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    Play for Me
    Play for Me
    Play for Me
    Ebook78 pages1 hour

    Play for Me

    By T.L. Wainwright

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Incensed, Birdy Tippett sees red when controlling and jealous assistant to orchestra conductor, Hugo Vaughn, cuts dead her opportunity to play before him at a blind audition, despite the student violinist being shortlisted to attend.

    Although already out of her comfort zone, Birdy's fury takes over after hours of waiting to perform, and she is determined to fight for her right to showcase her ability—an ability that has the potential to change her life.

    Her protest is heard by the Maestro himself, and he decides to hear her play. However, noting his boredom to her classical piece, she dramatically switches tactics and plays a well-known hard rock tune to perfection. As she finishes her moment in the spotlight, her time abruptly ending, Hugo appears less than impressed.

    Later that evening, a surprise and insistent text message from Hugo changes everything, especially when he commands her with the words: play for me.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherT.L. Wainwright
    Release dateFeb 27, 2020
    ISBN9781393661269
    Play for Me

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      Book preview

      Play for Me - T.L. Wainwright

      Chapter One

      N o, no, no, Clementine shouts over the abysmal noise I am creating. Your posture is all wrong. She taps her bow across my back. It’s not really hard, but it’s enough to leave a sharp sting through my thin T-shirt—not too dissimilar to being flicked by the corner edge of a damp tea towel.

      I’m sorry, I whine out in frustration.

      This is basic stuff, Birdy, and not what I expect from someone as advanced as you. Grabbing my shoulders, she pulls them back, places the flat of her hand in the centre of my back and pushes until I’m sitting ramrod straight. Her hand then slaps to my forehead, while the fingers of her other hand grip my chin, lifting and moving me until everything is in the correct position and my posture is on par. I’m meant to be helping you get ready for your audition, not wasting my time on the rudimental that should be as instinctive to you as breathing.

      I said, I’m sorry.

      And attitude is certainly not going to bode well with me or the orchestral auditioning panel, she scolds.

      It’s a blind audition, I argue.

      Maybe so, but don’t underestimate the highly professional people that will be there. Any negativity you emanate they will pick up on immediately. Besides, unless you go into this with the right, positive attitude, your piece will be of an inferior standard.

      This is a mistake. I’m nowhere near ready or good enough. I should never have let you talk me into this.

      Birdy. Stop that immediately, young lady, she chastises. You are a magnificent and accomplished musician; you just need to believe in yourself. Do you think I would be wasting my time with you if I didn’t think you were more than capable of this position?

      I give out a deep sigh, letting the violin drop from my chin and lying it across my lap. She is right: this should come automatically to me, but everything seems to be off kilter. I should be concentrating on getting my piece perfect to at least give me a fighting chance, but my head is full of dark nothingness, leaving no room for anything else.

      Clementine crosses the room to where a single, high-backed chair sits. Picking it up she brings it over, placing it directly in front of me. She sits down so we are face to face.

      What’s going on Birdy?

      Clementine has been my violin teacher since I was eight and was around throughout most of my childhood; she is someone I respect. The fact she knows me so well is why she can immediately pick up when something is bothering me. Recently, it has been a common occurrence, and I have been giving her pathetic excuses as to why I can’t go around to see her. Clementine is the one who convinced me I should send in an application after hearing about an orchestra that is looking for accomplished musicians to join them. Now, I’m not so sure it is a good idea.

      They say music frees you, and for me that its true—or is had been for a while anyway. It had been my friend, my soul mate, my companion… especially through my daunting school years.

      You know that girl—the one who sits by herself in the lunch hall; the one who you barely take notice of when she passes you in the hallway; the plain, nondescript girl with freckles and dorky clothes whose only accessories to her attire are her violin case, music folder and her bag—that is the size of a small suitcase—strapped to her back, and certainly without overpriced mobile phone, jewellery or designer shoes and handbag.

      Yes, that girl. That girl had been me.

      I hadn’t been one of the IT girls, the popular girls, and hadn’t even come under the category of Geek! I’d been a music nerd, and at our school, there had been barely a handful of us, each a habitual loner.

      So, music became my everything—the only thing I truly had that put any substance in my life.

      Except for my dad that is.

      Karl Tippett had been a pianist and played with many different orchestras in his younger years. By all accounts, he had been extremely talented and on the verge of being accepted into one of the major orchestras when he met my mother.

      I can’t remember her, but my dad has never kept the truth about her from me. No matter how many times I would ask him to re-tell the story of how they met, he would do so, despite the fact that it had been evident by his expressions and manor that reliving it hurt his heart.

      As a favour to one of his friends who had become incredibly sick, he had stepped in for a small troupe that was providing the music for a lesser known ballet group that was touring theatres around the U.K.

      One look at the young, French, petite principle ballerina with skin of silk, auburn hair scraped up into the tightest of buns and emerald eyes, he was lost. A former student at the Paris Opera Ballet School, Celeste Laurent had been barely eighteen when she joined the travelling ensemble.

      Their romance had been fast, passionate and all consuming. The few days that they had, any free time they found themselves with, they’d spent it together. He’d been so infatuated with her that when the time came for them to part ways, he was reluctant to let her go. Taking time out, he’d accompanied her for a month until it was time for her to leave England and return with her company to France.

      It had been inevitable that their romantic liaison would eventually come to an end as they’d both needed to fulfil their life ambitions: my mother’s dream

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