The Heart to Help

1

The concert headlined a violinist Grady James had never heard of, the venue small but elegantly appointed. Whoever had coordinated the event had chosen a movie palace restored to its golden age glory, with wide, curving staircases gilded in gold leading to the balcony levels, and a six-foot chandelier spotlighting the mural painted on the arched ceiling. Tables draped in luxurious ivory linens already dotted the lobby for the champagne soiree to follow the scheduled program. For a minor fundraiser, his father would be proud.

Music filtered through the closed doors, delicate and almost ephemeral. Classical would never have been his first choice, even in a venue such as this. The people who typically bought tickets for this kind of concert were not the types to hand out even more afterward. They had a tendency to consider the performance their due, and attempting to get further money from them was often considered bad form. Better to aim for a more youthful audience, people who would walk out of a show with their hearts racing, adrenaline pumping. It was easier to engage them emotionally, then, which made it easier to open their wallets.

He waited for a burst of applause to slip inside unnoticed. The theater was half-full, though he had no way of knowing how many people might sit in the balconies. More, he hoped. They would barely clear costs if this was the final tally.

Sliding into an aisle seat a few rows behind the closest patron, he scanned the audience, only half an ear cocked to the quintet onstage. He saw backs of heads, mostly, silhouettes of strangers he would have to find some way to engage over drinks and canapés. Any one of them could have been one of his father’s friends back in Manhattan. That made his job both simpler and more tedious. Relocating to Chicago was supposed to provide a new challenge for him. The last thing he wanted was more of the same pompous stuffed shirts he’d gladly left behind.

One profile in particular stood out from the others. Its owner sat straight and tall, the top of his head several inches above his neighbors’. His hair wasn’t as well-kept as the others, the ends hitting his collar and recoiling in soft waves. Younger, then. Lean, as well, if the strong jut of his chin was any indication. Grady shifted in his seat, leaning to the side to try and get a better look at the man’s face. All he caught was the dark shadow of a beard and what appeared to be a small smile, but it was enough to intrigue him. He would be the first one Grady sought out at the party. There was a story to his presence; Grady was sure of it. And any story that drew a young man to what was clearly a stodgy charity concert was worth a king’s ransom when it came to raising funds.

Nobody else in the audience struck him as interesting. When the quintet finished the final selection, he clapped along with the rest, but then remained in his seat, pretending to check his messages as people began to file past. He watched them through his lashes and waited until a familiar profile joined the crowd to pocket his phone. He’d been right about the age, as well as the height. The only feature he hadn’t anticipated was the striking blue eyes.

As he rose from his seat, he hid his pleased smile. Perhaps Chicago would turn out all right, after all.

The object of his attention coaxed his companion—an older woman—into going ahead of him, and Grady waited until she had passed before stepping out of his row. His arm brushed against the other man’s as they jostled for position. When the slight contact drew a curious glance in his direction, Grady smiled.

“Sorry about that. But it’s good to see such a good turnout, don’t you think?”

The man’s mouth tensed, alerting Grady to the fact that he’d said something wrong. Grady could practically see him swallow back his initial response, and then his lips relaxed slightly. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Rather than push the conversation, especially since he’d already misstepped once, Grady nodded and let silence fall as they moved slowly up the aisle. It allowed him time to learn more about his quarry, like the fact that his dark pants were clean and crisply pressed but clearly off the rack. They fit his long legs well, but Grady imagined someone as slim and straight as him would look good in just about anything.

At the top of the aisle, he hurried forward quickly enough to catch the door for the other man’s companion. One of the first lessons his father had ever taught him was how common courtesy softened even the biggest skinflint. The trick worked, but what Grady liked best of all was the often surprised smile of gratitude he got in return. The woman looked up at him with her companion’s blue eyes. Her face was prematurely aged, deep lines around her mouth and eyes. But her smile was genuine and Grady felt his own smile widening in response.