In Over Her Head by Elsie Russell - Parnasse.com

The raw mushrooms in the salad? But Dick had eaten some of those,
too. Some weird Euro flu? PMS? Her period! That would explain her
outburst, and she really was late, hadn't been keeping track.
Jonchaies was the first piece on the program, the space age
acoustics bent the sound in a thousand directions. She'd never heard it
live before, and it was like sitting through a hurricane, nothing like the
vectors and parabolas of the composer's beautifully drawn scores, and
nothing like the recorded versions she was familiar with. This guy really
understood how to bend sound around a space and hammer it through
your core.
At intermission she took the elevator down and scanned the
crowd: Polite clusters sipping champagne or cappuccinos, but no
Sandro. She sat in their official seats for the next piece. Scelsi's
Hurqualia was a pure piece of abstract sound sculpture that cleaned her
head and lulled her into a state of soporific euphoria. But when she
opened her eyes he still wasn't there.
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