Page 15 of Strings
I sigh. “I’ll be ready at seven thirty, then.”
“See ya, threesee.”
I guess I better get some sleep. Tomorrow is the first day of faking it until I make it. I’ve totally got this. I hope.
Surprises suck unless it’s my birthday and you have a present.
I rush out the door with my shoes under my arm and yell, “Bye, Stella! Have a good day!” Closing the door behind me, I try to not drop my string cheese as I shove my planner in my bag.
“Jesus, you’re a shit show,” Cherese says as she stands in the hallway, arms crossed, waiting for me.
“I overslept. I couldn’t fall asleep last night, and then I thought I hit snooze once this morning, but I actually turned my alarm off.”
“Who did you say goodbye to? Do you have a cat? Pets aren’t allowed, you know.”
“No. I don’t have a cat.” She waits like I’m going to explain further, but that’s all I have to share.
The elevator doors open and I step inside and slide my heels on my feet, then start to unwrap my breakfast.
“You’re different. I think I like you.”
“I don’t swing that way,” I say with a smirk as I slide my cheese stick into my mouth like it’s a dick and I’m blowing it well.
She stares at me for a moment and I’m afraid I’ve crossed a line. Damn my real personality. I’m supposed to be acting a part. Right before I start to panic, she bursts into laughter. “Threesee, you and I are going to get along just fine.”
Two guys carrying instrument cases join us on the elevator. They don’t smile or seem interested in making any type of conversation, which suits me perfectly fine. I’m not a morning person at all. I do my best work after two a.m. This is going to be a difficult adjustment.
“Is that seriously all you’re going to eat for breakfast?” she asks.
“Yeah?” I pose it as a question, because I thought it was impressive I remembered to eat at all.
“No wonder you’re a stick with boobs.”
The two guys turn around and glare.
“Sorry,” she responds before rolling her eyes to me.
The drive to work takes forever, but Cherese is a wealth of information. She tells me about the chain of command and how it works at the Sym. The CEO, who I hope to never see again, travels a lot. Thank God. He runs the whole kit and caboodle. The conductors change frequently. There’s a main conductor or artistic director, but he often travels, so the principal concertmaster—who I guess is the first violin—is pretty much in charge of the orchestra.
“I’m sure you already know all of this,” Cherese says. “Tell me if I’m being redundant.”
“No, you’re fine. Keep talking. It’s all a good refresher.”
The more she talks, the more confident I feel. I remind myself that half of the battle of appearing to know things is acting like you can’t be bothered by pettiness. I need to walk in there with confidence and I know I’ll be fine. Cherese and I part ways in the parking garage and she points me in the direction of the main entrance.
I walk through the doors and up to the reception desk with my head held high as if I’m going into battle. “Natalia Pearson to see Albert Bordo.”
“Good morning, Ms. Pearson. Welcome to the L.A. Sym. I hope you don’t mind, but HR would like you to stop by to see them first. They’ll get you started out and then take you to Mr. Bordo.”
“That’s fine. Which way to HR?”
“They’re right here on the first floor. Down the hall to your right.”
I glance down the hall. It looks like a maze. “Thank you… I think we met before when I came for my interview.”
She stares at me as if she’s trying to place me.
“I had long brown hair then. Your name is McKinnze, right?”
