To Amber, by request
"So as you can see reading through the score," I said, feeling every one of the 50 pairs of eyes watching me as I stood behind the director's podium. "That following the 18th bar, there is a modulation up a half step. This is important, particularly to the flutes since they will come in and carry the melody for the next 8 or ten bars."
The students all looked at their music stands, their eyes quick to switch between the stand and me. Then, nearly as quickly as I raised the baton, they raised their instruments into position and waited for me to begin. This was my first rehearsal with the Grosse Pointe Academy Symphonic Band and they were as eager to impress me as I was with them. An old friend of mine, who had been their band director for many years, had taken ill and asked me to fill in for him for a few weeks until he recovered. I could see by their attentiveness why he was so proud of this group and always spoke so highly of them. The girls in their white blouses, plaid skirts, and white knee-highs, and the boys in their white shirts, black ties and black pants were the perfect picture of private school decorum. Each face seemed to be full of a youthful innocence that I had forgotten now that I had moved on to teaching at the university level.
I waved the baton at the proper tempo and the band began to play right on cue, beautifully and in tune. As they played through the modulation and the flutes took the melody, there was a clattering noise off to the side. I glanced over to see a student tripping over a spare music stand, clutching her small black instrument case, but dropping her folder of music, the sheets of music scattering all about her. As she squatted down to gather it up, I waved the band to a halt and gave this late arrival a cold disapproving look.
"Excuse me," she said in a soft sweet voice, her face becoming flushed red. "I'm sorry I'm late, but I was kept over after class."
A series of chuckles arose from the boys in the percussion section as she gathered up a handful of music sheets and tried to stuff them into her folder. Since I was the closest one to her, I stepped down from the podium and helped her scoop up some of the loose music sheets. She had squatted down to retrieve her music and looked over at me and smiled again, her round cheeks flushed red, her light blue eyes sparkling, her full ruby red lips parting to show a gleaming set of perfect white teeth. For a moment, I was mesmerized by the look of this beautiful young woman. As my eyes dropped down to look for additional music sheets, I couldn't help but notice how her stiffly starched white blouse had parted just enough to give me a fetching glimpse of her lovely young breasts. As my eyes wandered lower, it was hard to ignore the sight of her plaid pleated skirt that had risen almost all the way up her thighs to reveal the most shapely pair of legs I could ever remember seeing.
"Here," I said scooping up the last errant pages and handing them over. "I think these are all."
"Thank you, sir," she said softly, her voice sounding sweet and innocent, yet with a husky passion that belied her tender years. "I'm very sorry about all of this. Really."
"That's all right, Miss, uh, Miss," I remarked standing up.
"Amber," she said, rising up with her things. "Amber DesBeaupre."
"Well, Amber, just don't let this become a regular occurrence."
"Oh, no," she said softly with a disarming smile. "I'll be a good girl for you."
Her remark brought another round of chuckles from the percussion section. I cleared my throat and returned to the podium but couldn't help and notice as she moved onto the band platform and took her position among the other flautists, how her skirt seemed to be just a bit shorter than the rest, how her stiff white blouse was more snug, how more shapely were her legs, and how more womanly was her presence. Something told me I would certainly need to keep an eye on her, a very close eye. She took her seat among the first chairs of the flute section and quickly assembled her instrument and got into position. As she blew a few quick notes to check her tuning, I could tell that she had played for several years and that her tone was soft and true and quite lovely.
"All right, let's begin again," I said standing erect and authoritatively.
I again raised the baton and the students followed suit. They began the piece flawlessly again, and when the flutes took the melody line, I couldn't help but notice that Amber was looking directly at me with hardly a glance at her music. From the way her lips formed on the mouthpiece, it was as if she were blowing kissed directly at me. I could clearly pick out the sound of her instrument from the rest of the band. The look in her baby blue eyes was so captivating that I had catch myself back up to the band to make sure that the next major change in the score was made correctly.
There were just some minor glitches that forced us to stop and review for a few minutes, but they were so attentive a group that it was hardly a bother. It seemed that once we reviewed a difficult passage, they picked it up near flawlessly and we were able to move on.
The rest of the class went well and when the alarm bell sounded they packed up and moved out in an orderly fashion. The sound of their voices as they caught up with their friends was delightful and echoed throughout the large room, reminding me of my early teaching days at the high school level. I took my time collecting together the scores we had worked over and filed them away. The sounds of the students had faded away and when I looked up, I caught a glimpse of some honey blonde hair out of the corner of my eye. I looked over to see Amber standing over by the practice piano.
"Excuse me," I said, startled by the sight of her standing alone. "Is there something I can do for you, Miss DesBeaupre?"
"Well, first of all," she said, looking over to see the last of her classmates pass out the door. "I want to apologize for being so late to class."
"It's not necessary to apologize," I remarked as I slipped the last of my music folders into by briefcase.
"I'm usually very punctual, especially when the teacher is as nice as you," she said.
There was a tilt to her head and a look in her eyes that almost seemed as if she were flirting with me.
"Well, thank you," I replied, not sure what to make of her comment.
She moved a bit closer to me as if there were something she wanted to say.
"Will there be anything else?" I said, starting to inch my way toward the door.
"Well, actually, there is," she replied, first looking down at her shiny patent leather shoes then back up to me. "You see that I have a hard time understanding the final passage just before the coda on that Mahler piece we were playing. I'm just not comfortable with how I'm playing it."
"To be honest, I thought you played it quite well," I remarked, remembering the passage and how well all of the students had done. "It is a difficult passage, but you all did very well. What seems to be the problem?"
"I don't know exactly," she said continuing to fidget. "But I just wasn't happy with the way it sounded."
"Perhaps that was because you felt rushed from coming to class so late," I said, again inching closer to the door. "I'm sure you'll be fine."
We were standing very close now and I realized how much shorter she was than me, perhaps barely over five foot while I stood over six feet. She looked up at me with a sweet pleading look on her face.
"I was sort of wondering if you offered private lessons, Mr. Johnson," she asked.
I had to chuckle. There was no doubt that she had been playing for several years and that there was little that I could do for her. Besides, flute wasn't exactly my best instrument. But she looked so appealing standing there beside me with those terrific blue eyes and that gorgeous blonde hair that I felt compelled to do something. My mind raced quickly trying to come up with something that would make her think I was giving her some special attention, yet still get me out the door soon. Perhaps an offer of some additional practice time would be enough.
"Miss DesBeaupre, I think your playing is far too advanced for any lessons I could offer you to do any good," I said, seeing a bit of disappointment sweep into her face.
"But seeing that I was late and all," she said, tilting her head to the side so that her long honey blonde hair swept over her shoulder and spilled down onto her breast. "Would you have some time to go over the Mahler with me just one more time, kind of a makeup sort of thing?"
I looked at my watch and realized that since this was the last class of the day and that I didn't really have anything going on after school, that perhaps I could indulge her just this one time.
"Well, I guess that is the least that I could do for you," I said.
"Oh, goody," she said happily, her face brightening up at the thought.
She quickly found a chair and music stand nearby and got out her instrument and made ready. After laying out the music for the Mahler piece, she looked over to me with a bright look of anticipation. Tapping my foot to the proper tempo, she began to play, the sweet and lovely tone of her flute light and delicate. When it was time to turn the page, she fumbled with the music sheets, so I drew up a chair and sat beside her to hold the music.
She started out quite well, but when I didn't interrupt her even for the slightest of miscues, I could have sworn that she made a deliberate mistake. I stopped her and asked her to start the passage over and she played it flawlessly. When she stumbled through one part, I stopped her again.
"The first eight bars should be real light and smooth, while the next eight are sharp and crisp," I said, trying to whistle the first part as best I could. "Then the next part goes 'pump, pump, pump-pump-pump'. Sort of like that."
She looked me straight in the eye and smiled before playing it again flawlessly. I had to smile as she played so beautifully.
