Ryan had done as he was instructed, dressed in a sharp, crisp black suit. The only color was his tie, a deep burgundy with tiny flecks of yellow. He'd also showed up on time. Promptness, he had learned from many other orchestra directors and section leaders, was important. Not a moment to waste in the world of music.
He carried a portfolio, certificates and awards tucked neatly within the pages. Letters of recommendation and a resume, all at his fingertips. He even had a few cassettes and cd's tucked in there, just for good measure. If nothing else, he was prepared for anything.
Just about.
As he was buzzed into the music director's office, he checked his look in the dark marble wall, acting as a perfect mirror. Even if it were like a photo negative of himself. He checked his breath with a hand to his mouth. A tin of mints was produced and he popped one into his mouth and slid the tin into his pocket before opening up the door.
The room was nothing like he'd expected. Everything was neat and tidy, not a single sheet of music or music stand out of place. The office was not cluttered by instrument cases or instruments hanging on the wall. No, this was a proper office. What startled Ryan the most was the Victorian style furniture. From the Queen Anne chair the director was perched in, with it's red velvet cushioned back and seat, to the antique filing cabinets, made of oak.
The director, Ms. Turrian dropped her reading glasses to the blotter on the wide desk top when the young man strode in. Her mouth set in a firm line, as if the bun she had her hair pulled back into was so tight that her face could not possibly go into any other position than that of a woman who had just suckled on a persimmon. Her dress matched the room in it's Victorian style. The high necked cream collar was enshrouded by the frilly overlay, also of a red velvet. Long sleeves fight tightly around her arms. The bodice of the dressed buttoned tightly to her slim frame. And the skirts rustled under her desk as she reached for a folder marked "Piano music." A simple nod as cold as steel blue eyes indicated for Ryan to take a seat.
"Yes, ma'am." Ryan nodded, then took the only other seat in the room that wasn't occupied by the director. It was a plain wooden chair, Queen Anne style, of course, but without the cushions. His portfolio sat still in his lap as he waited for the interview to begin. The director was intimidating, with her bun, ratchet like mouth and ancient style of dress. Well, ancient to Ryan, anyway.
Right away, Mr. Turrian set the tone for the interview. This was no relaxed, cursory affair. If Ryan wanted the position, he'd have to earn it. After a grueling half hour of questions being asked and answered, the director got up from her desk. Her walking stick was taken into hand. It thumped the hardwood floor as she walked over to the piano, her skirts rustling all the while.
"Mr. Garabedian, I can see you have a passion for music. Let's see if you can show me your skills." The cd's and cassettes had been useless in this office of highly polished wood and brass. Not a single electrical device in the place. "I've written a piece, all musicians auditioning for the Asharian Orchestra must play." There was a certain gleam in her eyes. Only a rare few had been able to play the piece. Those that were successful were hired. The others, sent packing. She was eager to see what this young, respectful boy could do.
Ryan rose from his seat when the director did. His portfolio was left in the chair and he strode to the piano. Playing cold was one thing. Sight reading a new piece for an audition was another. He played a simple scale to warm up his hands as the music was brought from a file and placed onto the piano. He was given five minutes to look it over. During that time, Ryan's eyes flew over the piece and his fingers ran over the keys lightly.
The director pounded her walking stick onto the floor, indicating it was time to start. Ryan nodded solemnly, then turned pale green eyes onto the complicated piece before him. It was very short, wouldn't take more than a few minutes to play, but what was packed into those two minutes was amazing.
With a deep breath, he started. The director held her walking stick between her hands and leaned on the long, thick hand hewn cane. Softly, she tapped out the time, like a metronome. Keeping his eyes on the music, Ryan's fingers flew over the keys. Crescendos, allegros, triplets, all played as if he'd done this a million times over. The music decrescendoed and he hunched his shoulders, as if that would make the piano even more quiet. Then to the finish, his shoulders back, chest out, hands held just so. And as the music wound down, the corner of the director's mouth twitched. It was as close to a smile as Ryan would get.
"Very good, Mr. Garabedian." She moved back to her desk and indicated for Ryan to resume his seat across from her. "You've a lot of work cut out for you, Mr. Garabedian. Here is the sheet music for the festival. Rehearsals start on Saturday. I suggest you know at least half of the music by then." The music folder, leather bound, was placed in front of Ryan. "That is all. Good day, Mr. Garabedian."
And just like that, Ryan was dismissed. He lifted the leather bound music folder and rose from his chair. "Thank you, ma'am." His southern drawl evident in his voice. "I'll see you on Saturday." Ryan bowed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind him. Turning, he started to run down the carpeted hall. "Yeeeeeeeeee haaaaaaaaaaaw!" He gave that Rebel Yell and leaped in the air, fist pumping to the ceiling.
