Elodie

 

 

This is the opportunity of a lifetime.

For once, Lady Luck has picked me. I still can't believe it, but as I walk out the doors of the main building of Juilliard to cross over the bridge to my dorm, the realization slowly settles in.

I got it! I got chosen for one of the best gigs that have been posted since I started applying for paid performances. Of course, I've played at various occasions before, and been paid before, too, but never this much. The salary for this job is not only ridiculously high to begin with, but it also comes with a promise for more opportunities like it.

I have been asked to play at an engagement party being hosted by two old money families on the Upper East Side. If everything goes well and they like my playing, this gig will lead to more – the rehearsal dinner, the wedding and who knows what other associated events might need a piano accompaniment.

It's perfect. When two spoiled kids get hitched on a scale like this, their families will makes sure everybody and their brother attends. I will play in front of hundreds of wealthy guests who hold occasions like this on a regular basis. Dinner parties, more weddings, birthdays, reunions. If they like the pianist who performed at the Abrams-Waldorf wedding, it’s the equivalent of a glowing recommendation and they're likely going to ask the families for the pianist‘s contact information.

And that pianist would be me.

Never in my wildest dreams have I dreamt of performing at such a large-scale event with so much potential. After all, I'm still a student, and it's unusual for students to be hired for an event like this. But the Abrams family specifically requested a student, for whatever reason. There are not that many second-year graduate students in the piano program at Juilliard, but I was still dumbfounded when our instructor, Mrs. Bellamy, approached me with the proposal.

"They asked specifically for a classical repertoire with some contemporary interpretations," she said. "And I believe you’re the best choice."

I just stared at her, sitting on my hands and trying to process the magnitude of the winning lottery ticket that had just been handed to me.

"What do they mean by contemporary interpretations?" I asked her.

Mrs. Bellamy just shrugged. "You'll have to ask them yourself when you meet them."

That was about a week ago, and I'm scheduled to meet up with the family tonight. Mrs. Bellamy let them know that she had found someone, and they asked to meet me with me as soon as possible. I've been nervous ever since, and subsequently made sure to add a few extra hours to my already full practice schedule. My scholarship only covers school tuition, and since I'm not as privileged as most of my fellow students, I had to take on a part-time job at one of the school's cafés to cover my living expenses. Having to work in addition to going to school and doing homework cuts down tremendously on the amount of time I have available to practice, but there's nothing I can do about it. I knew it wouldn't be easy.

I hate being poor. Who wouldn't? Poverty has always been a constant part of my life. One would think that I would have grown accustomed to it, since I don't know any different. But it's one thing to be poor when you're still living in your little microcosm across the river in Brooklyn, and it’s something else entirely when you‘re plopped down in the middle of privileged society. Everybody was poor where I grew up, we were all the same, even though the degree of poverty varied. I grew up in an area that most people from Manhattan would not dare step foot in, let alone take a stroll at night, and I never liked it there. I wanted to get out as soon as possible, and I had a dream of how I was going to do it. I've had that dream ever since I was seven years old and found a tutor who was willing to take me under his wing, even though my father couldn't afford to pay the full amount he charged for piano lessons. Having that dream made me an outlier in school, but I was never treated any differently for it. We were all in the same boat, and I'm sure there were quite a few others who secretly dreamed of moving on to a life in Manhattan.

Only my dream wasn't to live in Manhattan, per se. My dream was and is to become a solo pianist. A solo pianist who can make a living with just her art. I know how farfetched that dream is, but I also knew that Juilliard would bring me closer to achieving that dream, a lot closer. Getting accepted at Juilliard was my number one goal all through junior high and high school.

And I made it.

But here at Juilliard, I'm an anomaly. I couldn't even attend this school if I hadn't been awarded enough scholarships to cover the cost of my tuition, but even with that and the part time jobs I've been taking, I can barely keep my head above water. New York is too expensive. I'm one of the very few graduate students who still live in the dorms. Most students choose to live off-campus once they finish their undergraduate studies. Graduate students, especially those in their second year, are a rarity here in campus housing.

Unfortunately, one of them is my roommate and regrettable three-night-stand Benjamin. Our paths cross as often as one would expect with two people living right next to each other, and even though it's been weeks since our last interlude, it doesn't get any less awkward. He's waiting to take the elevator up to our floor when I enter the building. We make eye contact before I can turn around and hide from him until he's gone to avoid an unpleasant encounter.

I come to a halt next to him and cast a smile his way. "Hi."

"Hello," he replies, his tone revealing how little he thinks of me.

I stare ahead at the elevator door and roll my eyes, oblivious to him. He's studying at the Juilliard School of Drama and the career path suits him so well.

There are eight people living in our simple suite on the 27th floor, and Benjamin's single room is right next to my double room. People warned me that hooking up with one of your roommates is probably one of the worst ideas ever. Of course it is. But it's easy to forget these things when you're drunk and just looking for some fun and a distracting hook-up.

I didn‘t think much of it at the time. I thought Benjamin of all people would understand that dating comes secondary in our current situation, especially when you're me. I simply don't have the time to build and maintain a relationship between all of my classes, hours of practice and part-time jobs, but I'm not frigid. It's only human to seek this kind of intimacy once in a while, even when the sex isn't really all that great or special.

I regret my hook-up with Benjamin on more than one level. It's not only the repercussions that annoy me, it's also the fact that the sex was so vanilla. Again and again I tell myself that I'd rather have no sex than bad sex. But how was I supposed to know that beforehand? Benjamin appears tough and masculine in public. How could I know that he turns into an awkward little puppy in the bedroom?

My biggest mistake was to repeat our drunken adventure again and again. For whatever reason, having sex more than twice made him believe that we went from being roommates to becoming a couple. I have no idea why he would think that, we weren't even that close before we slept together and we never grew any closer after we started hooking up.

The ice cold silence that surrounds us as we share the elevator upstairs is almost unbearable, so I decide to replace it with idle conversation.

"How is your play going?" I ask, knowing that he's currently working on a major part in an upcoming performance

"Good," he says, his voice stern. "Heard things are going quite well for you, too?"

I turn to look at him, but he evades my eyes.

"You heard about the Abrams-Waldorf engagement?" I ask him, thoroughly surprised.

He nods, and glances at me from the side. "Yes. Kim told me. Congratulations."

I know that his congratulations are not sincere, but I don't waste much thought on it.

"Thank you," I say, nonetheless. "I'm meeting up with them tonight. I really hope they'll hire me for the wedding, too."

We reach our floor and the elevator doors open, freeing us from our unpleasant confinement.

"Well, good for you," Benjamin snorts, as he strides through the door of our suite.