So, Ray thought, let’s just say that you’re a young ambitious Serbian violinist who everyone says is a shoo-in for winning the Tchaikovsky Competition—except for one other competitor, some Black dude who happened to luck into a Stradivarius. Without it, the Black dude is just a really good player. With it, the Strad could put him over the top. Is it inconceivable to believe that you’d figure out a way to steal the violin? Find a housekeeper in a hotel where the Black dude is staying, pay her a few thousand dollars to take it?
Ray was crazy. Stupid. Paranoid.
He slipped out of bed, into the bathroom, texted Alicia.
Ray: Hi I’m in Moscow theres a serbian violinist who ppl say is my big rival here. Mikhail Lezenkov, google him. I just learned this a few minutes ago or i wouldve said something sooner. You asked about people with a motive, he has a big one
Alicia: Just to win the competition? I know it’s a big deal but is that really a motive?
Ray: I seriously think it is. Can you at least check it out?
Alicia: This is really interesting. There’s a violin rumored to be for sale in Serbia. Black market. I was having contacts check it out but its one of several leads. Now will dig in more thoroughly asap
Ray: Theres a black market violin in Serbia????????? Seriously??
Alicia: Dont get your hopes up. I heard of violins for sale in Qatar and China too
He lay awake for another hour, vibrating with exhaustion, listening to Nicole’s breathing, unable to stop thinking about Mikhail Lezenkov, those knowing blue eyes. Would his family steal the violin, sell it on the black market, and get the ransom money? And their son would win the competition to boot. Why hadn’t Ray thought of it himself?
Finally he wrapped himself around Nicole and at last fell asleep, not waking until the alarm went off three hours later.
The day was slated for practice, with a schedule and practice room assigned before the prequalifying round the next day; but at the Conservatory all the musicians distracted him, and he ended up returning to the hotel and running his prequalifying program with Janice and Nicole. In the afternoon he returned to the Conservatory to look for Mikhail Lezenkov but couldn’t find him.
He did find the medici.tv camera crews, however. The Russian classical music scene was on an entirely different level from America’s. Both up-and-coming as well as established musicians held rock star status, primarily because medici.tv broadcasted all types of classical music performances: opera, small ensembles, choral, soloists, orchestras. The station’s logos and banners were prominent in the hall and in the programs.
An interview couch sat right inside the small auditorium’s foyer. On it, a correspondent interviewed one of the piano contestants. Ray lingered. The young Japanese pianist batted her eyes at the camera and at the fans who loosely circled them. She was really excited to be playing the second Ravel Piano Concerto: “I feel the second movement will really speak to the souls of anyone who has ever been in love.” Okay then. Sure.
Here goes nothing, he thought.
He straightened his blue blazer, waded through a group of Russian and Asian fans, made eye contact with the interviewer as the pianist’s interview concluded. The Japanese pianist was barely off the couch before the interviewer—a young woman with shaggy hair and round John Lennon–style glasses—was up and shaking her hand, her smile as wide as the couch she’d been sitting on. “Rayquan McMillian, welcome to Moscow! How are you feeling? Are you ready to take on the competition? Do you have a few moments? We’d love the chance to talk to you.”
Ray was careful to smile as he shook her hand. The camera’s enormous eye glittered at him, but he’d done his share of media interviews: after 60 Minutes, this didn’t seem particularly terrifying. “I’m really happy to be here. I’m so excited to be a part of the competition.”
He was focused on the camera and the interviewer, but could sense the crowd around and behind him: people were gathering, listening.
“Rayquan, you have such an interesting story—so inspiring and so heartbreaking.”
“Please, call me Ray.”
“We’ve all heard about the devastating loss of your instrument, but we’ll get to that in a moment. What made you decide to enter this competition?”
The trick, he knew, was to first make your audience sympathize with you. Then you could make the ask. “I’ve always loved music,” he said. “I’ve always loved playing. This is the most prestigious musical competition in the world. Of course I want to be part of it.”