Nocturnes: Five Stories of Music and Nightfall (16 page)

“You know what I do to stop myself going crazy in this place? My big secret? I’ll tell you, but not a word, not even to Gracie, promise? What I do is go out for midnight walks. Just inside this building, but it’s so vast you can walk around forever. And in the dead of night, it’s amazing. Last night I was out there maybe a whole hour? You have to be careful, there’s still staff roving around all the time, but I’ve never been caught. I hear anything at all, I run away and hide somewhere. Once these cleaning guys saw me for a second, but like
that
I was away into the shadows! It’s so exciting. All day you’re this prisoner, then it’s like you’re completely free, it’s truly wonderful. I’m gonna take you with me some night, sweetie. I’ll show you great things. The bars, the restaurants, conference rooms. Wonderful ballroom. And there’s no one there, everything’s just dark and empty. And I discovered the most fantastic place, a kind of penthouse, I think it’s gonna be a presidential suite? They’re halfway through building it, but I found it and I was able to walk right in, and I stayed there, twenty minutes, half an hour, just thinking things over. Hey, Steve, is this right? I can do this and take your queen?”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t see that. Hey, Lindy, you’re a lot smarter at this than you let on. Now what am I supposed to do?”

“All right, I tell you what. Since you’re the guest, and you were obviously distracted by what I was saying, I’m gonna pretend I never saw it. Isn’t that nice of me? Say, Steve, I can’t remember if I asked you this before. You’re married, right?”

“That’s right.”

“So what does she think of all this? I mean, this isn’t cheap. Quite a few pairs of shoes she could buy with this kind of money.”

“She’s okay about it. In fact, this was her idea in the first place. Look who’s not paying attention now.”

“Oh hell. I’m such a lousy player anyway. Say, I don’t mean to be nosy, but does she come visit you much?”

“Actually she hasn’t been here at all. But that was always the understanding we had, before I came in here.”

“Yeah?”

She seemed puzzled so I said: “It might sound odd, I know, but that’s the way we wanted to do it.”

“Right.” Then after a while she said: “So does that mean no one comes to visit you here?”

“I get visitors. Matter of fact, someone called this morning. Musician I used to work with.”

“Oh yeah? That’s good. You know, sweetie, I’ve never been sure how these knights move. If you see me do something wrong, you just say, okay? It’s not me trying to pull a fast one.”

“Sure.” Then I said: “The guy who came to see me today, he told me some news. It was kind of strange. A coincidence.”

“Yeah?”

“There’s this saxophone player we both knew a few years back, in San Diego, guy called Jake Marvell. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s big-league now. But back then, when we knew him, he was nothing. In fact, he was a phoney. What you’d call a bluffer. Never knew his way around the keys properly. And I’ve heard him recently, plenty of times, and he hasn’t gotten any better. But he’s had a few breaks and now he’s considered hot. I swear to you he’s not one bit better than he used to be, not one bit. And you know what this news was? This same guy, Jake Marvell, he’s getting a big music award tomorrow, right here in this hotel. Jazz Musician of the Year. It’s just crazy, you know? So many talented sax players out there, and they decide to give it to Jake.”

I made myself stop, and looking up from the chess board, did a little laugh. “What can you do?” I said, more gently.

Lindy was sitting up, her attention fully on me. “That’s too bad. And this guy, he’s no good, you say?”

“I’m sorry, I was kind of out of line there. They want to give Jake an award, why shouldn’t they?”

“But if he’s no good …”

“He’s as good as the next guy. I was just talking. I’m sorry, you have to ignore me.”

“Hey, that reminds me,” Lindy said. “Did you remember to bring your music?”

I indicated the CD beside me on the sofa. “I don’t know if it would interest you. You don’t have to listen …”

“Oh, but I do, I absolutely do. Here, let me see it.”

I handed her the CD. “It’s a band I played with in Pasadena. We played standards, old-fashioned swing, a little bossa nova. Nothing special, I just brought it because you asked.”

She was examining the CD case, holding it close to her face, then away from her again. “So are you in this picture?” She brought it up close again. “I’m kind of curious what you look like. Or I should say, what you
looked
like.”

“I’m second from the right. In the Hawaiian shirt, holding the ironing board.”

“
This
one?” She stared at the CD, then over at me. Then she said: “Hey, you’re cute.” But she said it quietly, in a voice devoid of conviction. In fact, I noted a definite touch of pity there. Almost immediately, though, she’d recovered. “Okay, so let’s hear it!”

As she moved towards the Bang & Olufsen, I said: “Track number nine. ‘The Nearness of You.’ That’s my special track.”

“‘The Nearness of You’ coming up.”

I’d settled on this track after some thought. The musicians in that band had been top-notch. Individually we’d all had more radical ambitions, but we’d formed the band with the express purpose of playing quality mainstream material, the sort the supper crowd would want. Our version of “The Nearness of You”—which featured my tenor all the way through—wasn’t a hundred miles from Tony Gardner territory, but I’d always been genuinely proud of it. Maybe you think you’ve heard this song done every way possible. Well, listen to ours. Listen, say, to that second chorus. Or to that moment as we come out of the middle eight, when the band go III-5 to VIx-9 while I rise up in intervals you’d never believe possible and then hold that sweet, very tender high B-flat. I think there are colors there, longings and regrets, you won’t have come across before.

So you could say I was confident this recording would meet with Lindy’s approval. And for the first minute or so, she looked to be enjoying herself. She’d stayed on her feet after loading the CD, and just like the time she’d played me her husband’s record, she began swaying dreamily to the slow beat. But then the rhythm faded from her movements, until she was standing there quite still, her back to me, head bent forward like she was concentrating. I didn’t at first see this as a bad sign. It was only when she came walking back and sat down with the music still in full flow, I realised something was wrong. Because of the bandages, of course, I couldn’t read her expression, but the way she let herself slump into the sofa, like a tense mannequin, didn’t look good.

When the track ended, I picked up the remote and turned it all off. For what felt a long time, she stayed the way she was, stiff and awkward. Then she hauled herself up a little and began fingering a chess piece.

“That was very nice,” she said. “Thank you for letting me hear it.” It sounded formulaic, and she didn’t seem to mind that it did.

“Maybe it wasn’t quite your kind of thing.”

“No, no.” Her voice had become sulky and quiet. “It was just fine. Thank you for letting me hear it.” She put the chess piece down on a square, then said: “Your move.”

I looked at the board, trying to remember where we were. After a while, I asked gently: “Maybe that particular song, it has special associations for you?”

She looked up and I sensed anger behind her bandages. But she said in the same quiet voice: “That song? It has no associations. None at all.” Suddenly she laughed—a short, unkind laugh. “Oh, you mean associations with
him
, with Tony? No, no. It was never one of his numbers. You play it very nicely. Really professional.”

“Really
professional?
What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean … that it’s really professional. I mean it as a compliment.”

“Professional?” I got to my feet, crossed the room and got the disc out of the machine.

“What are you so mad about?” Her voice was still distant and cold. “I say something wrong? I’m sorry. I was trying to be nice.”

I came back to the table, put the disc back in its case, but didn’t sit down.

“So we going to finish the game?” she asked.

“If you don’t mind, I’ve got a few things I have to do. Phone calls. Paperwork.”

“What are you so mad about? I don’t understand.”

“I’m not mad at all. Time’s getting on, that’s all.”

She at least got to her feet to walk me to the door, where we parted with a cold handshake.

I’VE SAID ALREADY
how my sleep rhythm had been screwed up after the surgery. That evening I became suddenly tired, went to bed early, slept soundly for a few hours, then woke in the dead of night unable to go back to sleep. After a while I got up and turned on the TV. I found a movie I’d seen as a kid, so pulled up a chair and watched what remained of it with the volume down low. When that was over I watched two preachers shouting at each other in front of a baying audience. All in all, I was contented. I felt cosy and a million miles from the outside world. So my heart just about jumped out of my chest when the phone rang.

“Steve? That you?” It was Lindy. Her voice sounded odd and I wondered if she’d been drinking.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“I know it’s late. But just now, when I was passing, I saw your light on under your door. I supposed you were having trouble sleeping, just like me.”

“I guess so. It’s difficult keeping regular hours.”

“Yeah. It sure is.”

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“Sure. Everything’s good.
Very
good.”

I realised now she wasn’t drunk, but I couldn’t put my finger on what was up with her. She probably wasn’t high on anything either—just peculiarly awake and maybe excited about something she had to tell me.

“You sure everything’s okay?” I asked again.

“Yeah, really, but … Look, sweetie, I have something here, something I want to give to you.”

“Oh? And what might that be?”

“I don’t want to say. I want it to be a surprise.”

“Sounds interesting. I’ll come and get it, maybe after breakfast?”

“I was kinda hoping you’d come and get it now. I mean, it’s here, and you’re awake and I’m awake. I know it’s late, but … Listen, Steve, about earlier, about what happened. I feel I owe you an explanation.”

“Forget it. I didn’t mind …”

“You were mad at me because you thought I didn’t like your music. Well, that wasn’t true. That was the reverse of the truth, the exact reverse. What you played me, that version of ‘Nearness of You’? I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. No, I don’t mean head, I mean heart. I haven’t been able to get it out of my
heart
.”

I didn’t know what to say, and before I could think of anything she was talking again.

“Will you come over? Right now? Then I’ll explain it all properly. And most important … No, no, I’m not saying. It’s gonna be a surprise. Come on over and you’ll see. And bring your CD again. Will you do that?”

SHE TOOK THE CD
from me as soon as she opened the door, like I was the delivery boy, but then grasped me by the wrist and led me in. Lindy was in the same glamorous dressing gown as before, but she looked a little less immaculate now: one side of the gown was hanging lower than the other, and a woolly dangle of fluff was caught on the back of her bandages near the neckline.

“I take it you’ve been on one of your nocturnal walks,” I said.

“I’m so glad you’re up. I don’t know if I could have waited till morning. Now listen, like I told you, I have a surprise. I hope you’re gonna like it, I think you will. But first I want you to make yourself comfortable. We’re gonna listen to your song again. Let me see, which track was it?”

I sat down on my usual sofa and watched her fussing with the hi-fi. The lighting in the room was soft, and the air felt pleasantly cool. Then “The Nearness of You” came on at high volume.

“Don’t you think this might disturb people?” I said.

“To hell with them. We pay enough for this place, it’s not our problem. Now shhh! Listen, listen!”

She began to sway to the music like before, only this time she didn’t stop after a verse. In fact, she seemed to get more lost in the music the longer it went on, holding out her arms like she had an imaginary dance partner. When it finished, she turned it off and remained very still, standing at the end of the room with her back to me. She stayed like that for what felt like a long time, then finally came towards me.

“I don’t know what to say,” she said. “It’s sublime. You’re a wonderful, wonderful musician. You’re a genius.”

“Well, thank you.”

“I knew it the first time. That’s the truth. That’s why I reacted the way I did. Pretending not to like it, pretending to be snotty?” She sat down facing me and sighed. “Tony used to pull me up about it. I’ve always done it, it’s something I don’t ever seem to get over. I run into a person who’s, you know, who’s really talented, someone who’s just been blessed that way by God, and I can’t help it, my first instinct is to do what I did with you. It’s just, I don’t know, I guess it’s jealousy. It’s like you see these women sometimes, they’re kind of plain? A beautiful woman comes into the same room, they hate it, they want to claw her eyes out. That’s the way I am when I meet someone like you. Especially if it’s unexpected, the way it was today and I’m not ready. I mean, there you were, one minute I’m thinking you’re just one of the public, then suddenly you’re … well, something else. You know what I’m saying? Anyway, I’m trying to tell you why I behaved so badly earlier on. You had every right to be mad at me.”

The late-night silence hung between us for a while. “Well, I appreciate it,” I said eventually. “I appreciate you telling me this.”

She stood up suddenly. “Now, the surprise! Just wait there, don’t move.”

She went through into the adjoining room and I could hear her opening and shutting drawers. When she came back, she was holding something in front of her with both hands, but I couldn’t see what the something was, because she’d thrown a silk handkerchief over it. She halted in the middle of the room.