Page 97 of Theo of Golden

On a Tuesday night in that very room and on that very stage, Simone and his cello would perform “in partial fulfillment of requirements for the Master’s Level Artist Diploma in Cello Performance.”

He spent the day doing a final run-through of the pieces on his program, took a short walk with Professor Gobelli, ate a light meal, and then changed into his concert clothes in a backstage dressing room.

At that point in his young career, Simone was comfortable in front of audiences and felt only a mild energizing nervousness as he anticipated the recital. He had worked doggedly to be ready for that night. And not just ready but thoroughly so, to honor the composers and the songs he had chosen for his program. By the time of his performance, he was a finely tuned combination of discipline, passion, fine motor skills, and muscle memory.

If Simone did happen to feel a tinge of stage fright before his recital, it derived from two sources: First, from knowing that his friends and acquaintances up and down Broadway — Theo, Tony, Shep, and others —would be in attendance. Word had gotten out, and, at least for that one evening, Simone would be the pride of the Promenade. Second, from knowing that the performance was to be filmed for his family and close friends in Seattle. In lieu of their attendance, a camera would be set up to live stream and record the evening. This meant, of course, that any and all of his mistakes or imperfections would be permanently preserved, like an insect in amber.

Simone did not doubt his ability to perform the selections on his program with excellence, but for the sake of his friends, he wanted the evening to be enjoyable rather than merely obligatory, and he hoped they would leave the concert glad for attending rather than relieved at departing.

Finally, recital hour arrived.

CHAPTER 55

The Bet.

Rows E and F. Beneath the dimmable light.

Left to right, facing the stage: Row E — Kendrick, Basil, Trina, Asher, Brooke, Lamisha, Theo, Ellen, Tony. Row F — Addie, Shep, Mr. and Mrs. Ponder, Mrs. and Mr. Gidley, and the Penny Loafers.

Elsewhere in the room, friends and classmates, faculty members, and others filled the seats. The packed room was affirmation of the respect and affection with which the music department embraced the young man.

A single chair awaited him at center stage. No music stand. No mics.

No props or decorations.

Backstage, with five minutes to go, Simone awaited his introduction, humming, stretching his fingers, and pulling at the sleeves of his black tuxedo and white shirt. The sartorial finery was standard practice for Simone, dating back to his earliest performances in high school. His band teacher, a bastion of decorum, had instilled in Simone and his peers that “your wardrobe is a small, visible way to honor the music you play as well as the guests who listen to you play it. Look beautiful. Play beautiful. Be beautiful.”

It was so old fashioned. But there did seem something right about it. Those sitting in rows E and F were gussied up as well, out of respect for the young musician. Blazers and starched shirts for the men, dresses for the women. Ellen was ablaze with color, a pastiche of springtime. She was an azalea bloom, astilbe and spirea, galardia and wisteria. A walking bouquet of flowers.

Incidentally, she was allowed to bring the Noble Invention into the building. After Theo assured her it would be kept safe, she agreed to leave it locked in the cloakroom under the watchful eye of a security guard.

With a gun.

Theo leaned toward Lamisha, who was sitting on his left, and spoke in a library whisper to her. “You see the big lights above the stage, the pine cones?”

She looked up. Nodded.

“Tonight, when Simone plays his songs, the music notes will come out of his cello, and they will fly in every direction. You see, all the notes are inside his cello right now. But when he moves the bow, like this,” Theo gestured, “it is like a key that opens the door, and out they come, one at a time. They look like this.”

Theo sketched quarter notes, eighth notes, and sixteenth notes on the back of the program so that Lamisha could envision the flight he was describing.

“You see? The round part here is their tummy, and these are the wings. Tonight Simone will set them free, and they will fly around us so fast we might not even see them.

“And do you know what they do when they fly away? They hide. Many of them will go straight up and hide in the pine cones. And some will hide in the organ pipes. And some will hide in the curtains and under the seats.

“And then, late, late tonight, when everyone has gone home, they will all come out of hiding. And they will have a big celebration because they are free. And they will make their very own song, one only they know.

“And sometimes, if someone is in the building late at night, they hear strange sounds and think it’s a ghost, but really it is only all the happy notes at their big parade.

“So, as we listen tonight, look for the flight of the quarter note, OK? Maybe you can draw it.”

Theo pulled a number 2 pencil and a small drawing pad from his coat pocket and handed them to Lamisha. Those items would be well-used before the concert was over, to capture the flying notes — the stems, the heads, the flags. All those wings and tummies.

Lamisha knew it was a made-up story. But as the concert began, she watched the cello like one who believed.

Precisely at seven, the lights dimmed, and Professor Gobelli stepped on stage, welcomed the audience, explained the purpose of the recital, and asked that people “extinguish” their cell phones.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you Simone Lavoie.”