At the other end of the room, Robert hums thoughtfully. “It’s certainly an interesting idea.”
“I do like him,” Don agrees. “I’m not the musical strategist here, but do you think the soundtrack couldn’t lend itself to a more rustic feel?”
“It would be unexpected,” Michael says, grinning.
Richard nods, smiling. “I think it’s a wild, wonderful suggestion. The music is sexy. That kid was blindingly sexy.”
Every head turns to Robert.
“Bob,” Michael says, leaning forward. “Does this ruin your vision? Would you consider it?”
A tiny grin—so brief I’m sure no one else would name it anything other than a wince—jumps across Robert’s face, and then he reaches up, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “Guitar,” he says, as if mulling it over. “A guitar . . .”
Robert looks at Michael, but his smile is only for me. “Holland does have good instincts. I think Calvin and Ramón could be brilliant.”
Don raps the tabletop with his knuckles. “Let’s give him a quick call.”
At this, I stand to leave, but Robert gestures for me to sit back down. I can’t tell whether he agrees that my leaving would be disruptive or he wants me to be able to enjoy this moment, but it’s clearly only awkward for me at this point. I don’t even have a notebook to pretend like I’m here writing down meeting minutes.
Robert reads out Calvin’s cell phone number, and Michael types it into the phone sitting in the middle of the table. It rings twice, and my heart is absolutely lodged in my throat.
His voice comes through—scratchy and deep—as if he’s been sleeping. “ ’lo?”
“Calvin, hi. Michael Asteroff. I’m here with Robert Okai and the Law brothers.”
“Oh. Hi.” There’s some shuffling in the background, and although he left here only an hour ago, my pervy brain imagines him shirtless, sitting up in bed, the sheets falling to his hips.
Hopefully he’s alone.
“Great work today,” Michael says. “Truly superb.”
Calvin pauses, and when he speaks, his voice shakes. “Thank you, sir.”
“Look,” Michael begins, “we’re wondering what your schedule looks like for the next several months.”
“My schedule?”
“More specifically, we’re wondering whether we could interest you in a place in the orchestra here. With It Possessed Him.”
The question is met with blistering silence.
Robert leans in toward the speakerphone. “We’d like you to take over Seth’s parts.”
“Honestly?”
Everyone but me laughs at this.
“Yeah.” Michael grins. “Honestly.”
“Aye, I’m flattered. I . . .” A pause. “I’m dyin’ to say yes.”
“So say yes!” Richard sings.
On the other end of the line, Calvin growls. “It’s just that, ah . . .”
And, in this instant, I know.
I know.
I know.
I know why he’s hesitating, because it’s got to be the same reason he didn’t want to get too involved with the police the night of my accident.
“I’m not exactly here legally, y’see.”
The table falls silent. Michael and Robert look at each other, and Robert blows out a slow breath.
“I was here on a student visa, and ah, it expired, yeah? I couldn’t find it in me to leave. This here, what you’re offerin’, it’s my dream.”
“How long ago did it expire?” Michael asks, nodding at Robert like this might work. “Can we work on an extension, using this as an internship?”
Calvin pauses again, and I think I hear a dry laugh through the line. “It’d be four years now.”
Robert groans, leaning back in his chair. It’s not uncommon for foreigners to join the cast—it happens all the time. And artist visas are a dime a dozen in New York. But Jeff’s best friend from grade school works in immigration, and I know from overhearing Jeff and Robert discuss other artists in the past that getting leniency for people who’ve been here for six months illegally is hard . . . so four years?
When no one replies, another laugh—this one decidedly sad—comes through the line. “But I sure do appreciate the offer.”
seven
Michael hits the disconnect button and leans back, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes. “Well, that’s all right. We didn’t even know about him until this morning. We should continue with violin auditions immediately.”
The words are met with silence, and the Law brothers exchange a dubious look. I can tell that Robert and I aren’t the only ones who are already invested in Calvin.
“There’s got to be a way around this,” Don says. “Some string to be pulled.”
“Four years is a long time.” Robert’s voice is quiet and he meets my eyes, grimacing. “I’m not sure even with the connections we have that we can work around that.”
“Jesus Christ.” Brian bursts from his tiny chair, dropping his fists onto the table. “The answer is obvious, isn’t it? Just have Holland marry the guy. They’ve been dating for months in her head, anyway. Two birds, one stone.”
I let out a garbled sound of shock and immediately feel the way everyone turns to look at me.
Everyone except Robert, who slowly lowers his glasses down his nose, fixing a dark gaze on my boss. “Brian. If you’re not going to be helpful, please feel free to step out.”
Brian leans back in his seat, grinning snidely at me before looking to Robert. “If this is as dire as you say, if”—he sweeps his hands dramatically—“you are unable to find a suitable musician in all of New York City, then let us consider how every department can step up to help you hire your subway busker. I think we should hear what Holland thinks about the idea.”
Robert doesn’t give me a chance to reply—not that I’d have the faintest idea what to say. “Your tone is quickly passing insulting and moving into shocking territory.” The room has gone still, each set of eyes following the conversation as if it is a tennis match. “I am not only the composer and musical director of this production, but I am also Holland’s uncle. I’ll suggest you tread carefully here.”
Brian is an angry, splotchy red. Robert’s lips have practically disappeared, they are so tight. Meanwhile, my head is spinning. I am far from Brian’s favorite person, but does he really think that’s a viable solution here?
“It was just a suggestion,” he says, scrambling to triage the situation. “Everyone here knows you’re the out-of-the-box thinker, Robert. I was trying to come up with an out-of-the-box solution.”
Michael speaks up. “It’s a bit more than out-of-the-box, Brian. It’s also illegal.”
If possible, the color of Brian’s face deepens and he swings his gaze in my direction. Brian is petty, and at times completely unreasonable, but he hasn’t always been wrong in his criticism of me. I don’t belong here. Someone more deserving and qualified should have this job. My stomach turns over, sour.
Done with the conversation, Robert slips his glasses back on and looks at the others around the table. “Brian, you can head downstairs. The rest of us need to get back to finding a realistic solution. We’re running out of time.”
Seriously. What the fuck, Brian.
I throw a frozen dinner in my microwave and pace the ten-foot length of my living room, back and forth.
“What an asshole,” I growl.
The microwave dings, but I ignore it, instead going to the fridge to grab a beer. I snap the top open and drink half of it before slamming the can down on the counter.
For the life of me, I can’t get this afternoon out of my head.
I’d excused myself from the meeting once they finally broke for coffee, leaving them to go over the list of possible replacements on their own. Even without eavesdropping in the hallway, I knew they were all lukewarm on the alternatives, no matter how talented they may be. Seth is a douchebag, but his charisma is undisputed, and he and Luis seemed to move in perfect unison when they performed together. We need someone like that for Ramón Martín—whose voice is like rich honey—and given the fluency of his playing, I know that person is Calvin.
I pick up the beer again, finishing it and crumpling the can in my left hand. Returning to the fridge, I grab another, making a mental list of the present circumstances.
1. Ramón starts rehearsing in two weeks.
2. Lisa isn’t even pushing to claim the lead violinist chair; in fact, she offered some names to Robert.
3. Robert brought Calvin in after listening to him play at the station for a mere three minutes. My uncle has a musical ear that goes beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed—and I spent a good part of my childhood in the symphony hall, watching him.
4. Without a doubt, we need Calvin.
How could Brian think I would do something like this?
I close my eyes, wondering at the ball of heat in my chest.
Would I?
Sleep doesn’t come easily.
By midnight I’m back to pacing the apartment.
By one I’m on my phone, frantically researching visa requirements and examples of immigration leniency. There aren’t many.
By two my battery is almost dead. I decide I’m worrying over something completely beyond my control and spend the next hour going through my clothes and getting rid of things I haven’t worn in years.
By three thirty I’m on my bedroom floor, tethered to my phone again, which is itself tethered to the outlet. Scouring theater gossip sites, I look for productions that have lost two major leads at once, hoping I’ll identify a slew of shows that came back bigger and better than ever.
Spoiler alert: I don’t.
By the time the sun starts to brighten the sky, and after zero hours of sleep, I feel a little crazy, but Brian’s suggestion feels less so.