rationale the symphony had for striking, gave a little history of the venerable organization to put it all in context, and said that though they would not be coming together to practice during the strike that they, being musicians, would all find ways to use their gifts and talents during this downtime and come back all the more energized and full of passion when the strike ended. All during this speech, Garrison watched Anna from a distance. He watched as she spoke with her fellow musicians. Watched as not a few men flirted with her and offered to refill her Styrofoam coffee cup. Watched as she checked the delicate silver watch on her wrist. For a moment their eyes met across the room and she smiled politely then looked away. She seemed tired. When Garrison finally escaped the reporter, he began working his way across the room, shaking hands and chatting rather mindlessly as he went. Each time he began to make progress, someone else would stop him. One grasped his arm, another held up a hand and beckoned, and still another simply swept in to block his path. When he finally reached the place where Anna had stood, the spot had been taken up by a tiresome cellist he loathed. Garrison spun on his heels to avoid eye contact then searched the room, aware that he must look a bit like a teenager desperate to find someone special at a school dance but not quite caring enough to be more subtle.
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