Chapter 2
The next day, the state welfare agency split the boys into different homes. One went to live with a family in Madrona, one went to Redmond, one went down to Federal Way, and James went to a home 15 miles to the north in Mountlake Terrace. The house, a two-story, four-bedroom colonial in a spirited suburban sprawl, was owned by Ned Stickler and his wife, Carol. Like the last house, this one also contained just boys but these orphans were between the ages of seven and fifteen. James, at seven and a half, was the second youngest child there. He slept in an upstairs bedroom with two boys while three boys slept in the second. No one slept in the third bedroom located on the first floor. Instead, it was outfitted as a private study complete with a desk, chair and bookcase. The master bedroom on the 2nd floor was off limits to all but adults.
The new family welcomed James to their home with open arms. Ned and Carol did have rules, but they weren’t as strict as Ms. Cumberbatch. Neither of them was also as imposing as her. Both standing at around 5’5”, they also weren’t the same fearsome package. They worked in separate places. Ned was a construction foreman and Carol worked as a nurse at a local hospital. Neither of them, both in their mid-forties, had any children. They actually believed they were doing the world a favor by having foster children. They were currently working on adopting two of the boys in their care and hoped the papers would be finalized soon.
James came to enjoy living with the Sticklers. They had an upright piano in the living room which they let him play if no one objected. He played infrequently, however, as all the boys went to school and returned home at the same time and preferred watching TV over listening to music they’ve never heard of. James was determined, though. He encouraged his foster parents to buy him a portable Magnus chord organ for his eighth birthday. When the other boys were busy in the living room watching game shows like Match Game or Tattletales, James would be holed up in his room practicing the organ.
During this time, the precocious young man’s talent ebbed and waned. At times, he’d have the dexterity to pull off Czerny or Mozart passages, sometimes his fingers behaved like stubborn oafs, refusing to comply with the strenuous syllabus. Frustrated at times, he’d turn off the instrument, grab a book, and lie down on his bed and read till he fell asleep.
One morning, James’s roommates played a trick on him and neglected to wake him up for school. By the time he realized it, everyone had already left and the school bus would soon depart. Neglecting to change into his school attire, he grabbed his book bag, ran out in his pajamas and caught the bus just as it was leaving. The other students laughed at him but he simply ignored it. His foster brothers pretended as if they didn’t know him, trying their best to hide in their seats. The old bus driver simply ignored it. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen students going to school in their pajamas. A few girls in school thought it was cute. A handful of teachers and other students weighed in on the matter, but by the end of the day, no one paid further attention. The principal also let the matter go as he couldn’t reach his foster parents on the phone. The next day, James did the same thing. When the boys came down to the breakfast table, everyone was dressed for school except James. Ned and Carol eyed his blue stripe pajamas conspicuously.
“Why are you dressed like that?” Ned asked.
“I’m more comfortable this way,” he replied.”
“I don’t think it’s appropriate,” Carol chimed in.
“Oh,” James disagreed, “it’s comfortable and the teachers don’t mind. The principal even saw it, too.”
“Back in my day,” Ned stated, “the teachers would’ve wailed the tar out of me and my father would’ve added to it when I got back home.”
“It’s a good thing we’re not in medieval times anymore, eh?” Carol proposed.
Ned shook his head, looked at the time and continued eating. For the next couple of days, James started wearing his pajamas everywhere – out shopping with the family, out to the parks or just hanging around the yard. It bothered Ned more than Carol, but because James was so adamant about wearing them, they looked the other way.
His foster brothers, however, were irritated by it. They thought it looked ridiculous. Warned numerous times by the Sticklers about bothering him about it, they nevertheless teased him and played tricks on him. They left chewing gum on his seat, “accidentally” dropped water from the flower planters in his drawing books, hid the batteries to his portable organ, and drew mustaches on the animals in his favorite encyclopedia. Ned and Carol were not the strong disciplinary type so they never raised their voices to the boys. Instead, they punished them by withholding dessert or cutting their TV hours. The boys pretended to care, but secretly, the only thing they cared about was disrupting James’s happiness.
As the months trudged on, the boys grew more and more resentful of James. Carol tried her best to protect him but even she couldn’t be everywhere at once. Ned, usually working over 60 hours a week, was so tired when he got home that he went straight to bed. As tensions grew, James started folding like a tortoise into his own little world. Child psychologists employed by the state were notified of the Sticklers’ distress. They visited the home on a few occasions to sort out the difficulties but James would simply clam up, too unwilling to divulge his feelings. Applying tough love, the Sticklers eventually hid his pajamas. He wailed for a short time and threw a tantrum, but eventually had no choice but wear normal clothes out of the house again.
Things took a drastic turn for the worst when, one day, as the boys were heating chicken soup on the stove, James grabbed the entire pot and tried to place it on the table in order to ladle a cup out. Unfortunately, one of his brothers, Nathan, approached him while he was doing it. In that brief moment, some choice words were exchanged and the hot soup spilled on Nate. Carol, busy outside sunning herself in the backyard, came rushing inside when she heard a scream. Nathan, she soon discovered, was doused with noodles and the smoldering liquid. Immediately, she opened up the cold water tap, grabbed a cup, and frantically started pouring water over him.
James stood aside watching in horror. A certain dread shot through his body. He’d been down this path before and feared the outcome. He apologized numerous times and stated it was an accident. Carol scolded him, cursing the day he was born. James ran upstairs to his room, dived into bed and started crying while Nathan remained in the kitchen to be nursed.
Once again, plans were made to transfer James out to another home. Ned and Carol had it under consideration for some time, but the incident in the kitchen was the final straw. Calls were subsequently made to several agencies where they learned that, due to the fluctuations in the foster community, placement wouldn’t be immediate. At least, to their satisfaction, they got the ball rolling. Now it was only a matter of time.
James, not sure if he’d be leaving or not, carried on with business as usual. He continued going to school and practicing the organ at home. Emotionally, he grew distant from his brothers. They no longer teased him but they also didn’t welcome him into their circle either. Withdrawing into his books, he sought refuge in the lush jungles and exotic lands contained therein. He imagined he was one of Ali Baba’s thieves plundering the Arabian landscape, a Hun fighting side by side with Attila, or one of Marco Polo’s assistants along the Great Silk Road.
The morning of the interhouse transfer arrived but James had a cold. The couple who came to pick him up, Mr. & Mrs. Durbin, two gentle-faced people in their 50’s, had brought a nest of new toys for him to play with. He, however, rejected the playthings and politely told them he preferred books. As a result, the Durbins donated the items to Ned and Carol who then bequeathed them to the youngest child in their care, nine-year-old Barry.
James sat in the back seat of the station wagon as it drove away from the home he’d known for the past two years. Waving goodbye to Ned, Carol and the boys, he felt like a part of him was being left behind. Carol, he noticed, had tears in her eyes. It was the first time he’d seen he
r cry. As they grew smaller and smaller through the rear window, he bowed his head, turned around to face the front then looked wistfully out the window at the passing stream of houses.
Minutes later, he found himself on the Seattle-Bremerton Ferry with the Durbins. He was excited as it was his first time on a boat. Sailing across the Puget Sound, he stared wide-eyed at the water, the tall buildings of the Seattle skyline, the mountain ranges in the distance, and the landscape of Bainbridge and Vashon islands. The one hour ride excited him so much that he talked almost continually the whole time. Marnie Durbin simply smiled at his jubilation while Kirk told him what he knew about the ferry. For the first time, in what seemed like ages, James smiled again.
The Durbins lived in a modern four-bedroom split-level home overlooking Kitsap Lake. There was a small one hoop basketball court in the driveway and a tennis court in the back yard. Kirk, an avid fisherman, kept a 17-foot fishing boat parked in the garage which he took out every two weeks or so. Marnie, a tennis player in her college days, barely used the court, allowing it to be overrun by leaves and twigs and the occasional wild berries falling off nearby shrubs. Every so often she and their oldest daughter, sixteen-year-old Kerry, would hit a few in the back, but those were increasingly rare events as Kerry focused more on her new interest, boys, and Marnie worked extra hours at an RV store.
Besides Kerry, they had another daughter, Kirsten, 14, and two adopted boys, Juan and Alfonso, 11 and 13. Juan and Alfonso were extricated from an extremely abusive family. Their father, Pepe Romero, a perpetual drunkard, beat the boys and their mother incessantly, sending them to the hospital at times with broken bones, contusions and lacerations. Pepe was jailed twice but his behavior never changed. Their mother, Maria, simply picked up and moved. No one knows where. Some rumors had her back in Mexico, others hiding out with relatives in Arizona or Oklahoma. In any case, when she couldn’t be found, the boys were taken away and placed up for adoption.
When the young Romeros joined the family, Kirk used to work in the King County Department of Health’s Youth Services full time. Now that the house was full, he elected to spend fewer hours at work and more time managing the household especially since the younger Romero, Juan, was often sick. Kirk became the one responsible for shopping, cooking the meals, bringing the kids to and from school, driving them to their scheduled appointments, taking care of the bills, and other odds and ends around the house. Being at home also gave him the additional freedom to work on his boat at his own leisure.
In order to upkeep their place, Marnie took on more responsibilities at the RV store. She had a hand not only in customer service but shipping and receiving, catalog processing, and the general maintenance of the shop. It seemed like not a day went by without her tackling some new activity. Eventually she was promoted to assistant manager, hoping the new position and extra money would allow her to buy an RV herself.
Kerry and Kirsten used to sleep in the same room, but as they got older, became much more competitive with each other and had to be separated. As Kerry was the oldest, she slept in the basement bedroom. Kirsten had one upstairs, the Romero’s shared one, and James had his own. James’s room, originally set to be used as a recreation den, was converted at the last minute per a request from the state. Marnie didn’t mind at all, diving headfirst into the redecoration of the space with much aplomb.
Because Juan was asthmatic, Kirk gave him more attention than everyone else. The girls preferred it that way anyway as they were discovering boys. That their father was often M.I.A. was superfluous; this allowed them greater flexibility in their new burgeoning fascinations. Alfonso, for his part, was attracted to Kerry, but he dared not voice his interest out of fear of being kicked out. Pining away in silence, all he could do was dream of holding her in his arms and perhaps even stealing a kiss or two.
James used to spend a great deal of time exploring the environs of Kitsap Lake. Mainly, he fed the mallards there or collected smooth stones in a glass jar. Occasionally, he’d use twigs to catch a few six inch brown snakes crawling on the shore and throw them in the water. At times, he even uncovered the chestnut-brown red belly varieties slithering beneath collections of leaves but left them alone as he was unsure if they were nonvenomous. Around that time, he met a neighborhood boy his age named Jordan. Jordan had only one eye, his left. His right was removed years ago because of a tumor, and he wore a patch over its socket. Jordan was knowledgeable about boats and taught James all he knew; James would show Jordan how to play simple songs on Jordan’s mother’s piano as the Durbins didn’t have one.
Marnie started spending more hours both at work and with her co-workers. Insistent that a close working relationship was a prosperous one, she even went out on trips and meetings with them. It gave Kirk pause, but because he was reaping the financial rewards of her toils, said little. To pass the time, he took the kids to the movies or a sporting event. As Alfonso was on the high school’s baseball team, they went to see his games when they had the chance. The girls passed, though, because they weren’t interested. Sometimes sickly Juan would get an asthmatic attack and Kirk would drive him home, leaving James in the bleachers with his friend Jordan.
The owners of the RV shop had a celebration one Friday night at the store. As it was basically an adults-only type of event, only Kirk and Marnie went. Kerry, entrusted to watch the younger children at the house, was furious because she and her sister had planned to join their girlfriends at a slumber party that night. James, they argued, was already spending the night over at Jordan’s house so they should be allowed to leave also. The parents, however, put their foot down and the arguments ceased. After they left for the party, Alfonso went over to a friend’s home just down the block while Juan and the girls sat in the living room watching TV.
Around 10PM, Kirk returned home. He told the girls they can still go out to their friend’s slumber party if they wanted and if it wasn’t too late. Ecstatic, Kerry called her girlfriend to come and pick them up. Minutes later, the sisters left with the mother of their friend who’d arrived. On the way out, Kerry whispered to Kirsten that their father smelled of liquor. Their friend’s mother agreed but said nothing. Kirsten simply shrugged and explained that since he was an adult it was okay.
Marnie continued partying with her coworkers that night. They danced in a rumba line and limbo danced beneath a broomstick. Liquor flew everywhere. There was wine, peppermint schnapps, spiked punch, beer, whiskey, rum, gin, tequilas and pina coladas. A lot of the ladies flirted with the lead singer of the rock band that performed there, twisting their fingers in his long hair and caressing his shiny leather jacket. Marnie, in a careless move involving a potted plant and a step ladder, twisted her left ankle. Starting to feel the effects of the booze, she asked a friend to drive her home.
Walking her to the front porch, her friend kissed her goodbye and took off. Marnie entered the darkened house and kicked her high heels off. The only thing she could see was the moonlight streaming in through the windows. Putting on a table lamp, she walked into the kitchen. Casually, she opened the refrigerator, poured herself a glass of orange juice and downed it in one gulp. Then she heard a soft bump-like sound coming from the living room.
“Kirk?” she called out.
Stepping out into the common area she saw no one. Then, grabbing her high heels, she walked up the stairs to her bedroom, opened the door and flicked the light on. Kirk, she noticed, wasn’t there. Laying her shoes on the floor, she walked over to the master bathroom. Its door was slightly ajar and the light was on.
“Kirk?” she called out again then pushed the door open. Like the living room, there was no one in it. Her curiosity piqued, she exited her bedroom and walked down the hall towards the boys’ room. When she opened the door, her eyes widened and her jaw hit the floor. Though the room was lit only by the moonlight, she could see Juan lying supine in bed and her husband, now merely a silhouette, kneeling down in front of the youth.
“Kirk!” she screamed.
/> The astonished man leaped to his feet, fear emblazoned on his face like fresh paint on a thorny canvas.
“It’s not what it looks like!” he uttered, his voice quivering with uncertainty.
“I should’ve known!” Marnie shouted. “I should’ve seen the signs!”
Crying, she ran out of the boys' room disgusted, flew into her own room, and locked the door behind her. Seconds later Kirk came knocking on the door.
“Please, Marnie,” he pleaded. “I can explain. Open the door!”
“You’re sick!” she shouted, reaching for the telephone on the night table.
“I was just helping him out!”
“Helping him out?!” she screamed. “That makes no sense!”
“Can’t we just talk about this?”
Marnie didn’t answer. There was nothing else left to be said. Kirk paced back and forth in the hall not knowing what to do. He rubbed his face continuously, nervously biting the inside of his mouth like an expectant father outside a birthing room. It didn’t take long for the police to come and cart him off. Kirk, expecting leniency, sobbed all the way to the back of the cruiser.
The next few weeks were an especially trying time for the family. With Kirk in jail, Marnie had to work more hours. Even though she was receiving financial help from the state for taking care of James, it became apparent that it wasn’t enough. The girls were more demanding of her time. Juan’s asthmatic attacks increased in frequency, and the occasional trips to see a lawyer or give court depositions became a burden. As a result, she decided to lessen her load by putting James back in the foster home pool. She cried and apologized to him over and over; the nearly two years they had together passed quickly, but she could no longer accept the workload. Crestfallen once again, James withdrew into his own world, choosing to spend less time with everyone, including his friend Jordan.
The next foster home he got transferred to was in Everett, a city just 30 miles north of Seattle. The largest metropolis in Snohomish County, Everett was home of the biggest marina on the west coast, a gigantic Boeing assembly plant, and the most profitable strawberry farms this side of Holland. It was also the two-story, three-bedroom home of Bernard and Iris Thornton, the couple who would watch over James after he’d left the Durbins.
The Thorntons had three sons aged 14, 16 and 19. The oldest, Frank, a student at Washington State University, didn’t live at home so his room was bequeathed to James. 14-year old Anthony and 16-year-old Carey had their own bedrooms and went to Mariner High School. 11-year-old James attended Evergreen Middle School.
Bernard worked in the engineering department at Everett’s Boeing plant in the evening so he had little time to drive the boys to school in the morning. Iris’ midwife job at the General Hospital was only part time, allowing her time to drive the boys to school when they opted to pass on the bus. James didn’t like riding on the bus anyway as some of the kids were unruly and picked on the younger and smaller students. And if they wore thick glasses, they were S.O.L. It seemed like not a month went by without a parent calling the school to complain about their child being bullied on the bus. The administration explained that reasonable efforts were being made to ensure everyone’s ride to and from home was comfortable and safe. This, however, was little consolation to those intermittently subjected to the will and caprice of the pre-pubescent thugs in their midst.
Even though they had their problems, Evergreen Middle School, a multicultural institution, was progressive in every way. They boasted several sports programs and sponsorships from area businesses including Boeing, Darigold and Bartell. Several languages were spoken at the school, a reflection of the diversity Everett had become. One after school class, in particular, held the most interest for James. His English teacher, Leslie Moniusko, an attractive woman in her late 30’s, was also a pianist. Students could sign up to learn music theory and ear training from her after school on Wednesdays in the auditorium. James jumped at the chance, not only to strengthen his abilities as a sight reader, but also to play their piano since the Thorntons didn’t own one. Luckily, very few students showed up for the tutorials, resulting in classes with a tiny teacher to student ratio.
The first few weeks of solfeggio, or sight singing, went without a hitch. Leslie, using the piano as support, strengthened her pupils’ pitch-determining aptitude, employing runs and scales from the baroque to the classical to the romantic period. As the lessons grew increasingly difficult, students started dropping out left and right. At least two parents confronted her about the lessons’ difficulty, complaining that their children came home crying after practice. Leslie insisted, however, that discipline was the nature of the beast and its acute progression was something over which she had no control. Eventually, the only one that was left was James. Because Leslie was easy to get along with, he didn’t mind having her as an instructor. Also, since it was free, his new foster parents didn’t mind.
Leslie introduced James to other parts of music theory such as four-part writing, textures, articulation, dynamics, inversions, fugues, modes and advanced notation. Deeply focused, she hoped her syllabus wasn’t cumbersome for someone his age. Soon, he was learning pieces by composers like Chopin, Bizet, Prokofiev, Busoni, and Liszt. Leslie was impressed by how quickly her young protégé adapted to the syllabus. Not only was he reading further than other students his age, but was playing beyond them as well.
She also introduced him to her other passion - jazz. Between the talks of classical minor scales and Dorian modes, she’d stop and start playing and singing standards like ‘My Funny Valentine’, ‘Makin’ Whoopee’ and ‘Ten Cents a Dance.’ Enthralled, James would sit by her side and learn the new complex fingerings. Of course, it was a challenge in the beginning, but eventually he got used to the phrasings made popular by pianists like Bill Evans, Oscar Peterson and Art Tatum.
Surprised by his growing ability, she suggested he sign up to perform at the upcoming Christmas Pageant at the school. Self-deprecating even at his age, James initially refused, stating his playing wasn’t good enough. Over and over he maintained he was too shy, even stating there was a possibility his fingers would freeze or that he might even be jeered. She promised him she would be right there in the wings cheering him on. One day she drove him home after practice. His new foster mother, Iris Thornton, was out in the front yard trimming weeds around the base of the hedges.
“Evening, Iris,” Leslie greeted her as she and James exited the car and walked towards the house.
“Evening,” Iris nodded. She turned to James. “Hello, young man.”
“Hi,” he greeted her then entered the house.
“How’s his practice coming along?” Iris asked Leslie.
“He’s doing fine. He has a problem with performing in front of people, though.”
“He’s quite shy,” Iris noted. “Maybe he’s not ready.”
His tutor, however, believed differently. “He is.”
Leslie studied the well-manicured hedges for a moment. They could easily have been used as models for a house and garden magazine.
“You’ve done a good job,” the instructor noticed. “Very even. What are they?”
“This is boxwood,” Iris informed her, “or as it’s known, Emerald Jewel. They’re very hardy in the wintertime.”
“I see. I was curious, Iris - may I take James to the Jazz House on Main St.?”
“He’s kinda young, isn’t he?”
“I was thinking just in the day time so he could see what live performance feels like.”
“They have shows there in the daytime?”
“Sure,” Leslie answered. “I play there sometimes three times a week. It’s a pretty sophisticated jazz-loving crowd. I’m trying to break him out of his performing fear.”
Iris eyed Leslie intently. Somehow, the thought of an 11-year-old among adults gave her an image of a lamb among lions. “I don’t know…” she murmured.
“Well,” Leslie stated, “you can
bring him at any time you wish. In addition to classical he also has an affinity for jazz. I think once he hears the applause he’ll relax and his playing would seem worth it.”
Iris did like the way those words rolled off Leslie’s tongue. Far from her to stifle anyone’s creativity.
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll bring him by. What days are you there?”
“Tuesday and Thursday. Sometimes I play on Sunday. I’m on call.”
“So, next Thursday then?”
“That’s fine. Don’t tell him. It’ll be our little surprise.”
“I’m glad you’re teaching him out of the goodness of your heart,” Iris mentioned. “You should come over for dinner sometimes.”
“Sure. Just name the date.”
“I’ll have to prepare something special.”
“I’m not particular, Iris.”
Leslie turned to leave but a nagging thought entered her mind. “Say, Iris,” she began, “I don’t mean to pry, but will you guys be buying a piano soon? James is improving at a fast rate and he needs one to practice on more frequently.”
“They’re pretty expensive, Leslie.”
“Yes, I know. I know some people down at Boeing. Occasionally, they provide grants and scholarships to children in need. I’m sure a piano wouldn’t be out of their realm of gift giving.”
“Well, if you want. I don’t want to impose.”
“Not at all. I’ll look into it next week.”
“Thanks. Bernard was looking into it also, but I think he got sidetracked with work.”
“That’s okay. Anyway, I have to go. I’ll talk to you later. Bye, Iris.”
“Bye, Leslie. I’ll call you.”
By chance, Carey’s birthday was the following week. She and Bernard had planned to buy him some sports memorabilia, but dining at the Jazz House would kill two birds with one stone. They could cheer on their little Mozart and celebrate the coming of age of their moody but likable middle child. They hoped he wouldn’t mind the dinner outing. In case he did, they bought and secreted away a few sports-related presents anyway.
James practiced with Leslie on Wednesday as usual. Although there was the typical classical repertoire, Leslie did a slight diversion into the jazz canon. James was half-expecting it as he’d come to appreciate and adapt to its colorations. In particular, she focused on teaching him the song ‘Makin’ Whoopee.’ He’d learned it before and even played it a few times; still, her focus on it perplexed him a little.
“Accompaniment is an art form,” she instructed him. “Anyone can play beneath a singer, but how you wrap those chords around her melodies, how you “tide” with her, maintain that ebb and flow with her performance, makes all the difference.”
James shook his head. Perhaps, he thought, music was more challenging than he’d guessed and maybe it was time to walk away. Leslie sensed his desperation and promptly ended her lesson lest she lose her last pupil.
The next day the Thorntons went to the Jazz House around 5PM. They sat out in the Asian-inspired lobby for approximately fifteen minutes until a table was ready. A bit restless, Iris peeked into the seemingly casual and friendly restaurant, its large room suffused by sunlight streaming in through porthole windows near the ceiling as well as soft incandescent bulbs hovering over each table. They watched as customers walked in and out of the popular musical restaurant with everyone betraying their contentment on their faces. A pianist was on stage singing and playing jazz standards while wait staff was busy attending to customers. Amidst the chit chat of customers and the tinkling of plates and cutlery it was, indeed, a lively atmosphere.
By the time they were shown to their table near the stage, all five members were famished. Immediately, Bernard ordered appetizers of calamari, Pacific clams, and onion rings. For the adults, he requested a bottle of wine while the three boys ordered sodas. As they were waiting, the pianist completed his set. Exiting to a round of applause, Leslie, wearing a black dress and high heels, entered the stage from the rear, took a quick bow, and sat at the piano. She looked at James and winked. Embarrassed, he tried to make himself as small as possible.
She began her set by playing songs from Cole Porter’s songbook – Night and Day, Anything Goes, and Love For Sale. At first the chatter in the room remained the same, but as she performed, people started speaking more softly and listening. Enchanting to watch, her sultry voice and effortless playing was like something out of a movie. By the time the Thorntons were finished with their main course, Leslie made an announcement.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have a special surprise for you tonight.” Getting up, she grabbed the mic and walked over to the Thornton’s table.
“My little student is in the house right now,” she uttered then turned to James.
The customers started applauding. James, at that moment, wished he was home under the covers. Leslie stretched her hand out to him.
“We’ve been practicing a special number for tonight,” she added.
James shook his head but his family encouraged him to perform. Then, the audience’s clapping grew louder and louder. It was apparent he could ignore the request no longer, thus he stood up. The customers cheered. Taking Leslie’s hand, he walked to the stage and sat at the piano.
She turned to him. “Just one song, okay James? Makin’ Whoopee.”
He nodded and commenced playing. Leslie started belting out the words with a tone so sultry and smoky that any torch singer within earshot would become jealous.
“Another bride, another June
Another sunny honeymoon
Another season, another reason
For makin’ whoopee.”
In the beginning, James was too shy to look at the audience. Focusing instead on his playing, he kept his eyes glued to the keys as if he was Schroeder performing on his piano. Leslie worked the song and the audience like a pro, emitting the words as easily as if she’d written the lyric herself. By the time the song was finished, James’s playing had loosened and he was not as stiff. Bowing to raucous applause, he shook Leslie’s hand and rejoined his family.
“See?” Iris told him. “That wasn’t so bad.”
“I didn’t even know you played like that,” Anthony mused.
“Maybe you can play here all the time,” Carey added.
“These places don’t pay much,” Bernard explained. “It’s more or less just to get that longing in your bones out.”
James watched as Leslie sat at the piano and started playing.
“I’m not brave enough,” he commented.
“You’re just shy,” Iris intoned. “As you get older, that’ll disappear.”
The next few months were fairly uneventful for James. As the Thorntons still had not acquired a piano, he used the one in the school auditorium whenever he was given the chance. Frequenting the Everett Public Library after school, he would often peruse their growing section on Spanish composers. Occasionally, he checked out piano scores by Alberto Ginastera, Isaac Albeniz and Manuel de Falla and tried playing a few. At times, a teacher or coach passing through the auditorium would stop and listen. Some even went so far as to say he shouldn’t be spending too much time alone. James would typically shrug them off and continue as if no one was there.
On the evening of the pageant, he felt a pang of nervousness as did all the other performers. Taking place in the school auditorium, he waited nervously backstage as each student was introduced. So far, a flautist, a story teller, a singer and a violinist performed. Currently, an oboist was on the Christmas-decorated stage performing a selection from Verdi’s Aida. According to the schedule, James was to perform right after Jeremy Strong’s Magical Arts show. Sitting reading his score, he went over his notes very carefully. Jeremy Strong, wearing a black suit and top hat and carrying a magic wand, walked over.
“Hi, James,” he greeted him.
“Hi, Jeremy,” James responded. “You’re up next. Are you nervous?”
“No. I’ve done this befo
re many times.”
“You’re lucky.”
“Hold out your hands,” the young magician requested.
“Huh?” James asked.
“Like this,” Jeremy illustrated, extending his fists with his fingers cupped underneath.
Complying, James made two fists and thrust them out. Jeremy removed a black silk handkerchief from his back pocket and draped it over James’s hands.
“Now turn them over,” Jeremy beckoned.
James flipped his wrists over.
“Voila!” Jeremy extolled removing the handkerchief.
James looked puzzled.
“Open ‘em,” Jeremy told him.
James slowly opened both hands and discovered there was a quarter sitting in each palm.
“Neat!” he shouted. “How’d you do that?”
Jeremy simply batted his lashes in regal style.
“A good magician never reveals his tricks.”
Just then, a teacher, followed by the young oboist, entered the backstage area and told Jeremy it was his turn. After the young Houdini gathered his things and left, James pocketed the quarters and resumed studying his piano score. Minutes later it was his turn to perform.
He walked out as two assistants rolled the piano to center stage and another brought the bench over. James addressed the audience.
“Tonight, I’ll be performing the Danzas Argentinas, Op. 2 by Alberto Ginastera. It’s in three parts and I hope you enjoy them.”
Taking his seat at the piano, he commenced playing. From the challenging dual mode of the first piece, to the gently contemplative dance of the second, and firestorm brutality of the third, he brought the audience to their feet when he was finished some nine minutes later. His performance, so full of fiery emotional energy, seemed to reverberate with all those in attendance. Though the selections may have been unfamiliar, their execution was well noted. The hostess walked out and thanked him for performing. Bowing, he waved goodbye to the audience and returned backstage where he was also congratulated by several students.
“You play well,” Jeremy noted, interrupting the packing of his ‘trick suitcase.’
“Thanks. That was a hard piece.”
“Still, you played it like a professional. Everybody loved it.”
“I guess I can get used to playing in front of an audience.”
Jeremy resumed packing then stopped when a thought entered his mind.
“My father works down at SPU,” he explained.
“What’s that?” James asked.
“Seattle Pacific University. They have music competitions down there.”
“But I’m not old enough,” James reasoned.
“They have a young artist’s series or something like that,” Jeremy promised. “I can find out for you.”
“Thanks.”
James removed the quarters from his pockets and handed them to Jeremy.
“Oh, no,” the magician told him. “Keep ‘em. Consider ‘em as your lucky coins.”
“Thanks, Jeremy.”
“Sure.”
As some of the young performers prepared to exit the backstage area, an excited woman in a flowing flower dress entered from a side door.
“Mommy!” one of the violinists shouted.
James watched as the young girl ran and threw her arms around her mother. At that moment, he felt the cruelest hand of fate, the one where he suddenly realized he had no one to embrace like that. Looking downward, he stared at the coins in his hand, trusting that, soon, his time would also come.
In January, the Thorntons received the donation of a brand-new Baldwin piano from the Boeing Foundation courtesy of Leslie Moniusko. A beautiful walnut upright, it sported clean lines, craftily turned edges and legs as sturdy as Ionic columns. Sitting in the living room, James played it sparingly so as not to disturb his family. Whenever he had the chance, he’d take it through its paces of his current repertoire, the books of Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier.
Leslie drove him to SPU one afternoon to register for their Young Artists of Western Washington Piano Competition to be held in February that year. Chatting almost non-stop, he felt comfortable enough around Leslie to reveal his newly impassioned knowledge of the great composer, Johann Sebastian Bach.
“Did you know Bach means brook?” he asked emphatically, flapping his hands. “Beethoven thought his name should be ‘Sea!’ He died from corrective surgery to cure his near blindness when he was 65. Did you know that Bach was addicted to coffee? Yeah. He even wrote a cantata about it – the Coffee Cantata. Did you know he had 20 children? Wow! That’s so many! Once, when Bach was on vacation from his organ post at the Neue Kirche in Arnstadt, he walked 200 miles to Lübeck to study with Buxtehude! I couldn’t walk 200 miles! Even though Bach started out as a singer, he learned how to play the violin, viola, harpsichord, pipe organ, clavichord and virginal! Do you know what a virginal is?”
“Definitely not me,” Leslie smiled.
“It’s a small harpsichord with only 45 keys,” James explained.
“Very talented man,” Leslie agreed. “Why don’t we just sit back and reflect…” “Did you know…?” he interrupted.
“Shh,” Leslie ordered him politely. “We’re reflecting.”
Sitting minutes later in a quiet auditorium with a faculty member, James had a brief interview. Afterwards, he auditioned by performing the Prelude and Fugue in E Flat from Book I of the Well-Tempered Clavier, the Rondo from Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No. 9 in E and Chopin’s Polonaise in Cm. The faculty member congratulated him, telling him that he passed, and he would soon receive, by post, the schedule for the competition. James’s face lit up like a bed of embers. Leslie later congratulated him, patting him on the back for a job well done.