Isabelle, English Horn (Exhibitionism)

John Wagner stepped into the dimly lit auditorium after the first rehearsal, exhaling as he ran a hand through his hair. The orchestra was talented, no doubt about that, but there was some undercurrent of resistance that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Maybe it was just the challenge of stepping in for someone else on short notice. He was tired, it had been a long day.

He descended the few steps toward the first row of seats, meaning to sit for a moment before heading out. But as he lowered himself into a chair, a voice cut through the quiet.

“You don’t look convinced.”

John turned, startled. A woman sat a few rows back, perched sideways on a seat, one leg draped over the armrest. She had dark, shoulder-length hair pulled into a loose bun, and a scarf looped carelessly around her neck. A broad but simple silver ring spun idly between her fingers. She regarded him with a cool, knowing expression.

He straightened. “Excuse me?”

She smirked. “You don’t look convinced,” she repeated. “You stepped onto that podium like a general leading troops into battle. But now? You look like someone realizing the map is upside down.”

John let out a short laugh despite himself. “I suppose I wasn’t expecting an ambush in an empty auditorium.”

The woman tapped her fingers on the back of the seat in front of her. “Consider it reconnaissance. You’re the new guy; we’re all trying to figure you out.”

He leaned forward, clasping his hands. “And what’s the verdict so far?”

She tilted her head. “You didn’t yell, which is a good start. And you didn’t insist on changing everything right away.” A pause. “But you’re tense. You think you’re here to ‘fix’ us.”

John studied her, intrigued. “And you don’t need fixing?”

She shrugged. “We’re not broken. We’re just… used to a different rhythm.”

“Fair enough.” He glanced at the instrument case propped beside her seat. “English Horn?”

She gave him a mock look of surprise. “Oh, you can identify instruments by looking at their cases? You really are a conductor.”

He huffed a laugh. “Isabelle Laurent, right?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Impressive. You’ve memorized all the musicians' names already?”

“I try to do my homework.”

"Congrats. But just 'Izzy' is fine."

"So, it's Izzy, then. I'm John."

Izzy stretched her arms overhead, then swung her legs down, standing with an easy grace. “Then here’s another homework assignment: don’t assume we’ll be impressed just because you have a baton.” She slung her case over her shoulder and gave him a two-fingered salute. “See you at the next battle, General.”

John watched her as she headed for the side doors. He smiled to himself. This was going to be interesting. While his eyes lingered on her back, she lifted her skirt and exposed her bare bottom. Then she disappeared through the exit.

John continued to stare. Was it just his imagination or was she not wearing any panties?