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ChapterSix
Gudeon
I stay lateat the store again on Tuesday. The Hep Cat closes at five on weeknights, but like last night, the practice rooms upstairs call to me. The solitude, the silence, is so inviting, and the piano in that first room Wamba showed me is a beauty. Scarred—big chunks of wood carved out of it, almost like someone took a pocketknife to it. The keys are a bit yellowed. The fallboard is a little bit warped. But the sound is incredible. Last night I played for hours. Mindless music. It’s so soothing to get lost in the movement of my hands on the keys and the sound, the songs I bring to life.
Last night I played other things—Bach. Beethoven. Chopin. Skye Stafford would probably turn green and get sick if she heard me play this sort of music. Most women steer toward top forty or hard rock. Maybe country. I’ve found that women near my age who appreciate classical music and jazz—anything out of the ordinary—are rare.
Tonight, I messed around with some of my own compositions. Some I believe are good enough to be out in the wild, but I haven’t had the luck to break through yet. Hence my dad’s reminders that I double majored and could be holding down a sixty-hour a week job at a bank or financial investment firm. The thought of folding myself up to fit into that sort of job, that life, makes my chest tight, and it hurts to breathe.
I don’t realize how much time has passed until I hear my phone ringing from my backpack on the floor. For a second, I’m annoyed because I think it’s Skye calling to see why I’m not at home. Remembering she doesn’t have my number, I drop my hands to my lap and twist a bit to stretch my back.
Still ringing.
When I finally lean over to grab it, I see Chloe’s number on the screen.
“Hey.”
“What’s going on?” she asks me. “Thought you weren’t going to answer.”
“Playing some music.” My answer is vague, but it doesn’t have to be anything more than that with Chloe. I don’t know how or why, but she gets me in a way no one else does. She always teases and says it’s because we’re Irish twins, like that’s a thing. Like the fact that I’m less than a year younger than her means we have the same connection fraternal or identical twins have.
“Yeah? At Skye’s?”
“Naw.” I climb off the bench and grab my backpack. My concentration is shot, so I might as well head back to Skye’s place. “At The Hep Cat.”
“Is it cool?”
I flip the light off and pull the door closed behind me. The echo of my footsteps is the only sound in the building. Wamba’s been around the past two days while I learn the ropes, but I’ve worked in retail, and I know music, and I’ve worked in music stores, so it’s not rocket science for me. Still, it’s been a nice balance—hanging with him some through the day while he shows me the books and explains the software he uses. Talking about old times, old music, new music. And then having the building to myself when he goes home.
“It’s great,” I tell Chloe as I head down the steps. The building has history; you can tell that just by looking. The place smells of old wood and paper. Polish—that for the instruments as well as the wooden boxes and tables the vinyls are displayed on. Wamba keeps the place spotless, as Clarice always insisted. “It’s a repurposed old warehouse. Three stories. Exposed brick and old hardwood.”
“Three floors? Is it packed with music?”
She’s asking if Wamba is a hoarder. If the place is ripe for mice nests or if it’s a fire casualty.
“No. It’s neat as a pin, man.” I make sure the front door is locked and then cross back through the dark storefront now. Only the exit signs over the doors light my way, but it’s dusk outside, so it’s not pitch black in here. “You could eat off the floor. Wamba doesn’t use the third floor, but the second story is practice rooms and an office.”
“That’s where you’re playing!” Chloe gushes. I hear her turn signal ticking in the background. “Got it. How’s Skye’s?”
“Where are you?” I pull my phone away from my ear to check the time. It’s after seven. I’ll be later than I was last night.
“Meeting some friends for appetizers.”
“Eat a cheeseburger, Chlo. You need some meat on your bones.”
“How’s Skye? Are you guys getting along?”
“She’s fine. It’s good.”
“Have you guys done anything together?”
At my car now, I open the door and toss my backpack to the passenger seat and then settle in. “Why would we do anything together?”
“Well, I mean, has she taken you around the area or anything?”
“Been to St. Louis several times, Chloe.”
“I know, but she probably knows cool restaurants and stuff close by.”
