Chapter 17

6years earlier...

James Karaka was a tall and lanky man. His fingers were over large for the violin. He would have been more suited to a cello or bass (as everybody would be), but he had started playing violin when he was only 3 years old; his fingers weren't so long then.

James was standing in his study, his violin and bow in his left hand, and a pencil in his right. He was frantically writing notes on his music. He took a deep breath, returned the pencil to the stand, and resumed playing position.

If there was one thing James's teacher couldn't have stressed enough to him, it was preparation for an audition. What person in their right mind (let alone a violinist- there are millions of them!) would attempt to take a seat with the Berliner Philharmoniker without having at least 2 to 3 years of preparation? It was insane to think otherwise.

James had one (albeit very small) advantage: he was a man. European orchestras simply don't accept women, especially when the auditions aren't blind. And why would they? Men were superior to women in almost every single way. A woman trying to match the musical talent and finesse of a man was like… well, it was impossible. Women didn't get orchestra jobs in Germany, and with good reason.

This was the only small piece of comfort he carried. His fear was that there was a woman out there who could beat him- well, that there was any person out there who could beat him, regardless of sex. He was relieved to find out that the live auditions would not be blind. It is a true testament to his character how much this mattered to him. He also desperately needed to be able to see what the judges thought of him.

But James looses focus. Back to practicing. He has work to do. He opened up the Sibelius violin concerto. Two hours later he is satisfied with the cadenza and finally plays through the first movement completely, video recording himself so he can critique it later that night.

He had a cup of coffee, and then moved to Mozart's 3rd concerto. Through the 16ths, around the legato, and full steam through the cadenza. Mozart's not so hard really. It's just tough to play it well. He'd watch that tape as well.

He took a one-hour break to watch some TV with his father (with whom he still lives- even after his 25th birthday), and then went back to practicing.

Beethoven, Brahms, Mendelssohn, Strauss, Schumann, Prokofiev, more Mozart, Bach, more Bach, and still more Bach. Four hours later his overlong fingers are exhausted, and he has run out of tapes to record himself with.

James called it a day.

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The next morning James awoke and went down stairs to a scene of total disarray. His father was lying face down on the floor, the window was open, and his violin was nowhere in sight.

"No, no," he kept saying over and over again. He looked everywhere and overturned every piece of furniture, but it was no good. His violin was gone. His pride and joy. The violin that had been with him since the beginning. Twenty-two fucking years! And it was gone. The rubbed away varnish on the neck from his thumb, the scratched scroll from the wall, the brand new chin rest from his father, the engraved tailpiece from the mother who left him as a child, and… well…

James's brain must have been wired a little too tightly for a musician. Every minute of practicing he ever did, every tape, every audition, every single fucking thing having to do with the violin came roaring back into his mind. He saw every single second of his life all at once, culminating with the vision of him walking onto the concert hall stage, lifting his violin to his chin, and having it fall out from underneath him, disappearing like grains of sand, with the judges (including the concert master of the Berliner Philharmoniker) looking down upon such a pitiful boy who would dare present himself for a seat with the greatest orchestra in Europe, and possibly the world.

James Karaka couldn't take it. He snapped. But not before he calmly awoke his father and called for medical attention, not before he called the police to report the theft, and not before he found a single business card laying neatly upon his stack of audition music. It read: "Markus Darrin. Chief Financial Officer. Plunder and Flee Bank."

Consider yourself robbed.

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Alex was sitting on the kitchen floor with a glass of whiskey when she heard a knock at the door. She looked up, then got up, and cross the room.

She looked through the peephole to see exactly who she had expected it to be. She opened the door with a look that said, "This had better be good."

"Alex… I'm sorry," he said sighing. "I want to explain. I don't think you gave me a fair chance to explain- no; let me finish- I'm sorry I hurt you. I should have talked to Barek, I should have told you, I should have… well; I should have done a lot of things. But I needed you to listen, and you didn't. I needed you- I need you to listen."

She sniffed and took a sip from the glass. "Slow down," she said calmly. "I'm listening."

A small look of relief crossed his face. "I'm always so wrapped up with you that I let everything else go. Every other aspect of human contact goes unnoticed by me when you're involved. I'm such a social wreck- everything that I need to address, I don't. And it's all your fault… and I wouldn't change it for the world." He stepped closer to her. "There's no where else I'd rather be," he said softly, reaching a hand out to stroke her cheek. "I'd ignore heaven and earth for you."

At this she giggled. "That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard."

He stepped closer. He could smell the whisky on her breath- she hadn't had much, but he could still smell it. "Bobby, you're such an ass," she whispered.

"I know," he responded with equal volume. "But you're a stubborn ass." He leaned down and kissed her. He kissed her like he had never kissed her before. He slid his hand around her waist and pulled her into him. His mouth explored hers and found all of the places that she would have used to respond with words. This was much better.

He heard a glass shatter. They parted and he saw that she had dropped her glass and had now wrapped both of her arms around him.

"Come on, I'll help you clean it up," he said.

"Shut up, Bobby," she said, and she assaulted his mouth again. He made a quick motion with his arms and she jumped up and wrapped her legs around him while he carried her back inside the apartment and used her body to push the door close, all the while still kissing.