Gun Games - Faye Kellerman [54]
Just Yasmine.
Only Yasmine.
Chapter Seventeen
Gabe thought he played pretty well and by the look on the agent’s face, his assessment wasn’t too far off. Jeff Robinson was in his thirties, a typical L.A. guy with the dark suit and T-shirt with the high-tops on his feet. He had brown hair that grazed his shoulders and jumpy eyes. He twitched a lot and used his hands when he spoke.
He said, “I think you have a real winner here, Nick. He’s young and plays with that youthful energetic brio, his reading skills are excellent, he’s got a strong command of the instrument, and equally as important, he’s got stagecraft. He’s fun to look at. I’m in the business of entertainment and ladies, being ladies, have an eye. In private events, they use the musicians like flower arrangements; and the better looking they are, the more they sell.”
“The kid is more than decoration, Jeff.”
“Absolutely. And if he continues to develop, I could do big things with him. I can do a lot with him now.”
“I don’t want him overexposed.”
Talking about him like he was a old-time photograph.
“I agree, he needs seasoning. But if he continues to progress, by the time he gets out of Juilliard, he should be ready to tackle something other than chamber music in small venues.” He turned to Gabe. “You’re starting school in the fall.”
Gabe said, “Definitely somewhere.”
“What does that mean?” Robinson asked.
Gabe felt his face go hot. “Um, I got into Harvard—”
“Harvard?” Robinson stared at him. “You can’t seriously be thinking of going to Harvard.”
Nick said, “Jeff, let me handle this.”
“You got into Juilliard?”
Gabe nodded.
“So you go to Juilliard. Harvard is a waste of time. Why would you even consider it?”
“Jeff—”
“I want to hear what the kid has to say.”
Gabe took a deep breath. “I just thought it would be good for me personally as well as musically to maybe go to a regular university.”
“So go to Juilliard and take some courses at Columbia. Students do that all the time.”
“I haven’t heard from Columbia yet,” Gabe said. “I’ll probably get in—”
“No, no, no. You’ve got it backward. You don’t go to Columbia. You go to Juilliard and take courses at Columbia.” A pause. “You heard from Harvard but you didn’t hear from Columbia?”
“I applied early to Harvard.”
“Don’t tell me that’s binding.”
“No, Harvard isn’t binding.”
Jeff breathed a sigh of relief. “Gabe, let me tell you something. You don’t have a lot of time. If you don’t make something click between twenty to twenty-five, it ain’t gonna happen for you.”
“Jeff—”
“I’m not saying you can’t be a musician, but solo piano with big orchestras on major venues . . . forget it.”
“Will you let me handle it, Jeff?”
“Nick, I’m running a business. If the kid isn’t serious, I’m not going to waste my time grooming him.”
“I am serious,” Gabe said.
“You can’t be serious if you’re thinking about Harvard. And don’t tell me Yo-Yo Ma went there. You’re no Yo-Yo Ma.” He stared at the kid. “I got at least a hundred kids out there who’d love to be in your shoes with talent like yours and a face like yours and a teacher like Nicholas Mark. And you want to blow it all by taking four years out of your musical life and go on some kind of personal quest to find yourself?”
“I didn’t say that—”
“Jeff—”
“Why should I believe you’re serious, Gabe?” The guy was literally in his face. “Convince me.”
Gabe said, “Because I don’t want to be a musician, I have to be a musician. It isn’t volitional. I have no choice. When I sit down and play, it’s like I’m . . . whole. It’s my communication, okay, like talking.” He shook his head. “Music is the only thing that I speak fluently. Anything else is a foreign language.”
Robinson said, “So if that’s really the case, why would you consider