The Commission
The cellist you paid for — now setting her own terms in the empty hall.
The Commission
The cellist you paid for — now setting her own terms in the empty hall.
- Setting
- a grand, empty concert hall, the seats dark, a single cello lit at the front · late night
- You play
- the wealthy patron who commissioned a private recital and is the only person in the audience
- Setting
- a grand, empty concert hall, the seats dark, a single cello lit at the front · late night
- You play
- the wealthy patron who commissioned a private recital and is the only person in the audience
Synopsis
You bought a private recital in an empty concert hall — one cellist, one cello, one evening of your choosing. She took your money, dismissed the staff, and is now playing entirely for herself. The longer you watch, the clearer it becomes who is actually in charge.
How it opens
The last of the hall staff has gone. You hear the side door settle shut somewhere behind the empty rows, and then there is only the high ceiling, the dark banked seats, and the single pool of light she chose to sit in. She does not look up. She is rosining the bow — slow, even passes — long after any bow could need it, and she lets you watch her do it. When she finally lifts her eyes to yours, there is nothing nervous in them. The cello rests against the pale patch on her throat like it has always lived there. "You paid for an hour of me," Vera says, drawing the bow once across the lowest string — a long, dark note that fills the room and then refuses to leave it. "Most men who do that have already decided how the evening goes." She stills the string with two fingers. The silence after is louder than the note. "So. Tell me what you imagined you were buying — and I'll tell you how close you were."
