Ray was disinclined to respond to their attorney.
The Markses and their lawsuit fell away. He didn’t feel triumphant: just vaguely uneasy. These white people wouldn’t give up so quickly. They’d gotten it into their heads that the violin was theirs for their imaginary niece to play in her imaginary concerts, and there was no arguing with white people.
So he didn’t argue. He tried to forget them, let the press conjecture whatever it wanted; Ray wanted only to play.
Ray and Nicole walked hand in hand along the Moskva River promenade. The sun was warm and glittered on the water. Nannies pushing prams trundled past, and people snacked on the benches.
Ray grabbed Nicole and kissed her long and hard.
“It’s over!” She hugged him. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Oh my god, I am, too,” Ray said. “I can’t believe this monkey is finally off my back.” Relief kept pouring off him. He’d take a breath and he’d feel some unknown coil in his chest release and fall away; and then another breath, and another coil loosen and disappear. It was really over. “It’s like an angel is watching over me.”
“More like your grandmother.”
“Yeah, I was thinking that, too. I always thought that she was with me. Always.”
“That letter she wrote. Do you think it’s all true?”
“Yeah. I can’t imagine a kid that age coming up with such graphic details. It’s the horrible, ugly truth a lot of people refuse to even acknowledge. I don’t know how people did it back then. They were treated worse than animals. I thought I had it bad with the comments people make. Calling me a monkey or turning me into a PR stunt. It’s nothing compared to what my family went through.”
“Try not to think about it,” she said, rubbing his back.
“You know what?” he said. “I’m going to use it as a reminder of everything that my family has endured. When I get discouraged, I’m going to take that letter out and read it. Anything that I’m going through won’t even compare to the things that used to happen. I wish I could go back and show this to people who told me I was being paranoid and melodramatic.”
“You should take this letter for what it is,” Nicole said. “Validation. You’re doing the right thing with your life. Your great-great-grandfather wasn’t a thief. Your family has gone through some crazy stuff. Your grandmother has always been with you. Oh, and one more thing.”
“What?”
“Oh, nothing special. Just that this Ray is much nicer to be around than that super stressed-out one.”
Ray let out a belly laugh. “Now comes the easy part. Traveling around the world as the Tchaikovsky Competition silver medalist.”
“That’ll be a breeze,” she said. “But at least you can get on with life without these crazy lawsuits.”
“You’re right.” He closed his eyes for a beat, smiled into the sunshine. “The next few months are going to be crazy,” he said after a while. They’d seen the schedule: the “busy and interesting” itinerary included touring China, Russia, France, Germany, and several other countries.
The relief continued to pour off Ray, wave upon wave. He hadn’t realized how much the Markses’ craziness had depleted his mood.
“You know,” he said, “I’m going to have to get a manager.” Several music management companies had reached out to him, and several record companies kept bugging him about a record deal, but he hadn’t called any of them back yet. He felt it would be traitorous to perform without his own violin. Now that he was getting close to the $5 million ransom, it might be only a couple weeks until he had it back. Only $275,000 more to go.
“You really should,” she said. “It’s stupid for you to spend your time figuring out hotel bookings and car pickups. Managers charge ten percent, right? I wonder if we should look into sharing a part-time personal assistant. It might be cheaper.” She really was getting into this. “And we could see who used him—or her—more,” she said. “If I used her more, I could pay more, or reimburse you. And vice versa.”
“You’re really serious,” Ray said, looking at her.
“Yeah, why not? Someone to just help make life run more smoothly. Pick up dry cleaning and pick up groceries, and schedule your trips, and pick you up at the airport instead of taking an Uber. I wonder if they’d do laundry and get my car’s oil changed?” She looked out across the river, said dreamily, “It really sounds kind of awesome. The question is, who pays for her time when she’s sitting at the mechanic’s getting my oil changed and she’s booking your latest excursion to the Berlin Philharmonic?”