Capriccio Read Free Page B

carpeted aisle. One did not run in Roy Thomson Hall. Roy Thomson Hall is the kind of place where you find yourself calling a person “one.” My head slued around, like everyone else’s, to see what ill-bred specimen had escaped the ushers, and quickly turned to face the stage again, pretending I didn’t know him when I saw it was Sean. Yet I was glad he’d come. His running slowed to a trot as he drew nearer, his eyes scanning the rows for me. He lifted a finger, gave a kind of salute and a broad smile, and began wriggling his way in past the seated patrons.
    He was wearing a jacket and tie, but the jacket wouldn’t feel at home at Eleanor’s party, and that tie! It looked as if it had been designed by Picasso in one of his more vibrant moments. “Sorry I’m late,” he boomed lowering himself into the seat. “Couldn’t find the darned place. I was sure I knew exactly where it was, but it moved on me.”
    “These new buildings are all alike—undependable. One of those big acoustic tiles fell right off the ceiling the week the place opened.”
    “Is that so?” he asked, glancing ceilingward with a doubtful face. “The show should be starting any minute now.”
    We both looked expectantly to the closed curtains. The silence could reasonably have been filled by a compliment on my outfit. Sean said, “Was Victor nervous, or have you seen him since this afternoon?”
    “I haven’t seen him. He was supposed to be home for dinner, but he didn’t show.”
    “You live with him, do you? That must make for a lively time.”
    “Oh, it does.”
    “I was reading something in the paper about a surprise he has for us tonight. Care to let me in on it?”
    “I would if I could, but I can’t. He didn’t tell me.”
    “Maybe he’s got a new violin,” Sean suggested.
    I smiled at his naiveté in musical matters. “He never uses anything but his del Gesù. It’s a famous old instrument. Kind of like the Duesenberg of violins. I have a hunch about the surprise, but I won’t even let myself think it,” I added mysteriously.
    “Could you let yourself say it without thinking?”
    “I think just maybe—but I’m probably wrong. It’s really conceited of me to even suggest it. Anyway, Victor’s written a little piece of music—he does that once in a while. He slaves over it for weeks, then suddenly plays it as a surprise at one of his big concerts to astonish the world, and lets on he wrote it in a day or something. He’s such a ham,” I added fondly.
    Sean turned a puzzled face to me. “How does that contaminate you with conceit?”
    “Didn’t I tell you? I think maybe he’s dedicating it to me. He’s mentioned half a dozen times that I’ve put him in touch with youth again. I make him listen to modern popular music and take him to the movies he wouldn’t go to alone. I’ve heard little snatches of something I don’t recognize floating through the door of his studio. He says it’s a capriccio, a free-form piece of music, kind of light and lively. He has a certain mischievous sparkle in his eyes when I ask him what he’s calling it. But I’m probably wrong,” I added. Yet I was sure enough to have bought the expensive wisp I wore, in preparation to take a bow here at the concert hall.
    Sean’s brows lifted uncertainly. “I guess that’d be quite an honor.”
    “It’d be fabulous—like having a poem written in your honor, or a perfume named after you, but I’m
    “Probably wrong,” he said, nodding his head, while a crooked little quirk of a smile moved his moustache. “We’ll soon know. It’s five after eight. It should be starting soon.” We both checked our watches.
    At ten after, it was my turn to say the same thing. The audience was becoming restive. The orchestra began playing soft background music to soothe the savage breasts. By eight-fifteen I had spotted Eleanor, waved to her, and pointed her out to Sean as Victor’s friend. When Sean lifted his Timex under my nose to show me it