The Orchestra - Sinfónia Lifsins - 33. My Comfy, Costly Cuddles

“Hey, Arnar is here! Let’s go greet him!” Dmitri said, pulling me towards the stage. We had just entered the concert hall, after spending most of our day cuddling lazily on my bed.

“But he seems busy…” I answered, though I let Dmitri pull me along. Arnar (or at least the man I thought was Arnar) was talking to Siggi; he seemed busy and I didn’t want to interrupt. I knew Siggi liked Arnar a lot, so I didn’t want to be the one to break up their conversation. It would probably make Siggi like me even less, but Dmitri insisted.

“Nah, it’ll be fine. You two have never been properly introduced; what better time than now?” He passed an arm over my shoulder. “Just climb onto the stage like you’re going to your place to get ready. If Arnar wants to talk to you, he’ll call you. If he and Siggi are discussing very important things, he’ll leave you alone.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to annoy Siggi…”

“You’ll be fine.” Dmitri winked and ruffled my hair. He indicated I should keep walking, but once I got on stage I realised he was no longer following me. In fact, Dmitri had completely vanished from view. Just as I was getting anxious about his sudden disappearance, I got within earshot of Arnar and Siggi’s conversation.

“Siggi, you should stop being so mean to Gunni. It’s not his fault I had to retire,” Arnar said. I couldn’t help but blush a little. Arnar was a reasonably tall man, about Dmitri’s height. His hair was dark brown with some greying strands, cut very short, and beginning to disappear from the back of his head. He had a short, well-trimmed beard, and his eyes were blue like Siggi’s, but much gentler and reassuring.

“It’s his fault he was hired. He should’ve known this isn’t the place for him,” Siggi argued, with his usual hateful tone. I tried to sneak into my place without being noticed, but Arnar saw me anyway.

“Speaking of which, look who is here!” Arnar gave Siggi a warning glance and turned to me, ready to shake my hand. I felt Siggi’s cold stare on me the whole time we talked. “Hi Gunni, I’m Arnar, you predecessor.”

“Hi…” I shook his hand, hoping the ground would swallow me before Siggi’s stare pierced a hole through my face.

“I’m very pleased to finally talk to you properly, Gunni,” Arnar said, and my face turned into a furnace. Thankfully he didn’t comment on it.

“Thank you. It’s an honour to meet you,” I managed to say. Arnar smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you; it’s nice to finally talk to you in person.”

“Same here. As far as I can tell, you seem to be a very good and capable player, despite what some people say,” Arnar kept complimenting me. I should feel good for having such a talented person saying good things about me, but at that moment all I could feel was embarrassment. I felt like my ears were burning together with my face. I had to look away from Arnar, afraid they would start steaming.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Soon after that, Gísli appeared and took Siggi away. There was still no sign of Dmitri, so Arnar kept the conversation going. “You’re not the kind of person who knows how to take compliments, then?” Arnar asked in a more informal tone. He didn’t sound like he was reprimanding me, but it was still embarrassing to realise that he could read me so easily after just one handshake. “That’s ok. I’ve known lots of people like you. Siggi wouldn’t take compliments either, though I’m guessing it was for a completely different reason.”

“How long have you known Siggi for?” I asked. It took me another two or three seconds to register that I had asked a personal question about someone who hated me, but Arnar answered before I could take it back.

“I’ve known Siggi since he was fifteen. I’m his foster father.”

“Foster father? But… but then…” I babbled, as a thousand thoughts crossed my mind at once. If Arnar was Siggi’s foster father, that meant they knew each other even before Siggi joined the ISO. And if Arnar had become Siggi’s father figure at home as well as at work… then maybe his irrational hatred of me wasn’t so irrational. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.” I ended up saying.

“That’s ok. There is no reason to feel sorry for anything,” Arnar said, putting a hand on my shoulder. He didn’t seem to understand where I was coming from. I tried to explain what I meant, but it was difficult to put together a coherent sentence when my brain was working at the speed of hundred thoughts per second.

“No, no. I mean… Siggi hates me… because of you… No, no, that’s not it! I mean… Sorry, I’m not making sense.”

“That’s ok.” Arnar’s hand squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “I know Siggi doesn’t like you and I know his reasons. But I also think it’s unfair for you to get all this negativity from him.”

“He hates me because I’m not replacing just a colleague, but his own father, right?” I asked. Arnar’s touch had a surprisingly calming effect on me, making me able to process my thoughts a bit better and produce more coherent sentences.

“That’s the main thing, but it’s more complicated than that. Siggi’s always had to deal with far too many things at once, and me leaving the ISO was the last straw. Then, while all of this was happening to him, I wasn’t around to help him cope with the changes.” Arnar answered. “I guess in a way it’s actually my fault. I let him down twice and I wasn’t there to make up for it. But now that I’m getting better I can spend more time with Siggi. I’ll be around to help him accept the changes in his life, and so hopefully he won’t be so cruel to you.”

“Thank you. I hope your plan works,” I told him. “I really want Siggi to get better.”

“I know. We all do…”

(...)

When it was time to start the concert, the other musicians gradually filled the stage. As per usual, I would be the last one to join them. Since Gummi wasn’t going to conduct our first number, my entrance would signal the official beginning of the concert. This meant I had to watch my colleagues on the stage closely, and only come up when they were ready to play. I stood by the door with Arnar by my side, looking carefully at them to make sure I came in the right moment.

“Good luck, Gunni. You’ll do well,” Arnar said, smiling at me. I appreciated the gesture.

“I hope so. It’s my first time playing live on TV,” I told him. At the stage, Gísli had almost tripped over the percussion instruments, and was saved from a catastrophic fall by one of his fellow percussionists.

“It’s not that different from playing in normal concerts, really. The only thing to watch for is the cables on the ground. Make sure you don’t do what Gísli just did.”

“No, I won’t.” I shook my head. As the orchestra’s leader, I was much more responsible for our public image. If I made a mistake like that, it would be much more embarrassing for all of us. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared to finally walk onto the stage. In Verdi’s Triumphant March, our opening number, the cymbals and trumpets are the first intruments to play, but the cymbals start a fraction of a beat before the trumpets, so the two had to be in good synchrony to nail it without a conductor to properly cue them. The way we got around that was by having me glance towards our trumpets and cymbals once I was settled in my place. We would nod to each other, and then our principal trumpet would take it from there and pretend to be the conductor. “Thanks for being here,” I said to Arnar. “I hope we can talk more later.”

“Of course we can. If you ever want some advice, or if Siggi is bothering you too much, you’re more than welcome to talk to me,” Arnar shook my hand and patted my back. “Dmitri knows where to find me. Have fun, and see you at the break.” Arnar smiled, and I returned the gesture. I straightened my posture, tidied some messy bangs of my hair, and stepped onto the stage. The audience greeted me with their usual cheer, and I took my place next to Santa. We were ready to start.

(...)

We played through the Triumphant March just as we hoped. I could tell that our principal trumpet was having lots of fun pretending to be the conductor. When it was over, he bowed to the audience, made our cymbals player stand up, and shook my hand with an air of important noblemen. We smiled to each other, and some of the players around us laughed. Once the clapping had died down, Gummi finally appeared on stage.

“Good evening, everyone! Thank you for coming tonight, and thank you to those watching at home,” Gummi announced cheerfully. “As you can see, we have a very special programme for you tonight. What you just heard was Verdi’s Triumphant March conducted by Davíð, our principal trumpet.” Gummi pointed to said musician, and the audience applauded him once more. “We are now going to play Handel’s Music for the Royal Fireworks to get even more into the spirit of New Year, and then our very special Concerto for Clarinet and Bassoon. After the interval there will be a change in the programme.” When Gummi mentioned the change in programme, Santa and I looked at each other solemnly. We suspected Gummi would talk about Isaac’s death, and as it turned out, we weren’t wrong. “For the second half of the concert, we will play Beethoven’s third symphony. This change is to mark the passing of a great friend of the ISO, Isaac Anatolyevich Krylov. Isaac played with us every year. He will be greatly missed. We hope Beethoven’s symphony will celebrate his life and his passion for music, so please enjoy the evening, and have a Happy New Year!”

This time around, the clapping took some time to start. People seemed unsure whether they should clap right after hearing the news of someone’s death, but the confusion didn’t last long. We played through the Fireworks with building anticipation. Gummi had not told the audience that real fireworks were going to be set off once we were finished. As we held onto the last note, we glanced expectantly at each other waiting for the explosion. Thankfully, the spectacle happened exactly as planned; nobody got hurt and nothing caught fire. The audience loved it, and so did we.

Next, it was time for our principal clarinet to show off his skills. Vác entered the stage dressed in a dark blue military uniform with a red scarf around his neck. The bassoonist, João Cardoso, wore a similar kind of uniform. He was dark-skinned and his hair was green and spiked up in different directions. The audience gave them their wildest cheering so far, and Vác blushed slightly. Many people in the audience seemed to be dressed as characters from History Walkers, their TV show. I had never seen such a thing at a classical music concert, but it was a welcomed change. These people seemed to be having the time of their lives, and that was all that really mattered.

The two soloists were so well received that they ended up playing an extra number for the audience: a duet for clarinet and bassoon by Beethoven. After that was over, they were applauded enthusiastically for over five minutes. I could see that Vác was blushing slightly, but his fellow soloist seemed to be enjoying the attention. When the audience finally stopped clapping, I got a feeling it was because their hands got too sore more than anything else.

(...)

Before we started playing the second half, Gummi addressed the audience once more. “Hello again, everyone. As I said earlier, we are now going to play Beethoven’s third symphony in memory of our friend Isaac. But just before we play, I would like to say a few words about him.” Gummi paused, and everyone stared at him in absolute silence. Santa lowered his head, and I did the same. “Isaac and I had been friends for more than ten years. I played at his wedding, he played at mine, and two years ago I had to take care of his young son for a weekend because he got involved in an unexpected accident after performing for us. Some of you might remember that night.” Surprisingly, some older people in the front row nodded. “Isaac and his wife were killed in a train accident less than two weeks ago. It was a sudden, tragic loss, and since then I have spent many sleepless nights thinking about him and his family. The ISO has the dubious honour of being the last orchestra to perform with him. He was here just this past November. And now…” Gummi’s voice cracked. His hands were shaking slightly. He took a deep breath, ran his eyes over the audience, and did his best to finish his speech without breaking down. “Now we’ll never have the pleasure to play together again. So now we play for his memory, and for all our years of partnership. Isaac, we won’t forget you or your music. Thank you for listening.”

Nobody clapped at the end of Gummi’s speech. It felt out of place during such a solemn occasion. Santa’s eyes were teary, and I was doing my best to not let the water building up in my eyes block my view of the score. I could see that some other players were crying too.

Despite all that, or maybe because of all that, Beethoven’s Third Symphony was our best number of the night. I could feel everyone’s emotion as we followed Gummi’s lead through the uplifting first movement. The sadness surrounding the second movement, the Marcia Funebre (funeral march), was palpable. But then, for the third and fourth movements the mood changed again, and the music hall was filled with heroic, enthusiastic melodies that set our hearts racing and made us feel alive again. We finished the fourth movement in high spirits, and were glad to see the audience answer to that with just as much enthusiasm.

(...)

“Wow, I can’t believe it’s over! Though now this room is quite crowded…” Dmitri announced, appearing out of nowhere and hugging me from behind. We were backstage, enjoying our usual post-concert party, though this time we had a few reporters and cameras among us.

“What are all those people doing here?” I asked my boyfriend, relaxing my body against his comfortable embrace.

“Apparently Gummi agreed to let them record some of our secret moments to show the rest of the world we are like normal human beings too,” Dmitri answered, ruffing my hair and kissing my cheek. “Do you want to hide away in a corner until all the cameras are gone? They seem pretty focused on Vác and his TV friend, but you never know…” Dmitri began to guide me towards a comfy couch in the corner. Someone had left a plate of muffins and biscuits there, making it even more appealing as a hiding place. “You are kind of a celebrity too, I wonder if they’ll notice you…”

“I really hope not. I feel nervous when everyone is paying attention to me.” I answered, silently praying my wishes would come true. Dmitri and I sat on the couch side by side, with me lying against his chest. My boyfriend caressed my hair, and every now and then he kissed the top of my head or asked to kiss my cheeks and mouth. I mostly kept my eyes closed, using the safety of his touch to calmly process everything that had happened during the concert and over the last few days, particularly the parts concerning Isaac’s death and our tribute to him.

“Looks like some people are taking pictures of us…” Dmitri noticed, though his tone sounded lazy and slow. He didn’t seem too worried about it, so I didn’t think too much about it either. After that, it didn’t take long for Jó and Eiri to appear to take me home. Dmitri had already told me he had plans for the night, so he didn’t come with us this time. We kissed goodbye, hugged one more time, and I left the party with my cousins, still in high spirits because of the good concert and the comfortable cuddles.

(...)

I woke up the next morning with Eiri saying there was a reporter on the phone wanting to talk to me. I took the phone while my brain was still getting used to the idea of being awake, and part of me probably thought I was still dreaming.

“Good morning, Gunni, how are you today?” the reporter asked. He sounded cheerful and friendly.

“Fine, thank you,” I answered, not yet awake enough to even wonder why a reporter was calling my house. The reporter was using just the right tone of voice to get my brain to answer on automatic, bypassing any centres of careful judgement.

“Good, good. Listen, Gunni, I’m calling you because yesterday one of our photographers took an interesting picture of you and your colleague. I’m just wondering what kind of relationship you two have…?”

If I wasn’t so sleepy and slow to think, I probably would have been more cautious talking to that reporter. This sudden interest in my private life was very suspicious, but at that time I didn’t have the brain capacity to notice that. I answered without really thinking. “Are you talking about Dmitri? He’s my boyfriend…”

“Boyfriend, really?” I could almost see the reporter’s eyes shining on the other side of the line. This new red flag was also completely ignored by my sleepy brain. “How long have you been together?”

“Not very long. Since the ISO’s Christmas dinner…” I tried to answer, but the reporter interrupted me very enthusiastically once she apparently had all the details she needed.

“Oh, I see! How great! Dmitri is from Russia, right? And he’s a couple of years older than you, correct?”

“Yes, he’s Russian. And I think he’s in his early twenties, but…”

“Excellent! Well, Gunni, I wish you all the best in your relationship and your career!”

“Thank you.” Before I could say anything else, the reporter hang up. I was left more confused than anything else, but ten minutes later another reporter called. She asked virtually the same questions as the previous one. Even though I was more awake and had begun to realise there was something suspicious about all this, I felt like now that I had already told the truth to one reporter, I couldn’t hide anything from the others. If they found out, they would call me a liar, and I didn’t want that. By lunchtime, two more reporters had called.

“I really don’t like this,” Jó said as soon as the fourth reporter of the day hung up. “This sudden interest in you and Dmitri can’t be good. Maybe you should call him to see how he’s doing.”

I grabbed my phone, intending to do just that, when it started ringing. It was Dmitri. “Hi,” I answered the call.

“Hey, Gunni, how are you doing?” My boyfriend sounded relieved to hear my voice.

“I’m ok. I was just about to call you, actually.”

“Good, ‘cause I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning!” Dmitri nearly shouted. “But you tell your thing first.”

“No, you called. You go first.” I insisted. I actually dreaded talking about the reporters and their creepy questions, I didn’t mind waiting a bit more to discuss it.

“Ok. I got a call this morning from a creepy reporter. I don’t even know how they got my number, but anyway…” When Dmitri mentioned a reporter, my blood went cold. This whole situation had become a lot more worrying. “I was kind of… busy when I got the call, so I might have screwed up in more ways than one…” As he said that, I heard a male voice laughing in the background. I understood what Dmitri meant by ‘busy’, and felt a stab of pain in my chest. I didn’t say anything about it, though, because I had allowed my boyfriend to keep seeing other people. I had agreed to him having sex with other men, even though it made me feel like I had failed my duties as his boyfriend. So I made an effort to forget what he had just implied and concentrate on what else he was saying. “The reporter asked me if we were seeing each other, and I said we were together. Then she asked about my age and if I knew how young you were, and I panicked and didn’t know what to say. I ended up blurting that we have never fucked and she got really happy, thanked me, and hang up. I’m sorry, I think I got us in some kind of trouble.”

“That’s ok. That’s why I was going to call you too,” I told Dmitri. My feeling of dread had become so strong it had settled at the bottom of my stomach, and threatened to force its way out in the nastiest way possible. “Four reporters called this morning. I had just woken up, so I didn’t realise what I was saying until much later. I told them you’re my boyfriend. What do you think they’ll do?”

“Hopefully just run a little story about how their musical celebrity of the moment is gay and has a love life,” Dmitri answered, but he didn’t sound very confident in his own words. The male laughter sounded in the background again. “Look, Gunni, I’m glad I was finally able to talk to you, but I think I have to go now. Don’t speak to any more reporters. I’ll call you later tonight or tomorrow, ok?”

“Ok. What are you…?” I started to ask, even though I dreaded the answer just as much as I dreaded what the reporters were going to write about us.

“Nothing you need to worry about. I just need to shower and get away from this place before they decide to charge me for an extra day. These hotel people are horrible, I tell you.” Dmitri spoke openly. He believed he didn’t have to hide anything from me, even the fact that he spent night with another guy in a hotel room, with all that it implied. I couldn’t tell him otherwise, and I wouldn’t. Not now, at least.

“Good luck. Let’s keep in touch until we figure out what’s happening.”

“Sure, I’ll keep you posted. Kisses, kisses, and goodbye!”

“Kisses to you too…” Dmitri hung up. I tried not to imagine him naked in a hotel room with a sexy stranger that, really, was all someone like him needed. I tried to take my mind away from the feeling that I wasn’t being a good enough boyfriend, but as soon as I thought about the word ‘boyfriend’ I remembered the reporters, and then another kind of pain settled in my chest.

All the reporters knew was that I was in a relationship with Dmitri and that we cuddled after the concert. What could they do with that kind of information? Could they really find something awful to say? Why would they want to do such a thing anyway?

Unfortunately, it didn’t take long to find out.