"An Audience Of One"

by Beth Staas

Cover by Michael Rivet

Copyright ©2001
ISBN: 0-87714-703-5 eBook edition
ISBN: 0-87714-799-X PB edition

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

THE AUTHOR

Beth Staas is a freelance writer and has been published in some two dozen periodicals with national circulation including Success, Barrister, Southwest Airlines, Chicago Tribune, Lady's Circle, and Entrepreneur. This is her second novel, an excerpt of which won the Creative Writing Award from the Associated Authors of Children's Literature, Houston. In her capacity as teacher, she has served as judge for student literary magazine competitions, given workshops for aspiring writers and been listed in Who's Who among American Teachers. She has a bachelor's degree in psychology and a master's in English. Currently she teaches writing at a Community College in Sugar Grove, IL.

Beth is the author of The Two Percent Miracle.

THE BOOK

Award winner at the Associated Author's of Children's Literature writing seminar, Houston.

According to a recent Harris poll, there are fifty million amateur musicians in America, one-third of whom play the piano. The chances of any of these achieving professional status, let alone fame, is minuscule. Yet children continue taking lessons, hoping they will be among the chosen few.

Heather Silverman is one of these. Beginning her studies at age nine, an already advanced age for serious musical training, she aspires to be a concert pianist. This novel traces her search for encouragement, recognition, and opportunity as she grows from a talented but undisciplined fifteen-year old to the time of her high school graduation, an aspiring professional on the way to the Juilliard School of Music. In this period of time, she has joined a select group of young musicians and attended Interlochen Music Camp, there winning the fiercely challenged Concert Competition. She has also performed as a soloist with her high school orchestra and in the final chapters, visited Salzburg, Austria as accompanist for her elite high school Chorale.

These small triumphs were won through great effort and many obstacles. Her stepmother, only nine years her senior, tries to mold Heather from being a free spirit to that of a suburban young lady.

Heather resents the changes made by the stepmother to her house. Her father has gone from being a storefront lawyer helping the poor to being a corporate trial attorney who is always out of town. When home, he always seems to take the stepmother's part.

Follow the developments after Heather runs away from home and then returns. Follow the relationship changes with her father, stepmother, best friend, and boyfriend.

What happens after she is accepted as a student at Juilliard?

Recommended reading for ages 12 and older.

Sample Chapter

CHAPTER 10

Heather sat with her eyes fixed on the last page of the Interlochen handbook as her father swung their loaded van past the gate into the campgrounds. She studied the words to the songs. "Oh sound the call to dear old Interlochen..." Oh God, had she made a mistake to come? She lifted her head and looked out the window. Corduroyed boys and knickered girls darted here and there, looking like blue leprechauns as they scurried between the heavy green pines and graceful aspen. She half expected Drew and Gina to emerge carrying a pot of gold.

"The high school girls section is over to the left." She began lifting the suitcase from the back as Hal eased into the parking lot.

"This is where you find out how serious you are."

"Yes, I know." Heather smiled shakily. She swung the suitcase in front of her and stepped out. The air was cool and moist, a relief to the crackling dryness of the air-conditioned car. Her housing was a walk of some hundred feet.

The cabin resembled an army barracks. Long and narrow, it contained four sets of bunk beds on either side, each flanked by twin lockers, two small shelves and a towel rack. At the far end was another door, probably the bathroom. The walls were rough-hewn pine, weathered a golden brown and speckled with dark knotholes staring like so many parent eyes. There were no rugs, no curtains and only one small table at the side surrounded by four wooden chairs. Heather tossed the suitcase onto the first lower bunk to her left where it bounced tree times before coming to rest.

"You'll have to be good and tired to sleep here," Paula observed. "Is this what you expected?"

Heather looked around at the Spartan accommodations. Had this been anywhere else, she would have demanded a refund.

Without waiting for a reply, Hal and Paula moved to the other side of the room to introduce themselves to a group of girls who had just come in, explaining to Heather's embarrassment that this was her first time here, going on to ask for highlights of their experiences here.

Without hesitation and talking at the same time so that they could barely be understood, the girls enthusiastically described canoe trips, concerts, singing, swimming...

Then Gina bounded in from the cabin next door followed by Dr. and Mrs. Bauer. There were hugs and squeals of recognition as they greeted one another like long lost sisters. Heather took a deep breath, suddenly relieved.

"Let's walk outside and we'll show you around," Mrs. Bauer said, placing her arm lightly around Heather's shoulder. She led the way out the door, past tennis courts and back toward the entrance. Then crossing the broad expanse of the Mall, they paused for sips of icy water from the drinking fountains near the wishing well before moving on to the Interlochen Bowl and Kresge Auditorium, a concert hall seating 5,000.

"Dedicated to the Promotion of World Friendship through the Universal Language of the Arts," read Gina from the inscription overhead, her vice hushed in reverence. "Oh, I'm so glad you came!" she cried, giving Heather a big hug.

They continued past buildings named Brahms, Beethoven and Mozart and walked into the woods dotted with cottages from which came the reedy sounds of oboes and clarinets already practicing.

"It smells like the piney woods," Heather murmured, looking at Paula, her voice saying Thank you.

Then there were goodbyes as one by one the cars pulled out, leaving behind girls and boys waving them off.

The days that followed were a maze. Rising at 6:45, they attended camp gatherings on the first day to elect cabin officers and all-camp senate. Each student was required to memorize limits and boundaries, sign the camp pledge against drugs and tobacco and pass the swimming test. Finally, students and teachers were matched for private lessons. After auditioning for three, Heather was accepted by Professor Susan Koslowski who was also Drew's teacher and Heather's first choice.

At night she would flop on her bunk, her back and legs aching from playing tennis, her nose pink and peeling from the sun and wind on the lake as she learned to sail. It wasn't until mid-week that she remained awake long enough to hear the slumber music after taps had announced lights out.

Saying goodbye to Hal and Paula was now a dim memory as she hurled herself into activities, participating as a good follower, leaving leadership to others. Meanwhile, she met with Drew in the practice room, sweating in the heat of the day as they readied themselves for their triumphant presentation on Thursday with Professor Koslowski. Alone in the woods, they made believe they hadn't spent every Sunday afternoon since April practicing together, where they sometimes had jostled one another on the piano bench or laughed as their fingers became entangled on the keyboard. Here at Interlochen, it was all business.

Professor Kay, as she was called, wore her long dark hair in a simple bun on the nape of her neck, a prim and proper style framing her young face. Like most of the faculty, she was a university professor, spending summers in the cool of the North Woods at work and play. Now she sat with hands folded, her broad Slavic face in repose with blue eyes fixed as Heather and Drew pushed their pianos together into a V-shape so they could see one another.

Heather flexed her fingers one last time and poised her hands over the keyboard, nodding to Drew to begin, he on the heavier bass, she on the demanding treble, making the best use of her speed and clean delivery.

It was a short piece, lasting less than fifteen minutes when the orchestra sections were cut. Beginning in unison, the music parted company is dizzying contrapuntal form, pausing in the second movement for gentle reflection before regaining energy to weave melodious gossamer webs, then crashing into a united coda that affirmed the end.

Triumphantly, Heather turned, the notes still vibrating inside of her. "Well, what do you think?"

Professor Kay smiled. "Very nice. I can tell you have spent a great deal of time on it. Of course it still needs work. But you won't do it justice as you work on the competition piece..."

"Oh, but this is the competition piece. Drew and I are going to use it for our submission."

The teacher ducked her head as though peering through spectacles. "My dear children, where did you ever get an idea like that? We couldn't possibly have two people competing at once. Furthermore, the orchestra doesn't own this music. That alone would preclude a performance. Even under ideal circumstances, it would take weeks for them to have it delivered up here. And then there is the matter of the orchestra learning it..."

Heather sat thunderstruck, her face ashen.

"The Van Clyburn Contest judged a pianist performing with a chamber ensemble," Drew challenged.

"The Van Clyburn had them audition with individual groups acting as accompanist. What you suggest requires an entire orchestra. More to the point, in a double concerto, what would happen if only one person won? Would he or she have to forfeit because of the other? Or would the other be allowed to perform, riding on the coattails of the partner? Would that be fair?"

"We thought it would be a wonderful innovation..."

"I agree. You might perform it in a small concert. But you will have to abandon any thought of using it in the major competition for a symphony concert. As your teacher, I would not be willing to prepare you - either of you. So it's either that I prepare for a small concert offering or for a competition - one or the other."

Heather sat speechless. Not compete? Impossible! "I'll have to think about that," she murmured, not knowing what else to say. "Is it okay if I let you know tonight?"

Professor Kay nodded. "You should have been given a list of concert pieces in our library as part of your acceptance package before you arrived." She smiled apologetically. "I guess someone slipped up on this end as well."

Drew wordlessly picked up his music and followed Heather out the door. She was already crossing the Mall when he caught up with her. "Hey, don't be mad. I didn't know this would happen. I honestly thought it would work. But at least we can do it like on a Wednesday afternoon..."

Heather swung around angrily. "It'll be a cold day in hell that I will ever work with you again! Because of you I'll have to work by butt off for the next two weeks. What were you trying to do? Demoralize me? Kill off the competition? Was I that important?"

"Don't be stupid. There are a dozen concerto winners from each division. Why would I want to cut you out when there's room for both of us?"

"Well then you must be just plain ignorant..."

"Blame it on youth. I was much younger the last time I was here. I didn't know the ropes..."

Heather's eyes widened. "A kid? But you said..."

Drew gestured defensively. "All I said was that this wasn't my first time here. You assumed the rest."

She was dimly aware that her mouth was open. "So it's my fault?" Her voice was incredulous. "This whole mess happened because of what I assumed?"

"Oh Jesus, quit acting like a woman. I was just trying to tell you..."

"Forget it, Drew. There's no way in the whole wide world you could possibly explain." She looked at him coldly. "Well, at least you've given me my first chance to scratch and claw. Maybe that's what you wanted." She hugged her music tighter and turned away. "It's too bad, though. Because I was just beginning to like you."

Her anger had made her decision easy. She would compete on her own with an entirely new piece.

The next morning, Heather went back to Professor Kay's studio where the two of them spent the entire hour bending over music scores, trying out passages on the piano, testing technical skills to determine which one would display her in the best light. Finally they settled on Mozart's C Minor and she was satisfied. "I hated Elvira Madigan but I sat through the movie three times because of the theme," she murmured as she caressed the keys. "I just hope I can do it justice in two weeks."

"Seventeen days," corrected Professor Kay. "But you'll still have to spend every moment at the piano, and even that probably won't be enough. But if you're willing to try, I'll work with you."

"I'll do it," Heather replied grimly. "It'll be good training."

But that was easier said than done. Rules forbade anyone coming to class late. An out-and-out absence required an excuse amounting to a real emergency like a death in the family. So practice had to be compressed into afternoons, working in the steaming practice cabin while everyone else was swimming or lolling on the beach.

Wiping beads of sweat off her forehead, she would stare up at the inscription from St. Francis hung close to the ceiling. `He who works with his hands, his head, and his heart is an artist.' Then grimly, she would turn the page and begin again, reviewing a stubborn trill that refused to stay even, or sending her fingers spinning along a triad arpeggio, shifting her weight on the piano bench as she reached to play the full seven octaves in unbroken legato.

The calendar was her enemy. She used the two weekends remaining to practice the entire day, stopping only long enough for meals in the crowded cafeteria. When Gina asked about attending the Sunday night concerts or Monday evening dance, she would mutter, "Later," and go resolutely back to the practice cabin.

During the week, she would awaken fresh and alert, attending classes in piano literature and accompanying. She would line up with the rest of the students in front of small upright pianos, adjusting headphones and poising fingers over the keyboards, bringing out the best of the soloist whose music was being transmitted through the ear piece, accompanying as a partner to make the music complete. All this was new and fun. But by lunchtime she was again preoccupied with Mozart, eager to get back to the unfinished business of the concerto.

As first-round competition loomed closer, she experienced moments of panic as the music lost its loveliness, pounded out by too much repetition. But mostly the problem was fatigue and threatened indifference that frightened her even more.

She had seen Drew twice since the day of confrontation. The first time he began to speak, but she brushed by him, muttering that she was terribly rushed. The second time he turned his head with studied indifference. Gina reported that he had rejected the chance to compete with another concerto. So much for him, she thought, a little surprised at the heat of her anger rising through the prevailing weariness. She'd show him how to be tough.

The competition was sequenced with Interlochen orderliness. A student was presumed to come to Interlochen with a concerto already learned. The teacher who had a sense of the student orchestra, would coach the student in the best way possible to present the work. The teacher would also act as accompanist during the competition. Once selected to perform, the winner would be under the direction of the orchestra leader. It was a rehearsal for concert life, for each performer could expect to work with various coaches and orchestras in the course of a professional life, each making separate demands.

The competition began two weeks into the summer season, allowing time for weekend preliminaries and finals. Students as audience made it more authentic and allowed those who were not competing to witness the process so they might compete in the future. It also gave the winners the remainder of the summer to work with the orchestra.

The first day of competition called for each instrument to separate into different buildings. There were to be twenty-seven pianists competing in Heather's section, which would be in the J. V Stone Building. At the end of the first two days, six or seven would go on to the finals, depending on the generosity of scoring. Heather had drawn number twenty-one, which meant she would be called before lunch on the second day. Resolutely, she spent her final hours in the practice room, polishing and smoothing passages that were still troublesome. That night, hearing the call to quarters through the rustic walls of the cabin, she put aside the music for the last time and walked through the silent woods to her bunk, noiselessly creeping under the covers, consoling her weary body that she had done her best. She slept the sleep of the dead. Everything now was in the hands of the gods.

At eight o'clock, she was at the building along with the other piano contestants. She forced a cheerful smile she didn't feel and paced aimlessly while clutching a sweater around her cold sweating body.

The faculty judges arrived at nine, nodding their encouragement, trying to convince the chattering group that this was good experience, while the young people smiled politely, swallowing hard, trying to tame butterflies beating inside their stomach.

Then the judges took places in the front row and number seventeen was asked to begin. It was Diana Shurtliff, a heavy-set high school senior who would perform the Liszt concerto in C Minor, a bravura piece made for someone strong enough for the crashing chords.

Heather settled on a back seat in the half-filled auditorium, listening critically. It was not like a real performance. Instead, after a few bars, the judges interrupted and asked Diana to move on to another section. Heather squirmed in sympathy. She hated to be interrupted even though this did not necessarily mean criticism.

Then Diana began the final movement and was permitted to continue for a full five minutes. As she leaned forward, pressing toward the dramatic ending, those in the audience came to the edge of their seats. Diana was considered one of the most talented students here and had acquired a following.

Next came Jill Sandler from Dallas, a blond willowy sophomore who looked like she belonged in a cheerleading lineup. Smiling sweetly at the judges, wasting precious minutes arranging herself on the piano bench, she began the tinkling, feather-stitching of Mendelssohn played in a way that identified her as an instant loser.

As one contestant blended into the next, Heather sat alert, making mental notes, evaluating the judges as they scribbled on their note pads, noting each raised eyebrow, watching the tightened jaw indicating disfavor at a certain emphasis or phrasing.

At quarter to eleven, her name was called. Already waiting in the wings, she took a deep breath and walked briskly out on stage. She was alone with lights illuminating the shining black piano and the stage itself. A voice called from the darkness. "Just begin at the beginning, please. Play until we ask you to stop."

She laid her hands on her lap. In concert there would be a long introduction by the orchestra and she tried to imagine it. Then she lifted her hands and began with the first two phrases that sounded like a simple exercise, rapidly shifting into a maze of melody and counter-melody. "That's fine, Heather," said the voice abruptly. "Now turn to the cadenza. We'd like to hear how you'd treat a solo section."

Heather stopped and sat with her eyes on the ceiling, trying to remember the lead-in phrase to that particular score. Then her fingers took on a life of their own, racing up and down the keyboard, brushing the ivory surface like sea gulls dipping onto the glassy ocean.

The end of the cadenza marked the end of the movement and she hesitated, waiting for further instruction. Hearing nothing, she closed her eyes and began the lovely melodic second movement, allowing the gentle strains to sweep her up and carry her away. The music had been mellowed and enriched like the golden wood in the cabins. They embraced in an ecstasy of structure and form, composer and pianist reaching out over the centuries to become one.

The hall was silent. She had finished the movement and no one had stopped her. Should she go on? She squinted in the direction of the audience but could see nothing. She shrugged and swung into the rollicking third movement. "Thank you very much, Heather. I think we've heard enough."

Halted in the middle of a particularly difficult run, she had to force herself to stop mid-way before withdrawing her hands back to her lap. "That's all, Heather," the voice prodded. "You may go now."

She gave a shuddering sigh and stood up. It was over. And she had barely begun. She moved off-stage like one in a trance, but once in the shelter of the wings she hastily sat down.

"Put your head between your knees." She heard the voice as through a wall of water. Then the gray patterned tile on the floor turned back to color and she realized it was Gina. "You were wonderful," she whispered as Heather slowly straightened up in the chair. "It's you and Diana Shurtleff for sure. That second movement had the judges in tears."

Heather looked at her in disbelief. "I feel like I've been asleep." She rubbed here head with her sweating palms. "Oh God, how am I going to wait until the six o'clock decision?"

But she survived and was at the auditorium by five o'clock where she joined the others, pacing up and down until six. Then Heather heard her name announced along with four others, placing them in the next week's finals that would number twenty-five, including winners from all the other sections.

Although there was a university and intermediate division, it was the high school competition that drew all the attention. So when Heather and Gina arrived the next Saturday at Kresge Auditorium, there were close to a hundred people seated in the audience. This time the format was formal. Judges had been drawn from around the country: symphony conductors, solo performers and chamber music artists.

Preliminary confidence had vanished and now Heather stood shivering in the cold barn-like auditorium where she would have to make music to please the gods. There was nothing left inside of her to reach for - no resources, no strength, not even her anger at Drew to propel her forward.

Back stage, Heather could hear the reeds and strings weaving threads of dissonance as they warmed up, using every minute before making room for the next student to use his allocated fifteen minutes in the practice room. As she played, she was racked with doubts. If only she'd had the foresight to try out the Kresge piano before today. If only she'd gone to bed earlier instead of lying awake whispering with her cabin mates. If only she'd polished her loafers for luck. If only...

There was a knock on the door. It was Diana wanting her turn at the piano. Smiling stiffly, Heather got up and walked back into the hall and around to the auditorium. The competition had begun and a violinist was playing something by Mozart. Everyone seemed to adore Mozart these days. Twinged with jealousy, as though a private love was being violated, she slumped down in her seat, idly watching more and more people come in, her thoughts inward, lost in nothingness.

She remained there unmoving during the lunch break, huddled in her sweater, intermittently shifting her weight, crossing and uncrossing her legs.

By the time it was Heather's turn, the sun was overhead and the building had warmed. Contestants had been permitted to choose one part to play through in its entirety. She and Professor Kay agreed that the third movement showed her best, no matter what had happened the week before.

A rush of remembered words raced through Heather's mind as Professor Kay began. `Listen to the metronome in your head...' and Heather began the opening trill. `Come on, those are twelfth notes. Keep your separation clean...' and her fingers danced across the keys like ballerina's, disciplined to move together yet stay well apart. `You've go to teach yourself...' and the music soared, belonging to her but shared with everyone like a lovely gift.

There were close to five hundred people there now and the applause took her by surprise. Turning her head toward the sun-streamed auditorium, she perceived a hazy blur of blue and red. For better or worse, it was over. "Hug you accompanist," someone called, and she moved toward Professor Kay. They embraced briefly before taking a formal bow.

There was a cluster of friends at the stage door as they emerged and murmurs of congratulations before she re-entered the auditorium to re-claim her seat. Today there would be only a short delay as the judges conferred briefly while everyone waited. Professor Kay had disappeared somewhere backstage.

Finally the last performer took his final bow and the audience began to buzz as people moved around, stretching stiff legs, trying to guess who would be the winner.

The return of the judges caused an instant hush as everyone scrambled back to their seats. Then as the winners were announced, performers bounded on stage to bend in a breathless bow.

There would be six performers with the World Youth Symphony from the high school division. Heather was chosen as the only pianist.

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