Layla knocked on the open door, drawing her boss's attention from the stack of papers on his desk. "You wanted to see me?" she said.
Mr. Svenson blinked at her as if he were surprised to see her standing there when he'd buzzed for her to come down not even five minutes ago. She knew immediately it was bad news. Or maybe it was more accurate to think of it as more bad news. He cleared his throat and rocked forward in his seat in that way he always did when he was about to tell her something awful.
He was her boss now, but he'd been her own principal way back when she was a student here over a decade and a half ago. He'd been part of this building for as long as she could remember, sitting at that same desk, wearing those same wire-rimmed glasses, those same paisley ties. He probably wore the same underwear, too. The man never changed anything unless he had to.
"Yes...that was quick. Come in. Sit." He affected his "official" voice and motioned to the empty chair in front of his desk.
The same chair she'd sat in when he told her she was valedictorian. The same chair he'd told her to sit in when he'd offered her the position of Instrumental Music Instructor and every year since when he called her in to tell her he was slashing her budget.
The very chair she'd sat in all those years ago when she found out her best friend--the only one to make it out of the house fire besides her--hadn't made it after all.
She sat in the chair. Nothing ever changed.
He cleared his throat again and laid his pen down on top of the papers.
"Just tell me whatever it is you want to tell me, Gary. I'm a big girl." She hadn't meant for her words to sound so harsh, but they were sweet in comparison to how she really felt when people tiptoed around her because they thought she was some fragile thing worthy of their eternal pity.
He sat up straight in his chair, leveling his eyes at her from behind his glasses. "Okay, then...I'm sorry I have to do this to you, but I'm afraid I've had to cancel your order."
"My order? Wait. Do you mean my new instruments? The ones you've been promising me every year for the last eight years?" Layla shook her head.
Mr. Swenson sighed. "I'm sorry--"
"We need those. You promised you'd find a way." She clenched her fists on her thighs, her anger at her department being brushed off as expendable, inessential, welling up inside her to pound with the drumbeat of her heart in her ears. "I've more than waited my turn."
"If I could give them to you, I would."
"I don't want you to give them to me." She spoke through clenched teeth. "I want you to buy them for my students. Like you promised."
"I'm sorry, but you know how tight the budget is. We're lucky to still have a music department, period." He raised his eyebrows at her, as close to a warning to back off as he ever got. "Maybe next year."
"Yeah. Sure." She stood. "Did you need anything else from me? I'm going to be late for rehearsal."
Gary gave her a smile that was a mixture of regret and the ever-despised pity. She wanted to punch him in the nose.
"No. Just...why don't you try to relax this weekend. Go home on time for once. You're always the last one out the door. There's nothing so important it can't wait until Monday."
She nodded. "Sure. Why not?"
It was pointless to try to explain that there were things too important to wait until Monday. She had a new marching routine to work on, audition scores to sort through, uniforms to take to the dry cleaners, and a musical production to plan.
"Layla." Gary stopped her before she could leave. "I know you care about your kids, and I know you want new instruments. But if a kid wants to play the French horn, then their parents are going to have to fork out the cash and buy them a French horn."
Yeah. Except French horns rarely won out over car payments and utilities, and a lot of the parents in town had trouble even making those.
She'd be damned if a single kid in Maybe missed out on the chance to learn an instrument because of money. She'd stretched her instrument supply as long and as far as she could, but she couldn't stretch it much farther. You could only fix a loose key so many times.
"And I'm only saying this because...well, because you were one of my kids once. I still think of you as one of my kids. You've got to let yourself live. Have some fun outside of these walls."
Layla ground her teeth together to keep from yelling at him that she already had a father, and he gave her so much well-intentioned advice, she was choking on it. Instead she plastered a smile on her face as if it had never occurred to her that she should have a life that didn't revolve around broken clarinets and outdated sheet music.
"Great idea," she said.
"And Layla...I really am sorry. Maybe next year."
She nodded again and left, the smile slipping from her face as soon as her back was turned. Nothing ever changed.
*****************************
Layla pulled into the back parking lot of Holman's Music Store and let herself in the staff door with her spare key. She wasn't staff, but she'd spent so much time in there as a kid, when she finally "made it big" as the band director, Bertrice Holman had proclaimed her an "honorary" staff member.
Hence the key. And hence the call as she was leaving school to asking to stop by and help close up shop.
That was fine with Layla. Gary had told her to go have some fun, and in her world, locking the doors to the only music store in a twenty mile radius was about as fun as it got.
The sound of someone playing the piano drifted through the back hallway, Bertie most likely. Layla shrugged out of her jacket and hung it on one of the hooks near the door. Her hand paused over the hook as the music washed over her.
Her heart skipped in her chest. She couldn't remember Bertie ever playing Beethoven's Appassionata Sonata. She couldn't remember Bertie every playing Beethoven at all. Or with such skill. Clunked out standards were more her thing.
Layla found herself creeping down the hall toward the front of the store, inch by inch, the notes cascading in her ears, growing clearer with each quiet step. She even held her breath, afraid to make any noise that would break the spell of the music.
Some part of her knew who it was before she saw him sitting there, eyes half-closed as his fingers danced across the keys of the store's one and only baby grand. His hair, which perfectly matched the mahogany wood of the piano, was slightly disheveled, and gave him a sexy, agitated look. Beethoven would have been proud.
Layla leaned on her elbows on the counter next to Bertie, who watched Derek with a dreamy smile on her face on her wrinkled face.
"Oh, good. You're here," Bertie whispered. "He's something else, isn't he? Says he's from out of town, but was in desperate need of a few moments alone with a piano. How could I say "no" to that?"
"You can't."
Bertie glanced over at Layla, her blue eyes twinkling. "And just look at him...did you ever see a man so bad and good all at the same time?"
"Not around here."
"Exactly. I couldn't say "no" to that, either. Just wait 'til you get a load of his pants." Bertie elbowed her in the arm. "You okay if I go pick up Frank? The vet says he's okay to come home if I can make it in tonight."
Frank was Bertie's Jack Russell and shop mascot. Layla knew how much the dog meant to Bertie, and as much as the woman had done for her over the years, she was happy to assist a speedy reunion.
"Go ahead. I'm fine...give him a scratch behind the ears for me." Layla spoke to the elderly woman at her side, but she couldn't tear her eyes from Derek. She knew he was talented, but she had no idea he could play like this.
As if finally registering her presence, Derek's eyes flicked up to lock with hers. His expression remained neutral, and after a moment, his gaze drifted back to the keys, his attention returning once again to that distant place you went when you were totally consumed by your art.
That place where the world around you slowed, and every breath, every thought focused on the sound as you pulled it from inside and shaped it into that thing that you just had to create, just had to set free. She'd been there many times herself, though the music she made felt small compared to this.
"Okay. He knows we close in a half hour. Jeff Richards is supposed to be in to pay for his boy's lessons, but other than that, I imagine Ludwig over there will be it for the day." Bertie straightened and patted Layla on the shoulder. "I sure hope you didn't cancel any plans just for me."
Layla smiled at the woman who was like a grandmother to her if her grandmother liked to drink whiskey and talk about sex all the time. "Are you kidding? I'm getting a free concert. What more could I ask for on a Friday night?"
Bertie waggled her eyebrows, her voice pitched to perfectly cut through a quiet moment in the music. "And he's almost easier on the eyes than he is on the ears, if you catch my drift. And we know he's good with his fingers. Pretty girl like you...if you play your cards right, maybe you'll end up with some plans for tonight, after all."