Chicago 1990

"Where is Aunt Susie?"

At night, in the small recording studio on the top floor of Highland Park, Song Ya, who was chatting with Shakira about we are one, heard footsteps at the door and asked casually.

"They've all gone back to Hyde Park, and Tony said you wouldn't be allowed to hold a celebration party here, so...you can only go back."

It was Xue Linfen's voice, and Shakira instantly put down her hand pressing the keyboard keys and moved a little farther.

"Sorry."

Song Ya looked back at Xue Linfen who was holding the door, "I thought it was Goodman... he also went home?"

"No, I'm still waiting for you in the study." Xue Linfen replied.

"Well, I will leave for a while."

Had to say to Shakira, got up and walked to the door, "You also have to rest early, you have worked hard today." Song Ya said to Xue Linfen again.

"Fortunately, I will send a plane to pick up Little Robb and Little Jon? Can you?" Xue Linfen asked.

"Of course, I miss them too."

When Song Ya left the studio, Xue Linfen walked in, "I used to play drums." She said.

"Wow..." Shakira sighed.

"I have lived with a rock band since I was a child. My mother is a keyboard player, an aunt is a singer, and an aunt who can play bass, called suzi quatro..."

"I have heard of suzi quatro! He is your aunt!?"

"Yes……"

Hehe, just talk, Song Ya rest assured to go to the study.

Goodman was lying halfway on the sofa watching an old movie. Two glasses of whiskey were already poured on the coffee table next to him. "I will start rehearsing with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra tomorrow?" He asked Song Ya closing the door.

"Yes."

Starting with Barenboi on December 1, due to the strike in Chicago last month, the shooting progress of the football stunner can only be postponed for four days. "Mr. Barenboi is already very upset. "Song Ya picked up the cup and took a sip.

"I heard that the symphony center is going to be renovated," Goodman said.

"is it?"

The Chicago Symphony Center is the base of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra. It has a history of one hundred years. "Then I will ask Donovan to help figure out a number?" It is necessary to donate a sum of money.

"Ok."

The two of them were watching TV and chatting about the Barn case. This case has been thoroughly studied by the Dream Lawyers, and the external situation has gradually become more relaxed. Goodman is needed to help him solve his doubts. Rarely, "Chuck, I plan to... limit Connie's wallet, what do you think?" Song Ya changed the subject.

Connie provoked Tony's beating and grabbing a car. She didn't seem to be guilty today.

"How to limit? She gets'salary' from Susie's charity foundation. That foundation... just got Oprah's $10 million in funding not long ago." Goodman smiled bitterly, "I can't do this. You have to persuade the relatives yourself."

"Well, I'm looking for a chance."

Song Ya scratched her head, "Uh, next time Xue Linfen asks you to help adjust the private jet, it's best to ask what she is going to use for it, and don't let her bring people I don't want to see directly to the house suddenly."

"You don't want to see Bill McKennick?" Goodman asked rhetorically.

"No, I mean to ask beforehand if you encounter this situation in the future... Anyway, you know what I mean."

"Ok, I understand."

Early the next morning, Old Mike parked his car in front of the Chicago Symphony Center. A hundred years ago, this Georgian nine-story building was probably the most magnificent and magnificent on the entire Michigan Avenue, but it has now been surrounded by skyscrapers. It is a little low and old, "Don't get out of the car."

Old Mike doesn't care about the appearance of the building. What he is worried about is the front door facing the street. This old-fashioned theater layout is just a pedestrian walkway. He uses the walkie-talkie to instruct the front and rear bodyguards to get off and go to the wall.

"what happened to you?"

Shakira noticed that Song Ya's spirit suddenly became somewhat sluggish, and asked concerned.

"It's nothing."

In the cold morning light, two people stopped to chat at the entrance of the Symphony Center. They were double bass players, because they all carried a taller double bass box. The largest bowed string instrument even needed one at the bottom of the box. The small wheels make it easy for the musicians to move with the heavy burden on their backs.

This scene again brought himself a piece of the Apocalypse movie, so now a little dizzy, Song Ya slowed down for ten seconds, and then lovingly kissed the Latin girl next to him.

"So nervous! I'll see Barenboi himself in a while..."

The director, conductor, and pianist of one of the world's top ten symphony orchestras is naturally an idol in the minds of musicians, Shakira said longingly.

"Hey, I know him well, and he likes the symphony I created."

The bodyguard drove the two double bass players into the door, but no paparazzi was found. Old Mike signaled for safety, went down and opened the back seat door, Song Ya took Shakira’s hand and walked across the trail quickly without forgetting herself. Brag.

"I don't think it's safe here..."

Old Mike's eyes are always attracted by the musical instruments of the musicians coming and going, as if the killer will take out the prestigious Chicago typewriter from it in the next second: the Thomson submachine gun that is easy to carry and hide.

"Don't make trouble here, just relax, Mike."

Song Ya didn't want to interfere with the classical musicians here, "Actually I feel that the security level can be lowered, what do you think?"

Motula completely cut off the way back to Sony Columbia Records, so even if he died, the revenue from the commemorative album has nothing to do with him. Since he can't get any economic and performance benefits, a rational professional manager A person should not rush to a killer just for personal vengeance or outrage. He should know that doing so requires his life to bear the consequences.

Goodman did the same analysis last night.

"Fate is yours and not mine." Old Mike replied silently.

"Anyway, keep a low profile in this building. I think... it's better to be in awe of the traditions and techniques of classical music."

Song Ya smiled.

Earlier, he visited the last few rehearsals of the Game of Thrones symphony. He walked through the building with ease and quickly found the large rehearsal room assigned to Baba Yetu.

"OK! Now you tell me, is it faster or slower?"

As soon as I walked to the door, I heard Barenboi's voice, "Is it fast or slow!?" This is a soundproof door. It is not hard to imagine how loud the top conductor inside is roaring.

"Don't you go in?" Shakira asked.

"Hush." ​​Song Ya smirked and told her not to make a sound, and then put her ear to the door, so she did the same.

"Unbelievable! How could they accept a mentally handicapped into the orchestra! Do you understand the staff?! Tell me what it is!?"

"eighth note."

"what is this?"

"With a sixteenth note."

"So you can understand! Then you answer me now...is it faster or slower!?"

Barenboi seemed to be training musicians, very irritable, "Answer!" he roared.

"almost?"

"Oh my God! I didn't even find a pig hidden in the band! Get out of here! Go eat your Big Mac set meal! Get out of your place!" Barenboi answered this very much. Not satisfied, full of fragrance.

Shakira heard the sound of smashing things, the sound of the chair falling, and then the sound of getting closer and closer.

"Yes! Very good! That's it! Crying and chirping out of mother's room like a nine-year-old girl! That's it! Fatty..."

She hurriedly jumped away after hearing these words, but found that Song Ya was still stupidly putting her ears on the door, reaching out and trying to pull it, but there was no time, the door was opened from the inside, Song Ya fell into her place and held the cello, already crying In the arms of the young fat man full of face.

"I'm sorry." Song Ya quickly apologized. Her reaction was a little unresponsive just now, because there was another film apocalyptic, but in the play, a jazz band conductor was training a drummer.

But the other party was not in the mood to pay attention to him, covered his eyes with his hand and brushed past, and quickly disappeared at the end of the corridor...

Now that the door was opened, Song Ya found that the eyes of the musicians had been on him, so he had to bite the bullet and walk in, "I'm here, Mr. Barenboi."

The atmosphere inside is depressing and frightening. There are more than 30 musicians in total. The young people hang their heads down and don't even dare to raise their eyelids. These people are usually alternate musicians, who just made eye contact with themselves. They are the older chiefs of various voices. Such official members are all well-known figures in the classical music industry. They are most likely to be world-renowned soloists or have professorships in the conservatory of music.

"Ha, finally it's our great composer's turn to play."

Barenboi, who was still in full anger, was simply the only lion in the room. He glanced over and stopped looking at himself. He cleared up the scores on the podium and said to the musicians: "Why? Shouldn't you applaud and welcome? Oh, the long overdue star brought his little girlfriend, and the Chicago Symphony Orchestra should create a dedicated couples podium for them! Don’t be in a daze! Applause everyone!

Several young musicians really clapped their hands immediately.

Too embarrassing, yin and yang are weird, they are almost publicly executed, "Yes, I'm sorry... the set is really going... can't go away..."

The pressure was overwhelmed in an instant, and Shakira was not taken care of for the time being, Song Ya whispered an apology that he might come back to participate in the rehearsal.

"No, no, no, no need to apologize aplus, you saved me, and I can finally go back to continue my humble job and take care of Mr. Brahms."

Barenboi pressed a large stack of music scores on Song Ya's chest, and then just slammed the door away.

"I……"

Song Ya froze in place holding the music score, his mind blank.

The rehearsal room, which was quiet enough to be heard by the needle, had a lot of noise immediately after Barenboi left. The young musicians who were just like wooden men looked up at themselves, as if waiting for the new conductor's order, and at the same time relaxed. A loose and rigid body.

Shakira was crying somehow, her head hanging down and standing by the door, her face was completely covered by her newly dyed golden hair, big tears fell to the floor, pattering.

who am I?where am I?what should I do?