Sim_Spiration 7/12/10
First off, this is over here, rather than sim_spiration , because I went overboard as is normal for me at the moment, and ended up writing loads.
Secondly, a version of this scene will be appearing in chapter 24.2, so if you wish to remain un-spoiled, don't read it. Everyone else, enjoy,
"Did I adequately answer your condescending question?" (The Social Network)
There was silence in the Simdon Opera House as the last note Eddie Legacy had played died away. It didn’t last long. Before he had had time to put down his violin and drop into a bow, the auditorium erupted with applause. Sophia Sartor got to her feet, as everyone around her did the same. “Beautiful, just beautiful,” she murmured. “The emotion he puts into the piece is amazing. And the key definitely changes two thirds of the way through.” This last comment was aimed at the man standing next to her. “No it doesn’t,” he replied. “You only think it does, because of the clever, and yet sparing use of flats through that section.”
“Bertie is correct.” Miss Sartor looked down at the little girl standing on the other side of her. “The key does not actually change until thirty-two bars from the end, although parts of that section are repeated several times, so that section seems longer.”
“I think you will find that it changes earlier, no matter what your brother may say,” retorted Sophia.
“Never argue with Emmi about music,” said Bertie mildly, before his sister could react. “You will never win.”
“You say that only because she is supporting you, and you know that I am correct and will be proven so if I continue discussing it with her,” said Sophia, glaring up at Bertie.
He gazed steadily back at her. “I am not.”
By this time, the orchestra had left the stage and the applause had died down. Carmen looking down the row of seats and sensing that her oldest step-son and his guest were about to start arguing and that Emmi was winding up to join in, bent down to speak to her daughter in Takemizu. “Beloved Emmi, please do not argue with Bertie’s guest, even if she is wrong,” she added on seeing her daughter open her mouth to protest. “Besides, it is time now to go and see your father.” This perked Emmi up and she leant forward, to look round Miss Sartor. “Bertie, I want to go and see Papa.”
Bertie glanced down at her and smiled. “Of course.” He stepped out into the aisle and held out his arm to usher Miss Sartor and his family out. Stuart was the last past him. He knew his brother better than anyone else in the world, and had been watching him all night. Now, before Bertie could hurry after the rest of their party, he caught his arm and hissed at him, “what are you up to?”
“Me?” Bertie put on his best innocent face. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Yes you do. You invited Miss Sartor to this concert, and yet the two of you have spent most of the evening sniping at each other, and do not think I have not noticed that you have not uttered our surname, or that Miss Sartor does not call you Mr Legacy. What are you doing?”
Bertie’s face split into a grin. “Teaching a lesson in humility.” On seeing that his brother was still contemplating him with a look of unease, he added “trust me,” before hurrying after Miss Sartor and offering her arm. After a momentary hesitation, she accepted it. He was, she had decided, the most infuriating man she had ever had the misfortune to meet. The only reason she had agreed to accompany him to the concert, was so that she could prove to him how she was right, and he was wrong. The fact that he continued to state that he was correct, was maddening. He had even managed to persuade his little sister to agree with him, which was absurd. Just how could the knowledge of a seven year old, compare to that of an eighteen year old, who had studied music for years and was talented enough to be able to play a complicated piece of music by ear in only a matter of hours? Yet, (and she hated herself for thinking this), walking with her arm linked with his was comfortable, something about it felt…right.
She was so caught up in her thoughts, it took a minute for her to realise that they weren’t heading towards the exterior doors. She had assumed that they would be meeting Bertie’s father in a restaurant or somewhere, and was confused as to where they were going. “I thought we were to meet your father?” she asked as they stopped before a door which was labelled staff only.
“We are,” replied Bertie as Carmen knocked on it, and it was opened by a hearty looking man in black tie.
“Bless my soul, is that little Emmi?” he asked on seeing Emina standing next to her mother.
“Hallo Jack,” she replied a big grin on her face. “Can I go and see Papa please?”
“Well, if you insist,” he smiled down at her, before standing back to let them through. He nodded at each of them as they passed, before closing the door behind them.
Sophia looked around her as Bertie steered her towards backstage. “Your father works here?” she asked.
Bertie thought about that, before saying “yes, I suppose he does.”
“That is why you were able to come by such good tickets then.”
“Yes.” It was a good job that Bertie couldn’t see the looks his brother, lagging behind, was sending his way at his omissions.
They entered a small room, and there, at the end was Eddie, loosening his bow, before placing it in his case with his violin. “Papa!” cried Emmi, before dodging round a cellist who was manoeuvring his instrument towards its case. On hearing her voice, Eddie turned round, and opened his arms, ready for a hug. “Emmi! How did you enjoy the concert? Did I make any mistakes?”
“No Papa, you were perfect,” she stated as she returned his hug. “Mr Hathaway was out of time for part of Mr Mozart’s Symphony no 25 though.”
Eddie looked at her fondly. “Ah, was he now? Perhaps it is best if you do not tell him if you see him.”
As the rest of his family greeted Eddie and congratulated him on his performance, Sophia looked on, her face growing warm at the memory of part of the first conversation she had had with Bertie.
“You have the key change too early: that section is so brief it doesn’t merit the key changing, so instead there are a number of flats, and the tempo slows down, momentarily. The key changes permanently towards the end to reflect the fact that his parents are dead, and he is mourning their passing.”
She had sneered at that, and answered him, her voice thick with condescension. ”With no published sheet music, that is pure conjecture. Are you familiar with Mr Legacy? Are you conversant with his thought processes while he was composing this piece? Because I highly doubt you are. I myself have seen Mr Legacy in concert over fifteen times, whether playing on his own, or as part of the Simdon Symphony Orchestra. A Winter’s Requiem is my favourite piece of music. I have paid it much attention every time I have heard him play it, and I am certain that I know more about it, and how it sounds, than you.”
That had been when he had squared his shoulders, and tilted his head back to look down at her in a gesture that would, in time, become shockingly familiar to her, but was now so shiny and new, she had no idea what it had meant. The next words he had uttered, hadn’t been to argue with her, but to ask her to this concert instead. She hadn’t realised the extent of the reason why until now.
She didn’t know he was leaning close to her, until he spoke quietly into her ear. “I am sorry, but I lied to you,” he said. “My name is not Smith, it is Legacy. Eddie Legacy is my father. A Winter’s Requiem was written about my grandparents, not long after their deaths. I know that piece of music; I know what the emotions are behind it, and I know the people it is about. It has been an important part of my life and the lives of the rest of my family since I was fourteen. I could play it in my sleep. Does that adequately answer your condescending questions?”
Secondly, a version of this scene will be appearing in chapter 24.2, so if you wish to remain un-spoiled, don't read it. Everyone else, enjoy,
"Did I adequately answer your condescending question?" (The Social Network)
There was silence in the Simdon Opera House as the last note Eddie Legacy had played died away. It didn’t last long. Before he had had time to put down his violin and drop into a bow, the auditorium erupted with applause. Sophia Sartor got to her feet, as everyone around her did the same. “Beautiful, just beautiful,” she murmured. “The emotion he puts into the piece is amazing. And the key definitely changes two thirds of the way through.” This last comment was aimed at the man standing next to her. “No it doesn’t,” he replied. “You only think it does, because of the clever, and yet sparing use of flats through that section.”
“Bertie is correct.” Miss Sartor looked down at the little girl standing on the other side of her. “The key does not actually change until thirty-two bars from the end, although parts of that section are repeated several times, so that section seems longer.”
“I think you will find that it changes earlier, no matter what your brother may say,” retorted Sophia.
“Never argue with Emmi about music,” said Bertie mildly, before his sister could react. “You will never win.”
“You say that only because she is supporting you, and you know that I am correct and will be proven so if I continue discussing it with her,” said Sophia, glaring up at Bertie.
He gazed steadily back at her. “I am not.”
By this time, the orchestra had left the stage and the applause had died down. Carmen looking down the row of seats and sensing that her oldest step-son and his guest were about to start arguing and that Emmi was winding up to join in, bent down to speak to her daughter in Takemizu. “Beloved Emmi, please do not argue with Bertie’s guest, even if she is wrong,” she added on seeing her daughter open her mouth to protest. “Besides, it is time now to go and see your father.” This perked Emmi up and she leant forward, to look round Miss Sartor. “Bertie, I want to go and see Papa.”
Bertie glanced down at her and smiled. “Of course.” He stepped out into the aisle and held out his arm to usher Miss Sartor and his family out. Stuart was the last past him. He knew his brother better than anyone else in the world, and had been watching him all night. Now, before Bertie could hurry after the rest of their party, he caught his arm and hissed at him, “what are you up to?”
“Me?” Bertie put on his best innocent face. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Yes you do. You invited Miss Sartor to this concert, and yet the two of you have spent most of the evening sniping at each other, and do not think I have not noticed that you have not uttered our surname, or that Miss Sartor does not call you Mr Legacy. What are you doing?”
Bertie’s face split into a grin. “Teaching a lesson in humility.” On seeing that his brother was still contemplating him with a look of unease, he added “trust me,” before hurrying after Miss Sartor and offering her arm. After a momentary hesitation, she accepted it. He was, she had decided, the most infuriating man she had ever had the misfortune to meet. The only reason she had agreed to accompany him to the concert, was so that she could prove to him how she was right, and he was wrong. The fact that he continued to state that he was correct, was maddening. He had even managed to persuade his little sister to agree with him, which was absurd. Just how could the knowledge of a seven year old, compare to that of an eighteen year old, who had studied music for years and was talented enough to be able to play a complicated piece of music by ear in only a matter of hours? Yet, (and she hated herself for thinking this), walking with her arm linked with his was comfortable, something about it felt…right.
She was so caught up in her thoughts, it took a minute for her to realise that they weren’t heading towards the exterior doors. She had assumed that they would be meeting Bertie’s father in a restaurant or somewhere, and was confused as to where they were going. “I thought we were to meet your father?” she asked as they stopped before a door which was labelled staff only.
“We are,” replied Bertie as Carmen knocked on it, and it was opened by a hearty looking man in black tie.
“Bless my soul, is that little Emmi?” he asked on seeing Emina standing next to her mother.
“Hallo Jack,” she replied a big grin on her face. “Can I go and see Papa please?”
“Well, if you insist,” he smiled down at her, before standing back to let them through. He nodded at each of them as they passed, before closing the door behind them.
Sophia looked around her as Bertie steered her towards backstage. “Your father works here?” she asked.
Bertie thought about that, before saying “yes, I suppose he does.”
“That is why you were able to come by such good tickets then.”
“Yes.” It was a good job that Bertie couldn’t see the looks his brother, lagging behind, was sending his way at his omissions.
They entered a small room, and there, at the end was Eddie, loosening his bow, before placing it in his case with his violin. “Papa!” cried Emmi, before dodging round a cellist who was manoeuvring his instrument towards its case. On hearing her voice, Eddie turned round, and opened his arms, ready for a hug. “Emmi! How did you enjoy the concert? Did I make any mistakes?”
“No Papa, you were perfect,” she stated as she returned his hug. “Mr Hathaway was out of time for part of Mr Mozart’s Symphony no 25 though.”
Eddie looked at her fondly. “Ah, was he now? Perhaps it is best if you do not tell him if you see him.”
As the rest of his family greeted Eddie and congratulated him on his performance, Sophia looked on, her face growing warm at the memory of part of the first conversation she had had with Bertie.
“You have the key change too early: that section is so brief it doesn’t merit the key changing, so instead there are a number of flats, and the tempo slows down, momentarily. The key changes permanently towards the end to reflect the fact that his parents are dead, and he is mourning their passing.”
She had sneered at that, and answered him, her voice thick with condescension. ”With no published sheet music, that is pure conjecture. Are you familiar with Mr Legacy? Are you conversant with his thought processes while he was composing this piece? Because I highly doubt you are. I myself have seen Mr Legacy in concert over fifteen times, whether playing on his own, or as part of the Simdon Symphony Orchestra. A Winter’s Requiem is my favourite piece of music. I have paid it much attention every time I have heard him play it, and I am certain that I know more about it, and how it sounds, than you.”
That had been when he had squared his shoulders, and tilted his head back to look down at her in a gesture that would, in time, become shockingly familiar to her, but was now so shiny and new, she had no idea what it had meant. The next words he had uttered, hadn’t been to argue with her, but to ask her to this concert instead. She hadn’t realised the extent of the reason why until now.
She didn’t know he was leaning close to her, until he spoke quietly into her ear. “I am sorry, but I lied to you,” he said. “My name is not Smith, it is Legacy. Eddie Legacy is my father. A Winter’s Requiem was written about my grandparents, not long after their deaths. I know that piece of music; I know what the emotions are behind it, and I know the people it is about. It has been an important part of my life and the lives of the rest of my family since I was fourteen. I could play it in my sleep. Does that adequately answer your condescending questions?”