Forbidden Melody

Chapter 1 - Juliet

Shostakovich, Violin Concerto

Franck, Sonata in A Major

Beethoven, Violin and Piano Sonata

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"Absolutely not!" I found my voice echoing, more pronounced than I had intended it to be. My fingers wrapped tightly around the neck of my late grandmother's Vuillaume, tingling from the past few hours of practice. Across my lap sat a ten-thousand-dollar ebony Morizot bow, strung with the finest Siberian hair available. Sweat trickled down my brow, I wiped it away with my available hand.

My father Frederick had joined me in my private office at the Bard Conservatory of Music. Cream colored plain walls surrounded us, two windows on the far side overlooking the courtyard outside. A large mahogany desk separated me from him. There was a small music stand to my right, several sheets of music organized on it. The smell of my father's cologne wafted into the room, mixed with the wretched smell of cigar smoke.

of a minute, he had destroyed every hope of having my music distraction-free for the remainder of the year. As usual, it became full of obligations to the Bard Conservatory, an institution that was passed down through my family for several generations. The responsibility, while maintaining my livelihood, was almost always a nuisance more than anything. My father had never understood music, too wrapped up in the aspect to care. Chairman of the Board of Trustees at the Bard and Executive Director for the last twenty years. We'd fought this same battle time and time again.

"I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter." My father's eyes, a feature we shared, stared firmly back at me. "Miranda Kepner will be on tour for the semester, I have no one else to replace her. You've taught these courses before. I'm certain you are capable of teaching them again."

"The Philharmonic starts its fall production preparations in three weeks." My voice had not eased. I hadn't put in fifteen-hour days practicing for nothing. Concertmasters led the entire first violin section and required a great deal of preparation. I'd taken this role for the past seven years and I didn't intend to relinquish it anytime soon. "I agreed to private lessons with the conservatory in the fall. That was all."

"I'm not asking," my father said, his voice remaining calm. Even after all these years, I'd still kept my mother's feisty demeanor. It did not faze my father in the least. "And you'll be there on Monday for the graduate school auditions. Miranda was on the panel, we need a replacement."

"Of course you do," I muttered, fidgeting with the handle of the bow in my lap.

"We'll see that you still maintain your position with the Philharmonic," my father assured me, . "However, your duties to the conservatory will take precedence over your extracurricular activities."

The nerve! I held my tongue. Fifteen years I had been a member of the New York Philharmonic. Extracurricular, my ass. "Whatever you need," I replied, curtly. "Is that all?"

The stare down between my father and I lasted for a good thirty seconds more before he shrugged me off. "Monday, Juliet. I expect you to be on time."

"Monday it is," I replied. "Shut the door behind you." My father did as I asked, shutting the door tight as he left. The Vuillaume returned to my shoulder, my mind back to Shostakovich's Violin Concerto.

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Sossnoff Theater in Fischer Hall was a well-known venue for music in New York. The proscenium stage, housed in a towering concrete building, was decorated with Douglas fir, a sturdy wood turned to the key of G, in the box seats on the walls and the paneling around the stage, on the seats that filled the room. was intentionally simple, hexagonal in shape, with bowed walls to create convex surfaces to diffuse sound. The tall ceilings gave enough volume to allow sound to bloom. From an acoustical standpoint, it provided an optimal space for vocal and orchestral sound. Which was the reason every April, it housed undergraduate and graduate school auditions.