ANGELIA

(AUTHOR’ NOTE: This is inspired by a woman I just met, and I couldn’t wait to write this (biographical) fiction. It’s my first draft and I know it needs a lot of work. I just want to get some feedback from the group to see if this is interesting enough to pursue. I’ve written three chapters, which are really letters; hence the title “My Epistles To Angelia.” I actually do not have a middle and an ending to the story, as these are dictated by my future with this romantic interest. It could become the shortest novel ever written in the history of romance.)


My EPISTLES TO ANGELIA
(The Ramblings of a Shy Ivy League Snob)

ONE


Angelia’s letter to Lawrence has found its way to Boston, Wellesley College where he plays chamber music for the Chamber Music Conference. Ten composers are in residence at Wellesley for the summer, holding fellowships. A small orchestra, composed of professional and some serious amateurs, has been assembled to rehearse and perform their works.

It was an unexpected and pleasant surprise for Lawrence to receive Angelia’s letter. He has heard of Angelia through Lilly--a mutual friend, and editor for the monthly SAT Magazine, a glossy magazine for the upscale and elite of San Antonio, Texas. That was about a month ago. Angelia had seen a feature article about him in the magazine and signified her interest in meeting him to Lilly. He has planned to give Lilly his heartfelt thanks for providing Angelia his contact information, and to him: her phone number. The music conference has prompted him to delay contacting Angelia, but was seriously considering writing her or calling her as soon as the conference was over.

But in truth, he is a very shy man who always procrastinates at contacting women for an introductory meeting, whether in person or by phone. That’s why he appreciates and is thankful that Angelia has taken the initiative to establish the first contact. He likes that in a woman. It takes the pressure away from him.

Angelia’s letter is embellished with artwork – her own, she had said. That, combined with her sketch — a self-portrait, certainly shows him that she is a creative and artistic person. She certainly sounds intriguing, he says to himself, and her interest in music, the arts, and literature mirror my own.

Now at about six in the morning -- but he’s been awake for several hours watching the sky change colors – he will send a page of a reply.

Dear Angelia, he begins. I found your description as to how you came to write your letter very interesting. I find it fascinating to ponder how and why we do certain things and how these actions can sometimes have far reaching effects on our lives. Thank you very much for the attention of your letter, and for liking my short story in SAT Magazine that won the annual fiction contest. I'm glad you found the picture the used to portray my beautiful heroine less than flattering. If I had a copy here I would send you the vicious letter I sent to SAT about the illustration. I protested the artist had no right to do that to my story. When I get home, I'll try to remember to send it for you to look at. A good, mean, witty letter, I thought. SAT printed it too, two issues later, maybe.

Your interest in Hemingway impresses me. We can talk about Hemingway anytime. I have two Hemingway papers I have to write in September but I'm pretty much out of the Hemingway racket now. The bio of Hemingway, by Jeffrey Meyers, Vol. II of his Hemingway book, gives the background on Garden Of Eden. Hemingway, first wife Hadley (the nicest one of them, I think) and Pauline, who would become second wife, did have such a relationship as the novel describes. I've not seen the original manuscript. Gender issues in Hemingway are popular scholarly topics, but much of it is dwaddle, I think.

The title of my story: "A Girl Who..." is a callow expression, in a way. It's fair for you to be sensitive to it. Women, especially professional women like yourself, should not be referred to as girls. But for years and years I used that expression, in part, to describe a dream woman. I agree, though, sounds like a Playboy feature on the "Girls of the Southeast Conference." That's a magazine I don't read anymore. My subscription expired two years ago. I always know mail from that outfit, or outfits to whom they've sold my name. Mail always comes addressed to "Lawrence." I haven't been Lawrence since . . .I can't remember. That another long story.

I'm like Dan in the story. "Richard" is only in the opening, barely a character. "Richard" in real life, whatever that is turned out to be a real snake. I simply refer to him, among mutual acquaintances, as "the snake." They know who I mean.

I'm a little tired of San Antonio, and I'm almost sure next year, by September, I will be living abroad, I imagine in Germany. To that end, I am taking intensive German at U.C. the next three terms.

I'm here playing chamber music for the first half of August Composers Conference, Chamber Music Conference. I remember the years--long ago--when I played bridge, sometimes someone would sit on a game and first say, "We're just playing for fun, aren't we?" When you meet with your string quartet players here for a first rehearsal you don't begin by saying, "We're just playing this for fun, aren't we?" Nor do you say, "First time, can we take this a little slow, maybe an adagio rather than an andante?" Nor do you say when tuning, "Does my A sound all right to you? Is it a little low maybe? I have a lot of trouble with my strings, all this humidity," Nor do you say, when someone points out that you missed the key change to F major, no more E-flats, "How do you remember the names of all those keys? That's amazing to me." Nor do you say, of Mozart, "Oh, he was a genius, of course, and all that piano stuff, but too bad he didn't know how to write for the violin.

This, on the other hand, is a good sort of line to speak. I'm ready to use it if there's an opening. I'll say, "You're right. There is no fingering for these chromatic passages that isn't awkward. I've found you just have to think of it enharmonically and play it in `half position.' Schubert was a pianist anyway. What can you expect?"

One of the "coaches," that is, one of the professional teachers brought in for us, said, casually, "People are inclined to forget that Rachmaninoff was one of the great pianists of the century, of the whole romantic tradition really, as well as a composer." I halted everybody, saying, "Rachmaninoff: he was a composer too?"

For three days I have been rehearsing at close to professional standards one of the Dvorak quartets, playing Violin II. I had practiced it for weeks in San Antonio (having the music in advance) but still found I would get lost--hoping for someone to call out a bar number or a rehearsal letter. I wasn't the only one struggling, though. Violin I was playing all the notes but her tone wasn't something you'd want to hear in a solo passage.

I'll wait in rehearsal this morning for the coach to look nonchalantly at the score and say, "Let's see, do we have bar numbers here?" And I'll say, "You know, I was wondering about that, too. I've got a whole list of bar numbers in San Antonio, but where do you get a good drink in Wellesley, Mass?"

In two hours I have a first rehearsal for a Mozart piano trio (piano, violin, cello). I probably shouldn't be drinking so much coffee.

At this point, Lawrence realizes that his one-page letter is no more. He counted the pages: three so far. And he doesn’t want to quit yet. Angelia has inspired him to write again, even if an epistle only. He has been concentrating in chamber orchestra that he hasn’t found any time to write.

Fooling aside, the company is excellent, and though I don't remember anyone's name, I enjoy being here. And the coaches are very good indeed.

I brought Emerson's essays to read, this being Boston, and Boswell's "Life of Johnson."

I’m flattered you asked for my photo. There's no picture of me here, but you've seen the one with the story. I have one I could send at home. I'll be back by the 20th of August or so. Call me. The best time to call is early morning or early evening, or anytime during the day, really, before 7:30. At 7:30 the calls start from arts organizations, and newspapers, and charities.

Sincerely
(appreciating the attention of your flattering letter)
Lawrence

Lawrence pauses for a minute, pen still in one hand, tapping his desk, and the four stationery sheets in the other. He debates his next step internally then reviews the letter. Halfway through reading it, he decides that it sounds pretentious . . . all those statements about the dead composers/musicians. Angelia will certainly think he’s an Ivy League snob. In reality, he’s only a painfully shy Ivy League snob.

He wants to impress Angelia in the way that she has impressed him. This letter is not going to do it.

The four-page epistle finds its way in his wastebasket.

Maybe he’ll call her tomorrow.

Would she send another letter, he wonders, if she doesn’t get any reply from him?