GTP-Chapter 2

Carrie followed the man out of the concert hall and out into the entry way. He turned to the left and led her through a series of hallways. She almost had to jog to keep up with his brisk walking pace.

“Excuse me, sir,” Carrie asked. “What exactly is going on around here? What sorts of things have been disappearing?”

“I will explain in a moment, Ms. Jones,” the man replied shortly. “Please be patient and keep up.”

After winding through a few more halls the man stopped in front of a large, blue door.

“Follow me please, Ms. Jones, and keep your voice down. Do not ask any questions just yet. I will tell you all you need to know soon enough,” the man said.

Carrie nodded in acknowledgement.

The man led her into a small office packed wall to wall with what Carrie took to be sheet music. A collage of pictures and programs from past performances hung on a bulletin board to the right of the door. Another large pile of papers sat in the middle of an old, oak-colored desk. A couple of chairs were placed nonchalantly in front of it.

“Sit down please, Ms Jones,” the man said, slightly out of breath.

Carrie took one of the chairs in front of the desk while the man plodded around to its other side and dropped, exhausted, into his top-of-the-line leather office chair. He shoved the large mass of papers to the side so he could see her.

Now that she was sitting across from him, Carrie could see the man more clearly. His eyes were a chocolate color of brown and his nose was small and squished, slightly resembling a pig’s snout. His mouth formed a thin line across his face. His gelled hair sat stiffly on top of his head, not a single strand out of place.

“Now, Ms. Jones,” the man said. “You are supposed to be performing here three nights this week, correct?”

“First of all, please call me Carrie. And yes sir, I am to perform Thursday thru Saturday along with another pianist. I believe his name is Drake Anderson,” Carrie answered.

“I would rather not Ms. Jones. I have put a very strict protocol in place here about how things are run and how performers are treated, and I feel I must respect my own rules and regulations if I am to expect all of my workers to do the same,” the man explained.

“Okay,” Carrie said.

“Now, as for Drake, he arrived yesterday, but I told him to not worry about rehearsal today because of the investigation,” the man said.

“What investigation?” Carrie questioned, feeling slightly irritated at the fact that this man, whoever he was, would not tell her more about this ‘investigation’ he kept talking about.

“I will explain in good time, Ms. Jones,” the man said.

Carrie sighed. “Can you at least tell me your name then,” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” the man said. “My name is James Walker. I am the assistant manager here at the concert hall.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Walker,” Carrie said.

“To be honest, I have been looking forward to meeting you as well, Ms. Jones. I have heard quite a lot about you,” Mr. Walker responded.

Carrie could tell he was trying to distract her, but she decided to play along.

“Really?” she questioned.

“Yes, Mr. Riley told me about you, the young, up-and-coming, professional pianist hopeful. He described your style as ‘unique’ and ‘exquisite’,” Mr. Walker said. “He’s very excited about having you and Drake here.”

“That’s very flattering,” Carrie said, excitement mounting inside her despite her current level of frustration. “I talked to Mr. Riley over the phone a few months ago. I was thrilled when he invited me to play here. I have always wanted to play in a famous concert hall like this.”

Suddenly the door opened and a young man dressed in a white shirt and black bow tie poked his head inside. His gelled blonde hair was drench with sweat. A girl in a black skirt and white shirt appeared next to him. Both were out of breath.

“Mr. Walker, sir,” the young man said. “Please come to the stage. The investigators found something in the wings.”

Mr. Walker stood quickly.

“Ms. Jones, we will have to postpone this conversation. Wait just a minute, John,” he said.

Motioning to the girl, he spoke hurriedly, “Would you please escort Ms. Jones to the lobby?”

He turned back to Carrie. “I have your number written down. I will call you as soon as I can and let you know the status of the show. Have a good day, Ms. Jones”

Mr. Walker ran out of the room after John.

“Please follow me, Ms. Jones,” Tiffany said politely.

Carrie walked behind her as she led the way back to the entrance. Tiffany left her to let herself out when they reached the main entrance. She walked out into the warm September sunshine and as she hailed a cab to take her back to her hotel, she thought about the events of the day and what Mr. Walker had said.

“I really hope everything’s going to be alright,” she thought. “It would be a shame to have to cancel the show.”