Virtuosity Read Online Free Page A

dollar German instrument I played was a tin box.
    “Of course, we want you to play it.”
    The silence that followed was thick with expectations. Dorothy probably expected a gasp, followed by confessions of my undying gratitude. What she got was the sound of the phone hitting the wooden floor and then bouncing down the stairs, followed by me scrambling after it.
    “What on earth was that?” she said, once I’d picked the phone up again.
    “Sorry,” I said, struggling to catch my breath. “I dropped the phone.”
    “Well, let’s hope you keep a tighter grip on the new violin.”
    After we hung up I screamed. I was laughing, and then crying, and then jumping on the couch in Diana’s office and laughing and crying at the same time. “She called it an investment,” I said after I’d calmed down enough to talk, “like she was talking about buying property on Martha’s Vineyard or shares in Microsoft orsomething. I wanted to yell, ‘Do you even have any idea what you’re buying?’ ”
    “Carmen, you don’t have any idea what they’re buying.”
    “What are you talking about? Didn’t you hear me? They’re buying the Gibson Strad!”
    “Wrong.” She pushed her chair away from her desk, took off her glasses, and chucked them onto the pile of receipts in front of her. “They’re buying you.”
    The first time I played it, I knew. It had always been a part of me. I hadn’t realized I was incomplete, but the experience was one of coming home. Or of being whole. My body welcomed its weight and the way it nestled perfectly under my jaw; my ear recognized its voice as my voice. It always had been.
    That had been a year ago, but holding it up under the moonlight, I still couldn’t believe the violin was mine to play. The Glenns ended up paying $1.2 million for it. Or as Diana said, $1.2 million for me . But as much as she disliked the situation, she didn’t suggest I refuse it either. That was never even a possibility. That would be insane.
    I couldn’t hate the Glenns the way Diana did. Not anymore, but not just because of the Strad. It was embarrassing, but even though I hadn’t been worth acknowledging before I was famous, even though I knew their respectand their gift were more about their status than about me, a small part of me was happy. It wasn’t complicated. I wanted them to like me.
    But I couldn’t tell Diana that. In her world, talent was the only currency, and that made the Glenns worthless: They didn’t have it themselves, they hadn’t recognized it in her, and they had to have the entire world point it out in me before they even acknowledged me as their granddaughter.
    I put the violin under my chin.
    Being a violinist had been simpler then. More about music, less about stress. I wanted to play something to take me back. Not the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto or anything else that had been infected with Guarneri anxiety. Just something beautiful.
    My eyes fell on the tiny American flag pin on the case strap, a gift from Clark before my first European tour. I brought violin to shoulder, bow to string, and the opening notes of Amazing Grace filled the room. I didn’t even have to try. The pressure melted away under the warmth of the melody, and the music spoke. Forget Jeremy King, forget the competition, forget everyone’s expectations. And by the end of the verse, I almost had.
    I put the violin back in its case and tiptoed back across the hall. My bed was suddenly softer, the covers enveloping instead of strangling. Sleep seemed almost attainable.
    I was almost there when Diana’s ringtone sounded. Just once.
    The numbers on the digital face of my bedside clock glowed 3:49. Who would be calling in the middle of the night? I was out of bed and twisting my doorknob as quietly as I could before I thought through the possibilities.
    The pat-pat of Diana’s bare feet on the hardwood floor traveled down the hall and stopped right below me. I fell into a crouch instinctively, just in case she