AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You better be washing that scarf daily,” Martha chuckled and nudged Rory. Being the homey kind, all Martha could think about was cooking, cleaning, and running things in the household or in the bakery.
“It gets tough. Especially during the rain. We can’t get the trash wet, you know, or it becomes a lot messier,” Arsen continued.
“I can imagine.” Martha was deep in thought; surely a picture of what Arsen was describing was forming in her head.
“We struggle with our garbage disposal here too. Often we have to throw out leftovers when heavy rain ruins sales. I tell you it's quite a chore,” she continued. “Maybe you have some ideas on how I can make the process easier?”
Arsen was taken aback for a moment, but he didn’t let it show. Rory chuckled, waiting to see how he would dig himself out of this hole.
“How about giving it to a homeless shelter?” he said. Rory was impressed with how quickly he came up with a reply. Martha nodded in agreement.
“Funny, I never thought of that before,” she wondered aloud. Rory’s eyes caught Arsen’s and a secret smile passed between them. Their very own secret joke. Soon enough, Martha was off, heading back into the kitchen to supervise something or the other.
“Garbage contractor?” Rory laughed. “But that was a good idea, to give food the homeless shelter. I didn’t know that a bad boy rockstar could be so charitable.”
“When you have seen real hunger, you realize the value of food,” Arsen said with his eyes glued to his coffee cup. Rory was sure that he was speaking from experience, and as much as she wanted to hear his life story, she decided not to prod any further.
“You have a lovely house. It just radiates a positive energy,” he suddenly said. Rory was surprised by his choice of words. That is exactly how she had always thought of her grandmother’s house.
“Thank you. I think so too.” She picked up a piece of cake but then put it back silently, the thought of attempting to fit into the bridesmaid’s dress coming back into her mind.
“It sounds great too,” Arsen said.
“Um?” Rory was confused.
“The house. It sounds great.”
“Sounds great? Do houses make any sound at all?” Rory laughed.
“I meant the acoustics,” Arsen smiled. “When I was playing the piano, the natural reverb of the room was making the instrument sound much better than it actually is. No offense,” he added.
“None taken. I was quite surprised myself about how good the piano sounded. The last time it was played, it didn’t sound anything like when you played it.” Rory got self-conscious as the compliment slipped out of her mouth, but Arsen was lost in his own thoughts.
“It sounded really warm… and rich,” Arsen said in a low voice, as if making a note to himself. Rory took another sip of her coffee.
“We came to this island to write new music. Don thought that if the band took a break from the LA scene then maybe we could focus on getting some work done. So far it’s been a disaster. Apart from the
all night parties, we haven’t done anything in that villa that we are paying a fortune to rent.” Arsen looked her right in the eye as he told her this.
“Why? What’s wrong with that villa?”
“Nothing is wrong. It's gorgeous, luxurious, has a studio built in… but there is something missing. The vibe is just not right for the magic to happen. For music to be made,” he added in a wistful tone.
“I am sorry to hear that. I can’t say I know your pain, but in a small way maybe I can relate to it.” She tried to sympathize.
“I’ve barely touched an instrument since I’ve been in that villa. Neither have I wanted to. I was certain that I had carried my writer’s block over from LA, and at one point, I was a miserable enough to give up playing music altogether. But that day in your house, my hands just flew on the piano. Music just spilled out of me.”
Rory didn’t have to be reminded of that. Sounds of that afternoon were still fresh in her mind.
“I was completely lost in the sounds of that piano, like one can get lost in the sounds of rain on a summer evening. I was just overwhelmed with music inside of me and a hundred ideas rushed through. As if the life that had been sucked out of me was being replenished again. It was the magic that I had wanted to feel for so long. That magic makes me write songs. It compels something inside of me to wake up and make music.”
Lost in his own words, Arsen was longing for that creative inspiration. For themes, for the right sign, or the elusive muse. Rory was mesmerized by the passion for music that shined in his eyes. The energy of his voice, and the utter obsession he had with creating music.
“I’m happy you found your muse again.” She smiled at him.
“The muse is the house that the music was played in,” he replied, a slight smile showcasing his pearly whites.
“Meaning?” she asked. Arsen paused for a good minute and then spoke up.
