chapter Seven
Fall’s as hot as summer. One runs into the other with only the start of school to mark the season change.
It’s a boiling Thursday night when I next run into Isaac at Felix’s. It’s rained for three straight days, which makes the air so thick it clogs my lungs. My hair is hopeless, so I pull it up in a clip. Even in the air conditioning, my white linen top clings to my back, and sweat drips down my décolletage, as Granny used to call it. The little makeup I wear dripped off hours ago. I reapply lip gloss and call it good.
Mama, as usual, is out with the Mystics ladies organizing…something. I love to sneak over to Felix’s on nights like this when they open the shuttered windows and the sound of the band rides the humidity out into the neighborhood. It feels like a summer block party where people hang out of second-story windows hollering to each other. Most of the people in the poorer neighborhoods only have decades-old air conditioners, so they lounge on each other’s peeling porches with dilapidated steps and fan themselves with whatever’s available.
Heat lightning flashes in the distance and briefly illuminates the bay as I step off the bus. The water looks dark and muddy from the recent storms. I hear Lenny’s soulful riffs drift up the street as broken glass crunches under my feet.
Percy, the bouncer, leans against the wall next to the door. “Hey there, Miss Juli, good to see you tonight. It’s been a while. You doing okay?” He’s as black as a crow and as sweet as they come—unless you cross him. Then he draws himself up to his full six feet four inches, and you’d better run before he takes a single step. I’ve seen him pick up two full-grown men at the same time, one in each hand, and heave them out the door by their shirt collars, just like in a cartoon.
But with the ladies, he’s all gentleman. He knows I’m not technically supposed to be inside Felix’s, but he also knows I only come to listen and never cause trouble. He keeps an eye out for me.
“Hey there yourself, Percy. I’ve been busy practicing. Got that audition coming up.”
“Yes ma’am, I know you do. Lenny been talking about how his little girl’s gonna blow them judges away, and you gonna leave us all here. Can’t say’s I blame you, but we’ll sure miss your pretty face.”
I’ll miss them, too, but in the meantime, I intend to soak up some soul. I pat his shoulder as I pass through the door. My usual table isn’t open, so I end up closer to the bar than I’d like. I order my Coke and spend the next ten minutes peeling the backs of my thighs off the plastic seat cushion. I alternate sides and eavesdrop on the crowd that sits at the bar.
“…the apartment smelled for weeks, but…”
“ …now he stays over at…”
“ …was lookin’ at the movies…”
I get the impression no one’s here to listen to Lenny and his guys tonight. The soda goes right through me. I manage to get up without leaving behind any skin. The ladies’ room is to the left of the stage and the right of the bar. When I step out of the restroom, a big, burly guy practically falls out of the men’s room and slams into me.
“Ouch!” I smell the lighter fluid scent of hard liquor mixed with the sour stench of vomit plus sweat.
“Sooosorrymiss.” The man’s speech slurs.
You’ve got to be kidding.
“Well, looky here!” Isaac drapes his arm over my shoulders and nearly knocks me to the floor. “It’s my star student. Hey, everyone! Meet Juli-Julianne Casquette, my best student. She’s so great.”
And you are so wasted.
“You gotta hear her. Lenny! Move over, brother! Let Juli have a turn.” He hollers over the crowd.
Fortunately, Lenny’s lost in his own world and doesn’t pay attention to the loud, drunk jerk who drags me over to a couple of guys waiting at the bar.
“So, um, Mr. Laroche, have we had a little to drink tonight?”
I hope he’ll take the hint and let me go. He absolutely reeks and leans on me with most of his weight. This is the same guy who swept me up and carried me in his arms, and now I’m the one holding up his drunk butt.
We’re even.
“Yeah.” Apparently his accent thickens when he’s trashed. “Been here all afternoon. My buddies from Boston came to, uh…visit. Had news for me. Greatest damn news from Bean-f*ckin’-town.”
And we’re dropping F-bombs. Nice.
He pulls me closer and squeezes tighter, until it’s hard to breathe. Nervous sweat trickles down my back. He gives me a huge, sloppy grin—his sickly sweet breath heats my face and reminds me of Mama’s. I’m relieved when one of his friends speaks up.
“So, Ike, buddy, who’s the cutie? Little young, isn’t she?” His voice sounds familiar and he grins like he’s swallowed the canary.
There are two of them, both clearly from points north. The one who called him Ike is blond and short, on the stocky side, and wears all black with a chain hanging from his front pocket to his wallet in the back. I can make out his Chucks in the dark of the bar. His shirt used to have some name on it, like a band, but I think it wore off long ago. The other one is slightly taller with black, wavy hair and watery blue eyes. He doesn’t smile, but he sure stares a hole through me.
“Dave,” Isaac says, “this is, uh, Juli-Julianne, my best student. Right, hon?” He waves an arm toward Short and Blond. “Juli, Dave. Dave, Juli. And that bastard’s Conrad. Don’t mind him. He always looks like that.”
Isaac giggles—actually giggles—at himself. He leans his mouth to my ear, and I cringe.
“So, you coming to my place again tonight?”
I’m at a total loss. I have no idea how to respond. Luckily, I don’t need to.
“Where’d that drink go to?”
Conrad nods to me, but Dave shakes my hand with a friendly squeeze. He’s still grinning. “So, Julianne-or-Juli-whatever. We finally meet, though I’m surprised it’s here. They let you into bars, Sexy-and-Seventeen? Not that I mind.” He winks.
“I’ve been coming here for a couple of years to listen to the musicians. I’m a regular and they know I don’t come to drink, so they leave me alone. Mr. Laroche said he used to come here, too, for the same reason.”
“Mister Laroche, huh? That’s hilarious. Did you hear that, Conrad? So, Mister Laroche, are you gonna let go of Julianne here, or do we have to haul you off of her? I don’t think she can hold you up much longer.”
Dave continues to study me. He’s not leering, but he’s definitely checking me out. I never expected to run into anyone, let alone Isaac’s friends, so I certainly don’t look my best.
My face flushes even hotter, and sweat breaks out on my upper lip. I lick at it and taste salt. Isaac’s eyes are half closed, and he rests his cheek on top of my head. I feel about two feet tall, and he feels like a ton of bricks.
Dave glances over his shoulder at Conrad. “Gimme a hand here. Sonny boy’s at his limit. We better get him to his mama.”
Dave unwraps Isaac from my neck. They each take an arm when he sags between them.
“So, listen, Juli—can I call you that?—next time you see Mister Laroche, don’t mention this to him, okay? He’ll be pretty embarrassed, and he’s already in a bad frame of mind. Hopefully he won’t remember anything. Dude, I think he’s gonna puke again.”
“Sure,” I say, wondering what on earth Dave means. Whatever news they brought from Boston can’t be good. I fight the temptation to grill them for information on Isaac’s past, but truthfully, I’m a little intimidated by Dave and Conrad—and the inebriated Isaac.
Percy walks up behind me. “Everything okay here, Miss Juli? You know these fellas?”
“Um, yeah, everything’s fine. It’s fine. This is my piano teacher and his friends from Boston. They’re taking him home.”
Percy raises his chin and looks down his nose at the three of them. He sizes them up and doesn’t look impressed. “That one looks a little green, so I think that’d be a wise decision.” He dishes out a big dose of the evil eye.
Dave hooks his finger at me to come closer. “You and I have unfinished business. I was serious about that death match.” He winks again before he and Conrad shuffle a limp Isaac out the door.
“What you doin’ with those guys, Miss Juli?” Percy says. “Ain’t no company for a young thing like you. Shouldn’t you be out with girls your own age?”
“Believe it or not, Percy, I have more in common with those three than most girls or guys my age. I was born old.”
“Uh-huh. I don’t like it.”
I sit back down at my table and finish off my now-warm Coke. Percy keeps an eye on me the rest of the evening until I take my leave and board the bus for home.
***
Isaac is all business the next day. He looks even worse than he did last night. I fully expected him to cancel, but the call never came. He mumbles a few apologies and asks me to start with the Presto from Moments Musicaux in E Minor. He sinks down on the loveseat and covers his eyes with his hand. A few minutes into the piece, there’s a shuffle of movement behind me. I turn and see Dave shut the door behind him.
“Sorry. Keep going.” He gives me a sheepish look.
I pick up where I left off, but I’m distracted by the back-and-forth mumbles behind me. I finish. Isaac breaks the silence.
“See what I mean?”
Dave nods and strokes his chin. “Yeah, you’re right. About everything.” He smiles. He studies my face but talks to Isaac. “She’s got it down, but…it’s not right. Technically she’s brilliant. Seriously, brilliant. You’re a lucky guy, Ike. You don’t have much to teach her. But it’s…devoid. Flat.”
He pauses, his blond eyebrows drawn in concentration. Then I see the light bulb go on over his head.
“Have you tried pissing her off?”
“Didn’t have to try.” Isaac chuckles. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look alive.
“Yeah, I figured—the redhead thing.” They both laugh at that.
“Hello? The redhead can hear you.”
Dave ignores me. “So is it true what they say about redheads? Does the rug—”
Isaac slaps a hand over Dave’s mouth. Dave rolls his eyes.
“Oh, lighten up. She’s seventeen, not thirteen. And I’ve always wondered…” He sighs, a wistful gleam in his eyes.
Wondered what? Oh. It dawns on me and I know I should be embarrassed, but I giggle. I can’t help it. What a pervert!
“Anyway, Isaac’s right that something’s off here. It’s like…like you hold back. I mean, you’re awesome, don’t get me wrong. I haven’t heard anyone as skilled in a long time. But you’re a little uptight. Well, actually, both of you are uptight, but that’s beside the point.” He laughs at his own joke. “Or maybe not. Maybe that’s the problem. Ike, get lost for a minute, will you? I need to talk to Juli alone. I’ve got an idea.”
“That okay with you, Juli? I’ll be right outside, and Dave won’t do anything stupid, will you?” His tone could wither a steel magnolia.
Dave puts both hands up, palms out like he surrenders. “Hey, now. You asked me to come help, remember? Ask and you shall receive.”
“Doubt your motives are altruistic.”
I don’t care about motives. I just want to improve. “It’s fine, Isaac. If Dave can help, I’m all for it. You know I’ll do whatever it takes to get in.”
“Awesome,” Dave says. “Get lost, Ike. I’ll yell for you when we’re done.”
Isaac heads for the door. I watch him walk into the garden between the studio and the house. He’s got his sunglasses on before the door closes. Still hung over.
“So you’ve got the hots for Ike, huh?”
Blood rushes to my ears and cheeks. I don’t know why, though. I don’t like Isaac that way. Right? He’s Mr. Cline’s nephew and…old. Well, older. I mean, there was that one time when I kissed him and he didn’t kiss me back, but I don’t know why I did that. I wasn’t myself that day.
I respect Isaac as a teacher, and he’s an incredibly talented pianist, but that’s it. Sure, he has my future in his hands. I have the talent and technical know-how, but he makes me pay attention to detail. We spend a lot of time together and our rehearsals have gotten intense a couple of times, but… Oh, God.
Dave pounces. “Hah! I’m right. It’s okay. The chicks at school fell all over him, too.”
I jerk my head up. I forgot he was watching.
He adopts a falsetto. “Oh, Isaac, you’re so polite. Such a Southern gentleman. Won’t you be my Rhett Butler?” He grins, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes, and I can’t help but smile back.
He leans in and looks me straight in the eyes. “Here’s the deal, kitten. I can tell you got it bad. You’re like an open book, but you’ve got to get over it if you want to play this the right way. If you can’t let go in front of him, you’ll have a hell of a time in front of a panel of judges or a packed concert hall.”
I nod, still too embarrassed to say anything. Can I just die right now?
“So here’s what we’ll do.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “I took an awesome seminar on performance anxiety once, and this is one of the things we did. Um, piano performance anxiety, that is. Don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” He waggles his eyebrows.
I roll my eyes. If he wants to make me laugh, it works. When he walks behind me, I twist on the bench to follow him.
“Nope, face forward. I’ll stand behind you. And try to relax. Pretend I’m some ugly old guy and not the fine male specimen that I am.”
“And so modest, too.” I giggle. Again. A girl could get used to all this attention.
“I want you to listen to my voice and concentrate on my hands on your shoulders. And I promise I’m not trying to get fresh with you…okay, maybe later, but I’ll be good for now. Okay, close your eyes and keep your hands in your lap, not on the keys.”
I do as he says and take a deep breath.
“I want you to feel the warmth of my hands on your shoulders, relaxing the muscles, heating them up until they’re nice and loose.”
I didn’t realize I’d scrunched them up until I loosen them.
“That’s it. Now push that heat into your neck and relax. Keep your head up and chin tucked in. Good. You’re doing great.” His voice is like velvet, slow and soft. “Okay, now feel the heat flow from your neck and shoulders down to your elbows. When your elbows are warm, feel the heat spread to your wrists, loosening the joints, relaxing the muscles. Everything’s nice and soft. Now concentrate and move the heat into your fingers. Start at the wrists and push it into your palms. Your palms are nice and warm, but not sweaty, just relaxed. Push the heat from your palms into your knuckles. Fill the joints and make them flexible, painless.
“And finally, let the heat spread into your fingertips. Feel the pulsing heat and energy in your whole hand and back up to your shoulders and neck. Keep your eyes closed and think of the heat, of what it looks like. Keep that image in front of your eyes for a minute.”
I soar up and out of my body, weightless and free. An image of warm, orange heat plays before my closed eyes. It pulses with every heartbeat.
“Now picture the opening bars of the opus. Keep your eyes closed, but picture what they look like as you play it in your head. Try not to move your fingers, either—I know it’s hard. Sit perfectly still and imagine the colors that go with the sounds. The images that go with the notes. Think about how those colors and images make you feel. Not how the music makes you feel, but how the images make you feel. Now do that for the entire piece. I’ll keep my hands on your shoulders and keep the heat pulsing down to your fingertips, and I want you to think about the colors and sounds and images.”
It’s amazing. I really feel the tingle and pulse of warm, smooth energy all the way from his burning hands on my shoulders down to my fingertips. I play the piece in my mind, and I try to keep still, but I lean in and out and my head shifts involuntarily. The movements and images are liquid smooth; the ghosts of my hands glide over the keys.
I’m surprised at the thoughts, images, colors, and textures that jump out at me—some pleasant, some not. I swear I even smell things: Mama coming at me; fall leaves; thunderstorms; red, orange and yellow; black night; the crisp smell of burning leaves; the live oak in the front yard swaying in a storm, the finger-like branches scratching at my bedroom window; damp bricks; and finally, the quick unreturned kiss with Isaac up in my room. I’m still when I finish, and Dave takes his hands from my shoulders.
“Keep your eyes closed.” He breathes in my ear, stubble brushing my jaw. “And go.”
I’m so mellow I could drift off to sleep, but instead, I raise my warm hands to the keys and play the music that’s in my head, visualizing the images I saw when I imagined playing. Even I can sense the difference. It’s like I see the music for the first time, not as the composer saw it, but how I’m supposed to see it, filtered through my own lens instead of someone else’s.
Everything clicks. I finish and open my eyes. Dave stands next to the piano with his arms crossed, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
“Will you marry me?” He winks. We stare at each other for a minute.
“That was incredible.” I can’t speak above a whisper. “I get it. I get it now. I don’t know if you hypnotized me or what, but I felt something unlock. Not to sound cheesy, but really, it’s like that warm energy just…opened a path from my brain to my fingers. I understand what you two are talking about now.”
He laughs. “Well, I’m glad someone understands us. It’s just a simple relaxation technique. You can do it before every practice and every performance. You just have to relax like that around Ike. Pretend he’s me or something.”
“Now why would she want to do that?” I didn’t hear Isaac open the door. He stands with a hand on either side of the frame. “Dave’s right, that was amazing. Completely and utterly amazing.” He enunciates every syllable. “I guess pissing you off wasn’t the answer, after all. What did you do to her, Dave?”
“Remember that seminar by the guy who wrote Musicophilia? I used one of his techniques. She just needed to relax. See? I’m good for something after all. And you thought I was just a big flirt.”
“You are a big flirt.” I snicker.
I could really like Dave. He reminds me of R.J. and the way we tease each other. He’s so comfortable around me that I bet he has sisters. I just hope he keeps my little crush to himself.
Isaac clears his throat. “Yes, well, it certainly worked. Thanks, Dave. Glad one of us was able to figure out how to help. Um, there’s one more thing. I was hoping you’d stay and play for Julianne before you head back. Like to try some triangulation since you’re here.”
I’m lost. “Triangulation?”
“Yeah. Just want all three of us to play the same piece, one after another, and listen to the differences in interpretation. It’s helpful when you need to figure out how to present a piece.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Kind of like reading the same story from three points of view. Was going to ask my uncle or another student, but Uncle Robert isn’t really able, and I don’t have another student who even comes close to your level. Wouldn’t be a fair comparison. You up for it, Dave?”
“You know I love to show off. And I have a score to settle with Juli. What did you have in mind?”
“Was thinking the Morceaux de fantasie, op. 3. A lot of different styles in it. You know that one, or do you need the sheet music?”
Dave makes a disgusted noise. “Nah, I’m good. Who goes first?”
“Well, Juli, of course.” Isaac says this like there’s no question. Then he breaks into a rare grin. “Oh, that’s right, Dave. You don’t believe in ladies first.”
He might as well have waved a red cape in front of a bull. Dave sputters, and I wonder what’s the big deal?
“I’ll get you for that, ass-wipe.” Dave throws a left jab at Isaac, and they pretend to box. Insults fly back and forth with plenty of laughter in between. Dave ducks and says, “She got hers.”
And suddenly I know what they’re talking about. Normally, I’d be embarrassed, but these two are so funny together that I forget myself and blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.
“I believe it’s proper etiquette for the lady to go first at least once.”
I clap my hand over my mouth. They stop. Two blue eyes and two brown ones are suddenly trained on me. Then they both burst out laughing.
“You kiss your daddy with that mouth?” Isaac stands and straightens his shirt.
“Damn, Ike. You sure know where to find ’em.” Dave gives me an appreciative glance.
I blush, and I blush, and I blush some more.
Isaac rolls his eyes and smoothes down his ruffled hair. “I guess we’re technically on the clock, so we better get back to business. Did we ever figure out who plays first?”
“I nominate Dave.” My blush has died down, and I’m curious to hear if he’s as good as Isaac. I doubt it.
“Yeah, Dave, you want to go first?” Isaac says. “Juli’s never heard you play, so you might as well get it over with.” He turns to me. “Hate to admit this, but Dave’s really good. Think you’ll get a lot out of this.”
“Aw, shucks, Ike.”
Dave sits and I notice he doesn’t have to move the bench much. He’s only a bit taller than me. But when he plays, he’s a musical giant. For all his joking around and flirting, he’s a serious pianist, just as good as Isaac and light years beyond me. I don’t so much listen to him as watch the way he squints, his blond brows drawn together in concentration. He purses his lips and then smiles, nodding and shaking his head in time with the music.
I feel Isaac’s eyes on me and look over. He’s watching me watch Dave. It must be to make sure I pay attention. He’s gauging my reaction to the performance. I smile and return to watching Dave. I sneak a few more glances at Isaac, but each time, he stares at his hands.
When Dave’s finished, I clap and give him a quick hug. “Inspiring. I’m next.”
This time, I’m happy to play in front of them. I feel like I can relax and enjoy myself, knowing I’m among friends who want to see me succeed. It’s a nice feeling—one I’m not used to, but one I could get used to. My mind wanders during the song. If you’d told me a month ago I’d have two hot, talented NEC graduates in my studio, I’d have laughed you into the Gulf of Mexico.
When I finish, both Isaac and Dave think I’ve improved in just the last hour. Dave is enthusiastic. Isaac says, “Well done.”
At last, Isaac scoots back the bench and sits. He cracks his knuckles and closes his eyes. Dave coughs into his hand, but I distinctly hear diva! Isaac pushes up his imaginary glasses with a certain finger. We use the rest of the afternoon and part of the evening to analyze our performances.
***
Dave and Conrad fly back to Boston. I ask Isaac if he’s sorry to see them go.
“Yes. No. They’re like brothers. Spent all of undergrad and graduate school together. But they belong in Boston.”
“Do you miss it?”
He runs his fingers through his hair and sits, elbows on his knees. Without looking up, he says, “Yes. There’re some things I miss. Lots of things. But there are other…things I don’t miss at all.” He pauses. “Please don’t ask me about it again, Juli. It’s none of your concern, and it won’t affect our rehearsals. I apologize for what happened at Felix’s. Don’t remember much, but I made Dave tell me. It was really unprofessional. Just don’t ask again, all right?”
I’m stunned. And a little hurt. Still, that’s the most he’s ever said at once.
“Sure, no problem, Isaac. I didn’t mean to stick my nose in your business. I was just concerned. I’m sorry.”
“So we’re both sorry now. How about we stop being sorry and work on something fun? Something fast.”
“Deal.”
“Actually, I could use your help. Doing Mozart with the symphony in a couple of weeks, and I’d like you to take a listen. Keep stumbling over a couple of parts. You’re the technical expert, so you might figure out the problem.”
“Sure. Wow. I’ll do whatever I can to help.”
“It’s the Piano Concerto No. 23 in A. The runs are kicking my ass. Tomorrow I’ll bring the score.”
“Um, yeah. That sounds great.”
Part of me thinks he’s patronizing me, but when I see the score the next day, I know he’s not. It looks like someone sneezed black ink on the pages. Mozart is often complicated, but this is a hot mess.
I point at the page. “Okay, right there. Yeah, in that measure. That’s where it starts to fall apart, and you don’t get back into it until…here. What fingering are you using?”
He shows me.
“Yeah, that’s your problem. Let me see your right hand.”
He holds it up, and I mirror it with my left to match palm-to-palm.
“See the difference? You’re getting in the way of yourself. Back off a little, and I think you’ll be all right. Like this.”
I show him. And I nail it.
“Isaac, you’re twenty-seven, right?”
“Twenty-eight. Birthday was last week.”
“Oh my gosh, happy birthday! Why didn’t you say anything?”
“No big deal. After twenty-one, they all suck.”
“Whatever. You’re not forgiven for not mentioning it. Let me see your hand again.” I inspect the joints and, sure enough, there’s tell-tale swelling. “Isaac, do your fingers get really hot sometimes? Like, hot to the touch?”
“I know what you’re thinking. Arthritis, right? Son of a bitch.”
I’m still holding Isaac’s hand when Daddy walks into the studio. Isaac sits at the piano, a fearful expression on his face, like a little boy caught being naughty.
Déjà vu strikes. I’ve seen this before. Except it happened in our kitchen. The boy had brown, shaggy hair, blue eyes, and seemed too tall for his own good. Daddy wore a shirt and tie, just like now, except his face had fewer worry lines. I shouldn’t be surprised when Daddy crosses his arms and clears his throat—it’s what he did the last time I saw this tableau. I can’t stop the cold tingle that works its way up my back. My acting skills kick in.
“Daddy, can you see this?” I hold up Isaac’s hand, still in mine. “Isaac’s already got arthritis in his knuckles. Isn’t that horrible?”
“Yeah, terrible. Listen, have you guys finished that recording? When you called last week, you said you had all the equipment ready.”
Isaac nods. “Yes, sir, it’s in the back of my car. Plan to run acoustics tests tonight, then do the recording tomorrow evening, if Juli’s ready.”
Daddy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Yeah, here’s the thing. I think when you finish the recording, we’ll cut the lessons down to three days a week. Then if she gets an audition, we’ll talk about going back up to five. With school and all, five is too much.”
He talks to Isaac like I’m not even here. Like I have no say in this.
“Daddy, I really think—”
“Sorry, Juli. You need to spend time on schoolwork, too. I think it’ll be good for you to back off the piano for just a little while.”
“You think it’ll be good for me? That’s hilarious. Like you have a clue what’s good for me.”
“We’re not doing this right now, young lady. I’ve made my decision. If you want to discuss it, we’ll do it later in private.”
“Of course we will. Wouldn’t want to air our dirty laundry.”
Isaac interrupts. “It’s fine, Juli. You’re ready. And your father’s right. You need to think about school, too.”
As if I wasn’t pissed already, hearing Isaac take Daddy’s side certainly does it. “Fine. Run the tests. I’ll be ready tomorrow.”
I bolt out of the studio and up to my room, where I realize I took things out on Isaac again. But at least I kept one promise: I didn’t throw anything at him.