Chapter 16: Langsam

Richard had a dull headache. It was the last thing he needed today. He was late to his meeting with Dave, having fallen asleep after turning off his alarm. Five minutes ago, he was supposed to take his last training test. If he passed, he would be ready to record student recitals on his own.

As he ran down the stairs, buttoning his shirt, he paused on the second floor landing. I did say I'd come find them for breakfast, he thought. He really didn't have time, though, so he continued down the stairs.

Dave was just rounding the corner as he approached the recording control room.

"Hey, Richard," he said cheerily.

"Morning, Dave."

"I'm running a little late," Dave said.

"Yeah, me too."

"Good, I don't feel as bad, then!"

The pair went into the control room, and Richard was surprised to see someone in the concert hall at this hour. It was one of the guys who worked in the recording service along with Richard.

"Jake is going help us out with your training by giving a pretend recital," Dave explained.

"Cool."

"All right. Go ahead and do the setup, and then I'll tell Jake to start his concert." Dave handed Richard two DAT tapes and a cassette, and then sat in the chair by the mixer and observed Richard.

Richard took a deep breath, and then began the procedure for setting up the recording. He labeled and exercised the tapes, and then brought up the levels appropriate for a solo violin and the type of microphones that were hanging in the hall. After laying down a reference tone, he set the DAT tapes and the cassette to record-ready.

He made the appropriate level notations on the mock program, and then looked at Dave expectantly. Dave nodded, sticking out his lower lip.

"Good job. Let me tell Jake to start." Dave went out of the room, and then Richard heard him call to Jake from the back of the hall. As Jake walked off the stage, Richard double checked everything again. Since there wasn't any indication of when Jake would walk on, Richard started the tapes. Better safe than sorry, he thought.

Dave returned just as Jake came out onto the stage. Richard laughed as Jake made fake crowd noise and held his violin and bow out over his head triumphantly. Dave rolled his eyes; Jake was a known clown in the recording service.

Everything went smoothly. Jake played two items on the first half of his imaginary recital: piece one was Mary Had a Little Lamb, complete with double and triple-stop variations. The second selection was a brief rendition of Purple Haze. Richard could tell Dave was trying hard not to burst out laughing.

For his part, Richard stayed focused on the task. He kept track of the timings, inserted track markers, and watched the levels.

After the Hendrix piece ended, Jake made some more crowd noise as he walked off stage for intermission. Richard paused the tapes and now Dave did laugh.

"Heh, heh. You never know what he will pull on you," Dave said. "Looks pretty good, Richard. Remember, though, to notate some peaks. It makes it easier to set levels if we need to make more cassettes for the performer later."

"Oh, right, sorry. I forgot about that."

"No big deal."

Jake returned to the stage for the second half. Richard started the tapes hurriedly as he approached the center. He looked questioningly at Dave.

"Usually you'll have the stage manager dimming the lights before the start, and after intermission. That's a good time to start the tapes," Dave explained.

Richard nodded.

Jake started his final piece. At first, Richard couldn't place what the slow melody was. Then he realized it was the beginning of the Sibelius Violin Concerto that the violinist had played the night before at the orchestra concert.

Emotion flooded through Richard at the memory. He cringed at how the evening had gone. He felt badly about having been so dismissive of the girls, and had slept terribly as a result. Several times he had gotten up out of bed and started for their room to talk with them, but then decided against it. He wasn't sure what he would say.

One thing was clear, though: he needed to get serious about his piano playing. The more he had thought about his lesson, as he was sulking in the practice room the night before, the more he realized how disappointed Mrs. Tertychnaya had been in him. Memories of Jenna telling about her friend's dismissal from the school fueled his fears that Mrs. Tertychnaya was about to drop him as a student. He wasn't sure if that was what she was thinking, but he didn't want to find out. How would he face Sandra and Emily?

How would he face his father?

He wouldn't have to, if he could get back on track. He would have an hour after the test was over to get some practicing in before class. Or maybe I should find Emily and Sandra? he wondered.

No. That kind of thinking got him into trouble in the first place. Sandra would be in English, and he'd see Emily in analysis at ten, anyway.

He hoped they would understand.

"Richard?"

Richard snapped out of his thoughts, realizing Jake was waving to his invisible fans. Richard hadn't even noticed that the piece had finished.

"Sorry, I..." He felt stupid. It was better to be quiet than admit having drifted off, obvious though it was.

Richard guessed at the end time. He made a slight grimace as he realized that he hadn't notated any levels, either.

Jake walked off stage, so Richard stopped the tapes and reset the mixer controls, and finally pulled and labeled the tapes.

"Great, man! Way to go. I think you are fully trained, now," Dave said, nodding.

"Really? Sorry I messed up the ending there," Richard said apologetically.

Dave shrugged. "Just stay alert in the future. Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about my day," Richard said, shrugging.

"Busy, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Well, remember, don't take on too many recordings. I don't want Irina breathing down my neck!"

Richard chuckled. "Don't worry, I'll keep it manageable. Has she said anything to you about me working here?"

Dave shrugged. "I saw her yesterday afternoon, and she didn't say anything."

"When do you start recording her album?" Richard asked.

"In a month or so. Hey, are you interested in doing technical assistance on it?"

"Well, yeah, but I don't know if I'll have the time."

"Fair enough. Let me know. Maybe I'll ask Irina," Dave mused. "Do you remember Jarrett?"

"Yeah, the producer?"

Dave nodded. "He'll be working on that one too. He'd love to have you help, I'm sure. He thought you were great during Maria's session. He still talks about that one mistake you caught!"

"Oh, it wasn't a big deal," Richard dismissed, feeling a little self-conscious. "Just luck, really."

Dave laughed. "Well, I won't let him forget about it!" he said. "All right, I'm back to the office. Just dump those tapes in the bulk box, will you?"

"Sure. I'll see you around."

Dave waved and went out of the control room.

The lights in the concert hall went dark, and Richard sat heavily in the mixing chair. The very faint hiss of the speakers was all he could hear, and that reminded him to power down the amplifiers.

He was worried about facing Emily in class. Are they mad at me? They were so excited to see him last night, and he went and ruined it. The crestfallen look on Sandra's face when he rejected her offer of a massage was heartbreaking.

Richard sighed. There was suddenly too much to handle. He needed to eat breakfast. He needed to talk to the girls. He needed to practice. And there was only an hour before classes started.

Practice first. That was his new motto.

Richard let out a groan of frustration. He had been wrestling with this same passage for almost a half-hour now, and he felt as clumsy on it as he had a month ago. The fingerings Mrs. Tertychnaya had suggested were just not working for him. His headache pounded as he shot the music score an annoyed look.

Maybe he wasn't cut out for this. If he was going to have to start over and relearn everything he knew about playing the piano, he should just give up now. He leaned his head against the wall, and tried to control his anger.

There was a knock on his practice room door. Richard's heart raced, as he wondered if it was Emily or Sandra. He was almost relieved to see Jer peeking in through the rectangular window.

Richard opened the door.

"Dude, are you all right?" Jer asked.

"Yeah, just taking a break."

"By pounding your head on the wall?" Jer raised a brow.

Richard shrugged, but didn't answer.

"Everything cool with your girls? They came looking for you around eight-fifteen. Fucking woke me up! It's cool, though. They were surprised you weren't there."

"I forgot I had a meeting. I'll see them in a bit."

Jer nodded. "Everything cool?" he asked again.

"Yeah, everything's cool." Richard answered.

"All right, I'll see you in class then."

"Later."

Richard glanced at his watch. He had twenty minutes. He had to get his shirt, which he had left in the control room. It was always very hot in there, since the air conditioning was blocked to keep the room quiet. Ms. Connelly's room was always cold, though.

It was no use trying to practice right now, anyway.

As he was walking out of the control room, he happened to glance at the shelves of archived recordings that lined the walls of the anteroom. Hundreds of DAT tapes arranged by date stood as a testament to the amount of concerts that were given each year at Wexford. Soon, I'll have recorded some of these tapes, Richard thought. And after that, I'll be playing on a few, too. If I'm even around...

Lined up on the opposite wall were large boxes of reel-to-reel tapes, remnants from the era before the advent of digital recording.

By chance, his eye landed on one pair of rubber banded white reel-to-reel boxes. He did a double take as he read the label: "Faculty Recital: I. Tertychnaya, October 17, 1979."

Richard pulled the boxes down and glanced at the front. It merely repeated the information on the spine. I wonder what she played?

He fingered the rubber band for a moment. Glancing at his watch, he hurried back to the recording equipment and threaded the tape through the guides, clumsily feeding the leader onto the take-up reel.

He had to laugh to himself. Just a week ago he had asked Dave what the point was of having a giant reel-to-reel machine in the control room, if no recordings were ever done on it anymore. Dave had explained that sometimes people wanted old tapes transferred to CD or cassette, and that was one service that was provided. And indeed, at the next meeting with Dave, he had shown Richard how to operate the reel-to-reel unit as part of his training.

"Just in case."

Dave had also said that the big-money visitors to the conservatory liked seeing 'a real recording studio.' That was also the reason he kept a twenty-four channel mixer in the control room, even when most concerts were recorded with two or four microphones. It helped with fundraising, even if just a little bit.

At the time Dave had shown him how to use the reel-to-reel, Richard remembered thinking he would surely never use the thing again.

He flipped on power to the amplifiers and brought up the playback return. He fast-forwarded through the crowd noise, and then found the walk-on applause.

Richard sat in front of the speakers and closed his eyes. The hall got quiet...

... Irina adjusted her bench slightly, repositioning it a fraction of an inch closer to the piano. She stayed motionless for a full five seconds. The black velvet of her dress swayed gently as she rested her feet on the pedals.

Am I ready for this? she wondered. She knew she wasn't. The stress of the move had taken a toll on her practice time of late. She should have listened to herself. Or even to her husband. Harvey had suggested a milder program as well.

But Irina was out to make her mark on the conservatory. Even though her reputation had preceded her arrival in the ranks of the piano faculty a few months earlier, she wanted her first faculty recital to be historic in its own right.

She wasn't ready, no, but it would be enough for the audience, and even enough for the other piano faculty. Only she knew how much better she could play. Only she, and Harvey.

One last breath ... Then she raised her hands, and struck the first low register octave C's with her left hand. The rich harmonics of the piano filled the hall at once. It seemed like the octave rang forever, but it was really only a split second before her right hand flew off along the difficult arpeggios of the first Etude.

Frustration set in as Irina fought to make her fingers sing the melody which constantly shifted registers, peeking between the filigree of the arpeggios. Having small hands was not in her favor for this piece, but rarely was anything ever in her favor in life.

As she hit the last notes a few minutes later, Irina made a vow to play this program again one day, when she was ready.

There was a murmur and a smattering of applause from a few people, which quickly died down. Irina didn't even notice. She was focused on the second etude.

There was no respite in this program. One down, eleven to go. And that was only before intermission...

... From the opening notes of the recital to the last C major chord of the twelfth Etude, Richard had sat riveted to the chair, amazed at what he was hearing: his piano teacher playing some of the most challenging music ever written. Live, and all at once! It was breathtaking, emotional ... and so musical.

The end leader of the reel slipped off the hub and the grey flanges began to spin wildly. Richard pressed the stop button absently, his mind still sitting in a concert hall sixteen years ago.

He glanced at the second reel-to-reel box, and then at his watch. He had missed the beginning of class already. Ms. Connelly, though nothing like Dr. Dobra in terms of strictness, was not fond of latecomers either.

Richard threaded the first tape back onto its reel and rewound it as he weighed his options. He really wanted to see if Mrs. Tertychnaya had played the next set of twelve Etudes on the second tape. He was almost salivating at the idea. Growing up, Pollini's version of the pieces was one of his favorite recordings ever. He had worn out three of those yellow labeled cassettes. Of course, his father had introduced Richard to the recording. It was not unexpected, given the Italian heritage of Pollini, that he should be one of Vittorio's favorite musicians. He since had turned into one of Richard's musical heroes as well.

But Mrs. Tertychnaya's recording was so different. There was an urgency, a passion to the playing that was quite different from the eloquent restraint of expression that the Italian pianist demonstrated. Perhaps it was the fact that it was live, but Richard felt like he understood his teacher much more for having heard this old reel-to-reel tape. None of her other commercial recordings, though superb in their own right, had connected with him so deeply like this one just had.

Richard made his decision. The analysis of subdominant chords could wait.

The second box could not.

Richard replaced the first reel in its box, and then threaded the second tape onto the machine. Thank you, Dave, he thought silently. As soon as he had the time, he was going to be making a cassette dub of this tape.

Richard was not disappointed; the first notes of the second half confirmed that she was going to play the complete cycle.

Richard took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he settled in for the next half-hour journey through his teacher's musical heart.

Sandra was frowning when Emily came out of the classroom alone.

"Where's Richard?" she asked, concern etched on her face.

"I don't know. He didn't show up for class."

Sandra let out a breath. "What?"

Emily shrugged and shook her head. Just then, Jer walked by, on his way out of the classroom.

"Jer, have you seen Richard?" Sandra asked him, urgently.

"Yeah, he was practicing this morning right before class. I thought he said he was coming, but..." Jer shrugged.

"Okay, thanks," Sandra said, as Jer went off.

"Let's go find him and get some lunch," Emily said. "He's probably down in a practice room still."

"He's mad at us," Sandra said softly.

"Why do you say that?"

"He skipped breakfast; he didn't come to class. If he wasn't mad at us, he would have at least let us know what he was doing."

"I don't know, Sandra."

Sandra sighed and then the girls headed down to the practice rooms to look for the elusive Richard.

Awestruck, Richard's hands shook slightly as he carefully replaced the tapes on the shelf. The middle of the seventeenth Etude had made him choke up. And the last notes of the twenty-fourth had made him remember why he played the piano.

As he hefted his pack, he checked his watch. Class was out. He needed to find the girls, and then get back to the practice room.

Richard knocked on their dorm room door, but there was no answer. He went up to his room. Jer was lying on his bed with headphones on, following an orchestral part. Richard could hear the strains of an orchestra seeping out from the edge of the headphones.

"Jer!" Richard called out.

Man, he listens loud!

Richard walked to the head of his bed and got Jer's attention visually.

"Hey, what's up dude?"

"Any calls?" Richard asked.

"Your dad called this morning," Jer said.

"All right. Nothing from Emily or Sandra?"

"I saw them after class. Where were you at?"

"I got stuck in the recording room and lost track of time," Richard said dismissively. "Do you know where they went?"

"No, probably over to Crapler."

Richard checked his watch. "At eleven?"

"I don't know. I thought they said something about lunch."

Richard groaned. "If they call or stop by, tell them I went to eat."

"Cool. Hey, would you mind backing the CD up a minute or two?"

Richard obliged as Jer replaced his headphones, and then he headed towards the cafeteria.

Sandra was very worried. A tour of the practice rooms had been fruitless, and no one had answered the knock on Richard's door.

"And no message," Emily said, eyeing the unblinking light on the answering machine.

"He's mad at us," Sandra repeated.

"Will you stop saying that?" Emily retorted, frustration touching her voice.

Sandra sat glumly on the edge of her bed.

"Maybe he just needs some time," Emily said, more calmly. She stared out the window absently, fingering the edge of the desk.

There was a long period of silence, as each was lost in thought. An almost idyllic first month at Wexford had suddenly become uncertain.

Emily moved to sit next to Sandra. "I'm sorry for snapping at you."

"It's okay. I'm a little on edge, too," Sandra admitted. "I think I need to be alone for a little while."