London Harmony: Minuette (10 page)

I just blushed and redoubled my efforts in faking my way through the yearbooks.  I sort of never wanted this to end either.  Though I knew it was but a matter of days now before it all came crashing down around me.

Mind was in an extra playful mood when I got home that night.  Before I could even speak to her, she was grinning and playing the finished track she had been working on for me and had me be her voice.  By the time dinner came out of the oven, we had been at it for just over a half hour and had gone through it four times.  I knew it by heart.

As we ate the tuna noodle casserole, she asked, “How was work dear?”

She was being silly so I played along, “It was fine sweetheart.  I think I closed the Adam's account.”

She smiled and her eyes glittered as she took another bite and said, “That's great news.  I know how the partners have been stressing over that account.  We should take the kids out to celebrate this weekend.”

I smiled but was at a loss, that was about all the nineteen fifties banter I could come up with.  She just chuckled and smiled in triumph as she stuffed another fork full of noodles into her mouth.  I said with an aborted laugh wavering my voice, “What put you in such a playful mood?”

She shrugged. “I finished your song.”

I tilted my head to regard her.  That statement felt double edged to me.  Before I could ask anything she said, “Why don't we record it in the morning and you can seed it at the O2 tomorrow night.  Lessa Franklin from the States is headlining there this weekend.”

I nodded.  She seemed excited about it so I would do anything to make sure it was done.  I loved her smile and this playful attitude lately, even if that movie night about killed me.  I squeaked out an, “Ok.”

I shooed her out of the kitchen and did the dishes as she watched the telly.  When I joined her I had all kinds of questions for her but she just pulled me onto the couch, turned off the telly and dropped Vee Jacobs' book in my lap as she draped her legs over me.  “Read to me.”  She closed her eyes.

I was distracted by her warmth and just nodded and opened the book.  I smiled warmly at the peaceful look on her face as I started reading Unrealized.  Appropriate.  As I read I noticed I was absently stroking her legs with the thumb of my free hand.  I swallowed and kept it up as I read since she didn't say anything about it.  All I wanted to do was hold her in my arms.  Hmmm.  That would be the next poem to read, In Her Arms.

I paused a moment.  Was she doing this to distract me from having a talk with her about the layers in the music?  She sighed as I finished the first poem, and I didn't care anymore if I could get that reaction from her.

***

I woke in the morning on the couch again.  She had somehow turned herself around as she was cuddled into my shoulder and my arm was draped around her, almost in a protective manner.  No work today.  I just smiled and stretched to set the book I was using as a pillow on the side table and closed my eyes again to basked in our contact.

All too soon Mindy stirred when the first rays of sun streamed between the curtains of the small window in the living room.  I often wondered why there was even a window there, it looked onto the face of another apartment block just thirty meters away, not like there was a view of anything.  I can't even remember the last time we had the curtains open.

She yawned and looked up at me with those hazel gems of hers.  Then she disentangled from me as she sat up with a grin, mumbling, “This is starting to become a habit.”

I blushed and she added, “Not that I mind a heat generating pillow.”

She hopped up and started taking slow sideways steps away as she grinned at me.  When I finally realized what she was doing it was too late.  I jumped up but she was already running to the loo with a maniacal laugh.  I called after her as she shut the door,  “Bint.”  She cackled again.

Once we were cleaned up and ready for the day, and I had the woman fed, she dragged me to the piano bench, then she powered up her laptop and pulled up her mixing application.  While she did that I got the microphone set up in its shock mount and attached to her computer, adjusting the pop filter in front of my face.

She dared me with her smile as she said, “One take.”

Damn her.  Starting last year she only gives us one take at recording, so it has to be perfect, otherwise any mistakes on our part become immortalized.  I think it was her way of helping me get over my insecurity about being her voice and to give my best every time we recorded a track.  Well it works, the sneaky woman knows I obsess over it and have to make sure I do my absolute best for her.

I sighed and nodded and she gave a little wink, hit record, then turned to the piano and raised the fallboard.  I watched her channel the music as she closed her eyes.  I loved the sense of tranquility that seemed to wash over her as she began playing.  I smiled and thumped on the piano bench where she marked it in the music, and I started to sing for her.

Even if I cannot be with her the way I dream about, there is no doubt in my mind that at least in her music we become one.  We knew each other so intimately in the swirling current of the melody, the waves of the notes that crashed upon the shores of our awareness.  She was my harmony and I was her voice.  There was something we shared in the music that could never be taken away, it was an honesty that brought tears to my eyes when I looked at her, entranced by the art she had created from the air itself.

I sang both songs, feeling almost as if the Phantom Melody were something sorrowful, mournful... it was a goodbye and my heart ached and I did not understand it.  My thumping on the bench faded with my voice as the last note of her unmatched music vibrated on the air.  Then there was silence.  I whispered 'Minuette out' almost like a prayer.”  Mindy didn't look at me, she just lowered the fallboard and then stopped the recording.

For a long five seconds, she stared at nothing, before she turned to me and asked, “How long before Fran has everything?”

I shrugged, trying to read her.  “She is only missing the original tracks we shared online.  And this one of course.”

She nodded with a pensive look on her face.  “So it is almost over.”  Then she took a deep breath, smiled, and looked up at me.  “Let's get to it then lady.”  She put on her headphones and went to work on the track we just recorded as I stowed the microphone.  The words, “it is almost over,” echoing in my head.

It felt ominous and I wasn't sure I liked it.  I wish I weren't such a coward.  I really needed to have a honest talk with her.  She deserved to know that truth about my feelings.  It was going to drive a wedge between us if I didn't come clean.  But I was terrified that the truth would tear us apart or taint our friendship.

I pushed that aside, for now, for this weekend, I was going to make it my duty to make her smile.

She worked furiously on the laptop, and after a few minutes she relaxed and plugged in a thumb drive and copied the track.  I handed her a fresh drive as she gave me the finished one and I wrote a silver “M” on it and “listen” written on the back.  We were a well tuned machine and had twenty drives done in record time.

I put the drives in my bag for later that night and then grinned at Mind.  “Let's go record shopping.  I want to treat you.”  We had some extra disposable income after I got my first check from the temp agency for my work at London Harmony.  Though I knew how much they were paying me, it was still a shock to see a check more than double my usual.

We had tucked two-thirds of it away into our car fund.  My evil brown haired obsession informed me that when we had our own car, that I was required to get my license.  No excuses this time and failure was not an option.  I had reticently agreed.  I mean, how could anyone say no to her?  We had used some of the boon to stock our kitchen a little better.

Her eyes twinkled at the mention of record shopping.  Her vinyl collection was second to none and quite eclectic.  Anything from classical to pop, metal, and even a few movie soundtracks sprinkled in.

Since we moved out of our parents, we haven't had much disposable income at all.  Being an adult isn't all t is cracked up to be.  So we haven't really got her out on a serious record shopping binge in over two years.  She gave me a cheesy, toothy grin, as she nodded her head quickly for an inordinate length of time that had me giggling and slapping her shoulder to get her to stop.

She said, “Let me just grab my bag.”  Then she paused. “We should probably get the Anglia if we're to do this properly.”

I just nodded, loving the playful mood, it was contagious.

Before long we were driving away from mum and dad's.  As she ground the gears a bit, getting the powder blue beast into second gear; dad has said for years he needed to get the transmission fixed; she got a thoughtful look on her face.

She glanced at me and said cryptically, “An automatic.”

I bobbled my head around looking at her like she had dropped the nut.

She chuckled. “Our car.  It should be an automatic.  That would give you less to concentrate on as you take your driving test.  The manual transmission and clutch, added onto everything else your obsessive nature does to you during the test, is a distraction.  If we eliminate half of those distractions and get you to realize your parallel parking doesn't need to be perfect.”

That started to panic me, the manual states that you should be perfectly parallel to the curb at no more than ten to twenty-five centimeters away.

She added quickly, “Just for the test mind you.  You can always go back later after you pass, to park the way you wanted to.”  She was literally tongue in cheek at that moment and I had to give her an open mouth shocked smile as I slapped her shoulder, to her giggling delight.

Then she added, “I'm serious though, an automatic.”

I nodded agreement, no matter how funny she was being at the moment, it was actually pretty smart.  I was about to say so when my mobile rang.  I fished it out of my bag and looked at it and furrowed my brow.  “It's Fran.”  I shrugged and answered, “Hello? What?  I emailed you the latest Minuette track?”  I glared over at a far too innocent looking Mind, who was looking anywhere but me.  What was she trying to do to me?

I listened and said, “Umm... Mindy and I were in the park and that lady caught up with us again.  She gave me drives to distribute tonight at the Lessa Franklin concert.  What?  Ok, sure.  See you Monday.  You too.”

I rang off and turned to Mindy. “What the bloody hell woman?”

She scrunched her head down to her shoulders and squinted her eyes. “Sorry.  I just figured it was in the end game and she was going to get it soon anyway.  She's too smart for her own good.  This will just speed things along.”

True.  But still, I was at a loss to tell Francine where I got the track.  That lame mystery woman excuse a third time is pushing the envelope of believability too far.

I gave her a sour lemon look that she batted away with a crinkle nosed smile which just melted away all my defenses.  Her eyes widened and her smile blossomed on her face as she brought the car to a stop after parallel parking on the first try.  Cheeky.  She said with a cute smile on her face, “First stop!  Let's go immerse ourselves in vinyl.”

Hmmm... Mindy in vinyl?  Oh dear lord.  I'm sure my blush could be seen from space at that thought.  I squeaked out an, “Ok.”  And hopped out to follow her down the walk.

I paused when I saw she parked crookedly in the space at the curb.  I glanced at her with her eyebrow cocked in a dare for me to say anything.  The woman did it on purpose to bug me!  I looked at the car then her a couple times before dashing off after her, counting my strides.  She surprised me by grabbing my hand.

I glanced around and got a little excited when I realized where we were, Church Street, that meant... we stopped in front of Lucky 7, one of the hidden gems in London for any audiophile.  The dilapidated fire engine red paint job of the little shop made it stand out on the old brick building.

Lucky 7 is a secondhand music, book, and comic shop that caters to the eclectic tastes of the city's music and comic lovers. Most people think you find the best records in those posh shops or big name chain stores, but that isn't true.  You find the best diamonds buried deep in the earth.  And this run-down looking shop has some of the best diamonds yet to be discovered in its depths.  Most everything was a pound or less.

She pulled me through the door, her excitement evident on her smiling face.  Then to my disappointment, let go of my hand as we looked at the place.  To the untrained eye it looked like a disorganized mess, we knew better.  The stacks of boxes and plywood shelves and racks full of books, magazines, comics, and vinyl records in every nook and cranny greeted us.

She dashed to the seven inch platters as I started perusing a random box of twelve-inch vinyl.  The front room here was the most organized of the shop as the owner sort of made it look like a pseudo retail space.  The boxes here were the ones he hauled up from the back rooms or the basement.  There was always something new down there so he had to move more up front to move stock more quickly.  Most records in this room were twenty to fifty pence for a quick sale.

I started sorting the records in the box alphabetically as I thumbed through them.  I caught Mindy grinning at it when she looked away from her digging.  I blushed and shrugged as she rolled her eyes.  Hey, this is how I have fun.  I went back to organizing, though I knew the staff would just be grabbing them from the boxes and stuffing them anywhere there was space later.

Mindy gleeped once in a while and put a record aside.  I really enjoyed watching her in her element here, it was like watching a chipmunk squirreling away the choicest nuts.  By the end of our visit here she would have a stack of twenty or so then we'd spend some time at the turntables they have randomly sprinkled in the rooms so she can decide which ones she would be liberating from their captivity at the store.  Usually four or five will make the cut.