The Metropolis Case_ A Novel - Matthew Gallaway [86]
THAT NIGHT, ANNA took them out for Japanese—another first for Maria; but determined to shed her provinciality, she let Linda coach her through the basics and tried everything. As they ate, Anna explained that both girls would be starting summer jobs the following week as administrative assistants in the fund-raising department at the Metropolitan Opera. To hear that she would be going to the Met, even in the context of a summer job, awed and intimidated Maria, which then made her feel embarrassed, given that this was only the smallest step toward where she wanted to go. It made her wish that she could be more like Linda, who seemed to take the news in stride, or perhaps even with a trace of derision, as if it were no better than any other summer job, which was probably true given that it was going to be a lot of photocopying and filing.
“Really—photocopying?” Linda asked with a raised eyebrow. “I thought I was going to be giving a master class with Leo Metropolis!” Linda had already discussed her admiration for the heldentenor, whom she had seen perform the previous spring in Milan but whom Maria—again to her chagrin—had never even heard of.
Anna smiled at Linda and responded in kind. “My understanding was that Mr. Metropolis was all set, but your agent skewered it by asking for too much money.”
As Maria observed this and other such exchanges throughout the meal, she began to understand that the conversation often worked on two levels, and perhaps even three, as Linda managed to acknowledge her subservience to Anna, to mock it—but lightly—and yet to draw Anna in, which made them seem more like equals, if only for a few seconds. Though Maria chimed in a few times, she felt that everything she said was a beat too late, and when Anna and Linda smiled at her, their smiles were rooted more in indulgence than in appreciation. It made her feel weighed down, and try as she might, she could not help brooding as she wondered if her past would inhibit her in ways she could not even predict. Several times she tried to laugh—to at least convey her understanding of a joke—and it got stuck in her throat, and she was always relieved when the waiter arrived to fill their water glasses. As much as she wanted to join in, she found she could do little more than wrap her hand around the icy glass, as if to prevent her new life from slipping through her fingers.
AS THE SUMMER progressed, she began to feel more comfortable—in her apartment, at her job, at dinners with Anna, and with Linda—or at least more able, so that after only a month in the city she looked back at the nervous girl who had frozen up at dinner with pity and disdain. Because New York was so different from Pittsburgh, her past began to feel more like a harmless callus than a malignant growth; she often felt as if she had died in the fire, and could now discuss her former self with a certain objectivity, a distance that sometimes made her wonder if she had ever lived there at all or was just now waking up from a bad dream. When the subject of John and Gina came up—as it invariably did, since she was introduced to many new people—she learned to explain that they had died some time ago in an accident, and for the uncouth who couldn’t resist pressing her, she made it clear that she didn’t feel comfortable discussing the details. She found that with practice—and she did practice, alone in the bathroom, in front of the mirror—she could convey the information without seeming too vacant or needy, like it really had happened to someone else.
She struggled more when classes started in September, particularly during the first few weeks, when she walked past the practice rooms and heard the muffled strains of a Paganini violin caprice, a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, a Rossini aria, and other offhanded feats of musical genius.