Making Music

by Ling, Maria

  "Yes." Jen pulled herself together with a Herculean effort. "I'm -- I'm all right." She took a few breaths to steady herself. "Just one thing, Karen. How do you know about -- about that girl in the hotel? I mean, how do you know it was the wrong conclusion?"

  Karen looked at her gravely.

  "Because Stuart told me so, and I believe him."

  Jen gave her a long confirming look, and then slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.

  "In that case," she said, trying to piece her shattered self-image back together with numb and shaking fingers, "in that case, I suppose I do owe him an apology."

  Karen smiled, and gave her another hug.

  "Good girl," she said. "Now come on. Let's get this show on the road."

  They were all there, as Jen and Karen came down into the basement. Rhoda, red-haired and black-clad, with a Gibson beside her, looking every bit the successful American singer-guitarist. Sue, smiling and easy-going, already at her recording position, with her dark hair tucked back over her shoulders and her bodhran ready on her jeans-covered lap. Peter, slim and bespectacled, with the dour look of yesterday replaced by shining optimism, doing the last bit of fine tuning on his guitar. Cathy beside him, girlishly sweet in another little slip dress, and quietly glowing with the same inward contentment.

  Jen looked at the two of them and wondered how she could have failed to see the bond between them. It was so obvious now. You really could -- to use Karen's graphic phrase -- spot it a mile away with half an eye. How could she not have seen it?

  And finally Stuart, the only dark face among them, putting the finishing touches to the input settings and studiously avoiding meeting her glance.

  Jen picked up her guitar, which was leaning against one of the empty stools along the wall, perched herself comfortably on the seat, and started tuning the strings to Peter's pitch. Fortunately the guitar tended not to settle much, and she found it almost perfectly in tune with itself, and only a fraction away from Peter's, so there was only the slightest adjustment to be made.

  "Could you give me an E again, Cath?" Peter said, with a warm, almost shy look, which did not escape Jen's notice. She writhed inwardly. She had been so unfriendly to the girl -- she knew she had, her conscience berated her for it -- and for no better reason than because she was jealous. Yes, she admitted it. She had been jealous. Karen, as usual, was exactly right. And all along it had been Peter -- sweet, kind, friendly Peter, who, as she now realised, was just the right person for someone as nice and gentle as Cathy. A perfect couple.

  What an idiot I've been! she told herself fiercely.

  And Stuart had wanted to try to rebuild their relationship, even after all this time, and she had lost the opportunity, thrown it away, just because she had been so quick to make assumptions about him and Cathy. Assumptions based on nothing except Cathy's mere presence in the house. One simple question would have saved her from that error, and it had never even occurred to her to ask it.

  Never even occurred to her.

  Just as it had never occurred to her to ask him about the girl at the hotel, nor to listen to what he had to say. She had just assumed he was being unfaithful. All right, it had been a reasonable assumption, but it had still been an assumption. She should have given Stuart the benefit of the doubt, at least once. She should have given him a chance to explain. She owed him that much.

  She had been an idiot.

  Karen was right. Karen was always right.

  "That's way off, Jen," Stuart said sharply, wrecking her line of thought. "It's almost a bloody D. Pull yourself together. We haven't got all day."

  She could have cried. For a moment her eyes actually stung with tears.

  "Of course we do." Karen -- blessed Karen -- intervened, cool and calm and collected. "None of us are leaving until tomorrow. What time is your flight, Rhoda?"

  "Five-thirty in the afternoon."

  "There you are, then. We can have a nice long lie-in, and still have time for another session before Rhoda has to leave. And no one else is in a hurry. So of course we've got all day. We can sit here until three in the morning if we want to. I don't know what you're so wound up about, Stuart, you're supposed to be the friendly host."

  She did know, of course, and Jen directed a silent burst of gratitude towards her, under cover of retuning the offending string.

  Stuart muttered something under his breath, something that sounded extremely uncomplimentary, but Karen, as always, was breezily unperturbed.

  "That's what I said," she observed lightly, producing a sudden snort from Peter. "Are you all right -- do you need a tissue or something?"

  "No thanks, Karen." Peter was definitely in trouble now, and covered it with a sudden violent burst of coughing. "I'm fine."

  "Okay," Stuart said, glowering like a thundercloud, "can we have silence, please. Come on, Pete, get yourself sorted. Let's get the first couple of tracks cut before lunch at least."

  Sue was on first, laying down the rhythm track which everyone else would be playing to. It took six repeat performances before she was happy with it, and eleven before Stuart was, and when she finally got off her stool it was with the look of someone who had been washed at too high a setting.

  "What's biting him?" she whispered to Jen in passing. "Have you said something to him again?"

  Jen simply shook her head. She could not have talked about it in any case, and this was most definitely not the moment to do so.

  Peter had an even worse time from Stuart, but then he was used to it, and carried on with unruffled composure, occasionally turning to send a quick smile in Cathy's direction. By all appearances, he had come to terms with her pregnancy, and they were reconciled again. Jen watched them with hopeless envy. No chance now that the same thing could happen to Stuart and her. She had destroyed every lingering trace of affection far too comprehensively for that.

  "Rhoda!" Stuart snapped, after declaring Peter wrapped on the eighteenth take. For once Rhoda did not rise to the challenge, but meekly took her place, threaded her finger-picks over her perfect nails, and endured the next hour with commendable fortitude.

  With three tracks cut to his satisfaction, Stuart turned on Cathy, who shrank back visibly when his eyes fixed on her.

  "Cathy?" He was reining himself in deliberately, Jen noticed, forcing himself to speak in a soft, calm voice. "Do you want to do your bit now or would you rather stop for lunch first?"

  "I don't know about anyone else," Karen said peacefully, "but I'm hungry. Let's eat now."

  "I agree," Sue chimed in.

  Cathy nodded cautiously.

  "Okay. Shall we start the next session at -- what? -- two o'clock?"

  Nods all round, and a look of sheer relief on Cathy's face.

  "Okay then. You all know where the kitchen is."

  With that he turned abruptly to the recording equipment, leaving them to troop out obediently while exchanging significant glances amongst themselves.

  Jen stayed where she was.

  "Can I have a word with you, Stuart?"

  He swung around violently, and swept her a look as frozen as an Arctic wasteland.

  "What about?"

  "About sound production," Jen said quickly, with as much professional dignity as she could muster. "I'm not sure the mics are ideal for flute -- or for my guitar work, for that matter. They're dynamic, right?"

  A single brusque nod.

  "What's it to you?"

  "Well," Jen said calmly, "I always think of them as perfect for strong forceful guitarists like you and Peter and Rhoda, but I'm not just sure they'll do as well for me and Cathy. I think we might end up buried in the mix. Have you got anything else?"

  Another nod, and he was calmer now. This was a simple technical discussion, nothing personal.

  "I like them myself, but I know they're not to everyone's taste. There's a few condensers in the next room." He indicated the door. "You can get those instead, if you prefer."

  "All right," Jen said, and walked away.

&n
bsp; She found what she wanted in the room to the right of the stairs, which turned out to be a kind of general purpose storage area, with stacks of amplifiers, rolls of cable, a case of blank CD's and another case of cut ones with "demo" and various dates scrawled on them in magic marker. There was also a box of microphones of different kinds.

  She pulled out a few likely-looking ones and carried them out into the studio area. Stuart had moved over to the mixing console, and was listening thoughtfully through a set of headphones.

  She left him to it, and proceeded to replace one set of microphones with the selection she had brought with her. After checking they worked, she hovered over the multitracker for a while, fiddling with the settings until she had something she thought might be about right.

  Then she went into the next room to join Stuart.

  "Find them?" he asked tersely, lifting the headphones off, and acting for all the world as if he had not been able to see her every movement through the glass wall.

  "Yes, thank you," Jen said politely, and then nodded to the headphones. "How does it sound so far?"

  He handed them to her without comment, and she put them on and listened for a while.

  "It's coming together nicely," she said, handing them back.

  He nodded briefly, still ignoring her as far as possible.

  "Stuart," Jen said, taking a deep strengthening breath and seizing her courage in both hands, "I believe I owe you an apology."

  A quick, emotionless glance, and a forbidding silence.

  "Two apologies," she amended. "First, for just assuming that you and Cathy were an item, because it was a stupid assumption to make. And," she hesitated, and then forced herself to go on, "and also because it was insulting to you, to think that you'd be trying to get back together with me if you already had a girlfriend, and she was pregnant, and she was actually in the same house. It was insulting."

  "Yes," Stuart said, face and voice equally frozen, "it bloody was."

  Jen chewed her lip for a moment.

  "I apologise for that," she said.

  "Fine." He was not relenting, not even by a fraction. "So what's your second apology for?"

  "For -- " she hesitated, and then launched herself -- "for not listening to you when you phoned me that time, about the girl in the hotel. For not giving you the chance to explain. For not trusting you enough to think there might be an explanation other than the obvious one. For just assuming the worst about you, and not listening to what you had to say."

  She was free-falling now, with the wind rustling in her ears, and the horrible thing was that there was no sign of help in his eyes.

  "I apologise for that, too."

  Silence again, and the temperature of the room was dropping further by the second.

  "Are you finished?" he asked.

  She swallowed.

  "Yes."

  "Right." He leaned against the console, and folded his arms, and pinned her to the wall with a look. "Now let me tell you something. I don't care. I don't give a damn what you think about me or Cathy or anything else. I don't want you in my life, I don't want you in my house, and right now I don't want you in my studio. Okay? So do us both a favour, and get out."

  "Stuart -- "

  "Did you hear me, Jen? I don't want you in my studio. So get out."

  "Stuart, please -- "

  He turned away, and put the headphones back on, and ignored her.

  Gathering herself together shakily, Jen turned and walked blindly away, across the studio floor, up the stairs, past the dining room door.

  There were voices coming from the kitchen.

  She could not go in there. She could not face anyone. She would just go upstairs, and pack her things, and leave. Karen could go back in Peter's car, or Stuart could give her a lift. And the record would have to be made without her. It would not suffer by it -- probably Stuart would step in on lead guitar, and that would be far better than anything she could produce.

  The kitchen door opened suddenly, before she had a chance to get past it, and Karen stood in her way.

  "Oh, good grief," she said with immediate concern, at the sight of Jen's face. "Come on, let's sit you down with a cup of tea."

  Jen let herself be pulled into the sunshine-yellow room, where everyone had gathered around the table, and now suddenly fell silent at the sight of her.

  "As bad as that, huh?" Rhoda said without noticeable sympathy, but she got up immediately and headed for the kettle.

  "Don't worry yourself about it, " Sue said kindly. "He's just upset right now. He'll come around."

  "I'll go and talk to him," Peter said. "Sit down, Jen, and have a cup of tea. It'll all work out somehow."

  Jen burst into tears.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  "Bad?" Karen asked anxiously.

  "Bad," Peter confirmed, looking grim, and several shades paler than he had been when he went downstairs. "Yes, I would definitely call it bad. Jen, what in the name of…Whatever did you say to him?"

  "Leave her alone," Rhoda said warningly.

  Jen drank her tea. She was still shivering from weeping, and her nose and eyes were swollen and sore, but the hot milky liquid was doing its work, and she was starting to feel calmer.

  "I was trying to apologise," she said drearily.

  "What for?" Cathy asked in a wondering tone of voice, but Karen hushed her.

  "I can tell you one thing," Peter said. "It hasn't worked."

  "Shut up, Peter," Rhoda said.

  "I don't think it would do much good me trying to talk to him," Karen said regretfully. "I don't think he wants to hear any more from me."

  "I'm not going," Sue said flatly. "He'd kill me before I got a word out."

  "I'll go," Rhoda said with a sigh. "If I'm not back inside an hour, send down a search party."

  She gave Jen's shoulder a reassuring squeeze in passing, which almost had the effect of sending her into another flood of tears.

  "Have some toast, Jen," Karen said practically, setting a plate in front of her.

  Jen nibbled forlornly on a buttered slice, and then drank some more tea.

  "Could someone tell me what is going on?" Cathy asked plaintively.

  "Not right now, love," Peter said, marginally short on affectionate concern.

  "Stuart's just in one of his moods," Sue said, giving her a reassuring smile. "We've all got used to them by now."

  "I don't understand it," Cathy said. "He's always been lovely to me."

  "That's because he doesn't know you as well as he knows us," Peter said, with more truth than tactfulness. "No, I didn't mean that. He and Jen just have this -- " he caught Karen's eye -- "this kind of running disagreement about how to record things. Don't worry about it. It'll blow over. It always does."

  "That's right," Karen said heartily. "We're all so used to it, we tend to forget you're not. Sorry, Cath. Have some more toast."

  "I don't like butter on toast," Cathy said, thereby doing what the combined sympathy of all her friends had failed to do: drying Jen up completely.

  "I'll have it in that case," she snapped, reaching out for Cathy's plate.

  "Welcome back, Jen," Karen said cryptically, handing her a fresh slice.

  Jen ate it without argument. The thought had just crossed her mind that after Cathy, she was probably next in line to record, and the thought of Stuart haranguing her for the rest of the afternoon quickly slapped down her recovering spirits.

  "I can't play after this," she said, trying to sound calmly apologetic and not like Cathy doing her little-girl voice.

  "Don't worry," Karen said. "Cathy's on next, and then it's time to start on the vocals, I think. I want to get mine done, and Rhoda had some harmonies she wanted to try. We won't get round to you until the morning, is my bet."

  "Stuart likes to cut guitars before vocals," Jen said forlornly, sounding more like Cathy every minute.

  "Stuff Stuart," Karen said crisply. "There's seven of us doing this record, although he might not have noticed that
yet."

  The door opened, and Rhoda reappeared, walking with unusual caution.

  "Don't go down there," she said, raising her hands in general warning.

  "He didn't want to know?" Karen asked, resignation written all over her face.

  Rhoda shrugged.

  "He's halfway there, I'd guess." She glanced at Peter. "You probably softened him up more than you think. What did you say to him?"

  Peter looked embarrassed.

  "Nothing much. I more or less told him not to make the same stupid mistake I nearly made."

  "Brilliant," Karen said. "Well done, Peter."

  "I don't understand any of this," Cathy said, looking from one to the other.

  "Have some toast," Karen told her, and this time it was not a suggestion but an order.

  "Anyway," Rhoda said, taking the floor again, "if you stay well away for now, Jen, then there might be hope. Don't go anywhere near him. Let him think about it for a while."

  Jen nodded bleakly. She had no burning desire for another ringside encounter with Stuart. Not just now, at any rate.

  "I'll take him a cup of coffee," Karen said.

  "Don't!" Rhoda told her. "Really, Karen, don't do it. He is not in a good mood. I think we should all leave him alone for a bit."

  Karen nodded, and subsided.

  "What are these harmonies you want to try, Rhoda?" Sue asked, tactfully changing the subject.

  "Yes, go on," Karen said. "It would be good to run them through once or twice, to see if they work."

  "It's mostly in the refrain," Rhoda said, singing the first line of the chorus and then singing a harmony line, to show what she meant. "Something like that, anyway, starting a third above you and then working upwards, and coming down again. And when you're singing your second verse, I thought the last line could have something like this -- " she sang again.

  "Let's try it now," Karen said. "The refrain first. Sue, give us the beat."

  Sue obligingly tapped out the rhythm with her teaspoon against the table top, while they sang through the refrain a few times.