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“He’ll love that. Let’s go.”
We set off. I was nervous, as I always was in the company of people I didn’t know well. Especially women and children. I’d always been more at ease around men, had always slotted in better into friendships with them. But I did lack female company, and maybe that was how Priscilla had so easily taken me in, convinced me that she didn’t have some scheme behind all of her purring, motherly carefulness.
But Monica and Max were easy company. Monica didn’t feel the need to fill every little silence with speech, which I liked, and the silences didn’t feel uncomfortable. Max was the opposite, a hyperactive and weird kid, but in a way that was very charming, even when he was quite chaotic. I joined in a few times trying to persuade him not to climb up a certain rock or tree.
Monica took a few photos of Max and me wrestling when he insisted he was going to make a random wild bird into his pet, and started darting for it with his hands outstretched. I was convinced he was going to hurt himself or be attacked by a flock of wild birds. Monica just laughed – she was used to his antics.
Yeah, it turned out I did have some maternal instincts after all. If my kid was anything like Max, I wouldn’t have a problem. He was, for all his hyperactivity, easily entertained. He found entertainment for himself. He spent half the walk telling me the long plot of a novel he’d made up in his head about the ghost lady, aka me, and how she’d drowned in a lake but also been attacked by a man with a machete but also been buried alive in a graveyard.
By the time we arrived back from the walk, I was tired in body but refreshed in mind.
The time went by in a flash. For what had been a forced hideout, I was going to miss my time in the mountains. I resolved to return more often.
Before I knew it, we were back on the long stretch of helicopter, stopping twice before making our way to the glittering lights of New York City.
Reed was muttering under his breath as we departed the helicopter for the final time. “Cutting it pretty close.”
He’d always been the organized one of the band. He was the one who’d made sure the rest of the band were on time for their gigs, interviews, rehearsals. I felt bad for him: I’d heard all the gory details writing his memoir.
Sylvester had been a real handful back then. Now that I knew he’d been struggling with the knowledge he was going to have to abandon his whole life and all of his dreams to inherit a fifth of Emory Brock’s businesses, his actions back then made a lot more sense to me.
I addressed the group. “I have one thing to do before the sound check.”
Sylvester raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
I grinned. “Top secret. Nothing dangerous. I’ll be with you as soon as I’m done.”
“Okay, Velma. See you soon.”
I took a cab and texted Eli Robinson to let her know I was on my way. She’d asked to meet, not in a public café or restaurant, but at her own house. Luckily, it wasn’t that far from Jude’s.
Settled in her beautiful sitting room, she leaned in and quirked an eyebrow at me, her expression unfathomable. “So, what made you change your mind?”
I sipped my tea, feeling a bit embarrassed by the reason. “You might decide to cast me out of your film after this, but... I don’t really watch many films. Mostly horror, when I’m really bored. I, er, I’d not heard of you.”
To my surprise, Eli grinned. “No, I won’t cast you out. In fact, that’s perfect. Composers for my previous films have come to it with too much expectation. Then I end up with all of this... edgy shit that I didn’t want and hadn’t asked for. Is it too much to ask that someone write music with their heart, and not some preconceived idea of what it is I ‘want’ for the film?”
“Well, I have zero expectations. But it turns out my dad is a big fan of your movies. He lives in the mountains by himself. I actually wondered... my dad’s a composer, you see. But he’s never had his music widely performed or anything. He reallydoescompose with his heart. It’s his language. He doesn’t really talk. He’s not mute or anything, it just doesn’t interest him. But that’s, I think, why he never got recognized musically. It’s all about self-promotion these days, and he wouldn’t even understand the concept of self-promotion. But if you like my music, then there’s a lot of influence of his in mine, even though he’s a composer and I’m a songwriter.”
“Sure, I’ll listen.”
“Like I said, he’s never had his music played... this is a mock-up of one of his compositions, I guess. It’s all computer-generated, and he can’t stand listening to it, because he says it’s lifeless without real musicians and instruments. But I think you can hear the promise in it...”
I located the file on my phone and put it on the table between us, turning up the volume. As we listened, Eli’s face grew curiouser and curiouser. I honestly couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She was an unusual woman.
Eventually, she stood up. “I need my headphones so I can listen to this properly.”
I nodded, and waited while she retrieved a pair of headphones, connected them to my phone, and sat listening with the volume up so I could hear the tinny whisper of it, as if from a distance.
She listened again. And once more.
Then she put the headphone down. “I’ll be damned. I wait years for a good musician, and two come along at once.”
“You like it?”
“Your father is a deeply talented man. I can see where you get it from.”
“Do you think you’d... consider using his music in your film?”
