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I’d first heard the upright bass on a Charles Mingus album my stepdad, Burt, had played, and I was immediately smitten. And whereas my biological father had tried to steer me toward sports, Burt had encouraged me to take lessons and then audition for orchestra in middle school. In ninth grade, I joined my first band—but really, we just messed around in my buddy’s garage—and by graduation, I was a pretty well-rounded kid and continued playing in several bands during college, where I eventually decided to concentrate on biology instead of music because teaching kids sounded pretty cool.
Since the night I’d listened to Charles Mingus, the sound of the upright bass had always calmed me. It has a low rumble, concentrated and deep. I loved the way it added such a rich layer to jazz and the blues, just as an electric bass grounded all the textures together in rock music. I liked to play either instrument, depending on my mood.
When I heard a strange noise, I stilled briefly to listen.
A smile tugged at my cheeks when I realized it was Nolan joining me on his guitar from upstairs. He always razzed me about keeping it down, and I always joked that I could hear him jerking off. Not that I really could, but we’d both been single for a while now.
The song built to a crescendo, and I softly sang the lyrics that weren’t exactly solidified yet. I could picture Nolan’s glasses and the lucky hat he wore to every show like clockwork. Sometimes I teased him about sleeping in it. I’d almost believe it if I didn’t live in the same building and had seen for myself his dark-blond hair all mussed up from his fingers. But somehow, it worked for him.
When we finished, I replaced the bow and grinned to myself.
My phone lit up instantly, and I didn’t even have to look at the screen to know it was Nolan.
As soon as I answered, he asked, “How was your date?”
I sighed. “How do you think?”
“From the early hour, I’d say not so great?”
“No spark.”
“Does there have to be?”
Nolan always said he never wanted to go through what his parents did. And ever since he’d called it off with Lisa a couple of years ago—the guys and I suspected it was because she was getting too serious—he’d wanted nothing to do with relationships. He just threw himself into work and music and said he was done with dating despite his mom trying to fix him up with every nice female through family friends. Almost like she wanted to prove to him that her own marriage—and subsequent difficult divorce—was an anomaly.
I understood his hesitation. I’d been married, in love, and had my heart broken. Gayle and I probably should’ve never even entertained the idea, but I stupidly thought it could work despite our differences. She complained about my late nights, rarely came to shows, and then found herself a businessman in the same industry.
But my bitterness didn’t consume me, not like it did Nolan. Once I got over the initial sting, it only made me more determined to find the right one. Like my mom had with my stepdad. Besides, I liked being in a relationship. It was good for me. Grounded me. It was why I kept going on these stupid dates.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Also, my hand works just fine. You know I’ve never been about screwing someone’s brains out.”
“I hear you. But sometimes, it helps relieve tension—for both of you.”
“I know.”
“Anyway, I heard you playing clearly enough, so don’t let me hear you choking the monkey too. Keep it down.”
“You ass.” I grinned. “Knowing you, you’d join in.”
Nolan barked out a laugh. “Oh God, do I seem that desperate?”
“I don’t know, are you?”
When there was an uncomfortable silence, I regretted saying it.
“Going to bed,” Nolan said. “See you at practice.”
Satisfied the discomfort had passed, I said, “Night,” and ended the call.
I yanked on my cock as quietly as possible, wondering if Nolan could hear me, even though I knew he couldn’t. Maybe living below him was a little too close for comfort.
3
Nolan
“Nice job,” I said as George plunked out the last notes of the song we’d been practicing for weeks. It was Monday night and the last lesson of my day.
George’s smile was one of satisfaction, and he’d definitely earned it. He was in his eighties and playing an instrument for the first time in his life. He had a bucket list, and learning a song on the piano was on it. By now, he’d learned several.
Our weekly sessions were like a breath of fresh air. Different from the ones where the kids showed up because their parents made them take lessons to be more well-rounded. I got it though. Parents were as stressed out as the kids. My parents had urged me to try sports, and I hated all of them. Playing, at least. Watching was different, and I could get behind a good team record. Like when it got crazy in this town on Saturday afternoons for college football. I understood the excitement. Sort of like going to a kick-ass concert or seeing an obscure band that should’ve made it big on talent alone. They were the backbone of the music industry, and you emulated them regardless of their success.
