Page 52 of Riot Reunion
“Went all right, I think,” I say briskly.
“You’re mad.” Carrie beams. “I’ve never been so proud in my entire life. You were amazing.”
“Thank you.”
She’s about to speak again, but a hush falls over the crowd, and the house lights dip as a dark figure makes its way down the opposite aisle and starts to climb the stairs up onto stage.
A spotlight immediately finds the silhouetted figure and narrows to a sharp focus, encapsulating the young guy dressed in a black dress shirt and jeans in a perfect circle of white light. Dark-haired and tall, he shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot as he holds a microphone up and speaks. “Firstly, I must apologize to our last composer,” he says. “On his application, he neglected to include his title. He is, in fact,LordDashiell Lovett, I’ve just been informed. An esteemed member of the British royal family, and an honorable member of the London Royal Academy of Music. His achievements as a musician are many, and we are embarrassed not to have given him his due honorific before he blessed us all with that outstanding rendition of his chef-d'oeuvre,Stellaluna.”
Mortified, I try to slink down into my seat, but there’s nowhere to hide. I didn’t include my title on my application for good reason. And that reason isthis.
“Thank you, Lord Lovett, for sharing with us.” The dark-haired stranger sounds terribly sincere when he offers his thanks. “As some of you may know, my name is Theo Merchant. Uh, TheodoreWilliamMerchant, if any of you are mad at me,” he says awkwardly. A titter of laughter travels through the crowd. “I’m here because…well, I don’t really know why I’m here a lot of the time, but I’m assured by people far smarter than me that it’s because I wrote some really catchy music once upon a time. Uhhh…” He scratches his forehead, looking down at his feet. There’s something blue wrapped around the fingertips of his left hand. What is that?Tape? “I want to thank you all for bestowing this remarkable honor upon me. I can think of eighteen people here and now who are far more qualified to teach next year’s conservatory, but I am so deeply proud to have been selected instead of those stuffy old bastards. No offense.”
More laughter.
“It’s very unconventional, inviting a guy of my age and experience to teach such an esteemed conservatory, and I can only thank all ofyou, the representatives and family members of The Institute, for placing such trust in me. And since Iamsuch an unconventional choice as next year’s conservatory master, it seemed only fitting that I opt for an unconventional audition process for next year’s placement, too. Under normal circumstances, the burden of selecting the perfect student to study beneath me would have fallen on my own shoulders, but coward that I am, I opted to invite you all here to do it for me.
“Later this evening, you will receive an email asking you to reply with your vote for the composer’s understudy position. We’re aware that emails get lost or forgotten, but please, we implore you, reply and let us know who you would love to see benefiting from The Institute’s placement as quickly as possible. Andplease…” Theo looks up, an almost wounded expression on his face. “Vote for the piece of music that moved you most this afternoon. Don’t vote for a name or a pre-existing reputation. This conservatory is about the growth and expansion of music, not merely supporting the most recognizable name. I—” His eyes search the crowd, searching, searching, searching. Eventually, he says, “In your wisdom, I know that you’ll all pick the worthiest candidate. Again, thank you for coming. As soon as we’ve counted the votes, you’ll be informed who won the slot.”
Merchant hurries off the stage, running down the steps into the darkness. Courteous applause follows after him.
“What was that about?” Carrie whispers next to me. “Was he telling people not to vote for you because of your title?”
“No. That’s not what he was doing,” I reply. I answer with absolute certainty because I found an audition program at my feet while Theo Merchant was talking. I angled it in the dark so I could read what it said. And the moment I saw the name at the top of the program, I knew that I was fucked.
Piotr Richec.
PiotrfuckingRichec.
The most lauded, most talked-about pianist in the world. Winner of every award going. Undisputed golden boy of the international music scene. Yeah,thatPiotr Richec.
I do not stand a fucking chance.
Carrie is still oblivious to that fact, though. “Good. So, I have a question. What the fuck does the thing he said in French mean? Chef…?”
“Chef-d’oeuvre,” I mutter under my breath. “It means masterpiece.”
We filter out of the hall, buffeted by conversation, swept along with the crowd of people all making their way out of The Institute. I receive at least twenty claps on the back from people, smiling at me, congratulating me on my performance, thanking me for sharing my music. By the time we’re outside, I’ve already mentally shifted gears and accepted that I won’t be receiving a congratulatory email from Theo Merchant any time soon.
“Come on, Mendoza. Time to find that pub. I hear those beers calling my name.” I won’t be buying any beer. It’ll be shots oftequilafor me. I can’t wait to get out of this fucking tuxedo—
“Hold up a second,” Carrie says.
I pivot to find her standing still, phone in her hand. She stares at the screen, eyes unblinking, mouth hanging open a little.
“What? What is it?”
She hands me her phone, shaking her head. “Elodie just texted me. Here. Take a look.”
The message on the screen reads:
Elodie: Carrie, pick up.
Elodie: Hello?
Elodie: Have you heard from Pres?
Elodie: Call me back when you can. It’s urgent.
