in it. and I regretted not asking Uncle Simon for some flowers to bring.
"Right on time," he said smiling. "Chandler was a little early. He likes to spend more time warming up," he explained, raising his voice over the sound of the piano, which seemed to get louder.
He led me to the living room on the left. It had modest, colonial furnishings with a large dark brown oval rug. The grand piano was prominent, actually too large for the room, which was well-lit by a ceiling fixture and two standing lamps, as well as the small lamp on the piano. Mr. Wengrow had set up my music stand to the right, with its clipped light already on and waiting for my sheet music.
Chandler was dressed like he dressed for school, a tie and slacks. He didn't look up or stop playing when I entered. Both Mr. Wengrow and I watched him for a few moments and then Mr. Wengrow nodded toward my stand. I took my violin out of its case and stepped up. Chandler finally lifted his fingers from the keys and turned to me.
"I didn't know you were taking private lessons," he said.
I wanted to say, How would you Now? You never say two words to me at school, but instead. I nodded and said, "Mr. Wengrow just told me about you. too."
"Oh?" He looked at our teacher.
"Don't you two see each other at school?" he asked innocently. "I just assumed..."
I looked at Chandler.
"We see each other," he said, his eyes softening and becoming impish, I thought. "But we've never exchanged resumes," he added.
"Well, now you both know. Shall we begin?" Mr. Wengrow said. And started to outline what he hoped to accomplish.
Almost immediately I made one mistake after another, and sounded like a first-year student. I became even more flustered because of that and made more mistakes.
"Take your time," Mr. Wenuoiv kept saying.
Every time we had to stop. Chandler lifted his fingers off the keys but held them hovering there and stared ahead. He said nothing encouraging. Finally, he stood up.
"Why don't you work with her for a few minutes solo. Mr. Wenzrow? I have to make a phone call anyway," he added and, without waiting for a response, walked out of the room.
I felt like bursting into tears. "I'm sorry," I said.
"It's all right. Every time you do something different, you'll have some butterflies. With time and experience, you'll find ways to overcome it. I'm sure. Let's c,o back and do this one more time." he urged patiently.
After a while I did feel myself calm down. When Chandler returned, he glanced at me quickly but took his place at the piano and waited for Mr. Wengrow's instructions. We played on and I did better and better, so much better, in fact. that Chandler started to glance at me, his eyes revealing
appreciation.
"Good," Mr. Wengrow muttered. nodding. "Good. That's it. Good. Well. Chandler," he said stepping back when we ended. "was I right about Miss Forman or not?"
"You were very much right," Chandler said, glancing at me and then standing.
"Shall we say same time, same night next week?" Mr. Wengrow asked.
"It's fine with my schedule," Chandler said. "Honey?"
"What? Oh. yes," I said.
"Good night, Mr. Wengrow," Chandler said, and started out. I put my violin away quickly.
"You both have the makings of fine musicians, Honey," Mr. Wengrow said. "I have high hopes."
"Thank you," I said. I heard the front door open and close.
He has as much personality as a dead snail, I thought. I felt stupid now even worrying about what I wore, what I looked like. I almost wished I had smelled like a cow when I arrived. He needs something-sharp stinging his nostrils, I concluded. I never knew a boy could stir such rage in me without saying a word.
Mr. Wengrow followed me to the door to say good night. I thanked him and left, my head down as I walked.
"Watch your step." I heard, and looked up quickly to see Chandler waiting at his car, leaning against it, his arms folded.