Chapter 8

As it turned out, Raymond liked his office at St. Luke's immediately. He liked it more than the one at the Barbican. Much more. As soon as he and Benicio opened the door, it just felt right. It was dingy and cramped. There was layer of sticky dust coating the bookshelf along the left wall and light was only barely filtering in through the odd, milky glass in the room's lone window. Every second breath Raymond caught a hint of the lingering, phantom aroma of stale cigarette smoke and Windex. But it felt like a practice room, and that was nice.

Benicio didn't seem quite so satisfied. It looked a little bit like his worst fears had been realized. He ran a displeased finger over the top of one of the ancient filing cabinets as Raymond took a stack of scores out of his satchel and plunked them down on the old war horse of a desk in the middle of the room.

"All right, Benicio?" Raymond asked, amused at his distaste.

Benicio looked down at the grime on his fingertip and pulled a face. "I am if you are…I guess," he said skeptically, turning in a slow circle to take in all of the little room. "Just wondering. You know. If this is really the best we could do…" He raised his eyebrows at an ugly blob of industrial glue next to the bookshelves, where it appeared something had been wrenched off the wall.

Raymond laughed and shrugged, opening and shutting the drawers of the desk to see if there was anything inside. Leftover office supplies, perhaps? Some abandoned pens or paper clips? Rubber bands? Maybe a stray bottle of Wite-Out or several useless highlighters? Obviously a secret love note would be the best-case scenario, but Raymond wasn't holding out hope. Turned out there was only 40p and three red thumbtacks.

"Did Gergiev ever use this office before he left?" he asked, doubtful. He glanced up at Benicio. "He didn't, did he?"

Benicio let out a punch of a laugh and scoffed, "Absolutely not. No sir." He shook his head.

"Well, I like it," Raymond said, smiling as he eased down into what seemed to be a practically pre-war office chair. Not an ergonomic element in sight. It creaked pleasantly beneath him.

Benicio was still unconvinced.

"Location, location, location, Benicio!" Raymond pointed out, leaning back in the chair, testing out its strength. For all its perceived shortcomings, the office was tucked into a small lobby directly off the back of the rehearsal hall, all by itself next to some dank-looking bathrooms. It was convenient, but it felt secluded and remote, like a secret, and Raymond loved that. He laughed, "I bet everyone only comes back here when they need to take a shit."

Benicio looked fairly disgusted now.

Raymond giggled. "Aw, c'mon, Benicio. Privacy! That's what everyone likes. Get all settled in and then down to business!"

Benicio just blinked, lips twisted in a grimace.

"Lighten up!" Raymond said, still laughing. And then because he simply could not resist, "Everybody poops."

Benicio was a little affronted, not by the statement about the naturalness of bowel movements, but by the suggestion that he should take it easy. He started to adjust his body language, like you do right before you unsuccessfully try to convince someone that you are not, in fact, uptight. He over-relaxed his facial muscles and his posture. It looked like he might be seconds away from using some kind of "laid-back" slang he wasn't quite comfortable with, perhaps on the verge of telling Raymond he was "stoked" he'd started as the new Maestro. Raymond was liking Benicio more and more.

"All right," Benicio said, once Raymond had ceased chuckling at his clear discomfort. "I'm going to go hunt someone down and find the keys to this place." It had been a stroke of luck that it had been unlocked to begin with. "And then I'll check with Keller to make sure she's still on schedule."

Raymond nodded, swallowing hard. His nerves crackled back to life as Benicio slipped out of the office, no longer there to distract him from the looming rehearsal. He stood up and stretched, running a hand through his hair and smoothing out his tie, straightening his suit jacket on his shoulders. Then he inhaled through his nose and slowly out through his mouth several times with a hand on his solar plexus, taking deep, measured breaths to calm himself.