Page 67 of Serving the Maestro

Going to my piano, I put the phone on speaker and started to play. A frantic, angry melody escaped while I stared outside, eyes on the ever-changing waters of the Pacific.

Another five minutes passed, and the customer service rep came on the line to tell me she was transferring my call to her supervisor.

“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered as I was placed on hold again.

A notification popped up—Stephen. Texting.

Since you’re either awake and ignoring me or still asleep, I’m heading over. I’ve got news.

“Yeah, I need this like I need a hole in my head,” I muttered, and I pushed back from the piano. Phone in hand, I headed for the kitchen.

The coffee I’d brewed earlier was cold, so I poured it in a cup and stuck it in the microwave. The appliance’s digital ping sounded at almost the exact moment the front door opened.

“Hope you’re up, Trent!” Stephen called out. “I’m waking you up if not—I don’t care how hungover you are.”

“I’m in the kitchen, asshole.” Coffee in hand, I leaned against the counter and took a sip, waiting for my friend to join me.

He glanced at the phone. “Who are you calling?”

“The airlines.” I rolled my eyes, “I’m trying to get a flight out to New York today. It’s not going well.”

Stephen came over and picked up my phone.

I was too tired to wonder why until he ended the call.

“What the fuck, man!” Shoving off the counter, I glared at him.

He pushed the phone into my free hand before going to the coffeemaker. “There’s none left,” he said.

“Too fucking bad! Why’d you disconnect the call?”

He grinned at me. “Didn’t you see my text? I’ve got news.”

He dragged out a chair at the island I used for meal prep and eating. After taking a seat, he laid down a messenger bag, the same one he’d used for years.

I eyed it, then slowly lifted my gaze to his.

That bag only appeared when he was out on business and had contracts or other important business shit.

Curiosity piqued, I sat across from him and waited.

He pulled out a blue folder and pushed it over to me.

“Guess what musical was just optioned for a major motion picture deal?”

“No way.”

Putting my coffee on the island’s granite countertop, I grabbed the folder and flipped it open. Dots spun in front of my eyes for a few seconds, blood roaring in my ears. Clearing my throat twice, I finally managed to speak. “Is this for real?”

“Real as it gets, man.” Stephen clapped his hands together. “Apparently, this deal has been in the works for a while, but only the playwright and his inner circle knew about it. Everything was finalized this morning, and I got a call immediately after from Alfonse Macri himself. He insists that you handle the music score for the movie, which he wants to have several new, original pieces.”

Placing the folder and contract on the granite, I closed my eyes and ground the heels of my hands against them.

“When do we get started?” I asked, eyes still closed.

“Today.”

I dropped my hands and gaped at Stephen. “What?”

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