by Adam Zorzi
Her mother stood, sending Orchid to the floor, and hugged LouLou, who was still seated. “Sweetheart, being hurt is part of being alive. No one is talking about marriage and children. You've met a nice guy who shares your interest in music. You feel like it could be more than a casual relationship. You're thirty-one years old and never had a real relationship. Maybe it's time. Maybe he's the guy. Don't hold back because you're afraid. You have a mental illness, but you take care of yourself. I don't think you should deny yourself a chance with someone.”
“Maybe I should talk to Dr. Youzny.”
Her mother's features changed immediately. She looked directly into LouLou's eyes. “LouLou, you can't ask Dr. Youzny for permission to live an interesting life. I know you discuss how to handle certain situations with him, but this is a matter of the heart, not schizophrenia.” She cupped LouLou's chin. “This is something for you to decide.”
LouLou went to sleep thinking of what her mother had said. By morning, she'd decided to go for Gregg. She packed her small bag. Just before she left, her sweet father slipped her a fifty-dollar bill as he'd been doing since she’d turned eighteen. She'd never spent any of the money. She kept the bills in her white dancing ballerina jewelry box in her loft, lying face up in a smooth stack. “Just in case,” her dad always said.
***
Back in Richmond, LouLou hoped she'd see Gregg at Vinyl. He pulled at her the way no one else had. She told herself he was a stranger she'd met for five minutes, but her mind and heart weren't in agreement. Monday afternoon, she put on a black cashmere sweater and black pants and headed to Vinyl.
Skylar greeted her with enthusiasm and a big hug when LouLou walked into Vinyl. “I sold The Beatles' Christmas Album the same day you brought it in. Made one guy very happy and two other guys sick. I did a straight auction to be fair. The winner knew exactly how much it was worth and then some. Me, I can retire off the sale.” He walked behind the counter and absent- mindedly rubbed Robert's head.
“You're never going to retire, Skylar.”
“Never know. Jagger is touring at seventy-one. That makes me dream. I'm a damn good guitar player.” He played atrocious air guitar until LouLou begged him to stop.
“Skylar, Uriah Heep's still touring and you know they change band members every other week. Send them a demo.” She looked around and saw a few browsers but not Gregg. She leaned on the counter. “What's Gregg's story?”
“He comes in every afternoon about the time you got here last week. Looks around like he hopes you're here. Then he makes selections, goes into the listening booth, and doesn't come out for hours. He's starting to feel like an employee. I confess I bought him some clothes. He looked like he was used to shopping at the Army-Navy surplus store. I like my customers to look cool. I bought him two pairs of jeans that fit and some tee shirts. I gave him a Vinyl tee shirt, too.”
LouLou patted Skylar's hand. “That was good of you to do. He must be new in town.” Taking advantage of LouLou's hand on the counter, Robert butted his head against it until LouLou massaged him thoroughly. “Did you tell Gregg the rules about tee shirts?”
Skylar snorted. “Of course. Never wear the tee shirt of a band you haven't seen live.”
“Good. As long as he knows, I'll give him one of mine if he comes to a show.”
“Anything coming up?” Skylar asked. He always attended LouLou's spins.
“No. I'm taking a break before the Asian tour, but I might do a run-through before I go. You'll be the first to know.”
The bell over the entrance rang. Gregg walked in and smiled when he saw LouLou. “Hey, LouLou. Good to see you.”
He was more handsome than she remembered. He looked hot in a Vinyl tee shirt and the dark wash jeans Skylar had bought, but she didn't want to seem like she was checking him out. “Have you made your way through the entire Joni Mitchell catalogue?”
“Just finished.”
Skylar intervened. “Well, that calls for a celebration. Why don't you two get a fancy coffee at that new take-out bar off Strawberry Street? I've got accounting to do. No time for chatting.” Skylar turned and walked toward his office. “Don't forget to let me know if you decide to do a preview before your tour, LouLou,” Skylar called over his shoulder.
Skylar was an impish matchmaker. LouLou couldn't recall a time when Skylar had passed on the chance to talk about icons of the 1960s, a conversation which would inevitably lead to a homage to Bob Dylan. He couldn't have been more obvious as he hustled them out of Vinyl.
“Iced coffee sounds perfect. What do you say, Gregg?”
“Sounds good.”
LouLou and Gregg walked the few blocks to Strawberry Street in silence. They turned the corner, where the bar was just a few doors down.
“My treat,” LouLou said. “Anything fancy? Ristretto? Mochaccino? Chai Tea Latte?”
Gregg shook his head. “You pick.”
When LouLou turned away from the counter with two iced coffees, she saw that Gregg had found a small bench next to a vacant storefront. She handed Gregg a tall cup with a straw and sat.
“I love this part of Richmond. There's a small town feel to it with a slightly cool vibe.” She took a sip of her iced coffee. “This is pretty good. I'm mostly a black coffee woman, but in warm weather I like something cool.”
“Thanks for buying. I'll get it next time.”
LouLou toasted Gregg. “My town. My treat.”
She noticed the neighborhood was quiet. They'd missed the lunch crowd, and it was too early for babysitters with prams out for their afternoon strolls. She and Gregg were the only people around. Sitting on the bench gave them privacy. LouLou felt more relaxed when the caffeine kicked in and started talking. She skipped over introductory details beyond the fact that she grew up in Paris, he in Norfolk, and went straight to music. Gregg talked fast and asked lots of questions. His excitement about music spilled out.
“Carole King's Tapestry is one of the best albums I've ever heard. I can't stop listening to it. Skylar told me to buy it before I wear it out.”
LouLou laughed. “Don't listen to him. He's thrilled there's another aficionado in town. I consider Tapestry to be a landmark album. Hard to believe she and her first husband wrote jingles and songs for other people before she broke out.” She sipped the chilled drink she found soothing. “That means you're moving into James Taylor and Carly Simon territory next, right?”
“On my list.” He paused. “There's so much I haven't heard.”
“Me, too,” LouLou said. “People get into music at different times in their lives. I started at three on piano. I grew up listening to French pop with a sprinkling of what Americans call the British Invasion. My parents also had stuff imported from the United States—my mother's favorites like Debbie Harry, girl bands, and opera and my dad's obsession with Frank Sinatra, Ray Charles, and Tina Turner.”
Gregg nodded his head enthusiastically. “Classical. I started there. Skylar has recordings I never dreamed I'd hear. Szell with the Cleveland Orchestra playing anything is spectacular.” He continued to talk about the artists and works from the orchestral canon he liked.
LouLou noticed he was so enthusiastic about the treasures he'd found at Vinyl, he'd ignored his coffee. It sat untouched on the bench between them. She finished her coffee and eyed his.
“Please, finish it,” he offered. “I don't want it to get warm.”
She couldn't resist and took a long sip from his cup before speaking. “Music is who I am. I knew from an early age I could never do anything other than make music,” she said. “What about you?”
“I started young in classical music. I play contrabass, oboe, and some piano, but I'm more interested in composing than performing. I hear entire walls of music in my head.”
“You mean symphonies?”
He shook his head. “Tone poems. free dissonance, and atonality.” He blushed. “Plus, romanticism.”
“Are they only in your head?” LouLou asked.
“No, I've writ
ten big pieces, but ideas come every day.”
“What about performances?”
He shook his head. LouLou was immediately contrite. “I'm sorry. That's like asking a writer if anything's been published or an actor if I might have seen any movie he's made. Forgive me?” She smiled from under her lashes.
“Of course.” He hesitated and then pulled a folded, yellowed staff notebook out of the back pocket of his jeans. “I've never shown these to anyone. Maybe you could look at them and tell me what you think.”
She hesitated. “Gregg, I'm a DJ. I make mix tapes of all kinds of music. I've no formal training past piano lessons. Surely, there are people far more qualified than I am to comment. Skylar knows several musicologists and composers.”
“Skylar says you have an ear. That's what counts. That's the opinion I want.”
The notebook lay between them on the bench like an offering. LouLou hesitated. If she refused to look at Gregg's compositions, she'd look like an arrogant ass. She'd hurt him. If she agreed, she'd give him her honest opinion. He spoke about music as though he knew what he was doing. Sometimes that translated to great music. Sometimes not. The worst that could happen was that she didn't like his work—a subjective opinion. LouLou took the notebook, tucked it in her red tote, and stood. “I'll look at it tonight. Same time tomorrow at Vinyl?”
Gregg looked enormously pleased that she was willing to review his work. He nodded.
“Tomorrow,” she called as she headed home.
CHAPTER SIX
LouLou couldn't wait to meet Gregg at Vinyl the next day. She issued a rare invitation to Gregg. Less than ten people knew where she lived, but LouLou emailed Skylar and asked him to send Gregg to her loft as soon as Gregg arrived at Vinyl. She didn't want to waste her precious energy going there only to walk back to her loft with him. She'd stayed up late playing and revising and replaying his compositions and still had questions.
She flung the massive industrial door open before Gregg exited the elevator. She was standing barefoot behind it wearing black pants and a comfortable old cornflower blue cardigan over a white tank top. She held out a mug of coffee.
Gregg put up his hand. “No thanks, I'm good.”
“Okay, more for me.” She shut the door, urged him inside the loft, and pointed to the concealed coat closet for his jacket. She headed straight to the piano. “Gregg, you didn't tell me your compositions were brilliant. Why did you need me to look at them? They're complex, perfectly voiced, and surprising. Orchestras should be playing these. Come here.”
LouLou shooed Gregg onto the piano beach and sat beside him. She was eager to point out ideas that were particularly exceptional in her opinion. LouLou paged through the notebook to Number Three and played a section just after the introduction. “This is amazing. There are actually two key signatures and two tempi, yet it works. If that's not enough, it goes on to develop into a reverie that is heartbreakingly beautiful before the recapitulation. The coda is exquisite.”
He bowed his head and spoke quietly. “You play exceptionally well. Twelve-part harmony is almost impossible to play with two hands.”
“Gregg, you're missing the point. This is genius.” Sitting next to him on the bench gave her goose bumps that she tried to ignore. “Now, walk me through the orchestration. The bass line, which stunningly is the main theme, obviously played by basses and cellos. Beyond that, I can hear brass, percussion, and winds. I don't hear other strings.”
She faced him.
“There aren't any. I wanted human voices and bells for those parts. There's a thirteenth part for xylophone in the reverie.”
She cocked her head as she imagined that combination. “Yes, yes, I hear that. It's perfect.”
“So, you like it. You think it's good, that maybe I could publish it.” He looked so hopeful and so clueless about the excellence of his work.
“I think you should hire an orchestra, make a demo, and send it to every conductor in the world. They'll beg you to conduct premieres.” LouLou's face was flushed with excitement.
Gregg shook his head. “That's out of the question moneywise. The constant artistic dilemma of not being able to get anyone's attention without making a demo that costs way more than I have.”
LouLou got up and refilled her coffee. “Play that line for the xylophone.” He did, and in a much higher register than she had. Yes. It made the contrast to the bass theme much more balanced.
“That's so lovely.” She leaned against the bar that served as her kitchen table with her eyes closed.
“You really think it's good?” Gregg looked at her in a way that seemed almost desperate for her to say yes.
“Skylar surely told you I don't BS. I'm straightforward.” She drank more coffee. “By the way, thanks for coming.”
“No problem. I was surprised you invited me to your home.”
LouLou shrugged. “Me too. I rarely have visitors, but I wanted to get you to a piano where you could fully explain things to me. I wanted to hear what you hear, but please don't tell anyone where I live.” She pushed her cup aside. “What do you want to do with these? This work can't stay hidden in your notebook.”
“I want you to play it,” he said seriously.
“Me? I'm a DJ. I have exactly one contact in the classical world.”
“It doesn't have to be treated as classical music. I didn't think of it as a particular genre. I just wrote. From what I understand, you lay down different tracks and modulate voicing and tempi and all kinds of technical things I don't know about. Couldn't you create a recording of one piece?”
She walked around the room. This would give her fresh material to blend into the album she was planning. She would perform slices of her last album in Asia, but she also wanted to absorb what was new there. Bells, chimes, and flutes were hallmarks of Eastern music. Something might click for Gregg's works.
“Okay,” she said when she returned to stand next to the piano. “I've got three weeks before I leave for Japan. Let's put something together. I'll produce and perform. You compose and perform. Fifty/fifty split on anything we make, which could be zero.” She laughed at the old joke amongst musicians who never knew if and when they'd be hired for a gig or signed by a label.
“I don't want any money. I just want it performed.” Gregg's eyes shone with excitement.
“Never say no to money. First rule of being a working musician.”
Gregg smiled for the first time. “Okay, I'll take my half of zero.”
LouLou continued circling the loft. “We need to work out a plan—how many pieces we can do in three weeks, which ones, and what instruments we need. You can play five if we include various keyboards. We need two days of studio time. Then editing. We can probably get two done.”
Gregg looked dazed. The naiveté and hope in those soft brown eyes tugged at her heart. LouLou wanted him to hold her close and kiss her in her soft places, but she put her hand on his shoulder to steady herself. Arm's length. “We'll make it happen. It's going to be awesome.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
April
LouLou, Gregg, and Robert sat silently on the floor until Skylar finished listening to the demo. Gregg looked nervous. He sat on his hands. LouLou was as calm as she'd ever been. It was good. Great. Gregg needed to hear that from someone else. Robert sat next to LouLou and didn't do so much as flip his tail. LouLou relaxed and enjoyed the demo.
Tears flowed down the old man's cheeks when he emerged from the listening booth. He wrapped his arms around the two of them, pulling them in a group hug. When he pulled away, he said he needed to go up front to sit. All three followed Skylar in line like children behind their teacher.
“It's the stuff of dreams,” he said as he continued to cry. “It's transcendent.”
Gregg seemed to be dumbstruck. He didn't say anything.
“Good, right?” LouLou encouraged. She wanted Skylar to say it specifically and directly to Gregg. Robert jumped on the counter as if to nudge Skylar into speaking.
“Gregg,” Skylar said, “what you've written will be played for centuries to come. It's fine, fine work.”
Gregg exhaled. “Thank you, Skylar. I trust your judgment. I'll let it be played in public.” LouLou noticed he'd been holding his breath.
Skylar regained his composure and brushed the comment away with his hand. “Toff. The public doesn't know anything. They booed Stravinsky, Verdi, and Berlioz. What counts is the music. You've got a talent that far exceeds the public's consciousness.”
“Hey,” LouLou interjected. “The performer, not the composer, gets booed. Does that mean I—DJL—am going to be booed out of booths and stages throughout Asia?”
“Never. You are so delightful with such a good reputation that your choices are respected. You don't need me to tell you that.”
LouLou gave Skylar a sly smile. “It's nice to hear.”
Skylar nodded in acknowledgement. “Agreed. You're fabulous. I don't tell you often enough. Now, what's next?”
Gregg, who still seemed not to have regained the power of speech, leaned against the counter next to Robert. All three looked expectantly at LouLou.
LouLou ticked off her plans. “I'm burning copies today, and that's it for now.” She didn't know what the three of them expected beyond that. “I've got to get my head around my set lists, review my itinerary, and pack. I leave for Tokyo on the thirtieth, which is six days from now. I'm travelling through Houston, so it breaks up the flight a little. I'll be back in early July.”
Three months without Gregg. He was part of her everyday life now, and she'd miss him. They'd worked long hours every day. She made suggestions. He made them better. She felt like she was playing musical poker with a genius who constantly raised the stakes. Despite spending so much time together, Gregg hadn't made a romantic move. He focused on the compositions to the exclusion of everything else. He seemed to live on air, because he never suggested lunch breaks. LouLou insisted on breaks for her health. She couldn't maintain the pace Gregg set, but she worked diligently and efficiently. Nevertheless, LouLou knew Gregg felt a romantic pull to her. She was drawn to him. Something was growing between them, but it remained unspoken.