Coffee Sonata (21 page)

“You didn’t. It was beautiful. Is that your Fender Stratocaster?”

Eryn had to smile.
She remembers what I tell her.
“No, this is my vintage Gibson Les Paul. 1970,” Eryn said with pride. She basked in the surprised appreciation in Manon’s eyes as she continued. “And I’ve played both my guitars practically every day since I bought them. Well, except last weekend when I was still sore.”

“What song was that?”

“‘There You’ll Be
.
’ It’s one of my favorites.”

“I’ve heard it before, but I mostly play classical pieces. Some more, please?” Manon gestured toward the amplifier sitting next to the open fireplace. “But this time, plug it in?”

“All right.” Seduced by the request, Eryn could never have denied Manon, no matter what. She hooked up the system to the Les Paul. “Do you enjoy jazz? Like Billie Holiday?”

“Oh, yes.”

Eryn adjusted the volume and let the first chord ring through the system. Manon’s eyes grew thoughtful as Eryn began to play “God Bless the Child.” She had come up with a new arrangement, slower, more haunted, and she loved how the guitar climbed toward an inevitable crescendo. She didn’t take her eyes off Manon as she worked the strings with the plectrum. Manon, in turn, had put down her folders and was sitting on the worn couch with her legs pulled up beneath her. Her eyes were that familiar dark thunder gray, as if stormy emotions fought for dominance.

Manon’s response inspired Eryn, and she put all her feelings into the music, her breath quickening with each tone. When the song was over, her fingers continued on their own, entwining the well-known chords with new ones, her own, meshing them until the Les Paul sounded as tormented as Eryn felt inside. She slammed down the last chord and let it ring until it faded out. Gasping for air, she was taken aback by how emotional she had become.

“My God.” Manon’s breathless voice reached her as if from a distance.

Eryn slowly took in the familiar surroundings. Everything was different somehow, and she wondered if it was because Manon sat on her couch and aimed her full attention at her.

“Where did that come from?” Manon sounded baffled.

“I have no clue. I jam when I’m on my own, sometimes, but it’s never sounded like this. Never.”
It was magical. She sat there and never took her eyes off me, and I couldn’t have stopped playing, not even for a million dollars.

“It was amazing. A sound that I’ve never heard before. Like a voice. It spoke to me.”

“What do you mean?” Afraid that her guitar might have given her away, Eryn held it closer.

“It told me of pain and of happiness at the same time. I don’t know how you did it, but if you can do it again, you’d be able to reach a lot of people.”

“I’ve never thought I was good enough to play for a paying audience.”

“Oh, you are. Surely other people have told you so.”

“My sisters, but they don’t count.” Eryn studied the pattern of her rug.

“May I see the guitar?”

Eryn unhooked it and walked over to the couch. She sat down next to Manon, feeling self-conscious for a moment until Manon reached out for the guitar with a smile.

“Oh, look at that. I never learned to play, but I know a few basic chords.” She placed her fingers in the correct position for a D chord with her left hand and let her free hand gently strum the strings. When the guitar gave a clean, muted sound, she turned her head and smiled again. “Hear? That wasn’t too bad. At least it wasn’t false!”

“It wasn’t false at all,” Eryn said, reciprocating Manon’s irresistible smile, which had altered her usual austere expression completely. “Maybe I can bring my guitar to your place one day, and we can jam.”

“I’ve never jammed in my life. I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“Neither did I, before I started playing like this. Why not give it a try?” Eryn smiled again. “We could ask Mike to join us. She plays the drums like there’s no tomorrow.”

Manon shook her head. “It sounds fun, but as you said, we’re both busy women, and my schedule is booked solid for years to come.”

“Years? You have to be kidding.” Eryn couldn’t imagine being that organized. “You already know what you’re going to do a year from now?”

“Yes. Well, almost. Though my weekends are usually sacred unless there’s a function I can’t get out of.”

Eryn was stunned, but Manon’s busy schedule helped explain what governed her life.
The foundation. She lives, breathes, and damn near eats it. She didn’t exaggerate when she said it was her everything.

“So if I can track you down during a weekend before you have to put on one of the stunning dresses you bought at… Wait a minute. You haven’t showed them to me.”

“What are you talking about?” Manon looked around. “Oh, the dresses I bought today.” She sounded as if she’d completely forgotten her errands.

“Yes, I’d love to see them.”

“Help yourself.” Manon motioned at the bags sitting next to the couch. She shook her head. “And you don’t have to track me down. I live upstairs, remember.”

*

Manon watched Eryn open one of the shopping bags and pull out an emerald green sleeveless dress.
There’s simply no way to predict what she’s going to say or do. Who is she, really? She looks like a mythical forest creature, yet she’s much more modern than I am.
Eryn’s braid had become half unfastened during their embrace in the kitchen, and now strands of it curled in all directions across her back.
Silky.
The forbidden thoughts came uninvited, and Manon struggled to focus on what Eryn was saying.

“This is great.” She held up the green dress. “I love the fabric. It’s almost golden green. What is it? Silk?”

“Yes, raw silk. I believe it’s imported from the Brahmaputra Valley in India by a local seamstress who works on commission for Genevieve.”

“Sounds fascinating, but I’d rather see it on you. Model for me?” Eryn winked and held up the dress.

Manon gaped for a second before finding her equilibrium. “I don’t think that getting undressed right now would be smart,” she blurted. As soon as she spoke, she felt a hot wave creep up her neck and cheeks.

Eryn almost dropped the dress. “What?”

Not sure whether to backtrack or act innocent, Manon opened and closed her mouth without a sound.

“Manon? You okay?” Eryn got on her knees.

No! I’m not okay. I’m pathetic and certainly far from okay. Please, God, allow a large hole to open up and swallow me.

Eryn stared at her for another ten seconds, obviously waiting for a reply, and when she didn’t get one, her face contorted for a brief moment before she gave a resounding laugh. “God, Manon. I was joking!”

Manon cringed and had no idea how to handle Eryn’s mirth. Eventually, the contagious sound pierced her embarrassment, and she couldn’t hold back a low chuckle.

“Oh, that’s rich. You honestly believed I expected you to model the dresses for me, huh?” Eryn shook her head. “That would have been a sight.”

“Yes, that’s truer than you know. If you’d seen me behaving so uncharacteristically, I’d have had to kill you.”

Another fit of laughter from Eryn, combined with a surprised happiness in her eyes, made Manon smile at her own joke.

“So, in the interest of my own continued good health, I should let you just do your thing?” Eryn motioned toward the folders lying on the coffee table.

“Exactly.” Manon relaxed against the couch again. “However, I wouldn’t mind if you played some more. Unless you have something else you need to—”

“No. I don’t. Go ahead and work. I’ll play.”

Despite Eryn’s distracting presence, when the first tones of “Nature Boy” flowed from Eryn’s fingertips onto the strings of the Les Paul and out through the speakers, Manon opened the next folder and found it surprisingly easy to focus.

Eryn entered the study at the Dodd Mansion, where Marjorie Dodd sat behind a large walnut desk. The floor-to-ceiling bookcases were filled with books and folders, some appearing very old and some brand-new, suggesting this room had been Marjorie’s workplace for many years.

“Eryn. So glad you could make it.” Marjorie put her pen down on a thick folder.

“I’ve come to let you know my decision.”

Marjorie motioned toward a leather chair across from her. “Please, have a seat. I hope it’s good news.”

“Yes, I’ve decided to accept.”

“That’s wonderful.” Marjorie laced her fingers in front of her and rested her hands on the desk. Eryn didn’t know if she imagined it, but Marjorie looked smaller in only a week. Her voice wavered slightly, unlike her previous commanding tone.

“This is a chance of a lifetime. Now I just have to convince my boss to give me a leave of absence.” Eryn shook her head. “I’m afraid he’ll refuse.”

“What will you do then?”

“Resign. Not that I want to sound conceited, but I’ve outgrown the local paper. I want to write longer pieces, like this history.”

“And I know you’ll do a good job. My assistant will show you where you can find all the research material we keep here. There’s more on microfilm at the city hall and the East Quay library.”

“Thanks. Will I have a chance to interview you?”

“Of course. Just make an appointment. You can have all the time you want.” Marjorie leaned forward, seeming to see right through her, down to her unruly emotions stirring just below the surface. Handing her a business card, she said, “I don’t want to leave anything about this project to chance, now that I’ve finally found you.”

“I understand.” Eryn checked her notes. “I have a few comments already, about format and my system, if that’s all right?”

“By all means.” Marjorie said, “Here. If you run into problems that my assistant can’t solve, you can always reach me on my private line.”

“Whose handwritten numbers are those?”

“Manon’s private numbers, both home and her cell phone. Also the direct line to her office. You might already have some of them, but you need them all in the same place.”

“Good thinking,” Eryn murmured, and hoped that her cheeks hadn’t turned bright red at the mention of Manon’s name. She hadn’t seen her since two evenings earlier, when Manon had worked on her couch.

Eryn had pulled double shifts after that, since two of her colleagues were ill.
It just didn’t seem right to pop up to the penthouse and say, “Hey there, let’s continue where we left off, honey.”
Truthfully, Eryn was afraid to jinx everything since they’d parted on such good terms, despite the almost disastrous turn of events.

“Anything else, Eryn?” Marjorie asked, interrupting her thoughts.

“No, I don’t think so. I have this,” she waved the business card, “and if I survive telling my boss I need time off, I’ll start tomorrow morning.” Eryn felt jittery and realized she was excited about work for the first time in years. The thought of writing about these no doubt colorful women appealed to her immensely.

“Then I’ll expect a weekly progress report. Agreed?” Marjorie rose, and Eryn noticed how hard she had to grip the desk to move with any semblance of ease.

“Yes, that sounds fine. I’ll probably inundate you with details in the beginning.” Eryn grinned. “Let me know if it gets too boring.”

“I don’t think this topic could ever bore me.” Marjorie raised a hand. “Wait. I have one more question.”

“Yes?” Marjorie’s serious tone brought chills to the back of Eryn’s neck.

“When I offered you this commission, you acted reluctant, even upset. What made you change your mind?”

When you talk to a woman who’s a century old, who’s seen more than most people, you don’t try to pull a fast one on her.
Eryn sighed inwardly. “I felt manipulated. You know, ‘I’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse’ and all that. This was a dream job offered on a silver platter. Too easy.”

“You deserve the silver platter. Manon talked to some of your colleagues, so I know you’ve put in more hours than most reporters at the local paper, with very little thanks. I’ve read clippings from several years back, and you’ve always done a superb job, even if you must’ve been bored to tears at times. You’ve proven yourself.”

“Yes, I realize that now, but when you and Manon were sitting there, sprinkling fairy dust over me…you seemed to assume I’d be tremendously grateful and jump at the opportunity without considering it.”
And now I’m sounding like an ungrateful prick.

Marjorie was momentarily silent. “So, did you question
her
motives more than mine, since you and I are strangers?”

“Yes. I don’t want to be one of her charities.”

“I can’t blame you.” Marjorie nodded. “We all have our pride, and you’re independent, obviously capable of taking care of yourself. However, I’m glad you saw through your own misgivings. Did you talk about this with Manon?”

“Well, yes, and no, not exactly. We talked about some other things, and that’s when I realized what I was supposed to do. I know that doesn’t make sense—”

“Oh, but it does, dear one. Manon is amazing, just like you, and she works just as hard. Sometimes she forgets herself in the process, and having you as a neighbor should be good for her. She certainly admires and appreciates you.”