S.V. Redkin – The Great Conductor (страница 16)
There were rumors that the maestro did not only value musical skills—for which he had the highest demands, without exception—but that he was also a seasoned connoisseur of the pleasures a female body could bring, reportedly even in latex outfits. As such, the conductor paid extra attention to any female musician who met his exquisite standards outside of music. He often suggested tête-à-tête discussions “to delve into the music piece” after performances or rehearsals, conveniently held in his luxury hotel suite whenever the orchestra was on tour.
Sebastian knew well that carnal activities—such as swapping hotel rooms to be together, having affairs, getting wasted, and waking up in someone else’s bed—often occurred among musicians when the orchestra was away performing in different countries. What else could one do to bring a bit of joy into one’s life when the supposed glamour of touring boiled down to a monotonous plane-bus-hotel routine? Musicians rarely got to see the places where they performed—you considered yourself lucky if you caught a glimpse of the town through the bus window on a clear day. So, in a way, being the maestro’s “tour wife” could have been seen as a career boost and wasn’t frowned upon by colleagues. Envied, perhaps, but there was never any open judgment. What happened on tour stayed on tour.
There was no indication, however, that Li Mei had been invited to such meetings—her family in China was far too wealthy and influential to engage in such dalliances. Still, many had noticed the lascivious glances and exceptionally kind remarks the maestro had directed toward the young musician during the tour. So, a week after the orchestra had returned, Li Mei arrived in the US to explore a possible position in the orchestra—a position that, curiously, no one had heard about until then.
Sitting in the living room—which Sebastian had converted into a semi-study by placing an old desk and his laptop near the bay windows—he found a few videos of Li Mei and was impressed by the way she reinterpreted the pieces she performed, adding intriguing nuances to well-known works. There was something about her that could undoubtedly enhance the concerto Sebastian had written—a certain colorful stroke to broaden the range of emotions in the piece. However, one thing distracted Sebastian during his research: a pop-up announcing an upcoming performance by Boris Nazaroff. Sebastian was a huge fan of the famous Russian cellist, who happened to play one of the oldest cellos in the world, on loan from a wealthy oligarch. He made a mental note to ask Paul to get him a ticket to the performance and then returned to watching Li Mei’s videos.
After studying the videos for an hour, Sebastian decided to discuss Li Mei’s candidacy with the Great Conductor and see if there was a way to arrange an interview with her to find out whether she would be interested in joining the project. Knowing his brother’s proclivity for occasional seductive approaches when it came to women—Paul, in his usual black Calvin Klein outfits and his slick ponytail, liked to think of himself as an
He had better find a way to do it sooner rather than later, though, because the Great Conductor had given him the second condition for their collaboration—they would have to be ready to perform at a grandiose celebration of Mstislav Rostropovich’s birthday, whom the Great Conductor had personally known. The event was being organized by the most prominent music philanthropists for a special audience. It was going to be better than any music competition—the opportunity was not to be missed. The Great Conductor had high hopes for Sebastian’s piece. With the best available talents and their beautiful instruments to match, he wanted to create a perfect performance in front of the discerning audience.
The revealing of the second condition had taken place unexpectedly a few days ago. Right after another productive rehearsal with Sebastian’s new colleague, the Great Conductor had decided to show up and share his amazing plans. It was late in the evening. The colleague, who had chosen to stay at his own place, had left. Sebastian—dressed in his worn-to-shreds crimson robe that had belonged to his father—was having a bowl of Korean spicy rice noodles with some vegetables Martha had cooked for dinner when he heard the Great Conductor’s voice behind him. At first, Sebastian had thought that his tired mind and heavy head from all the work was creating noises that sounded like someone’s voice, but then he realized that he was in the presence of the maestro.
“It’s time for you to know when we will be performing your piece,” the Great Conductor had said quietly in his beautiful, melodic voice, almost like singing.
Sebastian had turned around and seen the man himself—dressed in a black dinner jacket, a white dress shirt, and a black bow tie, as if he were on his way to a dinner party. He wore his usual surgical face mask—he’d explained to Sebastian at their first meeting that he didn’t want to catch any viruses. Post-pandemic frenzy, it had made total sense. The fact that he had appeared like that wasn’t a shock—Sebastian had offered the Great Conductor the key to the house with trepidation, allowing him to show up at his convenience, which the maestro had graciously accepted. It was a nice, unexpected surprise.
“You’ll need to make some adjustments to the concerto to make sure each instrument has its glorious moment. Be punctilious. Our musicians, along with the soloist, will need to shine and share the energy that the audience can bask in. That will be the highlight of the whole evening and a true celebration of Rostropovich’s genius. He’ll be looking down at us”—he raised both his hands, pointing to the sky, and looked up—“from heaven, smiling with pleasure and serenity.”
Sebastian was speechless.
The birthday of one of the greatest cellists was in March, which would give them six months to find all the musicians the Great Conductor needed, rehearse the piece to perfection, and be ready for the performance. Sebastian was honored and nervous, but most of all, he was happy. So the news of Li Mei, a talented young musician with great technique and an interesting take on well-established approaches, was highly welcome.
Sebastian closed his computer—it was time for his late-morning class. Then, after lunch, he would go and try to meet Li Mei, who, according to Paul, would be visiting the orchestra’s rehearsal in the afternoon. Sebastian would be waiting for her outside the building, right across from the staff entrance. He hoped that he would get to her before Paul came around with his smooth-talking nonsense.
Sebastian stood up and went to get changed.
Chapter 16
Christine opened her eyes and shifted slightly to avoid the direct sunlight streaming into the spacious bedroom through a large sash window. The window was bigger than the ones in her own home. She stretched her arms and looked at the ceiling—it took her only a second to remember where she was and why she was there.
The place had a different smell from her own bedroom. Her place smelled of the washing detergent and softener she used to wash her bed sheets with, and the moisturizing cream she used before going to bed. There was also a trace of gun oil because she sometimes kept her gun on the bedside stand when she came home late and had to get up early the next day. It was just convenient to keep it there.
This place, however, smelled of . . . nothing in particular.
She turned to the side and noticed that the other half of the big, comfortable bed she was in was empty. She shut her eyes and covered half of her face with a wrinkled but fresh-smelling beige silk bedsheet, hiding the happy smile that spread across her face. She remembered the chain of unexpected, naughty, yet subconsciously justifiable—and very pleasant—events that had led her into this bed, which belonged to none other than Victor O’Brian.
How on earth could she not have heard him getting up? It seemed like she could vaguely remember falling asleep—definitely not because of the one glass of wine she’d had the night before—and she felt wonderfully rested, with some pleasant, almost forgotten sensations in her body. She wondered if it was the “afterglow effect” she had once read about—the feeling of enhanced satisfaction that lingers after sexual activity. If that’s what it was, she could definitely use more of that “glow” in the future. The thought made Christine giggle like a teenage girl after her first date.
She tried to smell the air again, trying to sense anything interesting about the owner. She turned toward the open door to the bathroom and caught a lingering hint of menthol, lime, or sandalwood from shaving cream and high-end soap. After a minute, she reached her verdict: The place was like a nice hotel suite—refined, minimalist, and perfectly composed. She decided that she liked it.