A Taste of Candor

Chapter 5

~Tahlia.

If I were a writer of the romance novels I enjoyed reading in my spare time, I would have likely written in some entertaining padding material regarding Simon Bale's week playing in our home band—thrown in laughable anecdotes of his rudeness to the other musicians and constant friction with the band director. But given writing books is not one of my talents, I will not prove presumptuous by doing so. Suffice it to say Mr. Bale lasted all of six and a half days before my father finally granted the request our band director had been making since day one and fired him.

The band had performed two concerts with Mr. Bale at the head of the saxophone section, and his performances were always stellar, to be fair. His technique was second to none, and each solo was as dazzling as the last. Not to mention his monstrous sound, which filled the entire chamber, yet never became obnoxious or piercing.

The main problem, aside from interpersonal issues, was that Mr. Bale stood out too much. We had come downstairs to hear our band, after all, but this man played as if all the others were only there to accompany him. He would often take the allotted improvisation time for three players all to himself, and though he filled the space with ingenious idea after ingenious idea, I couldn't help but notice the disappointment on the other musicians' faces.

Mr. Bale did not leave on good terms, either. He departed in a sour mood, cursing my father to his face and berating his fellow musicians as being "not good enough to keep up" as he went. My father's face became hardened steel at his words, but he refrained from replying. When a servant shut the door behind Mr. Bale, all present in the room—namely myself, my parents, and our band director—breathed a collective sigh.

"With all due respect, Mr. Paige," the director said after a moment of serene silence, "I'm beginning to lose faith in the guild, if men such as him and Mr. Reins truly bear their stamp of approval."

I stifled a snicker at the mention of Mr. Reins, whose bandmates had proclaimed him to have the memory of a goldfish. He had barely attained to the age of thirty, yet misplaced things like an old man, even going so far as to forget to bring his trumpet on stage on three separate occasions. He had done nothing malicious to be fired; he simply had proven himself too incompetent.

"...can't afford to forget you came from the guild yourself, Director." my father said as I began tuning back into the conversation.

"I know that, Mr. Paige, but ... it's as if the guild has changed since you hired me. They don't demand the same excellence they used to, it seems."

My father laughed. "It would be unwise to judge an entire orchard based on a few bad apples."

"Well yes, but how many bad apples can one man eat before he grows sick?" The director's eyes managed to appear both earnest and humorous all at once.

"You make a good point. I'll visit the guild's office myself and explain our situation. Perhaps they'll improve their screening process if they are made aware the Paiges' patronage is on the line."

"That would be wise. Thank you, Mr. Paige."

My father dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Of course."

With that, the director stepped away and left me with my parents. I came very near to backing away and excusing myself as well, but then I noticed a mischievous glance pass between the two of them, which naturally piqued my interest and kept me in place.

"You two are grinning at one another as if you have plans to eat me." I remarked with a sly smirk of my own, "I believe I am owed an explanation."