A cocktail party at a hotel

A cocktail party at a hotel, eight months ago. Lucy, nervous and in a new dress; one she and her mother had picked out together and agreed on, back when they used to agree on at least some things. It was slightly more adult than the rest of Lucy’s wardrobe. She was about to turn sixteen, and her mother didn’t mind Lucy showing leg as long as the neckline stayed appropriate and the heel low. The dress - silver jersey with ruching that gathered at the left side of her waist - stopped mid-thigh. Lucy was supposed to be he wearing tights.

But her mother wasn’t there to check. She’d stayed home to take care of Grandma Beck, whose bad cold had suddenly become pneumonia. So Lucy’s dad had come instead to Prague, for the festival. Grandpa Beck, too, of course, because he believed he had to be at everything. Later, Lucy didn’t understand how he could have left his sick wife behind the way he did.

She was talking to two of the other pianists playing the festival but, unlike her, not competing: a guy from Tokyo and a girl from a European city Lucy didn’t quite catch over the noise of the room, whose name was Liesel or Louisa or something. They were both older than she was by about ten years, both good enough English speakers to talk about the pieces they were playing, where else they’d travelled recently, and where they were going next.

“I think I’m doing Tanglewood this summer,” Lucy told them.

It sounded impressive. Not that she wanted to go to Tanglewood. As she hadn’t wanted to do so many of the things that filled her time: the concerts and festivals and recording sessions and competitions that took her around the world and caused her to miss such massive chunks of school that she wasn’t officially enrolled any more. Instead she worked with various tutors from the University of San Francisco. Marnie and cute Bennett and sometimes Allison.

She hadn’t even wanted to come to the Prague, which only took fifteen pianists in her age group
from around the world. Out of thousands of applicants, she’d made it. There’d been a party. Grandma
Beck wouldn’t let anyone else pick the flowers or the food. Lucy’s dad bought her a white-gold
necklace with an L pendant to congratulate her, and Gus got all caught up in imagining himself at the
same festival one day. Grace Chang, her teacher, took Lucy out for a special dinner to strategize a
repertoire.

The thing was, Lucy hadn’t even applied.

Her mother had filled out the form and sent in the CD.

“I didn’t want you to be disappointed if you didn’t get in,” her mom had said.

Right, Lucy had thought. More like you didn’t want to give me the chance to say no.

That was when Lucy still believed that rocking the boat was the worst thing a person could do, and it didn’t even cross her mind to try to back out.

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The guy from Tokyo leaned forwards as if he had misheard her. “Tanglewood?”
“Yeah.”

“How old are you?” “Fifteen.”

He exchanged a glance with Liesel/Louisa, who said, “Wow.”

Lucy hadn’t meant to brag. It could be hard to find the line between sharing credentials in an effort
to fit in and showing off. “It’s just part of this new youth-spotlight thing they’re going to try…”
     “Excuse me,” Liesel/Louisa said, looking across the room as if she saw someone she had to go talk to.

Tokyo stayed. “Have you ever been to Japan?” He had long, shaggy hair, like a lot of the guy musicians had, to show the world they may be music nerds but they were rebel music nerds.
     “Once. When I was, like, eight.”

He started to reply when Grandpa Beck appeared at Lucy’s elbow.

“Lucy, let me introduce you to someone.” He too;t dquo; Hk her arm and pulled her away from the conversation. She scanned the room for her dad and didn’t see him. “Your father is up in our room. And don’t get too friendly with the competition.”

“They’re not the competition.”

“Everyone is the competition.”

She shivered in the arctic climate of the hotel ballroom while her grandfather ferried her around and made her talk to everyone he thought important: an up-and-coming conductor, an international booking agent, a Grammy-winning producer of classical albums. Lucy smiled and nodded a lot, hearing about half of what was said.

They left the party. In the elevator to their suite, Grandpa Beck turned to her. “You did well in there, Lucy. I’m proud of you.” His eyes were soft, and he touched her shoulder with real affection. “This is an important festival, and there’s a buzz about you. They all know who you are.”

She did like that part. Being somebody. Even if it meant certain people were jealous or thought she was too young to get the kind of attention she did.

Being a concert pianist didn’t win her any special respect from the kids she’d been at school with. Even her best friend, Reyna, didn’t know and wouldn’t care that she could nail a Rachmaninov allegro. But in places like this, she knew she mattered.

“How’s Grandma?” she asked as they exited the elevator and walked over the hotel’s ornate
carpet.

“Just fine.”

“Let’s call her. I want to say hi.” And she wanted to hear Gus’s voice, and ask her mom’s advice about how to wear her hair for the main part of the competition.

He pulled back the sleeve of his suit jacket to check his watch. “It’s complicated with the time difference. We don’t want to interrupt her rest.”

Before leaving for Prague, Lucy’d gone into her grandmother’s room to say goodbye, but she’d been asleep. Lucy had stared for a few minutes at her face: powdered and tweezed but also naturally beautiful. The face of a woman who was kind without being a pushover. Someone who’d managed to live with Grandpa Beck for more than fifty years without killing him.

“I don’t want to go,” Lucy had whispered, hoping Grandma would open her eyes and say she didn’t have to.

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Her mother had heard. “You’re just nervous,” she’d said softly, joining her on the edge of Grandma’s bed.

Lucy had turned to her. Maybe there, in that quiet space, the afternoon light filtering through the gauzy curtains, dust motes in the beams and only the sound of Grandma’s breathing, her mother would listen. “I’m not nervous. I feel like I should stay here.”

“You have to go, honey. It’s the Prague.”

Lucy had looked back at her grandmother. “Isn’t this a family emergency?”
“Grandma’s going to be fine. And you won’t do her any good by not going.”

Lying awake in the Prague hotel room, Lucy had the sense that something wasn’t right.

Her parents hadn’t given her cell phone international access. She got out of bed and went into the suite’s living room, in search of her father’s phone. He was asleep on the pull-out sofa bed; Grandpa Beck’s room had two kings, but he wasn&rsquo wae wasn&;t sharing. She found the phone and crept back to her room, got under the covers, and called her mom.

“Marc, it must be the middle of the night there,” her mother said as an answer. “It’s me.”

“Lucy?”

“I want to talk to Grandma.”

A pause. “You can’t right now, honey. I’m sorry.” “She’s sleeping?”

“We’re actually at the hospital,” her mother said. “She’s okay,” she added quickly,                                                                                                                                             “but she’s resisting the antibiotics a little bit. And just needs some help breathing. She’s fine, Lucy. It’s all routine for someone her age.”

“Does Grandpa know?”
“Yes.”

Why hadn’t he said something? “Is Gus with you?” she asked her mother.

“No, there’s no reason for him to be. Because everything is all right. You just concentrate on your job over there.”

“She’s really okay?” Is there a tube in her throat? Does it hurt?
“Yes.”

“Tell Gus I say hi. And tell Grandma I love her.” “I will. Get some sleep.”

Lucy hung up and realized she’d forgotten to ask her mom about how she should wear her hair.