“Thanks, man.” They shook hands again, and this time they meant it.
He texted Alicia: Any news? Talked to the Serbian guy and hes going to ask around
A few hours later Alicia messaged him: Looks like your source was accurate. Following a lead on a violin in Belgrade. I’m flying there immediately. Ill keep you informed. Stay focused.
The next day he again holed up in the practice room. Nicole came in a couple times but spent most of her time prowling backstage and listening from the wings. “That Mikhail guy is good,” she said. “Really good. You should listen to him.” He didn’t go. Instead he threw himself into the music in a way that he hadn’t before the First Round’s performance. That evening he got takeout from a restaurant between the Conservatory and the hotel and ate it in his room, watched TV and fell asleep, exhausted.
The next night, Ray, Nicole, and Janice joined the other contestants and their fans in the main hall for the announcement of who would be among the twelve to move on to the Second Round. Each name was met with thunderous cheering and applause. When the elderly judge on the left—one of the top violinists in the world—called Ray’s name, the crowd roared even louder. It was kind of cool to be the favorite. They called Mikhail Lezenkov’s name two slots after his.
He could feel eyes upon him and involuntarily looked over. Mikhail Lezenkov stared back, smiling slightly.
Chapter 29
Day 40: Second Round
The evening’s festivities were still moving forward when Alicia texted. His phone, muted, buzzed lightly. He stood up, apologized as he stumbled over the people seated down the row and out of the hall.
Alicia: Confirmed a black market violin in Serbia
Ray: Will let you know if I hear anything
Alicia: OK am pursuing leads. Will keep you posted
Ray lingered in the ostentatious vestibule while the rest of the program finished inside—it felt rude to go back in. Once the final applause had washed out with the opening doors, the crowd following a few minutes later, he tried to find Mikhail, to ask him if he’d heard anything from his family yet.
It had seemed like every time Ray had left the practice room that day, or the previous days, there was Mikhail, glowering. But now, true to the way the world worked, as soon as Ray wanted him, Mikhail had disappeared. He circled the hall several times. He asked Nicole to look for him, too—no luck. After a while the crowds wore him out. Ray went back to the hotel and went to sleep.
The Second Round followed the same order as the First Round, but now the number of contestants had been cut in half, to twelve. Ray was third on Day One, and Mikhail was ninth on Day Two.
He arrived at the Conservatory early that morning, hoping that Mikhail would already be there, just loitering outside in the Tchaikovsky garden, but Mikhail apparently hadn’t gotten the memo and did not appear. He was probably hidden away in a bunker somewhere, plotting Ray’s destruction.
The rehearsals with Mariamna went better this time. He’d clearly won her approval, or at least thawed the coolness of her disdain. Twice it seemed that she almost smiled—but perhaps it was just gas, or a finger cramp.
The grueling fifty-minute lineup for the Second Round: Mozart’s Violin Sonata no. 21, Pablo de Sarasate’s Zigeunerweisen, Kreisler’s Preludium and Allegro, and Tchaikovsky’s Sérénade mélancolique.
He couldn’t get to the stage fast enough.
His goal, again, was to come out swinging and make the judges notice him, and his focus was razor sharp. Mozart had written his sonata in 1778, just when he’d started as a freelance musician. It had a brilliant opening that shifted to restless agitation: there was a world of possibility in front of Mozart, in front of Ray, and they were eager to see it through, eager to get on with life, eager to rise to whatever challenge was in store. Ray felt like he owned every note, breathed life and possibility into each passage.
In the final movement, Mariamna wasn’t quite behind him the way she should be. Was it on purpose? She was Russian, after all, and not Austrian. No matter, the judges were paying attention to him, not to the piano; and, in any case, he was having the time of his life.
The Sarasate was just fucking fun—a Gypsy delight that began slowly and stately and soon progressed into something so fast that he thought poor Mariamna might have a coronary trying to follow him. Guess these Russians have to work harder to hang with the homies, eh?
He played his Kreisler with flair and elegance. The piece had so much personality to it that there was no way a listener could not be charmed. The allegro section was incredibly fast—so much so that Ray actually impressed himself. Every note sounded even and true. Playing was like the first big drop on a roller coaster that just kept going down, endlessly, the thrill nonstop.