instruments.” Then her chin lifted, her gaze turning his way in question, and her tone changed as she took a step toward the piano. “You noodle Stravinsky?”
He looked down, appalled to discover that he had begun the “Danse Infernale” in the Firebird Suite . Shit! Deep down his dragon stirred yet again.
With a lifetime of practice he locked that side of him away, and concentrated on recovering his self-control. “Did both of you study opera? I thought Mick said Shelley studied theater.”
“She did theater while I focused on voice,” she said. “Shelley and I roomed together, and overlapped in a lot of General Ed classes our first couple years. But later, while she was doing stunts and bit parts for her friends in the film department, I was mainlining classical music.” She nodded at the piano, and in a tentative voice, said, “If this is too nosy, you don’t have to answer, but you studied classical piano?”
“I did,” he said, eliding softly to a well-known piece by Brahms that had nothing to do with firebirds, dragons, or any kind of shifter. “Thought I was the world’s next great composer—until I got to Juilliard and discovered that I was incapable of anything original. Pause to imagine my crushed genius.”
She uttered a chuckle that struck him like the sparkle of diamonds, as she took another step toward him. “I composed soundtracks for Mick, and Dennis before he went into documentaries, until they were successful enough to hire professionals.”
“Shelley said you are an A&R scout?” she asked.
“Yes. Part time. I scout for Mick as well as several producers, and a couple of classical record labels. Even the L.A. Philharmonic. When I bought my place in Hollywood I told the real estate agent to find me something equidistant from the major theaters. Going to every classical performance I can has never become just work. Have I seen you on stage?”
All the light went out of her face. He could have kicked himself—too late he remembered what Mick had said about her losing a gig.
Shelley reappeared, and he lost the chance to make it up to her.
“Sorry, guys,” Shelley said, and turned JP’s way. “Um, I think Mick might be looking for you.”
Never had there been worse timing. But duty had ruled his life with iron bars for far too long for it to be anything but business as usual.
“Excuse me,” he said, and turned to Jan. “I hope we can talk music again. Meanwhile, please. Consider this room yours for the week.”
He walked out, disgusted with himself for his blunders, like he was a kid again. I’ve been alone too long , he thought, knowing it for the truth.
No, only half the truth.
He had fought long and hard to accept the fact that duty to the community must come first, leaving him to follow his musical career during free time. All worthy, and artistic, uses of his time, leaving others to find the happiness he knew he would never have.
Economically and politically he was next thing to a king of a very small kingdom. Intellectually he was master of two careers and a formidable opponent to any who threatened his family, his clave, or his town.
But emotionally?
I have been so insulated I did not know how isolated I was.
He grimaced and pulled out his phone.
Mick said, “Jeep, I’m pretty sure these guys not only know about shifters, they have at least one among them.”
“I know that,” JP said, and briefly described his flight of the evening before, leaving out Jan and the fireflies.
“There is worse,” Mick said with a low, bearish growl. “They set a couple hyenas on Josh Walker when he went to demand their ID. If I hadn’t happened to be right behind his patrol car, they might have killed him.”
“Did you do some damage?”
“Yes.” Mick’s voice was rough with satisfaction. “Broke several bones apiece before they yelped in retreat. And they hauled ass out of there so fast they left part of their metal detector. Chief Albert’s got
He looked down, appalled to discover that he had begun the “Danse Infernale” in the Firebird Suite . Shit! Deep down his dragon stirred yet again.
With a lifetime of practice he locked that side of him away, and concentrated on recovering his self-control. “Did both of you study opera? I thought Mick said Shelley studied theater.”
“She did theater while I focused on voice,” she said. “Shelley and I roomed together, and overlapped in a lot of General Ed classes our first couple years. But later, while she was doing stunts and bit parts for her friends in the film department, I was mainlining classical music.” She nodded at the piano, and in a tentative voice, said, “If this is too nosy, you don’t have to answer, but you studied classical piano?”
“I did,” he said, eliding softly to a well-known piece by Brahms that had nothing to do with firebirds, dragons, or any kind of shifter. “Thought I was the world’s next great composer—until I got to Juilliard and discovered that I was incapable of anything original. Pause to imagine my crushed genius.”
She uttered a chuckle that struck him like the sparkle of diamonds, as she took another step toward him. “I composed soundtracks for Mick, and Dennis before he went into documentaries, until they were successful enough to hire professionals.”
“Shelley said you are an A&R scout?” she asked.
“Yes. Part time. I scout for Mick as well as several producers, and a couple of classical record labels. Even the L.A. Philharmonic. When I bought my place in Hollywood I told the real estate agent to find me something equidistant from the major theaters. Going to every classical performance I can has never become just work. Have I seen you on stage?”
All the light went out of her face. He could have kicked himself—too late he remembered what Mick had said about her losing a gig.
Shelley reappeared, and he lost the chance to make it up to her.
“Sorry, guys,” Shelley said, and turned JP’s way. “Um, I think Mick might be looking for you.”
Never had there been worse timing. But duty had ruled his life with iron bars for far too long for it to be anything but business as usual.
“Excuse me,” he said, and turned to Jan. “I hope we can talk music again. Meanwhile, please. Consider this room yours for the week.”
He walked out, disgusted with himself for his blunders, like he was a kid again. I’ve been alone too long , he thought, knowing it for the truth.
No, only half the truth.
He had fought long and hard to accept the fact that duty to the community must come first, leaving him to follow his musical career during free time. All worthy, and artistic, uses of his time, leaving others to find the happiness he knew he would never have.
Economically and politically he was next thing to a king of a very small kingdom. Intellectually he was master of two careers and a formidable opponent to any who threatened his family, his clave, or his town.
But emotionally?
I have been so insulated I did not know how isolated I was.
He grimaced and pulled out his phone.
Mick said, “Jeep, I’m pretty sure these guys not only know about shifters, they have at least one among them.”
“I know that,” JP said, and briefly described his flight of the evening before, leaving out Jan and the fireflies.
“There is worse,” Mick said with a low, bearish growl. “They set a couple hyenas on Josh Walker when he went to demand their ID. If I hadn’t happened to be right behind his patrol car, they might have killed him.”
“Did you do some damage?”
“Yes.” Mick’s voice was rough with satisfaction. “Broke several bones apiece before they yelped in retreat. And they hauled ass out of there so fast they left part of their metal detector. Chief Albert’s got
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