Loreen Stenke sat, emotionless, at her desk as Wilfrid Carter carefully took the seat opposite her.
He smiled gently at her. “I want to thank you for coming here to meet with me. You know, of course, that under normal conditions I would not dream of bothering you at a time like this, but we’re in a very unusual and difficult situation here.”
Stenke remained grim-faced. “We are not in the same situation.”
Carter ignored her remark and leaned forward. “The fact is that we have something of an opportunity to salvage a rather less than successful concert season here. No one was more shocked than I was to hear that the Maestro had been murdered, especially after he so generously offered to step in and conduct the last two concerts of the season when you became…indisposed. So this is an important concert, a memorial concert for the Maestro. It’s crucial that you make an appearance and conduct the orchestra, for at least one piece. Wasn’t a special memorial composition written by Hermann to be played?”
“No,” she said flatly. “I never agreed to that. And as far as the rest of it is concerned, it would not be a good idea for me to be involved.”
“Now wait just a minute young lady….”
“You heard me. Get someone else. Cancel it. I don’t care. This is simply not something that I intend to get involved with.”
“Are you physically unable to conduct, or do you choose not to?”
“For God’s sake, Wilfrid, I’ve just lost a child. There is no greater tragedy than that. And you want me to go on just as if nothing had happened…stand up there and perform like a trained seal.”
“Your attitude is completely inappropriate.”
“You know what’s inappropriate? You and your God-damn meddling! From the time I first arrived here, you’ve been intruding into my business as the primary music director and conductor for this orchestra. I don’t really think you ever wanted me here and, at this point, I could care less. You complained about my choice of music…not to my face of course, but through your various and assorted minions, all of whom wait on you hand and foot because they hope that someday you might toss them a crumb or two from your lavishly appointed table.”
Carter sat up ram-rod straight. “So is that why you’ve always been so hostile toward me…because I’m wealthy?”
“No, Wilfrid, not because you’re wealthy. Because you’re obnoxious. Being wealthy just allows you to be obnoxious and get away with it. Do you think for a minute that each and every one of your underlings doesn’t wish you dead…or at least far removed from this city?”
“This is outrageous! If you weren’t so obviously in an emotional state of mind right now, I’d fire you on the spot!”
“Two problems with that, Wilfrid. First of all, the whole Board would have to vote on it. Second, perhaps it escaped your notice, but I already quit.”
Carter sprang to his feet and paced around the small office. Seconds later he again took the seat across from Stenke.
“So you despise me. Fine. A lot of people do and it’s never made the slightest bit of difference to me. It’s never stopped me from being who I am and accomplishing what I’ve wanted to accomplish. And it won’t stop me now.” He paused and fumbled for a cigarette.
Loreen half-smiled. “There’s no smoking in my office, Mr. Carter. I would expect you to honor my preferences about that even if in nothing else.”
Carter glared at her and jammed the cigarette case back into his pocket. “All right, fine. I’m an easy target and if it gives you pleasure to insult me, be my guest. But when all is said and done, I have to do my duty to the orchestra and you have to do yours. And don’t think for a moment that you have no duty to the orchestra. I don’t care if after this memorial concert you walk out that door, leave Philadelphia completely and never look back, the fact remains that it is your duty to help us with this concert, a concert honoring the man who put this orchestra on the map.”
“Look, Wilfrid, I’m not saying that Hauptmann doesn’t deserve to be honored for what he accomplished, I’m only saying that I personally am not going to be involved in it. I’m physically exhausted. I’m mentally exhausted. I have no more to give, not at this point in my life.”
“But one concert…just one concert. Surely in the arts the tradition makes it clear that the show must go on...”
“You’re a businessman, Wilfrid. What you know about the arts could be inscribed on the head of a pin.”
Carter rose again and took a deep breath. “So your decision is final? You refuse to help with the concert honoring Maestro Hauptmann?”
“I think I’ve made that clear enough.”
“Fine. I think you’ll see that we do very well without your presence.” Carter quickly turned on his heels and walked from the room.
Loreen Stenke gazed at the blank screen in front of her, occasionally shuffling the papers on her desk, for several minutes. Then she shuddered, and began to scoop up some of the papers in front of her. “I guess that’s the end of that,” she said to herself. But she knew her time with the orchestra had actually ended months earlier, long before Hauptmann’s death and her miscarriage.
It was never written in the stars, she thought. She and her husband had come to Philadelphia with such hope…the situation seemed ripe with promise. How had things gone so badly wrong? And now losing the baby…it was almost more than she could bear.
God, she thought, looking around at her dingy office, I’ll not miss this place.
But she was not quite ready to go back to their apartment. Greg would be solicitous of course—he always was. But right now that was not what she wanted. She just wanted to be alone.
She reached into her briefcase and pulled out the biography of Bach that she had been carrying around for days. Why not? She knew that Bach and his two wives had lost several children over the years. And yet, he persevered and composed some of the most glorious music on the planet. She settled back in her chair and opened the book.
Several minutes later, thinking she had heard a sound, she paused, putting the book down on the desk.
She turned part way in her chair. “Wilfrid? Is that you?” Oh God, she thought. The last thing she wanted was another confrontation.
She began to turn her chair around to face the door. In that instant her head was crushed by a blow from behind and she slumped to the floor.