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Beverly raises a hand. I glance behind me to see who she’s smiling at and notice one of the baristas approaching our table. She’s holding two trays of steaming hot coffees.
“I ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” I say, sitting back down.
Beverly blows steam from the top of her cup. Wrapping manicured fingers around the base, she looks over at me. “Why don’t we start with what the purpose of the foundation is?”
“At its simplest, we want to help every deaf child in the city experience the magic of music.” I lift my coffee and lounge back in my chair.
“How do you plan to do that when the children can’t hear?”
“Music isn’t just heard. It’s felt. When a song comes on, one that touches your heart, it’s not just about the rhythm or the lyrics. There’s something about it thatmovesyou. Even children with disabilities can experience music. That experience might be different compared to someone who can hear it, but it’s just as powerful.”
Her lips arch up, but there’s a hint of boredom in her eyes. “You’re clearly passionate about your work, Miss Williams, but I think what people really want to know is who’s the man behind the money.”
“Excuse me?”
She leans her elbow against the table. “Sazuki put his own fortune into this foundation.”
I blink rapidly. “He believes in the good it can do.”
“Billionaires don’t simply create spaces like this for the brownie points. It’s usually because of a personal connection.” She glances around. “Or a political one.”
I drum my fingers on the table. “I can tell you about the mission of The Sazuki Foundation. I can tell you about our progress. I can even tell you that, over the past few days, we’ve had our first group of kids come in and learn music. Just yesterday, a little girl touched my hand and signed, ‘I can feel it’. For the first time, she was able to understand what those rhythmic vibrations meant and how to repeat them in a musical pattern. But more than that, she learned that being deaf is not a curse. It’s a gift—one that puts her in touch with a loving and supportive community. If that’s not what your story is about, then maybe we should cut this interview short.”
I start to rise.
She shoots out a hand. “Miss Williams, sit. Please. I didn’t mean any offense.” Her smile has a hint of contrition behind it. “You have to understand. The Sazukis have kept a low profile for decades. Despite being the world’s biggest album sellers, they never leave Japan, never tour and never give interviews. I’m this,” she pinches her fingers together, “close to one of the biggest stories of my life. It wouldn’t be natural if I wasn’t curious, right?”
I nod. “Maybe.”
She smirks. “You’re very protective of your boss.”
“And you’re very good at spinning a story. What in that entire speech made you feel I was protective of one person when, in fact, I’m very protective of the deaf community.”
Her eyes turn sharp although her lips remain frozen in a smile. “I can see why he put you in charge.”
“Should we carry on with the interview or have you gotten everything you need, Miss Beverly?”
“Let’s continue.”
We stick to the pre-arranged questions and then I give her a tour.
Purple Hair AKA Sheila Cottingham is in the music room with seven-year-old Ricky. She whips her head around when we enter and gives me a dark look. A look that quickly changes when she sees I’m not alone.
“Sheila, this is Miss Beverly Thompkins. She’s here for an interview.”
“Ah.” Sheila’s smile is so brittle that I’m afraid it won’t last for long.
“Impressive room.” Beverly takes a picture.
“It’s completely soundproof.” I gesture to the foam boards. “As you can see, great care was put into the design.”
“Why does it need to be soundproof when the students are deaf? It’s not like they’ll be able to hear anything.” She chuckles.
Both Purple Hair and I whirl around and pin Beverly with a dark stare.
“The soundproof foam is to keep the music and vibrations from bleeding out into the other rooms. Just because the students can’theardoesn’t mean they won’t be disturbed.”
