them, chastise me about choosing music that wouldn’t take me far in the classical and jazz world I’d never wanted to be a part of, and whether I’d met someone special because they wanted to continue their lineage. I couldn’t even recall my parents telling me that they loved me.

The gnawing traveled through my body at my father’s grip on my shoulder.

“My son would be a wonderful addition to your program. He’s skilled on several instruments and can learn more,” he boasted as if I were the last car on the lot, and he was worried it wouldn’t sell.

“If you’ll excuse me.” I shrugged away from him.

She pushed her card in my hand. “Please reconsider working with us. You can operate your class and teach your students in the best way you see fit. Or join us as a guest lecturer to get a feel of the students and program.”

I stuffed the card in my pocket. “By the way, you have spinach in your front teeth.”

She gasped and covered her mouth. I headed to the kitchen to soothe the gnawing away from everyone else.

“Fuck.” I gripped the sink and stared blindly out the window facing the street. I hadn’t meant to embarrass Dr. Howard that way. When I was uncomfortable, sometimes I lashed out and then regretted it. She seemed decent enough, and if she’d discussed Juilliard anywhere but here at my family home, I might have considered it, especially if I could teach a small class of two or three.

“Why do you insist on being rude?” my father demanded once he entered the empty kitchen. “Those people in there can take you far.”

I whirled around. “Farther than an award-winning band? I’m living my dream at this very minute. Where can those people take me when I’m already where I want to be?”

My father’s nostrils flared as he replied, “No one will remember your band in five years. Get a damn clue.”

“That might be true, but I’ll never be a bitter drunk like you, wishing for a better life than the one I have. Trust me, none of those people can do anything for me.” I winced from the pain in my gut.

“You’ll see what I say is true. Your career isn’t going to last forever. Go back out there and talk to those people,” he ordered me.

I shook my head slowly as the ache in my stomach worsened. “I didn’t want to be here. I just flew in from Houston, and I’m exhausted. You told me to be here, and I’m here. I already talked to the Juilliard person like Mom wanted, and I’m done.”

My father stepped close to me, blocking my path. His light skin reddened from anger or the flush of intoxication. Old, painful memories emerged from his menacing nearness and the smell of the alcohol on his breath.

“Move,” I said.

“Or what?” he sneered.

The gnawing hurt so much. I winced and clutched my stomach, holding my other hand up protectively as my mother rushed into the kitchen with worried eyes.

“Get away from him,” she demanded. She looked over her shoulder at the closed door before she pulled my dad’s arm. “Leave him alone.”

“I’m not doing anything to him.” He roughly jerked his arm away from her, causing her to fall against the counter. “You wanted him here, and now he’s embarrassing us like he always does. Told you he needed to see a shrink when he was a kid. He wouldn’t be messed up now.”

I shoved his broad chest, and in his slightly inebriated state, he lost his balance, hit the table, and tumbled to the floor. My mother’s hand flew to her mouth, and she kneeled to aid him.

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