Tallis' Third Tune

by Ellen L. Ekstrom

  “Don’t mind me,” Quinn murmured, and planted a kiss on my brow, pulled me closer, and shot Will a smile that could be interpreted as smug or victorious, or both. I didn’t mind that at all, especially when his arm stayed around my waist and I was close enough to inhale the scent he wore. The next day I went to Bill’s Drugs and bought a bottle of that same cologne; I kept it hidden in my vanity, taking it out every now and then to partake of what I thought was a guilty pleasure – to remember how he smelled and wished that he was beside me at night…

  “It must be strange coming back here after spending so much time in England,” I commented.

  “We have better food,” Quinn answered. “Truth be told, I didn’t want to go this year, but my grandmother expects me to, and after she closes up the shop at six, there’s nothing to do – I don’t know anyone. And I actually looked forward to music camp.”

  “How was it?” I asked as we finally walked inside and Quinn passed our tickets to the kid at the door.

  The kid glanced at me slack-mouthed, eyes darting up and down, and exclaimed, “Wow, didn’t know it was you, Alice!” He sat behind me in Social Studies and bore holes into the back of my skull with watery blue eyes when he wasn’t trying to get my attention or blow on my neck. Now he looked up at Quinn, looking down just as quickly when Quinn glared.

  “Enjoy the show – they die in the end!”

  Quinn spun about, glaring once more, and then recovered. “What was that all about?”

  “He has a crush on me or something.”

  “He should have moved faster,” Quinn said with a wink. “There’s Will and Amber Lynne - let’s go this way.” We stepped in line behind a group of sophomores from the high school and followed them in, pausing just inside the threshold. “Wait a minute; my eyes haven’t adjusted to the dark – don’t want to trip and make a fool in front of you while I’m trying to be so cool and suave,” he quipped, but I saw that he was making careful note of where Will and Amber Lynne were going and he steered me in the opposite direction.

  “Do you want to sit up close, or…” Quinn had paused near a back row.

  “Back here.”

  We took seats in the back row away from other Berkeley High kids coming in. No sooner had Quinn settled in than he got up and handed me his coat, saying, “Don’t go anywhere.” Moments later he returned with a bag of popcorn and two drinks. He looked perturbed and glanced around before taking his seat.

  “Something wrong?” I hinted.

  “What? Oh, nothing – ran into Will.”

  “Lucky you!”

  “I told him I was, if you get my meaning.”

  I did.

  The bag of popcorn between us, Quinn started to eat and I stole sideways glances at him. He was classically handsome, dark, with expressive, dark eyes and a dazzling smile that dimpled. Did I mention that it was knee-disintegrating? His father was English and his mother was of English and Italian parentage, from an ancient family in Siena. His father taught music at the university and was head of the music department when he wasn’t singing a second lead with the San Francisco Opera. His mother stopped traffic on Shattuck Avenue when she glided into Hink’s Department Store, a tall, thin, woman with glamorous dark beauty – and Quinn, I thought, inherited all of their best qualities.

  “You were asking about music camp,” Quinn murmured when the house lights dimmed.

  “Yeah, was it the same as last year?”

  “Same as always – same kids, same music, same fleas and mosquitoes,” Quinn said, laughing nervously.

  “I wish I could have gone to the chorus week at camp, but with everything that happened in April, Dennis and I couldn’t afford it.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I guess,” I nervously shoved the hair behind my right ear, and then the left. “I guess I’ll get used to Mom not being around.”

  “I tried to call you back in June when it happened – when my dad took me to New York for an audition.”

  “You did?” I asked, looking up at Quinn. His dimples increased when he smiled gently, sincerely, and I looked down at my lap, brushing the crumbs and kernels of popcorn off the velvet.

  “Mother called when she read the obituary in the Chronicle, so I tried to call – man, I just said that, didn’t I? I thought maybe you’d want to hear from a friend.”

  “That was thoughtful. I didn’t see you around and I didn’t know what to think – everyone else pretty much stayed away and I thought, well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “You got the card and flowers, right?”

  “Yeah, I did. It surprised me because, well, you know, like I said, I hadn’t seen you around and then I heard you’d gone to England for the summer. So it meant a lot that someone like you would go to the trouble…”

  I didn’t add that I had saved the card and pressed one of the flowers he’d sent.

  “Someone like me?” he wondered, shifting to his right to look at me. I was glad the theater was dark – he wouldn’t have been able to see my blushes as he smiled at me.

  “Everyone looks at you and smiles when you’re walking down the halls, and the girls practically melt – damn! I said that out loud.”

  Quinn gently laughed, saying, “I don’t think my sex appeal is what they’re gossiping about – I’m just a freak to most of them.”

  “How can you say that, Quinn? You’re talented, funny, good looking…”

  “I like that. The way you said my name,” he replied softly. “If you want to know, I think you’re my only friend at school, and I sent the flowers and card because I wasn’t able to talk to you when your mom died, and honestly, I couldn’t imagine what you were going through.”

  “I don’t think I properly thanked you.”

  “Consider tonight payment in full – the date that is, I don’t mean to say – shit, I’m doing it again…”

  “Quinn, you can relax,” I giggled, patting his shoulder.

  He casually draped an arm around the back of my chair; his hand brushed up against my neck and shoulder and that sent a delightful shiver through me. Quinn offered his jacket, thinking I was cold and I took it because it smelled like him and held his warmth. I was so happy that I started to feel tears in my eyes and a lump in my throat. He glanced over, concerned, and offered the handkerchief from his pocket. I was still holding that little square of fine linen when we left the theater two hours later and retraced our steps along Oxford.

  “Sorry,” I said, blowing my nose. “I cry at everything! Good thing I didn’t put on mascara.”

  “I like you without makeup. Good thing they haven’t made a movie of Lord of the Rings.”

  My response was a loud honk. I was ready to give him back the handkerchief embroidered with a ‘Q’ but thought better and shoved it into my purse. Quinn laughed and playfully slung his arm around me. When he’d realized what he’d done, he moved away quickly, as if I was made of fire.

  “No worries,” I whispered as we paused on the sidewalk. He reached out to brush the hair out of my eyes, and let his fingers glide along my cheek gently.

  “I think,” he sighed, “I think you’re beautiful.”

  As on the train, I sensed that he would kiss me and I closed my eyes, waiting. When I opened them again, I was kneeling in my bedroom before a cardboard box of baby clothes. I was holding the handkerchief.

  “What’s there?”

  I was startled, surprised more that I was in our brownstone in Providence, where we’d gone to live after the wedding than the sound of his voice. He was crouched beside me, his chin on my shoulder, the two-day old beard scratching and irritating.

  “Something from my mother’s funeral,” I lied. “My heart nearly broke – all that crying. I never thought…”

  “You weep? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shed a tear.”

  “I’ve learned that crying doesn’t solve problems or find answers.”

  He watched me twist the fine linen square into knots.

  “Do
n’t suppose they do, Angel.”

  “No worries,” I replied, tucking the handkerchief into the pocket of my sweater.

  “Do you need to keep it?” he asked as he headed out. “Look at all the stuff you’ve kept. Best to get rid of most of it – there’s no room and it won’t change anything. Doorbell!” he shouted on his way to the kitchen.

  “Why don’t you get it?” I called back. I went to the door, nevertheless.

  A postal carrier was on the doorstep. He smiled and handed off a square parcel that could not have fit in the box. I set it aside, not recognizing the hand in the address. Later that night as I was washing the dishes and settling down for a night of research and writing, I glanced at the parcel and carefully unwrapped what was an album, an LP of Ralph Vaughan Williams’ music – Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis.

  My heart stopped.

  Chapter 3

  “Great! That’s all we need – more stuff.”

  Again he was looking over my shoulder. He reached for the album, but I held it close, safely it in my hands, and waited until he was gone before I pulled the record from its paper sleeve and cradled it as if it was a holy relic. Holding it to the light, I studied the grooves and found it – a hairline scratch going the diameter of the disc. We had no record player; we had got rid of it when we started collecting CDs. I ran a fingernail over each groove, hearing in my mind the lush evocative strains started by a single string, and then the cellos, as I kept moving my finger along the perimeter.

  The opening measures of this piece, my favorite, were playing over a sound system when, as the light reflected off the vinyl, I looked up and found myself in the Shop. The Proprietress was scowling in my direction. That did not surprise me in the least.

  “Well, at least you’re punctual!”

  “If that’s the least of your concerns,” I muttered, looking around, hoping to see something different, perhaps a clue as to why I was there. “What do I do now?” I demanded of her, my voice as steel-edged as hers. That made her happy, for she tried not to smile and pointed to the corner table while she made a notation in a ledger.

  “What were you doing before, Alice?” she wanted to know, in a sing-song, professorial tone, but not raising her eyes to look at me. I already knew that would have been too easy, too nice, for her.

  “Alrighty then!” I sighed, and went to my place. Sitting down, I flipped open the laptop and watched the screen as I took sips from the Starbucks mug. The coffee was still piping hot.

  “Have you decided, then?”

  “Pardon?”

  Tap-tap-tap, tap-tappa-tap-tap…Tap-tap-tap, tap-tappa-tap-tap…

  A perfectly-manicured nail was striking the cover of the lapis book while The Proprietress glared.

  “You'll want to make a decision.”

  “Don’t I have all the time in the world? Is this not kairos, rather than kronos?”

  She didn’t appreciate my jest, or my laugh.

  “Come then! A decision, Alice.”

  I took another sip from my travel mug and walked over to the counter. She was still tapping on the book cover. Just as I reached for the book, she snatched it away, locking it in the display case.

  “Well, how am I supposed…?”

  The Proprietress snapped her fingers and pointed roundly at the literature rack. Sighing, and not taking my eyes from her, I reached out and whacked the wire stand, letting it spin. Without even glancing, I snatched a brochure and held it up defiantly, my brows raised, waiting for her next barb.

  “Well, indeed!” The Proprietress sniffed. She actually smiled!

  I looked down and saw that it was about Thomas Tallis. Curious, I unfolded the brochure and held it up like a road map. When I brought it down to ask the Proprietress a question I was in Quinn’s study, holding an album sleeve in my hands.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you!” Quinn laughed, thinking I’d jumped when he’d banged open the door to the stairwell. He came in with a tray laden with tumblers full of ice, cans of Diet Pepsi, a bowl of popcorn, and a plate of little sandwiches and set it on the coffee table. “Since we didn’t grab dinner after the movie, Mother thought you might be hungry.”

  “I am,” I admitted and waited for him to sit beside me before reaching for a sandwich. I took a bite of what was chicken salad, and offered the sandwich to him. Quinn devoured it in one bite.

  “Next time I’ll bring more cash. Eat – mangia!” he laughed. “She says you’re too skinny. Though she should talk…”

  “She does? She is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She’s a model, isn’t she?”

  “No – psychiatrist. And she just told me that you were enchanting and sweet.” He fed some popcorn to me.

  “And you said I was beautiful.”

  “I did – and I meant it, even when you spit popcorn all over my favorite dress.”

  “I do that because I am a lady,” I quipped.

  “A beautiful lady.”

  We were tossing kernels up in the air and trying to catch them in our mouths.

  “Thank you. No one’s ever said – well, someone I wasn’t related to. Relatives have to say nice things, don’t they?”

  “Wait ‘til you’ve been around my family a bit.”

  “Or my brother,” I sighed.

  “I like your brother,” Quinn said, feeding more popcorn. “He doesn’t seem to care what others think.”

  “He cares what people think of me – of us.”

  “Us?” Quinn stopped shooting popcorn and looked at me, the popcorn scattering on the sofa. His brows were raised hopefully. “There’s an 'us'?”

  “I meant, what people think of Dennis and me. Of us being alone now.”

  “Oh.”

  He sounded so disappointed that I reached out and touched his face. His hand, long and slender, tanned and strong, trembled as he took mine.

  “Of course, if we wanted, there could be an ‘us,’” I whispered.

  “I should be so lucky! Damn! Not what I meant to say – I mean, if you wanted it…to be an ‘us’…okay, I’m going to stop talking now.” He took a sandwich and ate, handed me another. “Actually, I’m not done. Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.”

  He slipped off the sofa and rummaged through a record cabinet under the stereo to our right. “Why did you go out with Will? I mean, he’s the captain of the football team, and I never thought someone like you would fall for someone like him. You’re smart, funny, interesting…” Quinn asked. “Where is – ah, you have it.”

  “Beautiful,” I teased.

  “That, too. Can I have the record?”

  I took the record album out of its sleeve and passed it along. “I thought he liked me. I wouldn’t have gone with him if I’d known he was trying to get to my cousin and my best friend. Can we talk about something else, now?”

  “Sure – do you like Thomas Tallis?”

  I picked up the album sleeve. “I’ve heard of him – and I love Vaughan Williams’ version of Greensleeves. Whenever I hear it, it’s hard not to think of the English countryside – it’s like a musical Thomas Hardy novel.”

  “Here, listen – this is my favorite part.”

  He turned up the stereo. The melody had been introduced by The Royal Philharmonic. I would later sing it: Thomas Tallis’ Third Tune, Why Fum’th in Fight, at a college concert. Quinn sat beside me on the sofa and we sat and listened in rapt attention.

  “A musical Thomas Hardy novel, huh?” Quinn murmured with a chuckle.

  “Doesn’t it bring pictures to your mind?” I demanded. “Like, a meadow, or a moor at sunrise, or walking across the moors, standing on a cliff, looking out to sea.”

  “If it did, you’d be in that picture,” Quinn whispered and gently pulled the album sleeve from me to take my hands. He held them for a moment and then released me, reached up to raise my chin ever so gently and we looked at one another.

  I smiled and looked down, daring to look up again. He was still lookin
g at me, and smiling softly. Quinn leaned back against the sofa cushions and held out his hand to me. I tentatively moved closer, feeling the soft velvet brocaded pattern under my hand as I edged near.

  Our hands locked and I could feel his strength and warmth, the softness of his palms against mine. My heart and breath were racing and I took some comfort knowing that, looking at Quinn in the soft, dim lamplight, he was no more certain than I was. When our lips finally met, we instinctively embraced and held each other for the longest time. I was afraid to let go, for fear that when I released him, I would be propelled away from Quinn, sent to yet another compartment in my life, sent to view my past, present or future accompanied by one of Marley’s ghosts.

  Yet it did not happen.

  I moved away first and Quinn reached for me again, but we didn’t kiss, he held me by the shoulders. “Do you know how long I’ve dreamt of this?” he whispered.

  “I couldn’t guess – I’ve never thought – I mean, had I known that you wanted me of all people, and to kiss me, that is,” I stammered nervously.

  “If you want to test that statement, I won’t object.”

  “Let’s see.”

  I kissed him and that led to a delightful, eager exchange that ended as the music swelled. A pact unspoken was now sealed.

  I nestled in his arms, more happy than I’d ever been in my life. One hand held mine, another caressed my hair. Slipping off my sandals, I curled up, quite comfortable and happy to just sit with him, and was glad he was of like mind.

  “I wait at my locker before second period hoping you’ll walk by. Just to see you,” I murmured.

  “I always hope you’ll be there. I go that way to Chemistry.”

  “Is that where you’re going? Isn’t that out of the way?”

  “Well, it’s worth the extra miles.”

  We laughed and he squeezed me in a gentle embrace. I closed my eyes as we listened to the strains of Vaughn Williams’ masterpiece and in my mind, we were walking along the cliffs at Scarborough and the desolate expanse of the North Yorkshire Moors, places I had seen in National Geographic and atlases, but would not see in reality until ten years had passed. I could feel Quinn’s body relax beside mine, the gentle rise and fall of his breathing, and it lulled me to sleep.