He was young.
Black.
Maybe twenty.
“Yes?”
“Are you supposed to be up here?”
There was no hostility in the question.
Only uncertainty.
Lila reached for the card hanging around her neck.
It had slipped beneath the collar of her dress.
PERFORMER.
The server relaxed.
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Need water?”
“Yes, please.”
He smiled.
“Still or sparkling?”
“Regular?”
He laughed.
“Best answer all night.”
He left.
Celeste watched the interaction.
Then looked toward Gregory.
“She is performing?”
Apparently Lila heard.
She turned slightly.
“Yes.”
Celeste became embarrassed for half a second.
Then recovered.
“Wonderful.”
The word sounded exactly like the kind of wonderful adults used with children whose drawings they had not examined.
“What are you playing?”
Lila looked at her.
“Three pieces.”
“What pieces?”
“One by Bach.”
Celeste nodded approvingly.
“Very appropriate.”
“One by Florence Price.”
Celeste’s face changed.
She clearly knew the name but not well enough to respond immediately.
“And one I wrote.”
Gregory smiled.
“You wrote a piece?”
“Yes.”
“At eleven?”
“Yes.”
He chuckled.
“Well.”
He lifted his champagne.
“That is confidence.”
Lila looked directly at him.
“I’m ten.”
Gregory’s smile faltered.
Celeste laughed.
This time at him.
“Careful, Gregory.”
Lila turned back to the keys.
Celeste asked:
“What is your piece called?”
Lila hesitated.
“Blue Line, 6:14 A.M.”
Margaret frowned.
“That sounds modern.”
Lila had no idea what that meant.
“Yes.”
Celeste asked:
“What is it about?”
“My dad going to work.”
The answer surprised them.
Gregory looked toward the child’s simple dress again.
“What does your father do?”
Lila felt something inside her harden.
“He fixes boilers.”
Gregory nodded as if that answer completed something.
“Ah.”
Just one syllable.
But Lila understood.
Her father had taught her about tone long before Helena taught her about phrasing.
Tone was what people meant when they were careful with words.
Celeste noticed Lila’s face.
“You must be very proud of him.”
Lila looked at her.
“I am.”
Then:
“He’s better at his job than you are at pretending you didn’t just judge him.”
Gregory nearly choked on his drink.
Margaret’s mouth opened.
Helena closed her eyes.
“Lila.”
She finally approached.
Lila looked down.
“Sorry.”
Celeste stared at the child.
Helena stopped beside the piano.
“Mrs. Whitmore.”
“Dr. Park.”
Recognition.
Celeste sat on the foundation’s education committee and knew exactly who Helena was.