London Harmony: Minuette (2 page)

I groaned.  Bloody hell, she was going to make me go out and sing in public again.  She convinced me that it would only be polite if I did that for her on special occasions like birthdays and the lot.  It was playing dirty because I felt I'd be terribly rude if I didn't.  And I didn't want to hurt her feelings.  So though it terrifies me, I sing for her in public, at whatever karaoke place, cafe, or coffee house that has open mic nights those nights.

I find I don't pass away from fright if I sing the words she had crafted, directly to her as her music plays over the speakers.  One day I'll get her to play live for me at one of those venues so I can sing to her the way it should be.  We make sure to never visit the same place twice so that nobody can identify me.  I'm not Minuette, Mindy is, I'm just her voice.

She was rocking on the bench being all cute and stuff and she asked with big doe eyes,  “Will you sing for me down at the Jackson?”

I bit down on my tongue.  No, the answer is no.  Say it Annette.  No.  Just two letters.  “Ok.”  Argh!  Wrong two letters!  I blushed and finished my coffee.  I have no defense against the woman, and I think she knows it.

She seemed supremely pleased with herself.  Grrr.  She grabbed our cups and headed to the sink.  “I'll get supper started. You get cleaned up and relax.  Remember, you have to get off to work early in the morning.”

I nodded, she knew my schedule with the temp agency better than I did.  I'm not too proud to admit that it made me feel special that she seemed to be always looking out for me.

What are best mates for?

The next week and a half went by in a flash.  With her working at the little mercantile down the block from us and me hopping from one temp job to another.  The agency has a knack for finding positions for me that fit my particular umm... eccentricities.  Mostly inventory, cleaning, or organizational jobs.  I may be an odd platypus, but my particular quirks work well in those environments.

I've never really been able to hold a job for long, before I get “the talk” and I get sacked because I “do not fit in”.  So it is the temp agency for me.  I find it interesting, all the various places I have worked at, and things I have learned at each.  I'll never get bored with my job.

I had dropped off another batch of singles in the car park at a Rayleigh concert last Friday night.  I admit I hung around near the building to hear her sing through the walls.  Her voice just dripped honey and I had all of her music.  She got her start right here in London you know.

Over the weekend, we got a kick out of the conspiracy nutters online postulating about the hidden messages in the latest.  There is even one group who has a page dedicated to Minuette.  It is run by a guy named Bear, who works at a recording studio.  They've been the most dedicated to the whole Phantom Melody aspect of Mindy's music and found her pattern and how to extract the secondary melody efficiently.

I had told her, “There you have it.  You've got fans lady.”

She countered with, “It is your voice Nett.”

I shook my head at her.  She never takes credit for her genius.

To my consternation, Tuesday came round just like every other Tuesday, regular as the calendar.  Why couldn't the bloody thing give me more time?  I was a nervous wreck on my birthday since Mind was going to force me to sing the open mic at my first pub, the Jackson now that I was twenty-one like her.

We had to submit ourselves to the ultimate torture first, though.  We stepped off the coach in front of my parent's house.  Bloody hell, mum had a Happy Birthday sign taped to the front door.

Mindy started reaching for the handle so I shot my hand out first to knock three times before she swung the door open with a smirk.  She is such an evil woman, I seriously don't know why I put up with... she smiled, her left cheek dimpling like always, giving it cute overtones... oh yeah, that's why.

I rolled my eyes at her and bumped her hip as I passed by her, causing her to stumble.  She grinned as she muttered, “Bint.”

I smirked.  “Takes one to know one.”

She giggled. “Scathing comeback Nett...”

She was interrupted by the squeal from my mum.  Let the torture begin.

She gave us both hugs and chastised, “You two never come around anymore.  I feel like you've forgotten all about us.”

Mindy beamed at her and said in that wonderfully low, raspy tone, “I'm sorry Mrs. C, I'll get her to drop by more often.  How else will I get my supply of your sinful pound cake?”

Mum grinned at her and slapped her shoulder lightly.  “Don't Mrs. C me, Mindy.  Your mum has the same complaint, at least, call her from time to time.  I swear you two girls are stubbornly independent.”

I was going to whine something in my defense, but grinned hugely instead when a deep voice came down the hall from the kitchen, “What is all the bloody ruckus about in here?”

I squeaked as dad engulfed both of us in one of his bear hugs.  He was a little on the portly side, but that just made his laugh that much more grand.  I looked up at him as he released us.  There seemed to be more silver than black in his hair now.  It had only been since the holidays since I was home so I knew it had to be a trick of the light.

Mum arched an eyebrow accusingly at him and wiped a thumb across the corner of his mouth.  Frosting... the man was busted.  Mum rolled her eyes and exhaled and said in a resigned tone.  “You are worse than the kids, Henry.  Wait until supper before cake.”

We all sat and caught up for about an hour, then mum had us all sit as she served us dinner.  My favorite, meatloaf and mashed potatoes.  I may not have sophisticated tastes, but I knew what tasted good, and it was mum's meatloaf.

Mindy would always leave her fork half off her plate, daring me with her eyes to fix it.  It drove me batty.  Mum didn't miss a beat as she said between bites, “Mindy dear, don't torture the birthday girl, please.”

Mind grinned and blushed at being caught and said, “Yes, Mrs. C.”  Then she crinkled her nose at me and placed the fork on her napkin.  I took the high road and stuck my tongue out at her.

Dad cleared his throat.  Bullocks, busted.  Why did I always feel like a kid around my parents or hers?  Maybe because she brought out the playfulness in me.

Mum asked about Mindy's music and, being subtle like all mothers in the world, she casually mentioned that she heard there was an opening in the London Symphony for a masters level pianist.  I blushed for my friend who found her potatoes extremely fascinating just then.  I rode to the rescue with a well-articulated defense, “Muuum.  Leave the poor bird alone.”  Ok, fine, it was a well-articulated whine.

I should have left it alone, mum glanced between us.  “Any news on the dating front?  I'm not getting any younger you know, Henry and I want some grandchildren before we're too old to lift them.  Your mum too, Mindy.”

I dropped my head.  Every single time.  Maybe I just figured out why we don't visit much.  Neither Mind nor I have done much on the dating scene.  We are always busy with work, and music, there isn't much time for much else.  Not to mention my inordinately huge, and inappropriate crush I have on my best mate.  I'm silently relieved she doesn't pursue romance.

I opened my mouth to say something, but Dad piped up, “Irene, leave the poor girls alone.  When they find the right ones for them, it will just...”  He looked between us and finished with, “...click,”  like he was deep in thought.  I'm pretty sure dad sussed out my crush years ago, but he never calls me on it.

Mindy changed the topic quickly as she wiped her mouth.  “Right.  Well, we need to be going soon if we are to get Annette to her appointment.”  We didn't let our parents know that I performed Mind's music in public.  This time, the excuse was that I had to meet with management of the temp job I had in the morning.  She grinned like a loon. “Presents?”

After they sang a horrific rendition of Happy Birthday and embarrassed me as mum passed out slices of cake with a small sliver of pound cake on the side for Mindy, the 'Great Presenting' began.  I'm always giddy and feel like a little girl every time I get presents for any reason, I don't know why but it makes me feel young.

Mum and dad gave me a bunch of household stuff.  Between our two sets of parents, Mindy and I had the more kitchen and organizational stuff than any young adults had any right having. And also a musical card with some cash inside.  I grinned.  They always knew the perfect gift.

Then I opened the gift I was most excited about, that heavy present from Mindy.  I paused when I had the wrapping paper half off the huge leather-bound book.  The collected works of Vee Jacobs.  There was a limited run of one thousand of these.  They sold out within minutes of being released in the stores across the globe.

Vee was one of those artists who died too young.  The prose in her poems is not what is traditionally expected.  But her words can move you in such a way... make you feel emotions tied to them that... when you read them, you would swear she knew you intimately and was expressing your own hopes and fears.  She gave your dreams a voice, and emotion that made you feel like you weren't all alone in the world.

Mindy knew Vee Jacobs was my kryptonite.

The book cost a hundred pounds when they came out five years ago, I can't imagine how much they were worth now.  It must have cost her a fortune.

I meeped out some nonsense sounds as I got emotional, and wiped my watery eyes as I gave her a hug.

She chuckled and said, “You're welcome Nett.  I know how much you love her work.”

I grinned at the three and then finished unwrapping and looked into the book.  I sighed at the first poem, Counting.  The line about a deafening whisper always gets to me.

Mind reached over and chuckled as she closed the book on me, looked at my parents, and said, “As unfashionable as it is to celebrate and run, I have to get our girl to her appointment.”

She was pulling op the bus schedule on her mobile as she spoke.  Dad tossed the car keys to her to the old, powder blue, Ford Anglia beside his sedan in the garage.  He said, “Just use the old bucket of bolts for as long as you two need her.  Remember to gas her up when you return her.”

She grinned at him. “Thanks, Mr. C.”  She gave me a smug grin as she held up the keys.  I didn't have a driver's license yet.  The examiners never have the patience for me when I have to get things exactly right.  I guess there must be a time limit for parallel parking as they always get frustrated after I have gone back and forth four or five times to get it just right, and have me pull back out into traffic.

So Mind has always been our designated driver.  We always talk about buying a bucket of bolts ourselves one day.  Most of our plans have a 'we' or 'us' in them and that always makes me grin.  Dad keeps trying to get us to buy the old Anglia from him, but it is embarrassing enough to drive as it is.  Owning it would be worse.

Ok, fine it isn't that bad, and we actually do love the freedom it gives us whenever we borrow it.  It's just too bad everything in the world seems to cost money, or we would have our own already, but it is hard enough making ends meet as it is.

Before long we were pulling up to the Jackson, it was one of those pubs that was more of a piano bar.  Live music all the time and open mic nights on off nights like Tuesdays.  I counted our steps from the car to the door.  Then couldn't get the bloody goofy smile off my face when I showed my ID at the door and they wished me a happy birthday and I was in my first drinking establishment.  I must have looked like a git because Mindy's smile was twice as big as mine.  I could have gone to the pubs when I was eighteen but haven't really wanted to, until now.

I looked around, I don't know what I was expecting.  You see all these seedy pubs on the telly, all hazy with smoke and glasses that haven't been washed, dubious looking characters all loud and tipsy.  So that's sort of what I had pictured in my head.  The reality of it was more like a coffee house, people were just a little more rambunctious. Huh.  I grinned at myself.

Mindy scurried off to the stage to the DJ up there and handed him a thumb drive and spoke with him as he wrote something down and nodded.  She was setting up my eternal embarrassment.

We took a seat and a waitress showed up immediately.  “What can I get you, ladies, tonight?”

I blushed because here I was in a pub, but I detested the taste of alcohol.  Mindy saved me by ordering first, “I'll have a beer, heavy on the root.”

The lady grinned and looked at me.  I fidgeted and said in a squeaky voice, “The same.”

The woman turned toward the bar and said in a pleasantly cheerful voice, “Two root beers coming up.”

Mind glanced over at me and whispered, “Relax Nett.  You look like you're about to explode.  Then I'd be the one stuck cleaning Annette bits off the bar.”  This got me grinning and I tilted my head in apology and tried to relax as the DJ announced open mic night.

My best mate said, “He said you'd be sixth up.  Let's just kick back and enjoy the performances.”  So we did, as I organized the table.  Setting the beer placards behind the salt and pepper and sugar packets which I arranged so that everything was color coded.

Some of the performers were not bad, and some were abysmal but having such a good time you couldn't help but smile and encourage them.  It was like karaoke.

There was one bloke, who was third at the mic, which made me cock an eyebrow.  He sat at the grand piano that marked the place as a piano bar and he played some Beethoven and was bloody brilliant.

I watched Mindy, off in that world she gets lost in when the music takes her away.  She just swayed with the music, her fingers playing the notes on the table in time with the man.  Her eyes were locked on a point in space, focused on something only she could see.  She lived the music and I found it mesmerizing, especially the little smile that quirked at the corners of her lips.

All too soon, the deejay was calling me to the stage.  “Ladies and gentlemen, let's welcome our next vocalist on open mic night, Minuette.”

I glared at Mind.  She was Minuette, but she always had people introduce me as Minuette.  She parried my glare away by sticking her tongue out at me and shooing me away.

I paced up to the stage, seventeen steps, and shrunk away from the spotlight.  I took up the microphone and smiled shyly at the crowd who were quieting down.  I gave a tiny wave stupidly from my side and said, “Hello everyone, my manky bint of a best mate is making me do this.”

There were some chuckles and Mindy crossed her arms behind her head and leaned against an imaginary wall in her chair with a supremely smug look on her face.  She was quite proud of herself.  See if I let her have any of the pound cake in the care package mum packed for us.

I said, “This one is called ‘Revelations.’”  I nodded at the deejay and a moment later, the familiar cascade of piano music came drifting out of the speakers.