Musical Chairs

by Amy Poeppel

  29

  “Man, I’m so glad you finally get it,” Frank said.

  It was the morning of the wedding, and Will was about to take his road test. He was driving Frank’s car from Emma’s house to the DMV in Fishkill across the New York State line, and for reasons Will couldn’t understand himself, he had told Frank his tentative plans. Frank reached a hand over for a high five.

  “I can’t,” said Will. “I need to keep my hands at ten and two. Besides, it’s not settled or anything.” He had the wipers going at a fast clip and wasn’t appreciating the extra degree of difficulty the rain was providing for his driver’s test.

  “You’re giving up that cesspool of a city you live in,” Frank said, “after all these years.”

  “Maybe.” Will checked his side mirror. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Stop thinking so much.”

  Will didn’t have a choice. There were practical matters to go along with the emotional ones, real problems to solve. Moving would cost money, and Will hadn’t made enough that summer. He had no concrete prospects for a teaching job in Connecticut, and yet he was strongly considering leaving New York.

  “And slow down,” said Frank. “You’re going five over the speed limit.”

  Will put his foot on the brake. His trip to the city the week before had cemented some realities in his mind: he didn’t feel the same about being there anymore. The closest he could come to describe how he felt when he was in his own apartment was to say he was homesick.

  Mitzy was leaving. He and Hudson had brought her dinner after she had her second cataract surgery, and she’d told him she was moving to Boston to live with her daughter; the news hit him hard.

  “I’ll miss you,” he told her.

  She’d patted Hudson on the head with her tiny, bony hand. “If I can’t stay in my apartment, then I’d like to be closer to Ellen. I’ll stay here until my lease runs out, so I’ll have plenty of time to go through my things. After thirty-some-odd years in the same apartment, it’s gonna be a big job.” Ellen was coming to help her move. “She asked if she can sublet your apartment so she can be here— Only if you’re going to be away with your new friend, of course.”

  This arrangement would buy him time while he considered his options. Knowing that Bridget was weighing the possibility of a much bigger move, all the way across the Atlantic, was giving him both comfort and distress.

  In his jeans pocket, Will had a vintage blue Lucite ring he’d bought from an antique shop in Brooklyn a few days before. The blue matched Ronaldo’s tail feathers, which Will thought was a nice touch.

  * * *

  When the road test was over, Will asked Frank to drop him at the nursery, where he found Emma sitting at the cash register, going through receipts. Will brushed the water off his hair, went around the counter, and kissed her before either one of them said anything.

  “I feel like celebrating,” he said.

  “Aren’t we doing that in about…” she said, checking the clock on the wall, “four hours?”

  “Let’s start early,” he said, getting his wallet out. “Look who just passed his driver’s test.”

  She laughed.

  “No, really,” he said. “I haven’t been officially licensed since I was a teenager.”

  “You daredevil,” she said. “I guess all you need now is a car.”

  Will hadn’t forgotten that getting the license was only half the battle of becoming a driver.

  “Is Bridget worried about the weather?” Emma asked. “One forecast said the rain would taper off by the afternoon, but another said the exact opposite.” She sighed, putting the sales receipts in a folder as an employee walked by with a bag of fertilizer. “Predicting the future isn’t easy.”

  At the word “future,” Will reached in his pocket. “I brought you something.” He pulled the ring out and instantly regretted that he was giving it to her at work—not romantic at all—and that it wasn’t presented in a nice box. All he had was a limp, little drawstring cloth baggie. It looked pathetic and unworthy of her. She’d already looked down and seen it in his hand, saying, “What’s that?”

  He had not, he realized, thought this through. Should he open it himself or let her do it? He should open it, probably, and show it to her, while telling her what was on his mind. He handed the pouch to her instead and heard the words come out of his mouth: “It’s just a little something I picked up for you.”

  Well, shit, aren’t you a coward.

  She opened the bag, saying, “Oooooh, pretty,” and casually slipped the ring on her finger.

  “You like it?”

  “I love it. It’s very me.” She held her hand up and admired it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Should we go home and start getting ready? I need to be at Bridget’s early enough to make sure all the arrangements are where—”

  “Wait, back to the ring for a sec,” Will said. “What if I didn’t buy it on a whim?”

  She pulled him toward her. “Are we going steady now?”

  “I hope so,” he said. “I mean, yes, actually. I was thinking… I was thinking I might want to move here. I was wondering how you’d feel about that.”

  If Emma had had an erection, Will was pretty sure he’d just watched her lose it. She pulled back from him, looking skeptical, squeamish even.

  “Or not,” he said, wishing he could take it back. “It was just an idea. Too soon?”

  “You’d leave New York?” she said. “You love it there. You talk about it literally all the time.”

  “I think I love you more.” Bridget often accused him of being repressed, but here he was, sharing his feelings and finding it extraordinarily easy to do so.

  “Will.” Emma leaned toward him and put her hands on his shoulders. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned,” she said, “it’s that you can’t plant something where it doesn’t belong. You should never, for example, stick a Nordic spruce in the Australian bush.”

  “That sounds overtly sexual,” Will said. “You’re saying I can’t adapt?”

  “I’m saying I don’t know if this is the right environment for you. What would you do here?”

  “So little faith in me and my skills,” he said with mock weariness. “I’ve got options here, a few actually, and, if I’m lucky, a steadier income and less scrabbling for work. I could teach at a school. And I can read books, take walks. Cook and meet people. Build a life…”

  “What about your apartment? The perfect one-bedroom in the West Village that you said you’d never leave unless you were in a coffin?”

  “I’m going to have to move soon anyway since my neighborhood has become upmarket and extortionate, and in the meantime, my neighbor’s daughter wants to sublet it.”

  “So what are you proposing exactly?” she asked. She didn’t seem appalled, just curious. “Are you asking to move in with me?”

  Will was not asking that. It didn’t seem feasible. Emma’s place wasn’t big enough for the two of them and their pets, and he didn’t want to feel like he was invading what was really her space. “I could look for a place on my own for now, or, I was thinking, we could find a place together, if you want.” Will had spent some time on Zillow already and was trying not to be discouraged by Litchfield prices, which weren’t cheap either.

  “I guess we could,” she said, “when you’re ready.”

  “When you’re ready,” he said, kissing her hand. “I’m ready now. I’m ready for the whole thing. I know it’s only been a summer, but do you— Would you ever consider marrying me?”

  Emma looked down at the ring, spinning it around her finger. Will had the feeling he’d gone too far now; he’d scared her off and wanted to backtrack. He wished he’d stuck to cohabitating and left the marriage talk for another day.

  “Here’s the thing, Will,” she said. “It’s not completely out of the question.”

  That sounded pretty bad, and yet he felt hopeful. “No?”

  “
There’s a catch.”

  “I don’t mind catches,” said Will.

  “You might mind this one.”

  Will waited, praying she wasn’t going to say something about polyamory or cults or, worst of all, a desire to have children. “I won’t do anything official,” she said. “I won’t sign papers or go to a church, wear a white dress or make vows in front of any sort of religious leader or civil employee. I hate any kind of legal registrations, documents, all that bullshit, with the exception of your new driver’s license, of course. But if we could figure out what it means between us? And throw a little party to celebrate?” She looked at the ring and smiled. “Yeah. I’ll ‘marry’ you.”

  She used air quotes on the word “marry,” but Will kind of liked that. What they had was original, something unique between the two of them. It was even better, he decided, than getting married without air quotes.

  * * *

  Will’s first call was, of course, to his best friend. Bridget paused long enough to take in all that his news entailed. And although she sounded happy for him, she was also totally distracted, which was understandable given that two hundred people were showing up at her house in a matter of hours, and the rain had been falling steadily with no indication of letting up.

  “Can you guys come over?” she asked. “Like as soon as you can?”

  They got dressed for the wedding and drove through a downpour to her house.

  When they arrived, Bridget was standing near the doorway to the barn, dressed in what looked like a German farm girl costume, waving them in. Will, in his high-end rented tux, opened an umbrella and took Emma’s arm while she lifted up the hem of her blue dress, and they walked across the driveway. He closed the umbrella once they reached the tented pathway, decorated beautifully with greenery and flowers, Emma’s handiwork.

  The barn was transformed. The walls were bright, despite the storm clouds; the chandeliers were sparkling, and dozens of elegantly set tables were arranged to leave enough room for dancing. Candles were waiting to be lit.

  “You look amazing,” said Emma, walking up to Bridget and admiring her dress, an outfit that was far from Bridget’s normal style.

  “The hills are alive,” Bridget said. “Do you think Lottie is playing some kind of awful joke on me?”

  “It’s a little early for the Oktoberfest, isn’t it?” said Will.

  “Wait till you see Oscar.” Bridget started to laugh, but then stopped, sucking in her breath. “I have to give credit to Gavin’s wife for the fact that my dress fits. I couldn’t have worn it if it weren’t for her.” She was happy, Will noted, flushed with excitement. “The flowers are so beautiful,” she said. “I came out to admire them, but it started raining like hell, and I got trapped.”

  “Where is everybody?” Will asked.

  “Getting beautiful,” said Bridget. “Gwen’s driving up with Hans; we’ve called a truce apparently, but he’s still leaving tonight right after the party. He’s no fun.”

  “The rest of us will make up for it.”

  “Do you need anything?” said Emma. “Put us to work.”

  Will looked around the room, seeing the stage Kevin had built for them, front and center, a stage he wouldn’t be performing on. “How can we help?”

  Bridget took Emma’s hand and looked at the blue band on her finger. Then she led them over to the bar, handing them each a glass of champagne. “I want to congratulate you,” she said. “How wonderful you found each other, and here of all places.”

  Lightning struck, followed by a rumble of thunder and a gust of wind.

  “I can’t believe this weather,” said Emma. “After the driest summer on record, it rains today of all days.”

  “I’m not worried about the storm,” said Bridget.

  Will thought she should be. The power could go out. It had happened countless times before.

  “But I do have a really big favor to ask.” She was holding her breath, and Will couldn’t tell if it was because her dress was too tight or something else. “I wanted to tell you before anyone else: I’ve decided that if they offer me the job in London, I’m taking it.”

  Will felt a jolt of pain in his chest, knowing how happy she’d be there, fitting right in to a life without him. “You’ll get the spot,” he said.

  “That’s the problem.” Bridget looked concerned. “If I get it, I can’t keep this house sitting here.”

  Will felt the air go out of the room; he was already losing one home he loved, and now he would lose another. He rued the day he’d ever met that pushy Realtor in the grocery store.

  “It would be a huge favor to me,” Bridget was saying, “if you two would move in here. I wondered if you might be willing to look after the place for a few years. You wouldn’t pay rent, of course, because you’d be caretakers.”

  Will glanced over at Emma; she looked stunned.

  “There’s a catch,” said Bridget. “A few actually.”

  “We don’t mind catches,” said Emma. “Do we, Will?”

  “I’d like to leave the guesthouse open for the kids,” Bridget said. “Gwen got Isabelle a job interview in New York, but I think she’ll end up back here. I was thinking you could take over the main house. I can empty out my clothes and stuff out of my room and move it all up to the loft. You’d call Kevin if you have maintenance issues, and I’ll pay for any repairs, of course.”

  Will tried to keep his composure. “This,” he said to Bridget, with a straight face, “is a lot to ask.”

  “I know it is,” she said, meeting his expression with a serious one of her own. “Take your time, think it over. You’d have to take care of the piano, which, as you know, needs a lot of attention.”

  “There’s nothing to think over,” Emma said.

  “Are you sure?” Bridget asked. “Because there’s more,” she said. “I need someone to drive my old car around, to keep it going.”

  “I suppose I can do that,” said Will.

  “And Henry Higgins would like to stay here. How does Ronaldo feel about cats?”

  “He loves cats,” said Emma. “I don’t think he’s ever seen one before, but we’ll make it work.”

  “A cat, too?” Will teased. As soon as he landed a job, he would buy Bridget that pricey bat weathervane he’d seen in the antique store at the beginning of the summer. Kevin and Elliot would install it on the cupola before Bridget returned for a visit. They would sit on the porch together; nothing would change. Not really.

  “I think Hudson wouldn’t mind living here,” said Bridget.

  “True,” said Will. “I could speak to him about it.”

  Emma smacked him on the arm.

  “So, what do you think? Is it a deal?” Bridget asked, pretending she really didn’t know what their answer would be.

  Will had never experienced such a rush of opposing feelings. He was the most fortunate man on earth, and yet his best friend was leaving him. Forsyth was over. This moment marked the end of an era.

  “Yes?” said Bridget.

  “Yes,” he said, hugging her. “All right.”

  Lightning flashed again, thunder boomed, and then Will heard another sound, like wind filling the sail of a ship, and to their amazement, they watched as the long tent covering the walkway lifted off the ground and flew away.

  30

  My dear friends, if you’ll indulge me, may I have everyone’s attention please… Yes? Outstanding.

  Although the rain has indeed stopped, it appears we’re marooned together for a few more hours until we find a way to get you all across the rather sizable moat that has formed around the barn. Unless you happen to have worn very tall galoshes or came attired in waders, you’ll have a muddy go of it trying to reach your cars. Fortunately, there’s plenty of champagne and a magnificent wedding cake we’ll be serving soon, so we should all be quite comfortable to remain here on our island for as long as we wish. If anyone is in particular need of a rescue (or a loo), I’ve been told that Kevin, a strapping young lad, is
constructing a makeshift ark, much like Noah himself, and will soon be able to ferry anyone across to dry land.

  * * *

  Bertrand Russell said, “Man needs, for his happiness, not only the enjoyment of this or that, but hope, and enterprise, and change.” The music we’ve just played for you is a piece I wrote over sixty years ago—sixty? I can hardly believe it—a piece that was arranged (brilliantly, I might add) by Will Harris, steadfast, loyal friend of the family. So, let’s have a round of applause for Will, and for my daughter Bridget and their old friend Gavin Glantz for this wonderful new arrangement, or rearrangement, of a composition that will now and forever exemplify to me the recipe for happiness: hope, and enterprise, and change.

  The composition—titled Synchronicity, although I never dreamed how perfectly apt that name would become—is an example of the way music has directed the course of my life. The piece was performed at Carnegie Hall as the culmination of a composers’ retreat… at the exact same time, I might add, that the Summer Olympics were getting underway in Rome. As I entered the concert hall that night, so did a young woman named Sophia, who soon became my wife. But—what you may not know—is that on that very same night, a stormy August evening much like this one, I also met Charlotte (or Lottie, to those of us who know and love her), this wonderful woman sitting by my side tonight. She, too, attended that concert to hear a sublime waltz that her husband, Johannes, composed. A wonder, isn’t it, that I happened to meet both of my wives at the premiere of Synchronicity, a concert that brought us together in a way that was, yes, serendipitous, but also perfectly timed; complicated and yet marvelous, much like life itself: marvelous and complicated.