tonight. My plane leaves in two hours. Come with me?"
"Daniel, I can't just…"
He silenced me with a kiss. "It's Sunday. We'll be back tomorrow morning. Then I've two days off before I'm gone again for the remainder of the week. Please, angel mine?" He pleaded, those dark brown eyes looking all doe-like and innocent.
I sighed, not knowing if what I was embarking on was a good thing or not. It felt good; so do it, right? "Okay, but only if you promise to have me home tomorrow morning."
"Come on then, let's get ready. Pack yourself a change or two of clothes. We've got to hurry."
As I was putting the last few items into my overnight bag and closing it, Daniel reappeared with two mugs of coffee along with the bag he had carried in the night before.
"Here, I made us some coffee. And this is for you. Let's just call it my thanks for all your hard work and whatever else we can think of."
Peering inside I pulled out a box. Inside was an antique Hasselblad camera.
"Daniel! I can't accept this. It's far too valuable for you to be giving me."
He wasn't to be deterred. "Ridiculous. I chose it specifically with you in mind."
"Well, thank you very much, then. It's beautiful and it's something I'll cherish always."
"Good, and I hope you will use it. Now let's go. I called a cab and they're downstairs waiting."
Once we were finally in route to the airport, Elle texted me wanting to know what I was up to and asking if I knew my phone was going directly to voice mail.
I replied that I was out of town and that yes, I knew my phone was not picking up. That, I hoped, would tell her something without coming straight out and telling her.
Once we arrived at his Liverpool hotel suite, I began having flashbacks—memories of being on the road with my brothers. Though Daniel played another form of music, much of what went along with being on tour was exactly the same. Music was music and being a star, no matter what form it took, was still about being in the spotlight.
This was my first time to actually see Daniel perform since Julliard—away from fellow students and teachers. This was the Daniel Kennedy of today, and he was mesmerizing. He was still the same perfectionist and he expected far too much of himself; but it was the only way he knew, and it was also what wore him down and made him vulnerable to himself. Hence, his visit to me last night.
"I understand you're coming back to the school of performing arts, here," I said, "to work with the students. That's wonderful."
"Yes, and you will come with me and capture it all."
"I'm sure they will have their own people there to record it all, Daniel."
"But I want you there, just as I want you there when I go on stage, tonight."
Which I was.
If he was nervous, he didn't show it outwardly. This was something he'd been doing since he was a little boy, so I imagined it was pretty much second nature to him. I watched as he stood off to one side by himself for a minute, taking in what I thought were deep, cleansing breaths as he clutched his violin in one hand and bow in the other. Dressed in black pants, a dark shirt and black jacket, his boots seemed out of place with the rest of his outfit. But, I reminded myself as I watched, Daniel Kennedy wasn't like any other violinist.
I came out of my daydream as he turned and strode back to me, making sure I had a clear view of the stage. Then, not saying a word, he planted a kiss on my right cheek as they announced his name. He turned quickly and walked toward the bright lights.
I stood there in the wings, peering out at the audience who were already on their feet applauding before he even got underway. I watched in awe as he picked up the bow and started into his first piece. Within the first note, he hit his stride. He'd once told me that he barely felt the strings as his fingers moved over them. The bow, he said, served as an extension of himself. He added that he imagined music formed a cloud in which he floated as it hovered above the
"Daniel, I can't just…"
He silenced me with a kiss. "It's Sunday. We'll be back tomorrow morning. Then I've two days off before I'm gone again for the remainder of the week. Please, angel mine?" He pleaded, those dark brown eyes looking all doe-like and innocent.
I sighed, not knowing if what I was embarking on was a good thing or not. It felt good; so do it, right? "Okay, but only if you promise to have me home tomorrow morning."
"Come on then, let's get ready. Pack yourself a change or two of clothes. We've got to hurry."
As I was putting the last few items into my overnight bag and closing it, Daniel reappeared with two mugs of coffee along with the bag he had carried in the night before.
"Here, I made us some coffee. And this is for you. Let's just call it my thanks for all your hard work and whatever else we can think of."
Peering inside I pulled out a box. Inside was an antique Hasselblad camera.
"Daniel! I can't accept this. It's far too valuable for you to be giving me."
He wasn't to be deterred. "Ridiculous. I chose it specifically with you in mind."
"Well, thank you very much, then. It's beautiful and it's something I'll cherish always."
"Good, and I hope you will use it. Now let's go. I called a cab and they're downstairs waiting."
Once we were finally in route to the airport, Elle texted me wanting to know what I was up to and asking if I knew my phone was going directly to voice mail.
I replied that I was out of town and that yes, I knew my phone was not picking up. That, I hoped, would tell her something without coming straight out and telling her.
Once we arrived at his Liverpool hotel suite, I began having flashbacks—memories of being on the road with my brothers. Though Daniel played another form of music, much of what went along with being on tour was exactly the same. Music was music and being a star, no matter what form it took, was still about being in the spotlight.
This was my first time to actually see Daniel perform since Julliard—away from fellow students and teachers. This was the Daniel Kennedy of today, and he was mesmerizing. He was still the same perfectionist and he expected far too much of himself; but it was the only way he knew, and it was also what wore him down and made him vulnerable to himself. Hence, his visit to me last night.
"I understand you're coming back to the school of performing arts, here," I said, "to work with the students. That's wonderful."
"Yes, and you will come with me and capture it all."
"I'm sure they will have their own people there to record it all, Daniel."
"But I want you there, just as I want you there when I go on stage, tonight."
Which I was.
If he was nervous, he didn't show it outwardly. This was something he'd been doing since he was a little boy, so I imagined it was pretty much second nature to him. I watched as he stood off to one side by himself for a minute, taking in what I thought were deep, cleansing breaths as he clutched his violin in one hand and bow in the other. Dressed in black pants, a dark shirt and black jacket, his boots seemed out of place with the rest of his outfit. But, I reminded myself as I watched, Daniel Kennedy wasn't like any other violinist.
I came out of my daydream as he turned and strode back to me, making sure I had a clear view of the stage. Then, not saying a word, he planted a kiss on my right cheek as they announced his name. He turned quickly and walked toward the bright lights.
I stood there in the wings, peering out at the audience who were already on their feet applauding before he even got underway. I watched in awe as he picked up the bow and started into his first piece. Within the first note, he hit his stride. He'd once told me that he barely felt the strings as his fingers moved over them. The bow, he said, served as an extension of himself. He added that he imagined music formed a cloud in which he floated as it hovered above the
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