Playing the Maestro Read Online Free PDF Page A

slackers.”
    Carly laughed and pulled Melody up. “Come on. The Neighborhood Grill is waiting, and there’s a mango margarita with my name on it.”
    Melody and Carly left the stuffy auditorium and walked into the breezy night air. Melody pulled the pencil out of her bun and let her hair fall down her back. She slipped off the prudish button-down shirt she always wore to look professional at rehearsals, revealing her lacy tank underneath. As the breeze cooled her bare skin and fanned her hair out behind her, she pretended they were back at NEC, roaming Massachusetts Avenue, dreaming about when they’d play at Symphony Hall, believing endless opportunities rested at their fingertips.
    “Remember when all we had to worry about was voice leading in theory class?”
    Carly laughed. “I hated theory. Personally, I’m glad to be done with all that homework.”
    Melody shrugged. “It just seemed like life was simpler then.”
    “What’s making it so complicated now?”
    Melody sighed. Everything. How to make a living with a dying art form in a world where Lady Gaga sold more than Beethoven and Mozart. How to balance music with a nonexistent personal life. How to find a man who would understand why she spent so many hours playing etudes and scales.
    Carly had three orchestra jobs and organized a local concert series for new compositions. She lived and breathed music, and she didn’t seem to want anything else. But for Melody, struggling to pay her rent for her miniscule excuse of an apartment, defending her flute chair every year, and traveling each weekend to play at weddings on the coast wasn’t enough.
    She wanted more. How could she explain that to her friend?
    They rounded the corner and Melody pointed at the clear glass facade below the neon sign for the Neighborhood Grill. A line had formed at the waitress station. “We better hustle if we don’t want to wait an hour for our food.”
    They shuffled across the street. The warm breeze turned into a cool chill as they entered the air-conditioned pub. A jazzy blues band played in the corner and red-tinted lights cast the tables in a sunset hue. The place had been an old fire station before a local family restored it, keeping the overall feel of the wood and colonial architecture. Ivy wrapped around the firemen’s silver pole jutting from the floor to the ceiling in the room’s center.
    Carly went up front to ask about the wait as Melody filed in behind Dulcy, the French horn player, and Gary, the bassist. Members of the orchestra took up most of the tables and half the bar. Melody cursed her overly thorough habit of cleaning and polishing her flute. Her keys wouldn’t stick the next time she played, but all the violinists had beaten her and Carly to the best seats.
    Carly leaned over. “Waitress says we can wait thirty minutes or sit and order from the bar.”
    Melody’s stomach rumbled. “I’ll take the bar.”
    “Good choice.” Carly pulled her through the crowd and to a few open seats at the bar.
    An older man with a paisley bandana covering most of his gray hair came over. “What can I getcha?”
    “I’ll have a Heineken.”
    Carly slapped her arm. “A Heineken again, Melody? That stuff’s like drinking antiseptic”
    Melody shrugged. “Ever since my dad bought me one on my twenty-first birthday, I haven’t liked anything else.”
    The bartender smiled. “It’ll grow hair on your chest.”
    Melody laughed. “Excellent. That’s just what I want.”
    “And I’ll have a mango margarita.” Carly winked at Melody. “I’ll pass on the chest hair.”
    “Coming right up.” The bartender walked to the other end of the bar and wiped down two glasses.
    “Hair on your chest?” Carly shook her head. “Has Blake made you swear off men forever?”
    “Just musicians.”
    Carly nodded. “Probably best.” She leaned in and whispered, “Hey, is it okay if I hit up Dulcy about a gig?” Melody smiled and nodded as the bartender brought back their