by Daisy Allen
“No, that’s right, it’s in none of those place. Soul is in the breath. In the living. It’s like smoke, like clouds on a windy day. You can’t… touch it, can’t see it.”
I lift my eyes to his, knowing the point is coming.
“So…stop looking for it! I can SEE the thought, the effort in your eyes when you play. You must STOP!”
I jump, more from the force of his words, than the volume.
“Now,” he continues, his voice returning to its usual soft timbre, “play.”
“I’m trying…” I argue.
“Shhh,” he says, bringing a finger to his lips to quiet me, “…just play. Forget everything but encapsulating the soul of music. You’re killing it with your ‘trying.’”
I lift my fingers to the strings.
His breath is suddenly hot against the back of my neck.
“Play, my angel, let it sing through you.”
I close my eyes and pluck the strings, tentative at first, then start to grow stronger. I forget what notes are coming up next and which ones have passed. I let myself get lost in it. I’m almost deaf to the music itself, lost in the absolute thrill of creating these sounds from my instrument.
I feel him lay his fingertips on top of mine, featherlight. As if he’s hearing the music through touch alone.
“Yes, Anca. Yes! No more thinking, sì? Your music will transcend the moment, do you understand?”
I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, and soar.
***
Present Day
Well, that didn’t go well.
I had not expected Marius to come up to me… and not know who I was. So much for crushing on him for the last 8 years. I see the feeling was entirely UNmutual, in every way shape or form. Really… I mean, really? He didn’t even recognize me? I can’t figure out if that’s an insult to how I looked at 13 or a compliment about how I look now.
It’s neither. It’s an insight to what a thoughtless buffoon he was and still is. Okay, I get that we probably only saw each other a handful of times and I was just Jez’s geeky little sister, but still, after… those… ugh, those things he whispered into my ear, he didn’t even have the tiniest inkling of familiarity?
What did you expect? He’s been living on a diet of groupies and pizza for the last year. That can’t be good for his brain. I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of holes the shape of pepperoni appearing on his skull.
Wait. Didn’t Jez say that Marius is actually quite spiritual and is even vegan? Great. Now I can’t even hate him because he doesn’t want to eat animals.
Vegan or not, he didn’t seem to say no to alcohol. Knocking them back with a bunch of backpackers like the world was ending. He caught me watching him a few times, but I’m sure he won’t remember that in the morning. Which is probably good considering I met his look with a snarl every time. I don’t know why he annoys me so much, it can’t just be because he didn’t recognize me.
Ugh, the night sucked.
Well, okay, it didn’t suck. It was actually great to catch up with the rest of the band. They seemed so welcoming, and if the audition goes well tomorrow, I can’t see why they wouldn’t let me join them. Jez is really going out on a limb to vouch for me, I can’t disappoint him.
I guess I just have to find the perfect song. Something that will force them all to say yes. Even drunken thoughtless manwhore buffoons.
***
3 Years Ago
I slam the dorm room door closed behind me, pushing my harp on its trolley into the middle of the room, leaning against it for a moment, exhausted.
The phone rings and I’m tempted to ignore it, but it’s Friday, and I know if I don’t answer now, it won’t stop ringing until I do.
“Yes, boss?” I say into the phone.
There’s silence on the other end of the line for a moment. But I know that won’t last long.
“You’re fired,” comes the answer.
“Good, I wasn’t made for hard labor anyway,” I reply, falling back onto my bed, kicking off my shoes.
“You’re a spoiled princess, is what you’re saying?”
“If I’m a spoiled princess what does that make YOU?”
“Your KING! BOW DOWN TO ME!” Jez yells into the phone, and through the earpiece I can hear laughter in the background. “Hang on, let me go into another room away from these goons.”
I smile as I get settled into my bed, glad to hear my brother’s voice, picturing him surrounded by his bandmates, happy.
“How’s the tour coming along?” I ask him, glancing at the calendar to remind myself where in the world he was right now.
“Great, four more shows and then we’re into the studio for our next record. It’s going to be our best one yet, this is the one, Anca, the one that’s going to get us that Grammy.” I don’t doubt him one bit. “I’ll send you the demos we’ve got up already, see if you have any notes,” he says without a hint of sarcasm, and I can’t help but feel proud that he would care about my opinion about music. “How’s everything with you? I can’t believe my little sis is a sophomore in college already!”
“Why? Because that makes you too old to be gallivanting around the world trying to mark off every city and port as conquered?” I tease him about his famous playboy image.
“Never too old. But forget about me and my undeniable charm, how are your harp lessons coming along? Do you like your new teacher?
“Oh, the Maestro?”
“Si, Signor Maestro with the moustachimo.”
“He’s, uh, he’s good. I’m really learning a lot.”
“Good, I’m glad.”
“He really knows his stuff.”
“Well, you’re a pretty good student.”
“I dunno. I’m not really sure how good I really am,” I say, remembering Maestro’s frustration with me in the lesson.
“Anca, you’re set for stardom, that’s all you need to know.”
“Like my big brother!”
“That’s right!” he exclaims, and I can’t help but love him for his blind loyalty to me.
“You know that’s not what I’m interested in.”
“You don’t have to be, the world will find your talent even if you try to hide it...” There’s a muffled voice on the other end. “Hey, I’ve gotta go, I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”
“Yeah, sure.” I tell him, knowing he never lets too many days go by before calling me.
“You need anything, any money?”
I roll my eyes. I have a bank account filled to the brim with money he deposits weekly, and he knows it. “Go away.”
“Love you, sis.”
“Love you right back, pain in my ass.” I hang up the phone, knowing Jez always waits for me to do it, no matter how busy he is.
I stare at his name as it disappear from my phone. I don’t tell him how much I wish I was travelling with him and his band right now.
Why didn’t I tell him more about Maestro?
That he’s hard on me, but teaching me so much. Teaching me that I need to grow so much more as an artist before I can really call myself a musician. That I need to be more humble, that I’m not ready yet.
I’m going to make my brother proud one day. Not yet, but one day.
Chapter Six
Marius
Present Day
I’m dreaming.
I’m dreaming that I’m floating.
No, not floating, I’m not… buoyed by anything. I’m flying through it.
White lace, or liquid silk or vanilla-scented cotton candy.
It’s soft and delicate.
But divine.
I wake up.
And I’m in a bed.
But it’s still there. That same… essence of my dream.
It’s blissful.
I should be feeling hungover.
Last night at the bar I’d foregone any further conversation with Jez’s sister and joined in with a rowdy table of fans instead. They had seen our perfor
mance and knew who we were but were too drunk to be star struck.
That’s my favourite type of fan.
I know the others weren’t happy that I’d left the group considering that Jez had wanted us to get to know his sister better and Cadence was leaving in a few days, but their temporary annoyance is probably better than their outright anger or loathing at what I might’ve done with Anca.
Why? What were you going to do? I catch the devil on my shoulder asking me before I can brush him off.
The truth is, I don’t know.
I just know that she gets to me. Her.
And I’m going to have to find a way to stop her from joining us on tour.
I don’t want to see her, I don’t want to hear her play, I don’t want her hanging around us, when we’re supposed to be relaxed and enjoying these moments in our life, our success. I just don’t want her around. Seeing her smirk every time I say something, or her judgment every time I do something.
She just rubs me up the wrong way.
You sure it’s the wrong way? That annoying devil challenges me.
“Yes, I’m fucking sure!” I say out loud. Just in case someone else can hear the devil on my shoulder as well.
And I’m going to have to make that clear.
Harp or no harp, replacement for Cadence or not – it’s irrelevant. She has to go.
Not to mention, every time she looks at me with those jade/chocolate eyes it’s like she knows what I’m thinking. I can barely get a sentence out without fumbling over my words.
“She’s a witch. We can’t have a witch on tour with us guys,” I say out loud again, practicing how I’m going to break to it every one. I should probably find a different word. Devil spawn? Maybe not. I’ll keep working on it.
I sit up in the hotel bed and stretch, my arms rising high above my head and then behind me as I take in a deep, deep breath. There’s a slight popping of bones moving into place, aligning as they should, and my head clears a little bit more.
Even though I have an apartment in London, now that we’re only a few days from leaving to go on tour, Dennis has gathered us all up and holed us up in the penthouse of the Four Seasons so he can keep an eye on us, making sure we’re not roaming around causing mischief somewhere, and are available to rehearse 24/7.
Of course, I don’t mind. It’s better than the tour bus, and cleaner than my own apartment. And frankly, I like being around my friends and bandmates.
I look around me, taking the room in. I’m not sure of the interior design-y terms, but in layman Marius-y terms, this hotel is luxurious as shit. It’s like they went out and found the most expensive version they could of everything – carpet, bed linen, wall paper and crammed it into this room. I’ve wondered at times, if they get their toilet paper from a special millionaire’s bathroom store, ‘cos that stuff is soft on my ass. I chuckle at my own thoughts and lay back against the pillows for a moment, enjoying the satin smooth finish of the sheets and sigh. Bliss.
I slide out of bed, reaching for the pair of shorts I kicked off before falling asleep. At home, I might feel free to wander around naked, but I’ve been told under no uncertain terms that it is not welcome when we’re on tour and the guys are around. Not that I mind, but there’s nothing I can do if they’re all a bunch of prudes.
That floaty feeling, it’s still there. I still can’t quite make out what it is.
I scratch my stomach and wander over to the window and pull open the curtains to a typical London mid-morning.
Grey.
There’s a surprise.
But I don’t mind.
It’s the colour of my youth. My childhood. Sebastian’s always harping on about how much the weather is so much better in Paris where he’s from, and now Cadence is constantly mourning sunshine, coming from Australia.
But the sombre heaviness of the low hanging sky of London appeals to me.
I close my eyes and press my forehead against the window, bracing for the cold of the glass against my warm skin.
I breathe in. And out.
5 counts in and 5 counts out.
5 counts in and 5 counts out.
There it is again.
White smoke weaving in and out of my consciousness.
I keep my eyes closed and follow it. I use my fingers tracing against the wall to lead me to the door, the door that opens into the living area adjoining my room with Jez’s.
I open it, eyes still closed.
And freeze.
It’s music.
That blissful, untouchable something.
Soft, ambient, ethereal music.
The sound of one note being plucked and another and another. But never really revealing where one starts and the other ends. Cascading over one another into a glorious waterfall of sound.
The tune, it’s so familiar, what is it?
I can feel my brain cleaving to each note, trying to place it against the lifetime of musical phrases burned into my psyche.
Da da da da da daaaa, I hum under my breath.
Of course.
The Power of Love. But different. This has less of the 80’s ballad feeling of the Frankie Goes To Hollywood version. No, this is moody, sombre, utterly heart-breaking. A declaration of love… no matter the odds.
I open my eyes, not sure of what scene will greet me.
Sitting on a wooden stool, harp resting between her legs, her wild, untamed mass of hair, with her back to me and her head leaning back, is Anca.
Lost to the web she’s weaving around her, around me, binding us together with the notes coming from her fingers as they dance over the strings.
I’ve never heard the harp played this way before.
And we’ve played with symphonies and orchestras all over the world.
Prodigies and protégés.
Expertly plucking those strings as if they were extensions of their own body.
But nothing like this.
Like it’s replacing her own voice.
I spin around. Our instruments are laid out, ready for our rehearsal later. I pick up my viola and bow, not caring about the tuning. I raise it to my shoulder and wait.
Wait for my opening.
And then, as if the song is taking a breath, there’s a moment. I pull my bow and join her.
A little twinkle, trill, just an octave above her melody.
It thrills me.
I see her startle and she tilts her head a fraction to the side, but her fingers never stop.
I ignore her, avoid her eyes. This isn’t about me or her. It’s between her harp and my viola. I clear my mind of all thoughts, and just let the song take charge. We soar into the chorus, a beautiful arc of sound, building and building as the melody pushes harder and harder to a climax. I see the lyrics dancing over my mind like a silent play. And then, like the tide, it recedes. Some songs crash to a sudden silent stop. Leaving the brain to fill in the blank. Her harp decides to fade, note by note, drawing a path in the brain to beautiful, quiet conclusion. I pull the bow for the last time, until there’s no more string and no more sound and no more breath. And it’s gone.
I squeeze my eyes shut. Not wanting it to end. Songs can linger forever, if nothing replaces them. Like heartbreak until someone else comes along to repair it. Music just floats in your mind until another sound imprints itself.
In this case, it’s the sound of a French neanderthal.
“DUDES! THAT WAS DOPE!” I open my eyes, and the rest of the band, Dennis and Cadence have gathered around us.
I rotate on my heel away from them, busying myself with putting my viola back in her case, taking a deep breath and pressing a finger to my temple. It suddenly aches.
“Marius?” I hear Cadence call out to me and I take a beat before joining the group, deliberately not looking in Anca’s direction.
“Babe, that was… wow. Have you guys been working on that song? It’s pretty bloody perfect, hey.” Cadence gushes, her Australian accent coming on strong whenever she’s excited.
“Er, no. I um, I just heard Anca playing and thought I’d play along. I just joined in near the end, she actually was playing it before I… um, well, I was sleeping. In there. That room. Yeah.”
You can see what I mean by not being able to form a sentence.
She gets up from her stool, finally, and stands behind Jez, who moves over and lets her into the circle. “I hope you don’t mind. Jez said I should warm up a bit first before I audition for you guys later. I don’t have a lot of experience performing non-classical music, but I’ve always loved that song and I thought it worked well with piano, so strings and harp wouldn’t be too far a stretch. And, um, I, er, I didn’t mind you joining in. It was, um, it was better than I expected.” She lifts her lashes at the last words and looks up at me.
Something short-circuits in my head and I try not to move in case the move is to grin like an idiot.
A sharp elbow finds itself dug into my side and I lose my balance.
“Say something,” Cadence whispers through her teeth.
“Oh. Yeah, thanks,” is about all I can say.
“Anca, I’m Dennis, boss of these here idiots. I don’t know about the guys but, that’s all the audition I’m going to need. We’ll have a chat but judging by everyone’s reaction, we hope you don’t have any birthday parties to go to in the next few weeks, because we’d love for you to come with us.”
No.
“Um, guys. Shouldn’t we um… talk about things,” I hear my voice say.
“I did say that, Marius. But well, I think we all know each other enough to know, Anca will fit right in.” Dennis says, a frown on his face.
“But…” I start, not sure how I’m going to finish.
“What is WRONG, Marius?” Everyone looks at me, not quite sure what I’m trying to get at.
“Um, I think what Marius is trying to say but not say is… he’s scared I’m going to upstage him.” Anca cuts in, her lower lip tucked under her front teeth as she bites it coyly.
There’s a huge guffaw from the group and Brad chokes on the beef jerky stick he’s gnawing on.
“Yep, she’s going to fit right in.” Dennis winks to Jez.