Pickup Notes

by Jane Lebak

  “You go.” Harrison’s voice was thin. “I need to run the water.”

  Minutes later, Shreya all but spewed smoke from her ears as she paced the living room. “When he does that, tell him to fuck off. Why do you let this go on?”

  Good question, and my only answer was, we began as we meant to go on, only we never really knew how that was. “It’s a game. It’s just a game.”

  “And when did his little game start? Back when it was you and three guys, and he wanted to secure the alpha male position by staking claim to the only female?”

  My cheeks burned.

  She folded her arms. “You need to look at reality. It’s a game until the minute he tells you to get in bed with him. It’s a game until he threatens your job. You know what? Call his bluff. Say yes and see what he does?”

  I had no idea what he’d do. I wasn’t sure if he’d laugh it off or plan a fancy wedding.

  Josh put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall “Or you could cut to the chase and t-t-tell him to go to hell.”

  “And while we’re on the subject of being inappropriate,” Shreya said, her voice dangerously low, “what was that at lunch?”

  I dropped my head and closed my eyes.

  I could feel her in front of me. “I told you we weren’t discussing why I became Catholic. I’ll tell you whatever you need to know, and when I say something is not for conversation, that means it’s not for conversation.”

  My eyes stung. “But— You wanted to distract Harrison’s father from attacking Josh!”

  “And you improved matters by attacking me?” She dropped onto the couch, arms folded. “If you wanted to distract him, why not tell him about your mysterious vanishing father and your bitch-whore sister?” Her eyes bored into mine. “That would have changed the subject every bit as well, and you know what? The man might have floated you the cash for your own fucking house so your sister could have your grandmother’s attic.”

  My mouth trembled. “My sister isn’t that bad! She just got knocked up. And my Mom is helping her out—”

  “Don’t waste time defending your family,” Shreya snapped. “They’re not the ones I’m angry at. It’s not noble to betray your friends. “

  Josh had fallen silent. I wrapped my arms around my waist. “I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

  She didn’t respond. Finally I said, “You think so much faster than I do, knocking over the water.”

  She chuckled. “I screwed up. I wanted the thing to land in Harrison’s lap.”

  I bit my lip. Yeah, that would have changed the subject.

  The first of the faucets shut off upstairs. Not wanting to see Harrison yet, I went into the kitchen, eyes stinging. Awesome. Just in case Josh teetered too close to believing I wasn’t a shitty friend, I’d just proven I was.

  The fridge was finally chillier than everyone’s attitudes, so I unpacked the cooler. Milk and orange juice, butter, bagels. There was even a cake. His dad might be bull-headed, but hey, who’d argue with a strawberry cheesecake?

  I looked up from fridge to find Harrison. The first thing he did was apologize, and I told him it was all right. We both ignored the dark looks Josh shot at him.

  With that swept under the rug, I retrieved his mother’s checklist and settled down with the laptop. I opened a spreadsheet.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Harrison leaned over me and shut the lid. “We’ve got four solid days, and we’re highly motivated. I’m not going to consult the computer for permission to sit on the couch.” He interrupted my protest with, “We went through a lot of trouble getting here, therefore we’ll go through the trouble of gathering in the living room to practice.”

  I glared at him.

  “It’s called spontaneity. Give it a try.”

  Hearing the bickering, Shreya reappeared, her eyes haunted.

  I said, “Your mom’s list has twenty items.”

  He snapped the list with a sound like a firecracker. “Half of which are done.” (A gross exaggeration: even in Harrison’s universe, two was not half of twenty.) “Power’s on. Water’s on. There are four of us, and there’s only one house. Trust me that we can wrestle it into submission.”

  Shreya said, too loudly, “I feel like playing. Anyone up for practice?” She folded her arms. “As in right now?”

  Harrison looked at me in mock surprise. “Wow! Almost as if that’s why we came!”

  I didn’t follow at once. Trying to get my brain back in groove, I stayed in the kitchen examining the list and estimating the time it would take to knock off a few items. Organize things, organize the world. Item 15: “Wash sheets.” What would that take, a couple of hours? But we could do other things at the same time. Fuse the chores. We’d get it all done. We had to.

  Jittery, I reached into the laptop bag and plugged it into the charger, then pulled out my phone to charge it too, except— No charger.

  Terrific. I’d meant to grab that before we left, but after Josh…and then after my sister…I totally forgot. It was in my kitchen, charging nothing.

  I pulled out my phone: battery at half life. We’d been calling and texting all morning to coordinate the trip. Well, nothing for it. I powered off the phone and shoved it in my pocket.

  That’s when I heard Harrison exclaim, “What the hell is that?”

  I snickered. This couldn’t be anything but good.

  In the living room I found Shreya holding the skeleton of a violin. It was the violin equivalent of a hard-body electric guitar, in a cobalt blue that glittered.

  “It matches your hair!” I bounced on my toes. “You never said which violin!”

  “Oh, this is just a little something.” She plugged it into the amplifier and swiped her bow across the strings, creating a shocking whine.

  Even as Harrison’s eyes popped, I squealed.

  She dialed up the distortion and, Cease and Desist or not, went to town on the riff from “Hotel California.” Despite the cord running down her chest and into the amp, she danced as she played, her musical power under loose restraint.

  We stood open-mouthed. She turned to Harrison, eyes wicked, and extended it to him.

  He grimaced. “I’m going to hate myself for this, aren’t I?”

  Harrison picked what else but Bach? After a few measures he stopped, as though afraid of the thing in his hands. “This is a travesty.”

  “Didn’t sss-sound like that to me.” Josh took it and flipped it over, examined the mechanism, then handed it back. “There’s no vibration other than the str-strings? The amp does the rest?”

  She nodded. “For the right song, it’s tremendously cool.”

  Harrison tried again with the adagio from The Hunt. He restrained his vibrato to let the violin itself make the distortion.

  I said, “Can I?” and then regretted it. But Shreya didn’t glare as he handed it to me.

  First difference: the sound didn’t emerge from under my ear, but from the amp. Second difference: in addition to being a lot lighter than a viola, it was ergonomic. I could have played for hours. The sound felt alive, a little out of control with the volume, but even so, I found myself smiling as I played.

  As I handed it back to Shreya, I noticed Josh smiling too. At me.

  Shreya said, “They have electric violas and cellos, you know.”

  “Great. An electric quartet.” Harrison gave a mock shudder. “What do you do with that monstrosity?”

  Shreya then treated us her defunct band’s solo from “Come On Eileen.” It was like listening to Eddie Van Halen if the world’s greatest living guitarist had picked the violin instead. Beaming, I tucked in for a concert.

  That’s what we’d needed all along: a musical vacation. A chance to set aside the work of music and just…play. What did people do at a resort? Because I didn’t imagine they went to beaches or mountains to be the same uptight selves they were in real life.

  But Harrison looked baffled by Shreya’s performance. Baffled and more than a little uptight. Sure, he c
omplained about my schedule, but to him it wasn’t a vacation after all as much as a business trip. And a trip to do things on his parents’ house. And maybe a trip to shore up his position as our fearless leader.

  Shreya finished and bowed, and I applauded. She grinned, then said, “Okay, now we can do Mozart.”

  As she put away her electric violin, I peeked into the case. She had a sparkly blue teddy bear fastened to the handle, and inside was a picture of an Indian couple (her parents?) and a hospital bracelet. Before I could look closer, though, she clicked it shut, saying, “First let’s run through the festival playlist.”

  Smooth. That would keep Harrison from stopping us every five notes.

  Harrison nodded. “Good idea. That will make sure everything fits into the time-slot, and we’ll hear the transitions.”

  Um, yeah. That too.

  We played for approximately one minute and seven-point-three-five seconds before Harrison stopped us…and Shreya produced a recorder. “Let’s run through everything. Afterward, you can analyze it.”

  Give the woman an award. Give her two.

  And shortly, after five festive fusions, I sat, dazzled. “That cannot have been half an hour.”

  Shreya clicked off the recorder. “Twenty-seven minutes and forty seconds.”

  I surprised myself by laughing. “It didn’t feel nearly that long!”

  “The recorder disagrees.” She handed it over. “This, Fearless Leader, is for you to critique at your leisure.”

  Harrison said, “Actually, before we listen, I want to review measures fifty to seventy-five—”

  Those words served as the pickup notes to the Harrison Sonata, twenty minutes of him and Shreya bickering about nine measures of Mozart’s String Quartet in A Major. Nine irritating measures during which Josh would play seventy-three E notes in a row (I counted them) and I struggled not to die of frustration. Eventually I laid down my viola and left.

  In the sunken living room I gazed out the window at the lake. It really was an amazing view. Kind of a shame to waste it by having me looking at it. The window should have been occupied by the Queen of Sweden, who would have appreciated it.

  Josh appeared. “We’re ready to move on.”

  Just like that, we were alone. “Um—” I should have prepared a speech. “Later…when you get a chance…I want to talk to you.”

  He stepped nearer, grinning. “I c-c-can’t imagine why.”

  He stood so close his breath brushed my forehead. My pulse did a tremolo.

  Harrison called, “Josh, is she lost?”

  “I’m on my way!” I glanced at Josh, but he was looking right into my eyes, and I had no idea what to say, so I returned to Harrison.

  TWENTY-THREE

  After practice, Harrison said, “Anyone else want dinner?”

  I said, “Um, that place your father suggested? I didn’t bring my evening gown.”

  Harrison snickered. “Like I’m going to drag all of us over there. That’ll be a great place for when we get—” He stopped short. “Tonight let’s order Chinese.”

  And that was Harrison’s lesson on how to deal with Harrison’s tactics. Ignoring the bulldozer was a legal maneuver.

  Harrison rooted through a kitchen drawer for a takeout menu, then muttered to himself, “Oh, I forgot: we live in the internet age.” Instead he found their menu online with my laptop. Of course Harrison also had to check his email, and then with his phone he sent four texts. I just felt lucky they weren’t to me. Joey, I had a great idea about chicken lo mein!

  Josh took the notepad with our choices, dialed his cell, but then stopped. His face tightened, and he started breathing hard.

  Harrison took the list. “I’ll call.”

  Josh slumped at the table, head in his hands.

  Shreya sat beside him while Harrison got out his phone. “You okay?”

  “I c-c-can’t do it.” Josh pressed his fingers into his temples. “I hhh-hate ordering food.”

  Harrison paused. “Really? You’ve done it the last few times.”

  “B-b-because I ...hate it.” Josh waved him off. “Just c-c-call.”

  While Harrison placed the order, Josh just looked beaten. So, a little risky, I played cello to his viola: standing behind him, I rubbed his shoulders. He tensed at first, then relaxed his head into his hands.

  Harrison looked up to make a wiseacre remark, and then stopped cold.

  Josh said, “I’m s-sorry. I should be able to do that.”

  “You get a pass.” As I rubbed the bands of muscle, he melted. “You drove up here on only a few hours’ sleep.”

  Stung, Harrison set down his phone. “I did offer to drive. I wouldn’t have let you try to order if I’d realized you hated it.”

  “You’re not my mmm-mother.” The tension returned to Josh’s shoulders. “I don’t nnn-need you to look out for me.”

  Harrison said, “Get a EchoChamber. You won’t need anyone to look after you.”

  “I don’t need it now.” Josh’s voice sharpened. “Prr-roblem solved.”

  Harrison picked up the car keys. “Whatever. If you guys could find some plates before I get back, that’d be great.”

  In the cabinets I found every item double-bagged in plastic, and moments later had a dishpan full of sudsy water. Meanwhile Shreya and Josh picked a task off Mrs. Archer’s list and walked the fence line to check for downed tree limbs.

  Washing crystal water glasses, I watched Josh climbing the hill, the movement of his long limbs and his sharp-eyed profile with the jacket and baseball cap. The pines were just putting out new growth at the tips, slender green bits that stuck straight up, as if Nature were giving me the finger a thousand times over. If I’d been smarter, I’d have had Shreya wash dishes while I walked the fence. On the other hand, I considered Josh’s shadowed eyes and how hard he was stuttering. Putting him on the spot while exhausted wasn’t fair.

  With the table set, I moved the laptop to the island, and it woke. Harrison hadn’t logged out of his account, and as I was about to close the window, my eye caught the words “re: Hotel California rights.”

  It was the subject line of several emails from one Amy Aitken, Esquire. All marked read.

  An attorney?

  I clicked on the thread. It asked for a password, so I couldn’t read it, but I didn’t need to. Harrison’s father said we’d involved an attorney; he hadn’t meant the Eagles’ attorney. Our fearless leader had lawyered-up in secret.

  The front door opened, and Shreya was saying, “—yeah, I never saw anything like that—”

  “Guys?” My voice wobbled. “Guys, I need you.”

  They came into the kitchen, Josh unzipping his jacket. Unsure how they’d respond, I said, “Harrison hired a lawyer.”

  They exchanged a look.

  I recognized it. Like when my grandmother looked at my mother because she knew something, something I should have known except—I don’t know, except they just never said.

  Shreya spoke, the information building in my head like storm clouds. “Harrison’s brother said it would be stupid not to have our interests protected.” She looked down. “We couldn’t count on the paper’s attorneys. His mom recommended a lawyer who works in the entertainment industry.”

  My fists hurt. “Who’s paying her?”

  She said, “Harrison paid the retainer himself.”

  Of course he did. I shouldn’t have bothered asking. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Josh looked away.

  “He said you were upset,” Shreya said.

  “I’m more upset now!”

  Shreya stared at the floor. “It seemed like a good idea when he sold it to us.”

  I stalked back to the table, unable to speak. Damn it, this was my group too. Was I five years old, that we can’t tell Josie the things that might disturb her pretty head?

  I set up for dinner. Napkins. Plates. Knives—and be careful not to insert this elegant serrated knife right into Harrison’s elegant treacherous heart
.

  I still hadn’t said another word when Harrison returned with a bag of MSG in five forms, two bottles of soda, and two six-packs of beer. Good. I’d need it.

  Remember how quartet members could read each others’ minds? Josh and Shreya vanished.

  While Harrison unpacked, I said, “Amy Aitken.”

  His head jerked up. He didn’t breathe.

  “You left your inbox on the screen.” I took the bag from his hands and distributed paper cartons, fortune cookies, and packets of soy sauce. “The nicest thing I can say is don’t ever cheat on your wife, because you have the stealth of a hippopotamus.”

  Harrison edged back from the table. “Are you mad?”

  Only the way the ocean was wet. “I had a right to know.” I stepped toward him, and he inched backward again. “Why didn’t you bother to tell your business manager? I’m not a child.”

  He said, “You were upset.”

  “Because it’s upsetting to get sued! Why would defending ourselves upset me more?”

  Harrison couldn’t respond. Without his words, I could only judge from the flare of his eyes or the pitch of his brows, the shape of his mouth—and he was frightened. In his world, I’d never have found out, and he hadn’t realized how much of a betrayal it was until after I had. Bastard.

  I glared into his face. “Well?”

  “You weren’t just upset. You were crazed.” He spoke faster. “I’d checked your voicemail like you told me to, and she’d left two more messages. That couldn’t go on, so I deleted them and told her to call our own lawyer.”

  I trembled. “Are we going to court?”

  He sounded hesitant. “She thinks they’ll drop it as long as we don’t do anything stupid. Which she’s advised us not to.”

  That’s good. If you hire an attorney, she ought to tell you not to be stupid. “How much are we paying her?”

  “I took care of it.”

  “Then how much are we reimbursing you?”

  Harrison started to speak, and I held up my hand. “When an attorney defends a business, the business pays.”

  He nodded.

  “Get me the exact amount after dinner, and I’ll transfer the funds. Now let’s eat.”