Read Online Sight Reading by Daphne Kalotay - Free Book Online Page B

all.”
    She laughed. “Are you a big drinker?”
    Mr. Elko considered. “I do like a good Scotch, as you may have witnessed at our party. And I suppose I’m all for getting pissed every now and again. Though this wine might stop me.”
    Remy said, “I can never get really good and drunk, even when I try.”
    Nicholas nodded, smiling. “You know, I’ve been thinking about what you said at the party. When we were discussing originality, where it comes from. I kept wondering what stopped you from seeing what I was saying—and you know what? I figured it out. You’re a Romantic.”
    Remy felt her ears redden as Mr. Elko explained, “The very idea of independent genius is a Romantic one. You know, the brilliant but misunderstood loner. What artist hasn’t felt that way at some point? So I see where you’re coming from.” He nodded. “I, too, am a Romantic at heart.”
    In his eyes Remy glimpsed the humble look she had noticed at moments in rehearsal, like in the Sibelius when the trumpets called out over the low, smooth undulations of the strings. “So that’s something we have in common, actually,” he said lightly, as if it were no great coincidence.
    But Remy felt her heart brighten, said, “It’s true I tend toward romanticism. Or maybe what I mean is I tend toward the emotional!” She laughed. At the other end of the lounge, someone had turned on a radio, and some students were mock-fighting over which station to listen to. Seeing them, Remy felt as if she were in some other room altogether.
    â€œStrange,” Mr. Elko said, watching them. “Hearing that music on the stereo makes me recall something.” He shook his head, as if to dislodge the memory. “I couldn’t have been more than five years old. It was my first piano recital. My sister was there, too. We sat through these insipid renditions of, oh, you know, Chopin and Haydn and Bartók, brilliant pieces played poorly. The hall was on George Street—this was in Edinburgh—and when the concert was over and we could finally leave, we opened the door and there was a gypsy band on the pavement.”
    He smiled. “You know how it feels to finally leave some stuffy place and step out into fresh air? The music they were playing came flying in the second we opened the door. Some lively gypsy song. There was more life there on the pavement than in the whole of our piano recital. My sister even started dancing.”
    Remy smiled, as if she had been there, too.
    â€œI suppose it was the first time I really felt the difference a musician’s interpretation makes. That it’s the musician’s job to bring a composition to life. Though at the time, of course, I simply wanted to play the accordion!”
    Remy said, “That must be where your instinct to conduct comes from.”
    Mr. Elko’s eyes widened. “You know, you may be right. I’d never considered that.” He seemed surprised. “And what about you? What are your plans, now that you’re graduating?”
    â€œI’m getting ready to audition for a master class Conrad Lesser’s teaching this summer.”
    â€œAh, yes, I heard about that. Quite an opportunity. I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”
    She told him that either way she would be here next year. She had gotten the tutorship she applied for, would be teaching in the school’s outreach program and playing in the honors orchestra. In what she hoped was a nonchalant voice, she asked, “Will you be here next year, too?”
    Mr. Elko paused. “I suppose that depends. On if the school wants to keep me, for one thing. But also if my wife wants to settle here. She’s barely been here since we moved.”
    He explained that her father had been ill. “Every time he’s in hospital, he catches some infection. Then he comes home and starts smoking again.” Mr. Elko