Passing Tones, Chapter 8

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On Monday Dr. Caroll and I reviewed my performance. She summed up the entire evening when she said,
“Easily the best undergrad recital I’ve heard in a long time. Very well done.”
Passing Tones
Chapter 8

by Jillian Marie


 

“Thanks. I felt pretty good about most of it myself,” I responded.

“As you should. You’ve done outstanding work this term. Now, how is the Mozart concerto coming along?”

That was my hint to start playing. We went through several sections of the Mozart and it was obvious to both of us that I wasn’t up to par. Following a particularly substandard rendition Dr. Caroll asked, “Kyle, is something wrong? You’re not exactly playing like your usual self.”

I paused for a moment before finally admitting, “I kind of had a huge fight with my girlfriend over the weekend and it looks like we’ve broken up.”

“Sorry to hear that. Her name was Cindy, wasn’t it?”

I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just nodded. After a moment, Dr. Caroll breached the silence, “Is there anything I can do? Believe me, I know how it is. You need to get your head back on track so you can give the kind of performance we both know you’re capable of playing.”

Once my lesson time was up I gathered my things and headed straight back to my apartment. I appreciated Dr. Caroll trying to help me regain my focus, but this was something I was just going to have to deal with by myself.

By myself really for the first time since my discovery about Cindy, I quickly disintegrated into a puddle of tears that threatened to rival the biblical flood. I cried because I felt hurt, used, and betrayed. I cried because the person I loved was the source of all those feelings. I cried because my love wasn’t there with me and I felt truly alone for the first time. I cried until I finally fell asleep sometime after 3am.

Tuesday I could at least go three minutes without feeling like I was about to have a monsoon pouring out of my eyes, but the emptiness, pain, and sorrow were still quite evident. All I could do was hope that one day those feelings would make room for some other emotion, but at that point I seriously doubted that day would ever arrive.

As the days passed I finally managed to make my way back to a point where I was functioning on a more or less normal level, although it still required little or no provocation for me to dissolve into a sea of tears. Through all that, the one aspect of my life that remained constant was that I was still playing as well as ever…some might even say better.

When I played was the one time I could let my guard down enough to allow the still raw, open wounds that resided where my heart had once been to be seen by any and all who took the time to listen. Each rehearsal session with the orchestra demonstrated that very point and by the time the Friday before the concert rolled around the emotional turmoil that had been pouring from me as I played had managed to permeate into the performances of every member of the ensemble.

Following a particularly moving rendition, more than a few tears were evident in the rehearsal hall and while musically it felt wonderful that we had been able to all get on the same page and infuse the performance with such an impressive depth of feeling, it also left me drained to the point of nearly falling apart.

“I have to say Kyle that I’m fascinated by your interpretation,” said Dr. Wyler as we sat in his office following Friday’s rehearsal. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Mozart played quite that way, and I say that as a good thing.” He reached into a small refrigerator and pulled out two cans of soda, offering me one. “There are a lot of darker emotions lingering just under the surface in your version. I’m really looking forward to the concert Sunday.”

“Thank you sir for the opportunity. I’m really enjoying playing with the ensemble. Truth is, I didn’t think I would like it as much as I have. But this has been great.” I opened my soda and took a sip. “Thank you for this as well, sir.”

“As I was saying, I’m very impressed with your playing. You’re extremely advanced for someone so young, not only technically, but musically. I’ve heard others who had your level of skill, but they often lack the musicality I’ve heard from you.” He took a sip from his own soda before continuing, “I think we should plan on you appearing with the orchestra on a regular basis.”

Wow! “I don’t know what to say sir.” I was flabbergasted by this suggestion. Here I’m a college freshman, and he’s talking about me playing as a soloist on a regular basis? All I could think was cool!

“Once we get through the concert Sunday I’ll sit down with Dr. Caroll so we can plan your next appearance. This is not only good for you as an aspiring concert pianist, it will help in the development of many of the players in the orchestra.”

“Thanks again sir, but I’m not sure I follow?”

“Most of these kids will be filling seats in professional orchestras after they leave here. Our job is to help them become familiar with the standard repertoire so when they get those jobs they won’t have to go through an ‘on the job training’ period.

“We regularly play the standard repertoire, like the Beethoven and Mozart symphonies, but it’s been a struggle to make sure they get the chance to learn many of the concerti that will no doubt be placed in front of them. If you and some of your fellow classmates would be willing to help us out in that regard by playing the soloist’s parts it would help everyone involved.”

“I am definitely interested, and I think it would be safe to say that several other students of Dr. Caroll’s would be as well. Just figure out what you want me to do next and I’ll start work on it over the break.”

“Excellent!” He stood, so I followed suit. As he showed me to the door of his office he said, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the dress rehearsal, and by then I should have a pretty good idea of which piece will be next.”

As I left the performing arts center to go home I couldn’t help but note that I was feeling better than I had in about two weeks. Of course, when I had that thought the sense of sadness and loss at losing someone I really did love once again swept over me and I felt very alone.

I walked into my apartment and started toward the shower, but noticed something sitting on the table as I walked by that I knew wasn’t there when I had left earlier. I went over to take a look and discovered the key to the apartment that I had given Cindy, on top of a manila envelope with my name written on it.

I didn’t think I was in the right frame of mind to see what it was, so I went on to take my shower. As I luxuriated under the jets of hot water my mind kept wandering back to that package on the table. “What on earth could it be?” I asked myself out loud as I began toweling dry.

I pulled on an old t-shirt and panties and went back into the living room where I plopped down on the sofa. I tried reading, watching television, listening to music…nothing seemed to be able to distract my attention away from that envelope.

I finally gave in and opened it. There was a fairly large stack of paper stapled together, with the top sheet being a letter:

Dearest Kyle,

I hope you will read this with an open mind. It didn’t really click for me what you must have assumed was the subject of my research until a few days ago. I promise you that was NOT the case at all.

You’ll find attached to this note my paper. The title is “The Subconscious Mind and the Creative Process”. Yes, I wrote about you extensively in this paper, but not in the way you thought. I wrote about how your subconscious mind controls some aspects of a performance, leaving the conscious mind free to handle other parts.

My friend Sarah knew nothing about what you were wearing under your suit, I promise you. She only knew the subject of my research because she’s the graduate assistant in my Psych class, and remembered at one point I told her I was dating this great musician. By putting those things together, she assumed it was about you. That’s all.

She came with me to your recital because apparently she used to be a musician too and wanted to hear the genius I was always raving about. She was quite impressed, by the way.

Maybe this doesn’t make things any better, but I don’t know what to do that will. All I can do is swear to you that I do love you, and miss you a lot. I hope we can eventually put this behind us and have a future together.

All My Love,
Cindy

I read through that letter four times before I even thought about looking at the paper, but when I did I found that what she had said was absolutely true. There was nothing in there about who I was, or what I might or might not wear under my suit when I performed.

While this knowledge went a long way toward mending my heart where Cindy was concerned, I still wasn’t ready to accept her apology and return to the way things were before. The fact that I was wrong in my assumption didn’t make the fact that I still felt betrayed go away. Unfortunately, it was no doubt going to take some time for that to happen.

I sat there reading and re-reading her paper for much of the night, actually falling asleep sitting on the sofa with it in my hand sometime around dawn. When I later awakened I had to rush around to make it to the dress rehearsal in time, but I made it.

There wasn’t that much playing going on Saturday afternoon. Mostly, we got the stage arranged, practiced everyone making entrances and exits between pieces, and talked a bit about how the acoustics of the room were going to influence the balance of the ensemble and myself.

That’s not to say there was no playing going on, because there was. The rehearsal closed out with a straight run through of the entire program, including all the stage changes we had just discussed. Once Dr. Wyler was satisfied that everything was as ready as it was likely to be for the concert tomorrow, we were dismissed and instructed to be present and ready to play an hour before the doors were to open.

As the members of the orchestra packed up their toys to go home, I caught a glimpse of Dr. Caroll talking with Dr. Wyler. Once they realized I had noticed them, they called me over to join them.

Dr. Caroll began, “Kyle, outstanding work as usual.”

“Definitely, young man,” Dr. Wyler added.

“It’s been a great experience,” I replied. “I’m really looking forward to tomorrow’s concert.”

“As am I Kyle. As am I,” Dr. Wyler commented. “Now, about next semester…” he said, allowing the sentence to die away unfinished.

Dr. Caroll picked up where Dr. Wyler left off. “We have a fairly adventurous schedule planned for you.”

“How so?”

Dr. Wyler picked up, “I’d like to have you play one concert a month with this group, and I’ve also talked to the conductors of the Civic orchestra and the Philharmonic.”

I stood there rather stunned by this news. It took me a moment to form thoughts into words. “That sounds like a rather busy schedule in conjunction with my class schedule.”

“It is,” Dr. Caroll agreed. “But it’s a fabulous opportunity. One that may not come again.”

I thought for about half a second before saying, “Absolutely! Count me in!”

“Excellent,” Dr. Wyler responded. “I have to run right now, but I’ll get together with Maestros Parkinson from the Civic and Herbert with the Philharmonic and have the list of pieces for the entire semester for you by Monday afternoon.” With that, he turned and left.

I’m not sure how long it took for it all to sink in, but after a moment or two I finally realized that I’d just agreed to learn at least five different concerti over the next six months. The longer I thought about it, the more monumental that task began to sound.

As I tried to relax Saturday evening I found myself dwelling on the thought that while things in my career were starting to really take off, I felt more alone and sad than I ever had in my young life. Putting it bluntly, I missed Cindy terribly. The problem was, I was still just stubborn enough that I wasn’t ready to admit that to her or anyone else for that matter.

I wound up playing for several hours before finally stumbling bleary eyed into bed far later than I should have been up. Once there I found sleep to be fickle, as I endured long stretches where I simply couldn’t relax.

Feeling almost hung over from the lack of rest I climbed into the shower Sunday morning to begin preparations for the upcoming concert. I followed my custom of shaving my body, then washing and conditioning my now rather longish hair. Once out of the shower I brushed out my hair, checked my manicure and performed necessary repairs to the nail strengthening clear coat, and then selected my undergarments for the day.

By noon I was sitting in my apartment in my bra and panties, wrapped in a robe waiting for it to be time to put on my tuxedo. I flipped channels on the television for a while but couldn’t find anything remotely entertaining. Without even thinking about it, I reached to the table and picked up Cindy’s research paper again.

I flipped through it for a while and actually found myself reading it closely again until I noticed it was time to finish getting dressed and head for the performing arts center. As I arrived I noticed that there were already quite a few people milling around the lobby waiting for the beginning of the concert so I made my way backstage as unobtrusively as I could.

Dr. Wyler greeted me as soon as I was within earshot, “Kyle! I’m glad you’re early. I have a couple of people I’d like you to meet.” He led me toward a pair of middle-aged gentlemen in suits who were standing together speaking with each other casually.

“Gentlemen, this is Kyle Bronson.” He then turned to me and said, “Kyle, this is Mike Parkinson,” gesturing toward one of the men, “Director of the Civic Orchestra.” He then directed my attention toward the other man, “And this is Charles Herbert, conductor of the Philharmonic.”

I shook each man’s hand, accompanied by a, “Hello, sir.”

Dr. Wyler once again focused all attention in the group on me, “I was telling Kyle yesterday about both of your interest in having him appear with your ensembles. I fear he may be feeling a little overwhelmed by it all, what with having to learn so many major works in such a short span of time.”

As he looked back toward the conductors standing there with him, Dr. Wyler continued, “Let’s get together this evening and go over which pieces you gentlemen want him to play and I’ll plan the Conservatory Orchestra’s programs accordingly.”

Getting the feeling they were done with me for now, I drifted away from this group as they buried themselves in conversation. As I wandered around backstage I was greeted by the cacophony of seventy individual musicians going through their personal warm up routines and carrying on conversations with each other. I received a few greetings along the way and by the time the backstage lights flashed off and on to signal that it was almost time for everyone to go onstage, I was beginning to feel more relaxed than I had when I first arrived today.

As the orchestra made it’s way onstage, I took a seat beside the stage manager to listen until it was my turn, which wouldn’t be until the next to last piece on the program. They performed the ceremonial tune up, which was more or less redundant since they had all tuned to the strobe in the rehearsal hall before they came onstage, then Dr. Wyler entered and the concert had begun.

Sitting there, my mind began to wander. Just as I had done many times before, I started thinking about why I was wearing women’s underwear. Was it really just because of the music? Until very recently that question was so easy to answer it seemed unnecessary, but in the past week or so I had been questioning the truth of that position.

If it was just because of the way I played, then why had I not worn anything but panties in months? I still had several pairs of boxers, but none of them had seen the outside of my dresser drawer since that day Cindy took me shopping for lingerie the first time. I don’t play the piano 24/7, so why have I been wearing panties all the time?

The simple answer is that I liked them. I liked the way they felt when I had them on. Did that make me a cross dresser? I suppose it did. Was there more to it than that? The more I thought about that one, the muddier those waters became.

To carry it further, what exactly prompted me to start wearing a bra? Was it just that I felt like I needed an extra ‘push’ in performance? Or was there something pulling me ever deeper into femininity? I was roused from that line of self-examination by the sound of applause as the orchestra finished their first selection.

I gradually drifted back into my thoughts once Dr. Wyler and his group began playing their next piece. So where did Cindy fit in? Was she just helping me? Or was she deriving some satisfaction from participating in my feminization? Even as I asked myself those questions I knew that chances were I would never find out the real answers.

My mind drifted yet again, this time wondering why it was that I had assumed that the subject of Cindy’s research had been my cross-dressing? Furthermore, I couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take me to trust her again, assuming she’d be interested in taking me back? Was it really her taking me back? Or was it the other way around?

Once again applause brought me back to reality, as the orchestra completed their second part of the program. That meant I was next up with my concerto.

After my extensive musings while I waited, I was hyper-aware of my feminine attire. Every movement amplified the sensations created by the rub of silk and lace against skin and as I stood there waiting for my signal to walk out on stage I knew that this distraction was a good thing.

I stepped out onto the stage and made my way to the piano set up in front of the ensemble, all the while being regaled with a chorus of cheers that was overwhelming, to put it lightly. I bowed deeply, looked at Dr. Wyler, and took my seat at the piano. I adjusted the tilt and height of the bench, then nodded to him that I was ready to begin.

He led the group through the opening section as I sat there taking deep breaths and resting my hands on the keyboard. When the time came for my entrance, I actually played mostly with my eyes closed, only looking down at the piano to ensure my hands were in the proper place to begin each new section or looking over at Dr. Wyler to make sure we were together on my entrances.

I found that as I played I couldn’t stop thinking about Cindy and how much I missed her being part of my life. While I was still a little miffed at her not informing me that I was being studied, I was quickly reaching the conclusion that the bigger mistake would be if I continued to let that stand in our way.

There are no doubt those who would argue that this particular selection would be hard pressed to serve as a conduit for such dark emotions as I was feeling, but to my ear at least the sense of longing this line of thought poured into the music made my performance the most poignant rendition I’d managed yet.

I continued to infuse everything I had into the music, and by the time I played my final notes I felt overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of raw emotion the music conveyed. As I sat there at the end all I could do was take deep breaths and try to keep the tears that were rolling down my cheeks from being too noticeable to the audience.

Dr. Wyler brought the concerto to a close followed by the briefest of moments during which you could feel the assembled crowd take a deep cleansing breath. That moment was then washed aside as the audience erupted into applause. They carried on as Dr. Wyler indicated I should take several bows. I then reached over to the concertmaster and shook his hand as well as Dr. Wyler’s before offering one final bow acknowledging the audience’s generosity.

I left the stage, but to my amazement the ovation didn’t cease until after I made an additional curtain call. Once I was finally safely backstage I found myself retaking my seat next to the stage manager, where I listened as the orchestra closed out the evening’s proceedings with a good if not great rendition of Ravel’s Bolero.

At the end of the concert I greeted each member of the orchestra as they came by me, shaking lots of hands and receiving numerous friendly hugs from the girls. I followed them back into the rehearsal hall for a moment, listening as the euphoria brought on by live performance exuded from the room.

Just as I was ready to leave, Dr. Wyler stopped me, “Mr. Bronson, outstanding performance.”

He offered me his hand and as we shook I said, “Thank you sir. I truly enjoyed working with you and the orchestra.”

“That’s good, because earlier today I gave Dr. Caroll the list of works for you to start work on for next semester. I think you’ll enjoy it.”

“Any hints?”

“That would take all the suspense out of your lesson time on Monday,” he said with an evil grin on his face. We shook hands one more time, then we parted ways with him heading for his office and me the exit.

I too was feeling something of that performance high, but mine was tempered by the other emotions that were still coursing through my body. I slowly walked toward the lobby and just as I emerged from the hallway I caught sight of Cindy, who appeared to be waiting for me.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Piano Concerto No.12 in A Major, kv.414
http://server3.pianosociety.com/protected/mozart-kv414-1-bko...

Notes:

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To Be Continued...
 

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Comments

Kyle, the elephant

How long is Kyle going to keep his grudge, particularly now that he knows Cindy wasn't as far out of line as he thought ? It always makes me sad if someone acts so stupid: his bevahiour is hurting everyone involved including himself. I agree Cindy could have done a lot better, but I think by now she suffered enough for her mistake.

Hugs,

Kimby

His behavior, or, rather, his stubborn attitude, may be ...

Jezzi Stewart's picture

... hurting himself, but it seems to be very much helping his playing. It is ironic that genius is born out of tragedy and self-destructiveness as much, if not more so, than out of hapiness and health.

"All the world really is a stage, darlings, so strut your stuff, have fun, and give the public a good show!" Miss Jezzi Belle at the end of each show

BE a lady!

Muddy Waters

kristina l s's picture

Oh Ok...it was muddier waters.. but most of the music refs go over my head so I had to pull it back somehow. This is a really nice take on the creative/emotional versus intellectual/studied process. Nice way to get there too. Looks like a bit of give and take coming up...stubborn is all very well... but only so far. Nice job Jillian. I look forward to seeing where you take them.
Kristina

excellent chapter

You're very good at hanging cliffs.

It reminds me of why I don't usually read serials, but this one is too compelling to wait until it's finished.

Was I seeing something that wasn't there, or was Wyler hitting on Kyle?

another good chapter

Just wanted to say that I enjoy this story, and I enjoyed this chapter. Being a classical music fan, I especially liked
the way you encorporated your obvious knowledge of piano skills into the story. Thanks also for the musical excerpts at the
end of each chapter.

A propros of a prior comment about how "genius is born out of tragedy": I have always felt that of the "great" classical
composers, the ones with seemingly unhappy lives produced "better" music than the ones with happier lives. For example,
I enjoy Mendollsohn's music but I don't quite put him in the same category as Mozart, Beethoven, Brahms, Schubert, Schumann, and Tchaikovsky. I think this may be true of artists in other media, but I don't know.

Back to your story: I cannot see where you are going with the plot, which of course makes it more enjoyable for me to
read each installment. Thanks,

Sandy4n

I Almost Hate To Admit This, But...

My piano skills are very limited, to be honest. Beyond the basic required keyboard proficiency when I was studying at university, my playing experience is actually in strings...specifically bass (both upright and electric) and guitar.

In preparing each installment I do sit down with manuscripts of the pieces I'm using just to make sure I know where there might be something happening that could be incorporated into the story, but usually it would take me longer to actually play through the pieces of music than it takes to write a chapter about it.

I hope that doesn't destroy anyone's illusions.

Never let it be said that I don't enjoy the occasional delusion of grandeur

Never let it be said that I don't enjoy the occasional delusion of grandeur