nny insisted on performing. She always carried another bow, and now
the wisdom of that practice was proven. Unfortunately, it would have
to suffice, though she had repeatedly decried it as being "quite an
inferior stick" for playing anything serious. She got her elitism from
her mother, too.

Mr. Rossi clapped his hands, entirely relieved. "Ah, but ZEES awdiense
weel nevair hear souch subtle deefferense!" I knew what he meant
too--the auditorium was filled with hundreds of glassy eyed parents,
siblings, and tiny tots; half of them probably could not even spell
"viola". Mr. Rossi practically pranced away--off to see the numbskull
and make another announcement: the soloist was unharmed; the show would
go on.

Jenny had only one further thought: she'd had enough time to stop
shaking, but she was so unnerved by the experience that she decided she
could never trust herself to play from memory. "I really must have the
score, Daddy. I should."

The ladies of the green room were bustling around, trying to fawn over
her, but keeping a respectful distance from her father, whom they
correctly perceived to be an ape in a touchy mood. Oh, yes, they all
agreed whole-heartedly that it would be no disgrace at all. Plenty of
soloists had played before with the music in front of them. And
considering the state of her nerves, the audience would be so
relieved--and honored--to have her play at all, that they would forgive
the minor irregularity of playing from the music. By all means, she
must have the score.

Reluctantly, I finally gave in and knelt down to tie her shoe-laces.
She could not stand unassisted--we tried a few experimental steps and
she collapsed immediately under her own weight. One of the ladies
produced an ace bandage, so we tied up her ankle, which had swollen so
much it looked like a baked yam. A chair was taken onto the stage for
her to sit. And of course, since she would be playing from the score,
she needed a page turner.

It was the hand of fate: I knew the music, and I was wearing a black
suit. "Honey--I'll turn the pages," I offered boldly before anyone
else could volunteer. "Just like we used to do."

She gave me that little-girl smile--I'd hardly seen it in ten years,
but it made me feel like a real father again. "Oh, Daddy, would you?"

"Come on," I said, putting my arm around her. "I'll escort my princess
to her throne." She laughed, and we left the green room with her
limping alon