Maestro by Thomma Lyn Grindstaff Read Free Book Online

said, still smiling a little. “You certainly seem as though you're in your right mind, so I won't worry about you. At any rate, you must have had a backstage pass to get in here, and I hope you enjoyed the concert.”
    “I loved it. That Rachmaninoff concerto is one of my very favorites.”
    “For me, too.” He straightened up, winked at her, and gave his suit coat a decisive tug as though he had somewhere to go.
    Of course, Wilhelm Dahl would have plenty of places to go, and he couldn't stand here backstage talking to an unknown young woman all night. What would she do, if he went off to wherever his ex-wife had wanted him to go, or to a hotel room, or perhaps even to the airport to catch a flight to goodness-knew-where? She couldn't follow him around like a lost puppy dog. What would she do here in 1973 if he went his way and she had to go hers, stranded like a 2010 girl out of modern water? She wanted to smack herself. Yes, it was a wonder and a joy to encounter Maestro in his past and to talk with him, to see something of the man he had been. What an idiot she'd been, though, to not think beyond simply getting here. At least she had some money in her jeans pockets. She hoped like hell that whenever she needed to spend it, people wouldn't look too closely at the dates on the bills.
    And she couldn't forget: the dying Maestro needed her in 2010 a whole lot more than this Maestro did in 1973.
    Oh, what a mess!
    Something of her panic must have shown in her eyes, because he leaned over her again as she sat on the bench. “Would you like to come with me to get something to eat?”
    She felt a smile break out all over her face. “I'd love to, except...” She didn't want to go to that snooty sounding place and encounter Elena. Why she should have taken such a strong dislike to Elena, she didn't know... or maybe she just didn't want to admit why.
    Maestro smiled then, so wide his dimples showed. She'd always thought it adorable that a man with such a masculine face as Maestro should have dimples. “We won't go to the Trattoria Dell'Arte. We'll go anywhere you want. Just name the place.”
    Annasophia's smile withered. “I don't know any places around here. I'm... well, I'm a newcomer to New York City.”
    Maestro's brow quirked a little. “You are quite an enigma, aren't you? Well, it's all right. We'll go somewhere nice and cozy, where we can talk. And please don't worry. I won't pry.”
    Her smile returned, full bloom. “Thank you, Maestro,” she said softly, before she even knew she'd said it. Oops. Too late now.
    “What?” For a moment, his attention seemed to turn inward. “There's something about you...” He trailed off and extended a hand to her. “We'll go to Petrossian. You'll love the foie gras . I promise.”
    Though she'd heard the term, Annasophia had no idea what foie gras was. It didn't matter. She would pig out on crabgrass salad all night as long as it meant she could spend more time in Maestro's company.
    There was one little thing, though. She was hardly dressed for a place that served something like foie gras.
    “Maestro... um, I mean, Mr. Dahl, I mean...” She pressed her lips shut.
    He grinned. “I rather like Maestro . It's very sweet, coming from you.”
    A warm feeling grew in her chest until she thought it would get too big for her to contain it. “I'm not exactly dressed for a fancy restaurant.” She gestured to her blue jeans.
    “It's okay. You can change before we go. Where are you staying?”
    “Please.” She looked deeply into his eyes. “Like I told you. I'm a traveler. And please no questions. I'm not staying anywhere, and I don't have any other clothes but these.”
    If he was going to bail on her, he would surely do it now. Crazy young woman. Druggie. Flaky hippie chick. Someone he wanted nothing to do with, could want nothing to do with. She looked down at her slip-on shoes. At least she hadn't worn her cruddy sneakers. Any moment now, Maestro would back away, make