Aaron was only in New York but a week when he first saw her. She was elderly, but she had aged well. Her late husband's wealth had given her a power over aging available to only a few women. She was elegant but could display her disapproval quickly with only a glance or a raised eyebrow. Aaron's gaze had settled on her at a noon-time luncheon with the personnel manager of the New York Symphony. He had watched her, gently, but forcefully, reprimand the Le Cirque waiter when he failed to bring her Negroni promptly. He silently placed that experiential awareness in his little black book of mindfulness. It must be very unsettling to be on the point of such rebuke, especially for one trained to serve at such a high level.
Aaron's father had recommended that he come to New York. His father had several well-connected business acquaintances in New York and was sure that they could introduce him to helpful people in the city. In Spain, Aaron had been the principal bassoonist in the Bilbao Orkestra Sinfonika. At only thirty-two, he had been the youngest to hold that position. He loved the music of the Sinfonika, but he felt strongly that he had to move on if his career was to advance. English and Basque were his academic languages from an early age. His knowledge of English and his adoration of the New York Symphony had made his career move to American quite an easy decision.
As predicted, his father's connections placed him at lunch on that Thursday in May with a Monsieur Larousse. M. Larousse, a patron of the New York art scene, was aware that the second bassoonist for the New York Philharmonic had been recruited by Mr. Dudamel at Los Angeles. This had left Mr. Van Zweden looking about anxiously to fill the seat with a competent musician. M. Larousse had asked Aaron to a noon luncheon to meet Mr. van Zweden as a prelude to an audition.
The luncheon had gone well and as they were leaving both of his mentors recognized Mimi Cohen at a table with her many girlfriends. Her face was thin and wrinkled but boasted a broad genuine smile. Despite her obvious age, she was agile in her speech and projected the exuberance of a talk show hostess.
Aaron was quickly introduced and she seemed more than enthralled at the idea of such "a handsome young Spaniard sitting in the second bassoonist's chair". He felt her eyes lock upon his physique as she sipped her Negroni. Inhaling deeply, his chest expanded before her eyes and her smile registered her delight. After a brief, further exchange of pleasantries, she suddenly reached out and surreptitiously placed a card in his hand. In his ear, she whispered, "Call me!" He was embarrassed to be singled out like this and quickly placed the card in his pocket with only a parting smile towards her.
In the week that ensued, the audition was complete and he was thrilled when the director of finance called him to discuss his compensation package. Practice sessions began immediately, as the orchestra would soon embark on its summer "whistle-stop tour" across America. He really had an advantage now, given his four years of experience at the Sinfonika and the music came easily to him.
His salary allowed him some of life's finer pleasures, even in the confines of the city that bled money from its citizens. He had been able to secure a nice two-bedroom apartment at Three Lincoln Center on West 66th Street, just a short walk to Julliard and Avery Fisher Hall. Given the proximity to Lincoln Center, about half of the orchestra lived within a five-block radius. He even had time for his usual exercise activity which he had followed religiously since leaving primary school. His Basque muscularity was readily apparent even in a tuxedo and he was an immediate subject of conversation among the five young female violinists.
Once the tour started regular exercise required creativity to accomplish, as the schedule of the tour was insistent, placing all the musicians, staff, and equipment in a new city about every three to four days. Hotel weight equipment and long runs through the city allowed him to maintain a plateau of strength and fitness, but it offered little chance to increase his overall bulk. However, he was not concerned, for years of intense work had left him with a massive baseline bulk and an athletic level of conditioning. He slept well in any bed and had found ways to maintain his six percent body fat level even on a restaurant diet.
Occasionally he thought about the card Mimi had given him. It was nothing more than her name and telephone number. He was a little fearful of incurring her displeasure, as he had not called her. Yet, there was nothing to do about it now. What would be the point of calling form Phoenix in the last part of August, well over a thousand miles away? 'No, I will call her first thing when back in the city,' he said to himself. The tour was only two weeks from its final performance in San Diego. Then, back to New York to begin the real work of the fall and winter season.
The orchestra returned in early September and he fell back into the cycle of a lifestyle he adored. There was music all about him. He asked one of the young violinists to accompany him to the Metropolitan presentation of Aida. She was a slender woman with coal-black hair who had come to Julliard on a scholarship after winning the Eldorado Prize in Sao Paulo, Brazil. She was smart, happy in her life and she always made him smile when they met. 'Her body was small compared to his. It was her face that had captured his attention initially, high, round cheeks set upon a genetic profile that manifested her indigenous family origins. Her skin was smooth and deeply chocolate, not unlike his Basque hue.
In his moments of reverie, he imagined caressing and fondling her during a late-night goodbye. Yet she was very proper in her relationship with him, giving way to good night kiss, but never more. He clearly wanted more of her, but work was all-important now for both of them. Given their lack of seniority in the orchestra, it was incredibly important that they prioritize. So it was that they fell into a friendship that was distressingly platonic. He never discussed with her his need to touch her or his religion's censure of all such tendencies. His conflict lived deep inside of him, beneath the beauty of the music, the need for perfection and the chaos that was living in New York.
As of October, the fall concert series began in earnest. Each weekend was fully engaged with the work of musical production. Midweek was slower, however, and in one of those reflective moments over morning coffee he remembered he had never called the woman who had given him the card, now, months ago. On an impulse, he dialed her number.
"Choen residence, may I say who is calling?"
"Aaron Velequez. Ms. Choen asked me to call once I had settled in. Perhaps, if you remind her that I am the new bassoonist for the Philharmonic it might aid her memory."
"Very well then, please hold."
"Aaron! So good of you to call. I thought for sure you had forgotten all about me."
" I ... I have been terribly busy Miss and we were touring all summer," he stammered.
She laughed, "Yes, yes I know. I follow the orchestra quite closely and have been to several concerts this fall. I know all about you young man. I wanted to meet you sometime and discuss some ways you might supplement your income. I know that it can be horribly expensive living in Three Lincoln Center on a bassoonist's salary. Just a luncheon. Let me suggest that we meet at the Loeb Boathouse in Central Park. Let us say next Wednesday at noon."
"Well sure," he said without thinking, as he was taken back by her easy familiarity.
"Great. I shall see you then. I do have one request of you. I want you to wear your orchestra tuxedo to the luncheon, please. I want to get a sense of you more closely in your best dress. Can you not indulge an old lady, my dear?"
"Sure, that should not be a problem. Of the three I own, one is always at the ready."
"Lovely, see you then," and she abruptly hung up the phone.
Wednesday next was a mild bright Indian summer day, so gay that even in midtown one could tell that nature was given her love to the land perhaps one last time before the bitterness of winter came round. Aaron was in great spirits and decided to walk to the restaurant, arriving shortly before noon. A quick glance about revealed that she had been seated early at a table for two, away from the bustle of the restaurant traffic. She motioned for him to come and he did not wait for the maître d' to seat him. She extended her hand and he instinctively gave her a deferential kiss, as one might do the pope.
"I love a man who is prompt," she opened the conversation. He laughed and sat down.
"What will you have to drink, dear?"
"A Rioja, please," as he smiled at the waitress. "It is the wine of my country. Our family has a summer home in Alava where we grow Rioja and vinify a few hundred cases each year."
"Yes I am aware of your father and his many enterprises," she said somewhat mysteriously. "Monsieur Larousse explained to me that you come from a family long known in the Basque for integrity in your dealings with many different clients, including him."
So the luncheon ensued, with a natural ease of conversation, as if built upon years of familiarity and not just a brief encounter now nearly one-half year ago. He was always surprised by the fact that she seemed to know more about him than he thought she should but he dismissed any thought of intrigue and ordered the braised lamb shank which he thought would go much better with his wine than her selection of crab cake and cucumber.