Mr. Mouthful

2. Josh-3

The auditorium was noisy. Musicians were pulling their instruments from cases and shuffling sheet music, all while talking as loud as they could. From what I could gather, most of them hadn’t seen each other since the former conductor died. I heard the name of the new conductor whispered over and over as I made my way to my seat. Though a piece of paper taped to the metal chair had my name on it, I knew exactly where I’d be; dead last. I was the new guy.

Next to me was a large woman with bright burgundy hair pulled back in a bun. When I sat, she grabbed my wrist and started taking my pulse.

“Um, hi? What are you doing?”

She dropped my hand, took off her glasses and grinned, her green eyes gleaming. “Why hello, sweet pea. My name is Onnie Belle Sanford, and I’m your new bestie.” The woman’s southern accent was thick. “Just checking to make sure you’ll live through this. Your first day and all.” Then she reached under her seat and pulled a small tin out and passed it to me.

“Go on, open it. I promise they aren’t poisoned or nothin’.”

I pried the lid off and to my delight, it was filled with butter cookies with pecans on top. The smell was out of this world. Between this woman and the leftover pastries at the coffee shop I would be pushing maximum density before I knew it.

“Oh my God, thank you!” I pulled one out and bit into it. Damn, it was better than any of the cookies at work. Maybe I could get her to bake some for us? “These are delicious.”

“All the new cellists get a tin. I’m glad you like them.” She sat back in her chair and glanced around the room. “I was taking your pulse, because we’ve had two cellist die in the last four years. Glad they got a healthy young buck like you for a change.”

The cookie went down the wrong pipe and I choked. Onnie Belle patted me on the back.

“Don’t be alarmed, sugar, they were both men of advanced years. Hateful bastards too if you ask me. You, on the other hand, look like an angel.” She cooed then nodded her head toward the front of the stage. The human resources director, Angela, was talking to one of the musicians. She was tall with dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Angela noticed me and gave a little wave.

“What do you think of her?” Onnie Belle muttered through the side of her mouth.

“She seems nice so far, very helpful.”

“Don’t believe a word she says.” She whispered, then smiled in Angela’s direction. I waved back and wondered what Onnie Belle had against the woman.

“So, um why do you…”

“Trust me. She will say anything to get her way. You could have an open heart surgery planned and she will guilt you into postponing it so you will perform an extra show. I swear to everything holy that’s what killed Creighton, our former conductor. Ruthless, that’s what she is. You want to know how to tell when she’s lying?” I nodded, biting back a smile.

“You know how they have all those f*******: quizzes about how to spot a liar? How they cross their legs funny or squirm in their seats? With Angela it’s much easier to figure out. She’ll look you dead in the eye and start moving her lips.”

“Ha!” I laughed, then offered her a cookie. There was nothing like a crazy southern lady gossiping to brighten your day. After a couple of bites she turned to me again.

“Have you met Mr. Mouthful yet?” She lifted one painted eyebrow. I had no idea who she was talking about, but he certainly sounded interesting.

“Who might that be?”

“You know, our new conductor. That name of his, who the hell can pronounce it?” She giggled. “Kuzzyov? Netzikoff? Jeez, why aren’t conductors ever named Sam, or Mary?”

I had to admit, she had a point. Still, I couldn’t wait for him to show up for our rehearsal. I was intrigued, not only by his good looks, but by his pedigree. I’d only spent a few minutes stalking him online, but I found out he’d been nominated for a Grammy two years ago. Working with him would be an excellent experience.

Angela was at the front of the stage motioning for the orchestra to be silent.

“Welcome back to work. Though it’s sad that Creighton is no longer with us, we must soldier on. Fortunately for us, we have the honor of being led by our new musical director Sergei Mikhailovich Kuznetsov, who thankfully goes by the name Serge.” The orchestra laughed. “He will not work with you this week because he’s busy finalizing our touring schedule for the upcoming season. Our assistant conductor Phillip Capone is conducting rehearsals in his place.”

The room buzzed for a minute at the news. I wanted to meet Serge, and from the whispers around me so did everyone else. Angela made a few more announcements, turned to leave and then stopped in front of the cellists.

“Josh, would you stop by my office after rehearsals? We need you to fill out some paperwork.”