It had been a long time since Evelyn Jane could recall a nervous flutter in her gut. She never considered herself intimidated once in her eighteen years, but she was standing at the door of the penthouse apartment of Maestro Shaun Piper. She wasn’t expecting any kind of special attention from the Maestro, but nevertheless had curled her hair, put on some red lipstick, and touched up with some dabs of flowery perfume for her visit.

She inhaled and knocked a few times before a voice through a nearby box speaker said, "Enter".

The door lock could be heard clicking to an open position and she turned the knob, not even knowing what she would see in the home of the noted symphony conductor. It was a gorgeous apartment, with the finest luxuries she could ever imagine. An 80-inch television, paintings by renowned modern artists, a terrace with an amazing view of the skyline.

“Welcome Miss Evie,” she heard the Maestro say from the right of her, she turned and saw him standing by a very expensive and rare Blackwood grand piano. Above it hung an ornate two-story chandelier. He was dressed clean and classy, with a dark burgundy vest over a crisp white collared shirt. He may have been older than her father, but he had aged like a fine red wine – the Maestro was an attractive man.

Evelyn Jane stepped further into the penthouse, letting the general splendor of it all wash over her. This is how she would live someday. “Thank you again for inviting me, your home is amazing,” she craned her neck back to see the details of the chandelier.

“I keep my violins in the music studio upstairs, would you like to see?” he offered. She gave a nod of awe, still not fully believing she was in his actual home.


It had taken her some significant weeks of having her contacts in the Mayor’s office find out the Maestro’s schedule in order for them to ‘bump’ into each other at the coffee shop. She wanted to impress him unequivocally, enough that he would have favor toward her at the Battle of The Bands. Just because his style was more on the classical side, didn’t mean he was unable to judge other types of music.

He led her to the second story and into a room painted in bright red. It was an office and music studio.

“This canvas was the last of the Noir series, one of only eight in existence,” he motioned toward a wall-to-floor pop art piece depicting a woman’s face.

Evelyn Jane gave him an appropriately impressed smile. Any other person who bragged as he did she would have admonished, but it seemed to work for him.


She knew his history; he liked to collect expensive things - art, music, cars. He also had been a notorious playboy in his youth. She took a seat on the small cushy chair in the corner of the music studio and continued to admire the room. He knelt and removed a violin from its display stand.

“This is the last Simavarious I violin. It’s over 100 years old and cost me a fortune to obtain.”

“Are you going to play it for me?” she asked in a coquettish tone.

He brushed his hand over the varnish and smiled, “Not this one, not today.”

She gave a small pout - that violin was supposed to sound flawless - it was a legend among any violinist that mattered in the world.


He picked up a second violin - shinier, newer - and began to play. She recognized the solo piece immediately and gave a sigh of delight before smiling and paying rapt attention. She was watching a master at work.

He continued to play, crescendoed into a fortissimo and she closed her eyes. This music made it feel like her soul was spinning around the room. If only she could win the Battle of the Bands with this kind of lyric-less, sweeping, music and show the entire region how it had more places to exist than in symphony halls and public radio.


“Your turn,” he said after he ended the solo. She stood and he handed the violin to her. She couldn’t help but to having shaking fingers as she received the instrument. He was letting her play his violin!

“Don’t disappoint me, Miss Evie,” he winked.

“I won’t,” she assured and steadied herself. She had just the tune to play, something she knew from hours of meticulous practice by memory. She began to play one of the violin concertos he had written. He seemed very impressed as she played through it. A sharp upward bow, three chords in successive second position fingering, then repeat.


“Stop,” he held up his hand abruptly. The string made a sharp sound as she lost hold of her bow and it slipped across clumsily. She was momentarily startled at his tone. Had he hated it? Did she do it incorrectly? She looked at him with concern, waiting to be critiqued.

“That was impressive. You memorized the enitre concerto?”

She gave a nod, “As I told you, Maestro-” she set the violin back to its stand and then straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye, “-I’m a big fan.”


“So it seems,” he crossed his arms and gave her a long, considering look, and took a deep breath, “My, that is a pleasant perfume.”

He stepped nearer to her, took a few more breaths and shut his eyes, leaning in even closer until his face was nuzzled against her neck. She froze, a bit startled at his action.


He was a married man, she knew, but his reputation as a former playboy of Scandalica City was also known. She knew his weakness: a young, pretty girl that had an interest in him and his work…he wouldn’t be able to resist.

So she turned her head and met his lips. It wasn’t every day a person was able to kiss their idol.