Onstage, several of the musicians and the conductor were practicing the Bruch Concerto no. 1. As Ray and Janice trooped up the stage-left steps, the conductor waved his arms to cut off the orchestra. “Rayquan! Here’s the man of the hour,” he said, coming toward them, hand extended. “It’s such a privilege to meet you. Janice, lovely to see you again.” James Meader was a slender older man with salt-and-pepper hair and a seeming inability to look Ray directly in the eyes.
“It’s Ray. Please. It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Meader.”
Ray shook Mr. Meader’s hand, and then the concertmaster’s, who came up right behind them. The principal cellist and principal bassist introduced themselves. Ray was nervous and instantly forgot everyone’s names. “You’re certainly getting a lot of attention,” the cellist said.
He ducked his head. “Five minutes of fame, I guess.”
“You sure are lucky,” the cellist said. “Can I see the violin?”
“We’re really excited to have you play for us,” Mr. Meader said, sounding less than excited. “But there’s one snafu. We need to play the Bruch instead of the Mendelssohn.”
“What?” Janice said. “You don’t have the music in your library?” Ray was too startled to say anything.
“I’m so sorry. We don’t know what happened. We always rent the major concertos.”
Janice sighed. “Ray, take a walk with me.” They headed backstage, down a corridor lined with music stands. “Can you play it if you need to?”
“I guess. It’s just—” He hadn’t practiced the Bruch in months.
“You need to learn how to handle this kind of thing—this is the life of a soloist. Bruch’s not your favorite, right?” Max Bruch’s Violin Concerto no. 1 in G Minor was a lush, romantic nineteenth-century piece with a lot of intricate fingerings, especially in the second movement. Ray’d always thought it was a little melodramatic and overemotional. It also seemed repetitive—which, come to think of it, was going to be a good thing now, since it had been a while since he’d played it. Mendelssohn’s tried-and-true, gorgeous Violin Concerto in E Minor was what he’d been prepping for weeks. “I mean, I can play it—”
“Then you’ll do it,” she said forcefully. “Turn this into your advantage. When this kind of thing happens again, you’ll know how to handle it. You’ll warm up with the orchestra anyway so that will give you a chance to refamiliarize yourself with the piece.”
Ray tuned up, started practicing. Janice, at his elbow, would whisper corrections: Slower on the second ascending arpeggio. Really milk that fermata. The heat from the lights in the already-warm auditorium soon had sweat pouring down his face. His shirt stuck limply to his body.
After Ray practiced alone, he practiced again with the orchestra. It was the first time he’d soloed with a professional orchestra, and the difference was astounding. He’d always loved playing with a full orchestra because he could really cut loose. No holding back. The professionalism of the Charlotte musicians made the Bruch enjoyable.
About an hour or so in, after Ray’s clothes were actually soaked with sweat, the air-conditioning boomed to life. A few minutes later the air, blessedly, cooled. Ray’s sweat-soaked clothes soon felt icy. He’d definitely have to retune his violin again, but he’d wait til this was over.
After his part of the rehearsal had ended, he and Janice sat in the audience while the orchestra continued to rehearse. He made mental notes about how to adjust his volume by listening to the orchestra play, and Janice gave him further tips.
Around 4:00 p.m., the conductor called a halt, and the musicians began packing up, heading home for dinner before returning for the evening performance. Janice slipped onto the stage. “Mr. Meader, a word?” she said. James Meader closed his musical score on the podium, walked to where she waited on the edge of the stage, not far from Ray. He also stepped over.
“James,” she said quietly, “I’m glad Ray was able to handle the Bruch today, but I also need to let you know that your messing up the music is completely unacceptable. You want to be considered a top-notch orchestra in this area but you can’t even get the right piece of music? How am I—or anyone else, for that matter—supposed to take you seriously?
“As compensation,” she said, “you’re going to offer Ray a fifteen percent increase in his performance fee. And I’d think twice before trying this again, if you ever plan on having a soloist of his caliber playing with this orchestra ever again. This is totally on you.”