“We haven’t gotten that far yet,” he replied. “But there’s no shortage of organizations we might help. People helping the homeless, cancer research, scholarship funds, or maybe the proceeds could go to support music programs in public schools. Who knows? It’s really just a matter of using our imaginations. In any case, it would be a nice way for us to give a little something back to the community, and it wouldn’t be bad for public relations, either.”

“Sounds like a nice enough idea,” said Giancarlo.

“I’m glad you think so.”

Sheffield paused for a moment.

“Anyway,” he continued cautiously, “we thought it might be nice if some of the faculty as well as the students performed.”

“I’m sure there would be no shortage of volunteers,” said Giancarlo with equal caution.

“Here’s the thing,” said Sheffield, cringing a bit. “What we—what I—thought would make the night extra special would be if perhaps, well, if perhaps you were to perform again for us. Maybe even consider composing a little something to play for the occasion.”

At this suggestion, Giancarlo went cold inside.

“Henry, please,” he said, shaking his head, “you know that I don’t—”

“Now don’t go and say no right off the bat,” said Sheffield with a huff. “All I’m asking you to do is think about it. Come on, it could be wonderful. It would do you good.”

“But Henry, you know that I don’t play in public anymore,” said Giancarlo. “And I haven’t written anything new in years.”

“Well maybe this could be the spark that gets you going again,” he said. “It could be just the thing you need. Maybe you can recapture some of that fire you used to put in your music.”

“I’m afraid that fire went out a long time ago,” sighed Giancarlo.

Sheffield sat back and rubbed his chin.

“Look, Giancarlo,” he said gently, “if this concert comes off, it won’t happen until the spring, so you have lots of time to think it over. Just keep an open mind about it, that’s all I’m asking right now. Don’t say no; just say maybe.”

Giancarlo was opening his mouth to just say no, but Sheffield did not give him the chance.

“Or, if you won’t say maybe,” he added quickly, “then don’t say anything at all right now, and we’ll discuss it in the fall. How’s that?”

Giancarlo’s only response was a low grumble of distinct displeasure, to which Sheffield gave a smile.

“By the way,” the dean asked, deftly changing the subject, “if you’re not going to use that Italian dressing, I’ll take it.”

Giancarlo handed over the packet.

“Thanks,” said Sheffield, tearing open its corner. “So, how about those Red Sox?”