Page 29 of Strings

I stop staring at her pen and have to focus hard to think what she just asked me. “Yes. Review. Definitely.” I wonder how long this will take and check the time of my phone.

“Do you have to go? I can re-check all of this on my own.”

“No, I don’t. Actually, maybe weshouldgo back to the office. Then I can avoid dinner with the orchestra.”

“Wait, what? You got invited to the orchestra dinner tonight? That wasn’t on my schedule.” She opens a planner and starts checking times.

I stand and stretch my arms over my head before spreading out various crew sheets for the concert across the table. “It wouldn’t be on the schedule. I got a text a few minutes ago.”

“From whom?”

I stare at her for a moment, trying to think of what to say, and she takes it the wrong way.

“I apologize. It is absolutely none of my business.”

“No, it’s no big deal. It was Bash.”

“Bash? Oh my God, is that what you call him? That’s so cute.”

I try to smile. “I’m pretty sure he hates it. That’s why I do it. Now tell me again, this is the usher schedule and this is box office, right?” I hold up two papers.

“Right. So you call him a name he hates?”

I scan over various forms. They all kind of look the same. I try to place them in some kind of order as I answer her question.

“I don’t know that he hates it, but I told him I’d call him whatever I wanted to.” I hope my short answer will be enough. I’d rather we continue discussing work. “So by the time we get here tomorrow evening, the production staff should have things well under way. And the concert starts at seven, so we need to be here at what, four at the latest?” I pick up the vendor sheet and check their proposed locations against the final master plan.

“We should probably come over at lunch and oversee the set-up of everything. Musicians arrive by five thirty. Youaregoing to dinner, aren’t you?”

“Will we have time for dinner tomorrow? Can we eat here?”

“I mean tonight. You said Sebastian invited you?”

She doesn’t give up. “Sort of, and no, I think I’ll skip it. Doesn’t sound fun.”

“But…”

“But what?” I shuffle some papers around. I catch Amy staring at me out of the corner of my eye. She’s wringing her hands and hasn’t answered me. I scratch the back of my neck and then rub it, leaving my hand there for a moment as I wait for her answer. I break the silence—might as well get this over with. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“He invited you to dinner.”

“Yes. We established that. So?”

“He’s never done that with anyone.”

“Oh, come on. Mr. Big Shot Flirt-a-rama hasn’t invited anyone else? How do you even know?”

“Because we plan the dinner. We get the list. Only the conductor and concertmaster are allowed guests and he’s never, ever had one. You must be really important to him.”

Crap. Now I feel even worse about the whole thing. I really don’t want to have to pretend anymore tonight, and certainly not in front of the entire orchestra. I need a good excuse.

Oh!I’ve got it.

“See, I really can’t make it because, well, my friend, Stella, isn’t feeling very well and I promised her I’d hang with her.”

“But you’ll make him look bad if you don’t go. And if people know he invited you and you don’t go, it’ll look bad for you, too.”

Her words and the concern etched on her face has me rethinking everything. Double crap. I guess I kind of forced his hand with this. Ugh, I don’t want either of us to look worse. I already made a scene today. “Fine. I’ll go.”