Page 37 of Playing By Ear

The bright, airy chords helped Jamie relax, and soon the song’s spirit took over. Without the lyrics, he could rest his voice and focus on playing with flair and precision.

When the last string stilled, Perry let out a long sigh. “That was brilliant. I especially love that chord progression during the bridge.”

“This one?” Jamie played it again.

“That’s it. I like the tension it creates. Did you modulate to the subdominant there or just hint at it?”

Well. Perry actually knew his music. More than a pretty face, this one.

“I hint at it the first time round, give it kind of a subdominant leaning and then modulate it on the final bridge, just for fun.”

Perry leaned forward. “What was that original piece you played Friday, after ‘When Doves Cry’? It literally stopped me in my tracks.”

Oh.

“You mean ‘Slow Sad B minor.’” Its placeholder title was such an understatement. “I don’t normally do my own tunes when I busk, but for some reason that morning I’d had a, I dunno, strange burst of confidence.”

“Maybe that’s what drew me in,” Perry said. “If wolves can smell fear, perhaps I can smell gallus-ness.”

“All an act. If you look up ‘fake it till you make it’ on Urban Dictionary, you’ll see my dopey coupon there.”

“I like your face, but I’m biased. Also blind.”

Jamie laughed, his cheeks warming. “My aunties used to say my smile could melt a glacier. Then my sister’d say it’s cos I’m radioactive.”

“All right, stop stalling and play.”

Jamie began, carefully sweep-picking through the opening arpeggios. Every missed note was like a poke in the eye.

Why had he made this song so difficult to play, requiring perfect coordination between his left and right hands, both of which were tired? Of all the songs he needed to get right, it should’ve been the one that tore off his mask.

Perry looked entranced nonetheless, his rapturous smile coming from deep within.

“That was it,” he said softly as the final chord faded. “I had listened to you play in Buchanan Street countless times, but that was the song that made me hear you.”

Jamie stared at him, falling into that deep, dark gaze. “I lost half my audience playing it that day.”

“You didn’t lose me.”

Jamie’s heart thrummed, as though Perry had reached out and plucked it. As if in a trance, he moved his fingers back to the song’s starting position, ready to play it again and this time with lyrics.

Then Perry turned away and reached for his beer, ending the moment. “I can’t believe you’ve not been snatched up by a record company or at least an agent.” He brightened. “I’ve made contacts at a few indie labels since I started reviewing music. Maybe I could⁠—”

“You’re a critic?” Jamie’s stomach seemed to fold in around the pizza.

“Critic is a bit generous. My editors—” Perry bit his lower lip. “They know I’m losing my sight, so they’ve offered me more music assignments.”

Perry kept talking, name-checking recent albums he’d received before their release dates, but Jamie’s mind was spinning too hard to take it in. What if Perry did try to link him up with a label? It would shake that tightrope Jamie walked between earning a living and maintaining anonymity. If anyone knew he was a MacKray, he’d be hated—or worse, feared.

If he’d scanned Perry’s social media this week, he might’ve discovered he was a music critic. But Jamie had spent every spare minute online learning how glioblastoma ravaged the human brain.

“Promise you’ll never write about me,” he blurted. Since his expression might be unclear, he used his voice to show he was serious. “Ever.”

“Okay, I promise.” Perry made a puzzled face as he drained his bottle. Then he got up from the sofa. “Be right back with more beer.”

As Perry left the room, Jamie remembered a note he wanted to make about the chord progression in “Sincerity in E major.” His phone was in his jacket pocket back in the entryway, so he rifled through his guitar case, finding nothing to write with. “Perry, have you got a pen in here?” he called out before the mental note could escape his mind.

“Side table drawers,” Perry replied from the kitchen.