EDITOR'S NOTE: Story contains nonconsentual sex.
*
The first excerpt I played was a total mess, my bow was shaking so much I couldn't even draw it across the cello. The second excerpt in the audition was even worst, as well as having bow shakes my right hand seized up and I came in late after every pause. By the end of the third excerpt Ron called out for me to stop. I kept my eyes down so the panel wouldn't see my eyes welling up and I quickly stood up and left the stage.
Ron had been the reason why I had such stage fright, everyone was scared of him. He had sat there and seemed as if he was barely listening, his huge legs resting on the chair in front of him. He had been reading a paper and didn't even acknowledge me once before I had played. How I wished I could play even half as effortlessly as he played the cello, the immense size of him made the cello look like a toy when he performed and his muscular arms looked as if he could snap the bow in half as he was playing.
After running off stage and hurriedly packing away my cello I checked my phone and saw at least five messages from Dee. I couldn't stomach it. I had failed yet another casual audition, and this time it hurt even more as I couldn't afford to live with my girlfriend any longer without a steady job position. I literally had almost no idea about what I could do to pass next time round. Turning off my phone I escaped the concert hall and walked into the nearest pub.
I was about four pints in when I saw Ron walk straight towards me. He didn't ask for an invitation and sat across from me on a bar stool.
"I thought I might find you in here," he said with a smirk.
"It didn't go quite as I wanted to."
"Quite obviously." He looked me up and down. "How old are you anyway?" he asked. I told him I had just turned 19.
He looked me up and down and stroked his beard. I felt as if I was being assessed once again, and there was something arrogant and almost sinister in the way he was appraising me.
"You know I won my Principal position in the orchestra twenty five years ago when I wasn't much older than you."
I shrugged not really knowing what to say. "You have had poor teaching it's obvious." I sighed into my beer, the last thing I wanted was for him to go through my many faults straight after a failed audition. "Luckily enough everything about your shit technique can be fixed, with the right teaching and motivation." He smiled.
"I'm really sorry I wasted your time in there."
"Not at all a problem son." He paused and then propositioned me, "My apartment is just across the road, I would like you to come with me and we can discuss your technique and the way forward for you."
I was pretty amazed he would even bother with helping me but I immediately wasn't keen on the idea. "Wow thanks Ron, it's just..."
"What?"
"Well I have had about four pints and I'm not sure I could play very well right now."
"It doesn't matter, we need to fix some of these things immediately. You want to win a casual audition don't you? In fact you should have come and seen me before if you were serious about it."
"Sorry... it's just that I don't have any money to pay you for a lesson."
"Don't worry about it, we can sort something out later," he then stood up and left the bar expecting me to follow.
I half walked, half stumbled after him, lugging my huge cello case across the road. We went up a few flights of stairs before he beckoned me through a door into his apartment. I shuffled in nervously as he carried on into the kitchen and made himself a scotch. He beckoned over to the living area which had a large window overlooking the concert hall. It had two chairs facing each other and he invited me to sit in one as he sat in the other. Our knees were almost touching and I felt unnerved by the whole thing, he hadn't once stopped looking at me the entire time we'd been in the apartment.
"Right," he started. "First we need to fix the way you sit."
With that he leaned forward and with his hands he grabbed behind my waist and pushed outwards so that my chest was straight.
"This is the first thing that hasn't been correct, causing all sorts of tension in your playing."
I was nodding and agreeing with him although my mind was not totally present. It was his smell, it was very strong and overpowering. A mix of cologne and scotch, and it was making it very difficult to concentrate.
He leaned back to appraise me, and then he grabbed the top of my shoulders and pressed down with his meaty fingers.
"See? Look at all this tension!" He said as he probed my shoulder and neck muscles roughly. "Can you feel these knots?"
"YES" I half squealed at the pain.
"You need a solid work over kid," he said.
"You need to get rid of these knots or you will probably really injure yourself. Come follow me." With that he stood up and beckoned me through another doorway.
