Perfect Pitch

by Amy Lapwing

  Grace’s cheeks were burning with pink blotches. Shane pulled himself up and leaned against the door, and looked her over. “What you got in your backpack?”

  Grace zipped it open and showed him the books.

  “Algebra Two. You must be smart. French, English, Social Studies. You got to do all that tonight? Better get busy.” She wondered if he was kidding. “What you going to do first, something easy or something hard?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Better do the hard stuff first, do the math, get it over with.”

  She opened the algebra text and a notebook and copied down the first problem. She worked, thinking and rethinking, focusing with difficulty, as Shane watched. She finished it and started copying down the next one.

  “Let me see,” he commanded. She gave him the notebook. He looked it over, appeared to be working it out in his head. “Okay.”

  She did the next problem, he approved it, and she did a third.

  He shook his head. “Something’s not right here.”

  “What?” She sat forward, looking at the notebook. He moved it down to his lap, she leaned over his shoulder to see it better. “Right here.” He pointed to “(x-5).” “Should be plus, shouldn’t it?” She pondered, staring at her work. He looked at her face, the soft, round cheek, the pretty hazel eyes without makeup, he was certain, the pink lips working as she thought.

  “I’m pretty sure it’s right.”

  He looked again at the paper, pretending to work it through again. “Oh, right. You’re right. Just call me butthead.” She smiled at him.

  “What a pretty smile,” he said softly. She sat back. He reached for her hand. “Don’t be embarrassed. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

  She dared to look up at him, just like an ingénue in the movies. “I’m not embarrassed,” she said.

  “Then why do you sit as far away from me as you can?”

  “I’m not.”

  He studied her a moment, smiling as he thought how easy it would be if he just got her alone. She fought her embarrassment and looked squarely at him. “What?” he said.

  “I’m not.”

  “What?” He cupped his hand to his ear. “I can’t hear you.”

  “I’m not embarrassed.”

  He shook his head. “Can’t hear.” He got out and came into the back seat with her. “What was that?” She grew wide-eyed and sat up taller. “What did you say?” he repeated softly.

  “I’m not embarrassed,” she whispered.

  “Of course not, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re a beautiful girl. You better get back to your homework.” She took up the math again. He watched her work, moving slowly closer, approving of her answers. She stopped writing to make an erasure and wipe away the rubbings. He brushed her pants leg clean, she flinched, and brought her legs together.

  “Easy!” he said. “Sorry.”

  She was ashamed, and commanded herself to relax, but she could only stare at the seatback in front of her. He gently squeezed her arm and she drew in a shallow breath. “You must be cold, they’re taking a long time. Are you cold?”

  She shook her head, then said, “A little.”

  He put his arms around her. “Here, I’ll warm you up.” She turned to him, folding her arms against her chest, and allowed him to hold her. He buried his face in her shoulder. “Mm, you smell good.” He pushed his face inside her coat and nuzzled her neck. She shivered at the new sensation and unfolded her arms, and the tips of her breasts met the flaps of his coat. A few quick steps and the car doors opened. Shane let go of Grace. Her look of sensual gratitude and confusion, and Kelsey’s look of alarm combined to convince him it was over, for now. He got out and went back to the front seat. Grace made room for Kelsey and rode silently to Kelsey’s house, ignoring her friend’s prodding and whispering.

  “Come with me!” Grace bent her knees in a half-crouching position, hugging her backpack to her chest, and implored her friend. She darted a look back at the car. Shane’s yellow head and white hands hung idly out the car window.

  “Come on, Grace!” he yelled, smiling with his gray tongue between his teeth.

  “Please!” whined Grace to Kelsey.

  Kelsey looked to the boy who waved her to come, too. There was something in his face, the two eyes like twin tunnels that simply ended inside his head, giving off no light; the smiling mouth that did not inspire a smile in her. She glanced at her friend; she was looking at the boy, her shoulders hunched high, a captivated expression like she had seen when they watched the teen soap opera on television together. Jake, the boy Grace said knew how to do it, that’s who this boy reminded Kelsey of.

  The bus driver called out the open bus door to them. “You girls coming?”

  Kelsey hurried toward the bus. Grace felt an impulse to follow her.

  “You’ll get there faster with me, Grace!” called Shane.

  Grace followed Kelsey onto the bus as Shane threw his skinny arms in the air and made a moue. Grace sat with her friend and watched Shane’s car as the bus drove past it. She saw him start his car.

  “What was he doing here, anyway?” asked Kelsey, peeved at something.

  “I don’t know,” lied Grace. She had been riding in his car with him once, when he happened by while she was daydreaming and singing in the bare orchard one afternoon after Thanksgiving. Her mother had gone out to the store, so Grace had not asked permission. They had gone through the drive-through at O’Donnell’s and he had bought her a milkshake. He had driven her back through the orchard along one of its grassy roads, bouncing them so that their shoulders had touched. He had stopped before emerging from the orchard and, the motor still running, he had kissed her, sweetly at first and then as she sat looking at him with wonderful liquid eyes, he had given her her first French kiss. Her heart had thumped wildly at the new sensation, and he had cunningly stopped there and simply driven her to the end of her driveway and let her out. She had stood watching him drive away, her mind so confused and her body so awake to pleasure, she had not remembered to go into the house until fifteen minutes later when her mother called her in out of the dark.

  The two girls stepped off the loud bus full of jubilant teenagers, some of them looking forward to illicit pleasure this early release day, a cigarette or a joint or a beer or two in their own homes, traces easily erased in the long hours before their parents came home. Shane’s car pulled up in the place the bus vacated. “Gray-ace,” he sing-songed.

  “I thought you said you’d get home faster than the bus,” she jested, one hand on her hip.

  “What?” he said, cupping his ear.

  Grace threw her hands into the air and marched up to him as Kelsey watched wide-eyed. He talked softly to Grace and looked up her empty driveway at the closed-up house. Grace looked at the house too, then at Kelsey who was squinting and wondering what they were saying. Grace got into Shane’s car and he drove up her driveway. Kelsey felt her heart fluttering in her chest as Grace unlocked her front door and went in, followed by Shane. The door shut without a sound and Kelsey knew two conflicting urges, one to rush up to the house and drag her friend out of it, and the other to run home as fast as she could. It did not occur to her to tell her mother of Grace’s danger, to do so would be to admit that there was a danger. Her throat was dry when she swallowed, her eyes dry when she finally blinked. She turned and walked home, sad and incompetent.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Maddening Smiles

  After the first week of their daily meetings, Michael found himself impatient all weekend for Monday’s lunch hour. After a few weeks, he would become so keyed up as the lunch hour approached that if she did not show that day, he was in a funk for the rest of the afternoon. After shouting the concert chorus into uncharacteristic submission one Wednesday, he hung his head in regret, forced himself to relax and smile and made up by pouring praise on them for a difficult phrase with its jump of a seventh in the tenor line that they had been working on for days, though
it was only slightly improved, if at all.

  He never received anything from Justina via campus mail, though he kept thinking she would send him something, at least a “thank you” for what he had sent her. He did not expect things to be normal, but some sign of progress seemed warranted. She was doing well settling in to her job, couldn’t she open up a little more to him now? Speak to him more? Write him perhaps? These smiles that he caught when he was lucky enough were becoming maddening.

  Afraid of her reaction to his letter, Michael had wanted to steer clear of Justina today, but he let Charles talk him into going to lunch. They joined the line and he spotted Justina ahead of him with Pascale and a new man.

  Pascale was teasing the young man to try to put him at ease, telling him he was an illegal alien in the fac lounge, but since Justina looked as young as him, he’d probably get away with it. But he needed to try, at least try, come on, James, to look professorial. The young man made faces at the two women, Pascale erupted in laughter, Justina smiled and shook her head. She leaned close to him and told him not to worry about it, grad students ate in here all the time. They were probably the only ones who enjoyed it, since it was supposedly forbidden.

  When Michael saw Justina smile and speak confidentially to James, it was all he could do to keep from rushing up to her and grabbing her away from the other man. He told himself to obtain a grip, it was probably just a student, and he ordered his roast beef sandwich and looked over his shoulder to get a good look at James’ face. Great, an Adonis. How long has she known him?

  It was a “four-places-down” day for Michael today, all the usual companions having shown up before him plus several guests. He was relieved that she sought his eyes as soon as he arrived and smiled her usual welcome to him.

  Justina finished her sandwich and lingered with Pascale and James a while longer as the Cardinal discussed department funding for next semester. Charles said, “See you,” and left Michael with the French department. Justina seemed absorbed in what Richelieu was saying, so he got up, she smiled her farewell, he dumped his sandwich and left.

  He walked back to his choral classroom in the deceptively warm late November sunshine, the oaks jocosely shaking their last few burgundy-colored leaves, taunting the coming winter.

  She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care anymore.

  Then he remembered he only sent the letter yesterday; maybe she had not received it yet.

  That guy. Who the hell is he?

  He was ashamed of his jealousy, he knew it would do him no good, she would always be working with men. He had to trust her. He felt the familiar frustration building and looked up at the day around him. The old oaks held onto their gorgeous leaves, painstakingly created over many weeks. Many of them would turn a dull mud brown and impudently hang on through the colossal winter winds, only to come off when nudged by the new leaves in May. He simply had to wait.

  She surprised him after lunch next day by saying she had gotten his letter and when could she see him? He wished he could push off his after-lunch appointments, but he really had to work with the soloists for the upcoming concert. He suggested four-thirty, after Concert Chorus.

  He finished with the last soloist early and went looking for Justina at the Language Lab. He walked by the open door to the lab and glanced in at the murmuring students. A boy leaned back in his chair and stretched, quickly covering a yawn when he saw Michael pass by. He continued down the hall to the control booth.

  It was open, so he stopped in the doorway and saw Justina and James Benn sitting at the console. Justina had the headphones on and was listening intently as she looked out over the students. She took off the headgear and gave it to James, then turned down the volume. James put on the phones, frowned, and put his hand over Justina’s on the volume knob and slowly turned it up. He kept his hand over hers for a needless moment.

  Justina slipped her hand out from beneath James’ and stood up. She noticed Michael, who glopped a smile atop his look of dismayed outrage. “Michael!” she called.

  James looked over his shoulder and saw her go to this man and kiss him on the mouth.

  She took Michael’s arm and brought him into the booth. “I don’t think James has met you.” James remembered to stand, forgot to take off the headphones. “Michael Calderón, this is James Benn.”

  “James Bond?” said Michael, shaking his hand.

  James ripped off the headphones and laughed softly at himself. “Benn. James Benn.”

  “James has been helping me with my grading.”

  “That’s great.”

  “He’s really been a godsend.” She smiled to James.

  “Good, good,” smiled Michael.

  “He’s really helped me free up my time, though I still don’t ever seem to have enough of it,” laughed Justina, and James joined in because he had to.

  “Do you know music theory, John?”

  “Uh, no, not really, not at all, actually,” sputtered James.

  “Then I guess Justina can keep you all to herself.” Michael smiled at Justina, then dispatched a dagger or two to the big-eyed James.

  “Michael’s our choral director. He has the finest chorus in New Hampshire.”

  “Second-best, Justina,” Michael corrected. “Plymouth State is our better.”

  “Second is good,” said James.

  “Yes,” said Michael, “someone has to be second.”

  “Yeah,” agreed James.

  “But in this case,” continued Michael, “first is better.”

  James smiled at the floor and seemed to take a step back from him and Justina. Justina gave a parting word of instruction to her T.A. and went out into the hall with Michael.

  “I thought you were busy this afternoon,” she said.

  “The soloists were really so well-rehearsed, they didn’t need me.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Are you hungry?” he asked.

  “A little.”

  “Let’s go have a milkshake.”

  They walked hand-in-hand to the ice cream parlor in the Student Union and got a peach milkshake and a chocolate one and sat at one of the sticky tables. They had only a few minutes before Advanced Conversation and Concert Chorus and they were reluctant to get to the subject of his going away. She told him about her paper that got accepted to the conference in Montreal next April. He told her he had put off La Bohème until next year, but he was glad, he needed a break from doing big productions. The crowd in the parlor was thinning. Justina checked her watch and sighed. They walked out to the common and said, “See you at four thirty,” and went on to their classes.

  He was right, he told himself, that guy does have a crush on her. He felt vindicated that his jealousy was at least half-way justified. He marveled at Justina’s sensitivity and her handling of James in front of him, subtly putting the younger man in his place while exalting himself. How did she know I was jealous? He would stop thinking about the guy anymore, the little tworp wasn’t worth the trouble. He could afford to be charitable toward him, even.

  To see the faint lightening outside the windows in the near dark like TV static brought a shiver and soft excitement, as the first snow of the season always does. There was the sound of a squeaky door hinge and then of feet stomping.

  Michael stood at the piano looking at the music Minnie was playing. Justina stopped in the doorway and listened. Minnie finished the piece and looked to her teacher. He told her it was quite good. “But this phrase,” he said pointing to a line of her composition.

  “This one?” she said, playing it.

  “It sounds, I don’t know, it’s kind of—” He searched. “It’s familiar, but I don’t mean it’s lifted, which it doesn’t make me think of a particular piece. Play it again.”

  Minnie played the phrase again. He shook his head with dissatisfaction.

  “It’s familiar, Minnie.”

  “It’s a cliché?” She was horrified.

  “Minnie, it’s a marvelous work. Really very special.
You’ll find a wonderful way to say what you want there. You’ll see.” He suggested some composers for her to listen to.

  Minnie folded her music and stowed it in her Mickey Mouse backpack. Justina called, “Hi!” to the preoccupied girl as she went out, then went in to Michael.

  They greeted each other, they stood wondering what to do next. She looked small in the big empty room. She sat in the nearest chair in the alto section. He sat on the piano bench, leaning forward toward her, she was still out of reach.

  They were silent.

  She said, “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  “Me, too.” He wanted her to offer to change things, to make him stay.

  “It’s my fault you’re going,” she said.

  “It’s no one’s fault. It’s not a bad thing. It’s just—”

  “You can’t stay here, with me.”

  He said, “I’ll miss you. But I think if I’m there, it’ll be less—” He let out a breath and his frustrated love for her settled like a good child into a seat in his heart. “Difficult. Justina, loving you but not being allowed to love you is difficult for me.”

  “It’s not easy for me.”

  He thought it must not be too hard for her, though he did not understand why. “If there was a way I could stay, I would. But every time I see you I want to talk to you, I want to look at you, I want to touch you. And I want you to look at me and talk to me and touch me.” He decided to risk her annoyance. “It’s difficult when it doesn’t happen, day after day after day. It’s better that I don’t have to face it.” She was frowning. “I don’t blame you, Justina. I’m only trying to explain.”

  She thought she should do something to make it better for him. But she knew what that meant, and she was not ready. There were too many projects started and in need of her. She had less time for Michael now than back in September. She shook her head, unable to think of any solution. “If I could fast forward to the end of the year, Michael—”