The interviewer looked seriously into the camera, her trademark lisp giving a brief background of her next guest.
“Are you sure the tape’s going?” Alison said.
Carolyn hushed her insistently. “Yes. I’m trying to listen.”
“…announcement set the classical world on its collective ear. Tonight you’ll meet the conductor everyone is talking about and hear in her own words why she chose the intermission of a performance with the New York Philharmonic to make her transformation from Nicolas to Nicola.” The interviewer turned from the camera, which panned back to bring the other occupant of the set into view.
“It’s her!” Carolyn’s squeal hit high C. “God, she looks good.”
“No lusting after old flames,” Alison warned in a humoring tone.
“I chose the time and place quite precisely,” Nick was saying. Carolyn thought she sounded more like Oscar than ever. “I’d just collected my third American Grammy in as many years; several recording opportunities and a tour were scheduled. The concert was being taped for public television and New York has always been kind to me. The opportunity presented itself.”
“Let’s roll that tape. Where are we in terms of the symphony?”
“At the final chorus,” Nick said. “The words here are, ‘Joyous as a knight victorious, love toward countless millions swelling.’ As a friend of mine once quite succinctly summed it up, it makes the top of your head come off.”
Carolyn turned up the volume as the music swelled through the TV speakers. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “She conducted without her score.” Alison was quiet, but her hand slipped over Carolyn’s. Nick was strained to the tips of her toes, her expressive arms gathering up the music, channeling it and letting it fly away. The tip of her baton was a blur. The voices were crescendoing; Carolyn gripped Alison’s hand to the last note. When Nick’s arms finally dropped to her sides she swayed. The musicians seemed exhausted. The applause gained momentum, as if the audience was not sure what they were seeing. It swelled when Nick turned and took her first bow.
“Okay,” Alison said. “I’ll go to any of her concerts with you.”
Carolyn smiled at Alison. “You might even enjoy it.”
The interviewer’s face reappeared on the screen, her expression one of concern and sympathy. “There’s been backlash, hasn’t there?”
“As amatter of fact, the Royal Academy tried to withdraw its invitation for me to become a Fellow. I was asked, in a roundabout way, to be a good chap and not make any embarrassing scenes about it. It has nothing to do with my being a woman, you see, it’s just that I’m…notorious I think the word was.”
“You’ve obviously decided not to be a good chap.”
“Quite. Men of conscience all over the classical music world have called the Academy’s attempt an outrage. In several cases, they’ve successfully applied pressure to the recording companies who tried to break their contracts with me. I’ve resigned myself to being the equivalent of the pink dye dentists use to show where you’ve missed the plaque.” Nick’s laugh was easy and relaxed.
“Has it been all bad?”
“Oh no, some truly wonderful things have happened. My contemporary male colleagues standing by me, for example. I’ve also heard of two directorships at major symphonies going to women for the first time in the respective symphonies’ histories. I’d like to think I’ve contributed to these steps forward for women in music. Music itself is enriched every time women of talent are allowed to display it. On a lighter note, I’ve apparently started quite a rage in female concert wear. In some of the less stodgy orchestras some women have abandoned their traditional black gowns for tuxedos similar to what the men wear. That’s very flattering.”
The interview progressed as Nick explained the whys and wherefores of her first decision to pose as a man. Toward the end of the interview she described what went through her mind as she strode to the podium at a concert the week before, her hair ruffled slightly, her sleeves rolled back and hands ungloved.
“I could tell the musicians were dumbfounded. Several kept rubbing their eyes. After all, the change was very subtle. A murmur from the audience started. When we paused between movements of the symphony—Beethoven’s Ninth is another reason I chose that night—I could hear the buzz. I don’t suppose the audience was sure until I took my curtain call. But no one could deny the power of the Ode to Joy, so nobody stormed out or refused to applaud.” Nick’s smile could have set off fireworks.
“And what about the private life of Nicola Frost? How will that change?”
“That depends on other people, doesn’t it? There’s been considerable debate about my personal life and commentary about how I portrayed myself as a Don Juan, if you will, as a part of my cover as a man. I felt it was necessary, but I don’t think anyone got hurt.”
“None of the women you dated suspected you were a woman?”
“I never let anyone close to me, physically or emotionally. I’m hoping my isolation might be ending now that I’m not hiding my gender anymore.”
“The situation seems to beg an obvious question about your sexuality. In the last week, for example, your constant escort has been another woman—the British writer Patricia Morgan.”
Nick’s smile grew more serious as her eyes narrowed. “I would think the answer is obvious.”
“Are you saying you’re a lesbian?”
“Yes I am.”
“Would you like to say anything further on the topic?”
“Well, I suppose now that I’ve cleared that up, we’ll really find out who puts music first.”
Carolyn thought she could hear a psychic cheer that stretched from San Francisco to New York, from Key West to Seattle and all points in between…a cheer that then went around the world.
***
Later, after stopping several times in her writing to watch Alison asshe slept, Carolyn finished her letter to Nick.
And so, all in all, you were splendid. I taped every second, even the commercials and the announcements beforehand.
She paused as Alison emitted a unique-to-Alison snore. After three years and then some, Carolyn had thought she would have stopped thinking every little thing about Alison was marvelous, but she hadn’t.
Of course if you keep up this fame and fortune stuff you may get knighted. Would they call you Sir or Dame? I somehow can’t picture anyone calling you Dame. Insist on Sir Nicola Frost. You could be the first female Sir in centuries—there were a few way back when. Maybe you were one of them in a previous life, who knows?
Well, this is long enough and I’ve no more to say. Look for my next book in the fall. Alison predicts it’ll top the lesbian bestseller list like the last one. I hope you soon find someone to make delicious moans on the midnight hour with. I recommend it. Meanwhile, keep safe and happy. All my love as always and a little bit of Alison’s as usual,
Carolyn
She dropped her tablet and pen by the bedside and turned out the light. Alison murmured in her sleep as Carolyn settled down beside her.
“What time is it?” Alison’s voice was childlike in its drowsiness.
“Too late for you to worry about it,” Carolyn said. “Go back to sleep.”
Under the covers Alison’s hand slowly meandered from Carolyn’s stomach to one breast, then a finger lightly traced Carolyn’s lips. “What if I don’t want to?”
Carolyn inhaled the scent of what they had done before Alison had fallen asleep. “If you want to start again I’m going to need something for energy.”
“Drive-thru? We could go to our special Kentucky Fried.” Alison’s voice was a lot less sleepy. Her finger paused in its tracing of Carolyn’s chin.
Carolyn nibbled Alison’s finger. Her arms and legs turned to liquid at the thought of Alison’s familiar passion that was always somehow new. “Not tonight. I have everything I could possibly want right here.”
Alison laughed. “Does that mean I’m finger lickin’—”
Carolyn smothered the last word with a kiss that said yes.