The Tchaikovsky Affair

  The Tchaikovsky Affair

  By Marie Swift

  © Marie Swift 2013

  Cover Photograph: © Robyn Mackenzie | Dreamstime.com

  The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

  One

  Shannon McClintock always loved the first day of the new concert season. She loved seeing familiar faces she had missed over the break and looked forward to meeting the new musicians. She also enjoyed the challenge the first few weeks always brought: figuring out how to work as a cohesive unit and learning new and exciting pieces. She could feel the collective enthusiasm in the air as she practically skipped into the New York Philharmonic’s spacious rehearsal room. This was the point in the season long before people began to get burnt out and exhausted from working long hours; the point before people began to show their true diva colors.

  This year, however, she was doubly excited. Her hard work from last season had paid off and she had been given the highly sought after position of 1st violin and concertmaster. Being concertmaster of the New York Philharmonic was about as good as it gets. Added to the prestige was the fact that the featured piece of this season’s main concert was to be Tchaikovsky’s “Violin Concerto in D Major”, including one of the most impressive and technically difficult violin solos in all orchestral history. Solos were always awarded to the first chair of the appropriate section. With this solo, Shannon was sure to become a household name in the orchestral circles and possibly even on a larger scale. It was going to mean a lot of work, but she had been preparing for this moment since she touched her first half-sized violin at age four.

  As she made her way to the back wall, Shannon greeted her colleagues with warm smiles. She stopped to chat to those she knew, asking about their breaks and their families, and politely introduced herself to those who were new to the ensemble. Finally reaching the wall, she placed her bag and violin case down, before kneeling and carefully lifting her Stradivarius from the case. After tightening her bow and rubbing rosin on it, she walked to the front of the room, as the rest of the orchestra dutifully took their seats. It was well recognized that when the concertmaster was ready to begin, you needed to be in your seat waiting for your cue. There was a well-respected tradition of punctuality and orderliness that helped everything run smoothly. As concertmaster, it was Shannon’s job to make announcements and discuss any administrative business for the day, tune and warm up the orchestra, and lead any sectionals before the director/conductor arrived. The key to the Philharmonic’s success was that it ran as a well-oiled machine. Just one person could bring this machine to a grinding halt by being disrespectful or disorganized. Not to mention the fact that their intimidating conductor, Antonio Gallo, did not tolerate beginning a rehearsal late.

  Shannon glanced at her watch before proceeding to the podium, where she tapped the back of her bow on the metal stand to get everyone’s attention. At the sound, the entire ensemble ceased talking and warming up. After the last sounds reverberated off the walls, the hall fell to an eerie silence. Shannon briefly glanced around the room, taking in everyone’s appearances, and frowned at the sight of the empty 1st cello chair.

  “Welcome back to our veterans and welcome home to our new members! For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Shannon McClintock, and I am concertmaster this season. We have a really awesome season ahead of us. It’s an ambitious repertoire, but it has the potential to be the best season the Philharmonic has ever seen. I’m sure I don’t need to tell any of you this, but it will take dedication, hard work, and perseverance. Clearly, none of us are strangers to hard work, but I wanted you all to know that – ”

  At that moment, the clanging of the heavy metal door interrupted Shannon’s speech. She whipped her head around to glare at the offensive intruder. Her gaze was met by the most piercing, soulful brown eyes she’d ever seen. Shannon gasped and allowed her self to gape for a few seconds, before remembering how rude this intrusion had been. During her unrepentant leering, Shannon noted that the woman was more than just those expressive eyes; the straggler had flowing chestnut hair, full ruby lips, curves that most women would envy, and shapely legs that, even hidden under her dark-washed jeans, clearly went on for miles.

  Mumbling an apology, the latecomer practically threw her merlot-colored cello case against the wall, before unbuckling the latches as fast as she could.

  Of course her case has stickers all over it, Shannon thought to herself. How unprofessional.

  “Please take your seat…” Shannon demanded, gesturing for the brunette to proffer her name.

  “Jackie.”

  “Please take your seat, Jackie.” Shannon reiterated, with a tight smile.

  “As I was saying,” Shannon continued, as Jackie stepped over people to get to her seat, ungracefully trying to avoid hitting anyone with her large instrument. “I wanted to say that my door is always open. We are all trained for these arduous hours ahead of us, but if the stress is ever too much, please come talk to me at any point. One of the things I love about playing with the Phil is that we are a family. A crazy, ambitious, workaholic family, but a family nonetheless. We look out for each other, and as your newly appointed leader, I want to continue to foster that kind of environment.

  “You have been given the rehearsal schedule for the next two months as well as my contact information. All questions regarding the schedule and music should be directed to me and I will refer questions to Maestro Gallo if needed. I shouldn’t have to remind you, but punctuality is key,” she said, pointedly staring at Jackie, “to the success of this ensemble. It is also important to me, since it’s my head on the chopping block if rehearsal starts late. Those of you who have worked with Maestro Gallo before can attest to the fact that he does not appreciate tardiness.”

  Jackie sank back in her seat, a sheepish and apologetic smile on her face.

  “Lastly, there has been one change in the schedule. This Friday I will be holding a cello and bass sectional instead of horns on the Prokofiev. Please review the first 4 pages of your scores on your own and come prepared to do some hard work. Ok, well that’s the end of my little spiel. Let’s get to some tuning!”

  Shannon finished her speech with a big smile, showing off her dimples. She laughed as the 1st violin section, soon to be followed by the whole orchestra, began to applaud her. Despite the one disturbance in her welcome speech, she believed she was off to a good start. She giggled and bowed dramatically, before bringing up her violin with a flourish to play the concert A.

  As the orchestra finished tuning and the cacophony dimmed, Maestro Antonio Gallo strode purposefully through the door, his dirty blonde, unkempt hair bouncing atop his head. The orchestra unanimously leapt to their feet and cheered on their revered (and feared) conductor. He hopped on the podium and raised his spindly hands to silence the ensemble and gestured for them to take a seat.

  “Please, please, that was not necessary. Actually, it was; I am the great Maestro Gallo, after all.” The orchestra laughed nervously. One was never too sure whether Gallo was being serious or if he was mocking his world famous inflated ego.

  “I trust that Ms. McClintock has given a rousing welcome speech already, and I know all of you know who I am, so without further ado, we will dive right in. We have a lot of work to do. We will start with the featured piece. Please pull out the Andante of the Tchaikovsky.”

  Three hours later, the orchestra was still fumbling their way through the middle movement of the Tchaikovs
ky. They were all excruciatingly talented musicians and obviously knew their parts, but it simply was not jibing. The sections were out of sync with each other and Shannon was convinced the violas were lagging behind and pulling the entire ensemble with them. Her beloved 1st violins were, of course, nothing to do with the problem.

  Letting out a frustrated sigh, Gallo said, “Okay, take a 10 minute water break, everyone. Try to find some rhythm while you’re at it.” He could never resist being a little snarky.

  Shannon gently rested her violin against the back of her chair, and headed out of the atrium and to the bathroom. Once there, she splashed some cold water on her face and combed her fingers through her blonde curls. This was not how she was expecting her first rehearsal to go. She had to keep reminding herself that it always took a few weeks to gel.

  She was pulled out of her internal monologue by a cough behind her. Glancing in the mirror, she was once again met with those gorgeous brown eyes. She sucked in a deep breath before turning to face the magnificent brunette.

  “Hey, I-I just wanted to apologize for earlier. I have a pretty long commute and my bus – ”

  “I’m sure you have a great excuse, Jackie. Everyone always does when they’re late. I know you’re a newcomer here, but you should know that it doesn’t matter what your excuse is at this level. This is the freaking New York Philharmonic. We are the cream of the crop. I don’t know your history or your credentials, and frankly, I don’t care. You’re 1st cello so you must have done something right to get here, but you can no longer ride on talent alone. You must be professional, and in my book, the number one rule of professionalism is being on time. I have a lot riding on this, as concertmaster and personally, as the soloist. It’s your first time and I don’t hold grudges, so let’s move on. Just don’t be late to my rehearsal again.”

  With that, Shannon quickly marched out of the bathroom, leaving a stunned Jackie in her wake. Shannon was aware that her speech was much harsher than necessary. She had done nothing to diminish the stereotype that concertmasters, and 1st violinists in general, were divas. Had it been anyone else, she would have made her point, but probably with much less attitude and she would have undoubtedly finished with her charming dimpled smile.

  Her problem with Jackie was not that she was late. It was that with one look, she had made Shannon’s legs wobble and her heart lurch. But Shannon could not have any inconvenient feelings threatening her success. If that meant making an enemy rather than a friend (or lover, her misguided brain reminded her) on her first day, then so be it. In this line of work, it was the unfortunate truth that you had to make enemies to rise to the top.

  Two

  Every section of the orchestra had a stereotype: the percussionists were kind of the jocks of the symphony; the brass were the loud, crass type; the wind instrumentalists were known to be good kissers; the bass section were the jazzy hippies; the violas were the wannabe violinists; the violin sections were the arrogant divas; and the cellos were the soul and passion of the orchestra.

  Jackie had never been too concerned with the politics of the ensembles she had been in, but she had to admit that in the one week she had been in the New York Philharmonic, the members did nothing to disprove these often negative stereotypes. She hoped that as the season continued she would be proven wrong, especially by a certain blonde concertmaster.

  As Jackie practiced in the empty hall an hour before her sectional, she found herself wondering in amazement that she was here, in New York City, principal cello in arguably the best symphony orchestra in the world. For Jackie, playing the cello had never been a means to an end. It was not her career, but her passion. It was simply an added bonus that she was getting paid simply for doing the thing she loved most in the world. Growing up with plenty of money to spare and a sizeable trust fund on the way, Jackie had never needed to earn money, giving her ample time to perfect her skills. She truly was a perfectionist, but not in the way other musicians were. She had no real goals; she just wanted to play as beautifully as possible, and if people would pay to hear her play, then so be it. It wasn’t until she received a full scholarship to Oberlin Conservatory that she realized her full potential.

  Her sister and friends often joked that Jackie was married to her cello. Many a relationship began by watching Jackie’s sensual cello playing. Many a relationship was ruined because of Jackie’s partners not understanding her prioritizing her cello over them. Sure, Jackie loved to be in love and wanted nothing more than to settle down with a nice boy or girl, but she was not willing to sacrifice one bit of her passion for the cello, and now her career. It was for this reason that Jackie often found herself swept up in passionate, torrid love affairs that came to a grinding halt just as quickly as they began. She desperately hoped that one day she would find someone who would never question her priorities.

  It was at that point in Jackie’s thoughts that her mind drifted to the beautiful blonde who had reprimanded her just a few days earlier. She hadn’t imagined that the sweet, bubbly, cheerful woman who had welcomed them so warmly the first day could be such a class A bitch mere hours later. Normally Jackie wouldn’t care at all what others thought of her, confident in her own remarkable abilities, but she found herself trying to prove her merits to this woman. She couldn’t quite figure out whether it was out of respect for Shannon’s superior position in the orchestra or because every time she closed her eyes, she saw dimples and golden curls.

  Realizing she was being watched, Jackie stilled her hands and the mournful notes faded into the walls.

  Shannon had intended to get to the rehearsal hall early to have some quiet time to figure out how best to conduct this sectional. As she walked through the door, the sight in front of her made her heart skip several beats. Jackie was slumped over her cello (Horrible posture, Shannon had thought when her mind had become less foggy), her dark hair covering her face and falling gently over the neck of the instrument. Jackie didn’t just play with her lithe hands, but her entire body. As her right hand dipped across the instrument to play a raspy, low note, her entire right side from her shoulder to her hip to her knee moved into the instrument. She was an extension of the instrument in every sense of the word. It was as if the bow had been sown to her right palm, and her front glued to the body of the cello. She was simultaneously playing the instrument, producing soaring notes, while intimating a sensual solo act. Shannon felt a blush rise up her neck, feeling like she was a voyeur, intruding on a very intimate moment in Jackie’s life.

  When Shannon realized Jackie had stopped playing, she started to walk with purpose, hoping that the brunette would think she had just walked in the door.

  “Jacinta,” she breathed, “you’re here early.”

  Jackie grumbled at the name. “I usually am. How did you know my full name?”

  “Seating chart,” she grinned, holding up the offending item.

  Jackie screwed up her nose in disgust. “I hate it. It’s so cumbersome.”

  “It means beautiful, right?” Shannon asked.

  “Right,” Jackie mumbled.

  “I’m a river in Ireland. I’d say your name suits you far more than mine suits me.”

  Jackie raised an eyebrow, wondering whether the blonde was actually bipolar. “Uh…yeah, you don’t look like a river.”

  “Jacinta it is, then.”

  Jackie got the feeling she shouldn’t argue. Her full name coming out of Shannon’s rose-colored lips had a lyrical quality that got under her skin.

  The two fell into an awkward silence, both pretending to be busy with odd jobs. Jackie absentmindedly marked her music, retracing the same markings she had already written in prior rehearsals. Shannon studied the Prokofiev score, occasionally lifting her hands in a conducting pattern. Neither was actually paying any attention to their tasks, and would instead steal glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. A few times Jackie opened her mouth to say something, but could never figure out the right words. She wanted to make things right, but
she knew a further apology would not be well received. She momentarily thought about starting small talk, but didn’t want to disturb the blonde who looked so cute with her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

  Jackie shook her head as if trying to rid her mind of inappropriate thoughts and glanced at her watch. Still half an hour until rehearsal. Were they really the only two who wanted to get there early?

  “Oh thank God,” Jackie muttered when the door to the room was kicked open, Evan Bayer and his ungainly double bass appearing in the entranceway. He whistled as he sauntered forward, carrying his bass as if it weren’t a huge, heavy block of wood. A fedora was perched atop his salt and pepper mane. Yep, jazzy hippie, Jackie mused to herself, a small smirk on her face. She glanced up to see Shannon looking at her quizzically, presumably wondering what was amusing her.

  The three engaged in pleasant small talk while the others filed in, Evan acting as a buffer for the women’s palpable tension.

  Shannon’s first sectional ran smoothly and she felt that it was quite productive. Jackie found herself in awe of the blonde’s leadership and directorial skills. Similarly, Shannon admired Jackie’s clear dedication and poise. She was an obvious choice for principal cello.

  Shannon ended the sectional with a rhythmically difficult passage for the basses that was taking longer than anticipated to correct. She briefly gave notes and asked the basses to be more aware of their cues, before asking them to repeat the system. Shannon was acutely aware of Jackie’s gaze, her eyes boring holes through Shannon’s carefully constructed façade. During a fancy rhythm change, Shannon chanced a look in Jackie’s direction. Big mistake. Her heart sped and their eyes locked, while Shannon’s arms fell clumsily out of tempo. A few of the basses tried to keep up, before they lost their groove all together.

  “I’m really sorry, guys,” Shannon said, clearly flustered. “You know, why don’t we just call it a day? You’ve all been working really hard, and I’m sure you won’t have any trouble with that passage when we add in the percussion.” As she said this, she was already shuffling her sheets of music into a pile, trying to remove herself from the situation as fast as possible.