Chapter 2: Offertory

Irina Tertychnaya mostly thought in English now. She wasn't sure when the change had happened. She found it amusing that in the twenty years or so that she had been at the Wexford Conservatory, she had changed her internal language, and yet her accent was as thick as the day she first stepped foot through the glass doors of the school. Marrying an American artist probably helped the change; she no longer spoke Russian other than the occasional chat with Yuri, the principle bassoonist of the orchestra.

There was not a significant Russian population in this city, and she was rather glad for it. She didn't need to be reminded of the horrors of her youth anymore. She had lived them. Once was enough.

She sighed. Late to the first lesson. Not a good start for Mr. Mazzini.

"Come," she said, leaving a few moments of silence between the rap on the door and her call.

A tall young man entered her studio. He looked like he had just woken up, and his eyes were a bit red.

"Will this time not work for you, Mr. Mazzini?"

"I'm sorry?" he said.

"You are late. If you prefer the afternoon, we can change."

The man looked at his watch.

"I'm sorry. Wasn't the lesson at nine?"

"Yes, Mr. Mazzini. It is two minutes after nine."

He looked a bit taken aback. Irina chuckled to herself. He won't be late again.

"I'm sorry, I was trying to find the alarm ... I mean, I was trying to find the room, and my alarm..." he stammered.

Irina waved him silent. "Play, Mr. Mazzini," she said, gesturing to the bench sitting in front of the worn black piano.

He looked at her for another moment, and then set down his bag on the floor. As he started taking out his music, she got his attention with a cough.

When he turned to her, she gave him a quick shake of the head, and gestured to the piano again.

He straightened up, and then sat on the bench. Irina watched his large hands work the rollers to lower the bench. He tried the height several times, finally getting the bench low enough. She took note of the position so she could have it ready for him in the future. It was the last time he would need to waste lesson time fussing with it.

He breathed loudly and deeply, and his hands shook slightly as he laid them on the piano. Then he began.

Irina smiled a little as he pounded out the opening octaves of a Liszt piece, Après un lecture du Dante. The piece was perhaps overly bombastic for starting his first lesson with, but he was young. She wasn't surprised at his choice. She had given enough first lessons to know how eager students were to impress her.

This time, she was impressed, although not by his choice of piece. He was the first person to play something different than what he had played at his audition half a year earlier. That pleased her; he had not stopped working after being accepted to the conservatory.

She listened carefully, and after a few minutes smiled again. He has impressive technique, but still has much to learn about music, she thought.

He stopped once, a glitch in memory, and then went on. That didn't bother her. The piece was demonic in more ways than one. He might not have been expecting to play without music, although he should have been prepared.

After he played a few minutes of the first slow section, Irina stood. She watched his strong hands from over his shoulder, waiting for him to reach the return to the darker theme. It would be cruel to stop him in the middle of the climactic build up, so she waited until the tremolo which signaled the end of the euphoric dolcissimo section. She placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay, Mr. Mazzini."

He stopped almost reluctantly, and sat stone-still, looking at the keys.

Irina returned to her chair, crossing her legs. "Start again."

He looked at her, face drawn, and then turned to the keys again. After he played the first few bars, she stopped him again.

"Where is the melody?"

He thought for a moment, and then fingered the upper voice of the chords.

"I guess it's that," he said.

Irina stood and moved around to his left. She reached in to the keys, and smiled slightly as he shied away from her body as it brushed his shoulder.

Much to learn about life.

"What about this?" she said, playing the lower notes of the chords. "Or this?" She played the inner voice. Each moved with a different feeling.

"Uh, I don't know. Those are part of the chords, I guess?"

"Mr. Mazzini, in music you cannot guess. You cannot say, 'I don't know.'"

His complexion turned a little red.

"Play that for me again. Just the first phrase."

He complied, but she stopped him after the first few notes.

"No, Mr. Mazzini. Like you played before. With authority."

He took a breath and started again.

"Think about the melody you showed me," she said softly near his ear.

He played through the chords as before.

"No. I do not hear it. Play me the melody alone."

He played the six notes singly.

"Again. It must sing. Do you know who Dante is?"

He nodded. Again he played. This time he stopped himself and tried again.

"Yes, better. Now, play again, both hands. I want to hear the melody."

"Is that the way it should be phrased?" he asked.

"It does not matter right now. Play it how you hear it to be."

He started again.

"Again," Irina chimed, as he reverted to chords. "Melody!"

She smiled as he successfully transmitted the melody through the chords.

"Yes, that is good." Irina returned to her chair. "Riccardo, you play well."

He looked up at her, smiling ever so slightly. Was it at her use of his real name, or from the praise, she didn't know. She could tell he didn't think she was happy, but she didn't press the issue. She wouldn't often be telling him how well he played. Praise was a minimal motivator unless used judiciously.

"You play well, but you cannot guess," she repeated. "You must think about the music you play. Every note is important, or we would leave it out. But why is that note, or this note, important? That is up to you to decide. To interpret."

Richard nodded.

"Now, let us look at the other notes in the chords. Play the lower voice for me."

He has great potential, Irina thought to herself. Of course he does, or I wouldn't have accepted him. The things I can teach him...

"I think she doesn't like me," Richard said.

"Did she rip you a new one?" Emily asked. She was sipping from a glass of fruit punch provided at the orientation session. I'm glad he came over to talk to me, she thought.

"Maybe a few new ones. I got there a minute late, literally, and she was all over me for that."

"Well, first lesson ... I wouldn't get too depressed yet. There's plenty of time for that, later."

"Heh, right. We spent an hour and a half on just two pages of one piece. At this rate, I better start figuring out what'll be on my senior recital!"

Emily laughed. She was happy to have bumped into Richard the day before. She knew a number of people attending the school, through music festivals and summer orchestra programs. But pianists were not in that loop, being for the most part soloists. It was refreshing to talk to someone who wasn't constantly going on about how great Tanglewood had been, or what guest conductor had graced the stage at Spoleto. Or talking about her father. Richard had been gracious enough to let that go the night before, and she appreciated it.

"Where's Sandra?" Richard asked.

Figures, she thought. The pretty ones have it so easy. She wondered if having Sandra as a roommate would make meeting guys hard. Will she just suck them away from me as they approach? But Emily liked Sandra enough that it wasn't a problem. For now, at least.

"She said she was going to be a few minutes late. She likes to make an entrance. Singers, you know..."

Richard chuckled. "Yeah. So what's on our schedule, then?" Richard studied the paper he had grabbed from the stack.

"A week of fun and games," Emily said acerbically.

"Art museum should be cool though," he said.

"True," she agreed.

"Dinner at the dean's house, bus tour of the city, tour of Crantz Hall, and a bunch of meetings. Fun."

"Common sense meetings, I'm sure."

"Yeah. Dorm safety, crap like that."

"All right, people!" cried the resident hall director. "Sit, please!"

"Should have saved some seats," Richard said, as the lounge couches and chairs quickly filled up.

The pair sat on the floor, leaning back against an end table.

"All right, let's go around the room. Introduce yourselves. Say your name, your year, your instrument, and what was the highlight of your summer. I'll start. My name is Joey. I'm a second year masters student in the bassoon department, and your dorm director."

Emily listened as the group of mostly first-years followed Joey's example. As expected, most tried to trump the previous speaker with their summer highlight.

"My summer highlight was attending a masterclass by Perlman..."

"I played a recital in the Weill Recital Hall at Carnegie..."

"Blah, blah, blah..."

"Emily Rathbourne, first year, French horn, and playing beach soccer every night was my summer highlight."

A slight titter rippled through the crowd. Richard looked at her with a grin and an approving nod. She was sure some people expected her to mention her father. Avoiding mentioning music altogether gave her some satisfaction.

"My name is Riccardo Mazzini," Richard said, dropping into rich Italian just for his name, "but people usually call me Richard. I'm a first year piano student, and let's see, I'm six-foot-two, so I would have to say my summer highlight was the long car ride here with my parents, stuffed in the backseat of an old Camry with all my junk."

The room laughed for a moment, and then quieted as the next person started.

"My string quartet toured Europe..."

Fun's over, Emily thought.

Sandra arrived, and after teasing her for being late, Joey made a show of inviting her into the circle. He asked her to give her vitals.

"I'm Sandra d'Arcy, and I am in the vocal department."

"First year?" Joey asked.

"Yes."

"And your summer highlight?"

"My summer highlight? Hmm ... A bunch of pigs got loose from our farm and went into town. That was a fun afternoon."

Some of the crowd laughed, while some others looked at Sandra a bit funny.

Emily was sure the image of Sandra in muddy overalls chasing pigs around was in everyone's head at that moment.

She looked at the faces that weren't laughing. Some people need to lighten up, she thought. She was glad to see Richard wearing a big grin.

"So you play soccer?" Richard asked Emily as they waited for Sandra to come down to the lounge. It was a Domino's night, they'd all agreed.

"Yeah," Emily said.

"Me too. I saw a few people playing last night outside the dorm. Did you notice?"

"Mm-hmm. We should find out when they're playing again. I know a few of the people that were there, so I'll ask them."

"Cool, I'd be into that. Let me know."

Sandra arrived, late as usual.

"What's up, farm girl?" Emily said as they walked.

"So you really live on a farm?" Richard asked. He hoped he wasn't prying too much.

"Yes, it's true. I know, opera and farms don't go together much, but..."

"Well, why not?" he said. "Although I admit I wouldn't have guessed."

Sandra just shrugged.

"What do your folks do?" Emily asked Richard.

Richard hesitated slightly. Her dad is Clark Rathbourne. But then again, Sandra's dad is a farmer, so what difference does it make?

"Uh, my mom does some office work, and my dad is a painter."

"Is he famous too?" Sandra asked.

"No, he paints houses, not art."

"Oh, I see."

"Hey, we should ditch the bus tour tomorrow and go on our own tour," Emily said.

"Do you have a car?" Richard asked.

"No, but we can steal one," Emily said evenly. "How about that one there? A convertible, that would be fun!"

Richard frowned at her for a moment. Is she serious? he wondered.

"Kidding, dude. But we can take that train thing to get downtown. Make our own city tour. Do you like shopping at the mall, Richard?"

"I don't have any money," he reminded her.

"That's fine, I don't like shopping either. Let's just go hang out, see the sights, people watch, whatever."

"I'd go for that," Sandra said. "Are we required to do all these orientation activities, though?"

"Supposedly," Richard said. Thoughts of his scholarship disappearing for missing a bus tour flashed through his head.

"Eh, so what? What are they going to do? Kick us out of school for missing the 'How-to-tie-your-shoes' meeting? Ooh!" Emily said mockingly.

Richard and Sandra grinned. "Yeah, you're right. Let's do it," he said.

They stopped outside of the pizza place doors.

"Do we have to eat pizza tonight?" Sandra whined.

My thoughts exactly, but... , Richard thought.

"I have to," Richard said glumly. "I opened my bank account today, and I have to have twenty-five dollars minimum in it or they charge me like three bucks! That means I have even less to work with."

"Hey, I can spot you. Seriously," Emily offered.

Richard looked at her gratefully. She's an interesting mix of irreverent and caring, he thought.

"Thanks, but hopefully it won't come to that. Still, crappy pizza is on the menu, unless there's something better for less."

"I'm not eating at Burger King," Emily said.

"There's a Subway a few blocks that way," Sandra pointed. "But someone got food poisoning there last week, I heard."

"Mm, let's go there!" Emily chimed with fake excitement. Then she got serious again. "You know, we should buy some food and make a meal at the dorm. Isn't there a kitchen on the first floor?"

"Yeah, but it's not working. They were having problems with bugs. People leaving food out ... I thought of it already and asked Joey," Sandra said.

"Rejected," Richard said glumly.

"I have an electric kettle in our room," Sandra offered. "We have boiling water at least."

"Great, we'll have tea for dinner." Emily said.

Richard sniggered. "Or cup-a-soup," he added. "I lived on those for a while."

"That's cheap, yeah," Emily agreed, "but I'm going to wake up hungry at two a.m. if all I've had is chicken broth and earl gray."

"Fine, let's just eat pizza," Sandra conceded, pushing the door open while making a gagging sound.

"Is your roommate here yet?" Emily asked Richard.

"Yeah, he got here right after the meeting this afternoon."

"What's his name?"

"Jer. Short for Jeremy, I guess. Bass player," Richard said.

"Don't think I know him," Emily said.

"He seemed cool, but I only saw him for a few minutes as he was starting to load in."

"Could be worse. You could have gotten a brass player roommate," Sandra said evenly.

Emily elbowed her. "Or a singer. They drive you up the wall with their stupid warm-up noises."

"Noises?"

"Yeah, noises."

"Well at least I'm not drooling all over the place like your French horn does!"

"Ha, ha, very funny. I'll just make sure to sit on your bed from now on when I practice."

"Next!" cried the guy behind the counter, as if they were across the street.

"Dude, we're right here! Do you have to yell?" Emily scolded.

The guy just gave her a look as the three of them put in their order.

"To go," Emily said. "Let's eat at the park. Meanwhile, let's get something to go with it."

Emily went outside and Richard and Sandra followed her to the store a few doors down.