Aaron called every few hours day that and into the next. Aerie never picked up. She wanted nothing to do with those people, that music. She hadn’t touched her Juzek since the jam, leaving it zipped in its black nylon cover. She couldn’t even listen to music on her ipod without conjuring the nausea that had gripped her playing that weird stuff.
She chalked up the abortive experience as another sign that the muses had deemed that she was done with music, not only as a career but as a hobby as well. She had emphatically and irrevocably moved on to other things. She applied herself to imagining how she could make this foodie thing work. Yes, she had come into the restaurant business at the bottom rung, but she could see a lighted path towards aspects that intrigued her, like the magic that Lucrezia wrought with her dessert-making.
Apple season had arrived and Moosewood celebrated with pies and crisps and chutneys and cider. As much as she wanted to nose in on Lucrezia’s gastronomical alchemy, Aerie was allowed nowhere near the actual pie making. Lucrezia was a snarly old bitch with no tolerance for extra hands on her dough. Aerie spent her shift peeling and coring and slicing Cortlands, husking walnuts, gutting pumpkins.
On her off days and breaks she browsed book shops, cruised the sidewalks and the Commons, hoping to bump into someone she knew. But every face she passed was strange, glances never connecting. It didn’t have to be old friends; she was game for meeting new people, but she had no competence for that sort of thing. She generally came up empty in these fishing expeditions.
Maybe it was her built-in glare that put people off. Nothing she could do about it, it was the natural resting position of her face. Forcing a smile only made it worse. Kids in school always used to ask her what was wrong. Why so sad, so mad? But that glare was simply the visage she shared with the world even when she felt cheery inside.
The only semblance of a social life she had began and ended with her shifts at Moosewood. Reggie was a motherly sort, always asking after her feelings, apologizing for how little they paid the help, touting how great the benefits were. She got along fine with the wait staff, both male and female even though they were a bit caste-aware and cliquey. Dishwashers came and went except for Bobby, a thirtyish, alcoholic wastrel with jowls much too leathery for his age.
The one person she wanted to know most, Lucrezia, happened to be the hardest to befriend. She was always snapping and grumbling at everyone and everything. Her mantras were: “Get the fuck out. Get the fuck away from me. Get your ass outa my kitchen.” Her glare made Aerie’s look like a grin. But man could she bake.
The restaurant was busy for a Tuesday night. The colleges were in full swing by now. The shift had started off fine. She snatched wedges of apple as she chopped: Empires, Macouns and Cortlands picked that morning.
As the night wore on, though, she wore down. Her mood sank. Is this how the rest of her life would go? Chained to a chopping block? The world warped around her. Aerie realized she had forgotten to take her pills.
When the shift finally ended, she zipped her hoodie and hustled out the back door, hopping down off of the darkened loading dock at the bottom of a steep ramp leading up to the street. The ramp up to the street was slick and shiny from the showers that kept spitting on and off.
Without those pills, she felt all jittery. It didn’t help that she had skipped dinner. Nothing in the kitchen appealed to her that night. The food was always great. Sometimes she just got tired of eating vegetarian.
She had a craving for a pepperoni pizza. Maybe she’d pick one up, go home and watch the Daily Show.
As she turned the corner off the ramp, three figures loomed out of the darkness. Aerie lurched back and threw up her hands. They were the musicians from the jam: Ron, Mal and Eleni.
“Hah!” said Ron. “She thinks we’re muggers.”
“You just … startled me,” said Aerie.
“Why do you take the back door?” said Eleni. “Hiding from someone?”
“You been spying on me?”
“Just wanted to meet up with you,” said Mal. “We came last night, too, waited inside the mall, by the front door. But the restaurant closed and no Aerie. You never came out.”
“You’ve been avoiding us,” said Eleni, flipping back the hair screening her face. “Aaron says you won’t pick up his calls.”
“How did you even know I worked here? I never told—”
“Sari,” said Eleni. “Comes here a lot. Said she saw you in the kitchen.”
“She could have … said hi,” said Aerie.
“Sari doesn’t care if you play with us,” said Eleni.
“She’s independently wealthy,” said Mal. “Trust funds, you know.”
“Well, you all could have come in, had dinner, said hi, instead of lurking out here like … criminals.” She knew full well that the sight of these specters from Aaron’s jam would have sent her into a panic.
“Me, eat at Moosewood?” said Ron. “Get real. I need more than sprouts to sustain this physique.”
“Their food’s good, Ron,” said Mal. “It’s just expensive.”
“Listen, I’m tired. What is it you guys want?” said Aerie.
“We’re here to twist your arm,” said Mal. “So to speak.”
“We want you to be our bass player,” said Ron.
“I’m sorry,” said Aerie, fingernails picking at the bark of a Linden tree. “But that just isn’t my thing. I don’t care if I passed the audition. I can’t see myself playing that kind of music.”
“Because it scared you, didn’t it?” said Eleni. “You felt it in your core?”
Aerie just stared back at her and blinked.
“Never bothered me,” said Ron. “I grooved on it right from the start.”
“Qaaludes,” said Mal. “Old school sedatives. That’s what got me through. Not to mention—earplugs. Hard to get these days, the ‘ludes, I mean.”
Aerie shifted her weight between her sore feet. “Listen guys, it’s late. I’m hungry. I just want to go home.”
“We’ll walk with you,” said Eleni. “That way the boogey-men can’t get you.”
“She probably thinks we’re the boogey-men,” said Mal.
“She may be right,” said Ron.
Aerie sighed and started walking. “It’s nothing personal, I hope you realize. I mean, you’re all very talented. In another context, I would have no problem playing with you all.” She crossed Cayuga against the light and made for Court Street, trailing her little entourage. Ron took his sweet time crossing, holding up his middle finger to an approaching car. The group drew nervous glances from an elderly couple and a middle schooler with a violin case.
“It’s not just the money,” said Mal. “It’s for a good cause.”
“How do you figure that?” said Aerie.
“Mal’s got a theory,” said Eleni. “This all has something to do with stopping global warming.”
“What?” said Aerie, crinkling her nose.
“I’m not at liberty to share,” said Mal. “Aaron’s had me sign a non-disclosure agreement.”
“Mal was a chemist,” said Eleni. “He flunked out of Cornell.”
“Biochem,” said Mal. “And I didn’t exactly flunk. I just couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Me and Eleni are dropouts, too,” said Ron.
“Yeah, but … Ithaca High School,” said Eleni.
“I hated chemistry,” said Ron. “All those stupid little atoms and bonds.”
“What does chemistry have to do with this?” said Aerie.
“Tons,” said Mal. “That’s all I can say.”
“So … I’m gonna save the world by playing this … I hate to say it—noise?”
“Perhaps,” said Mal. “If things go well.”
“You’ll save me, that’s for sure,” said Ron. “Fuckin’ double pay’ll get me out of hock and out of my grandma’s basement.”
“Somehow Ron, I don’t think that’s a big motivator,” said Eleni.
“This music is special,” s
aid Mal. “There’s nothing like it … in the world. You’d be part of something totally unique.”
“I don’t care.” said Aerie. “I just don’t like it.”
“It grows on you,” said Mal.
“Like a drug.”
“Shush, Ron,” said Eleni. “It’s not an addiction. It’s more like developing a tolerance. Like going from hating the bitterness of Budweiser, to drinking India Pale Ales.”
“But why go after me? I’m just a dime a dozen bass player.”
“Oh no you’re not,” said Mal. “You’re the cornerstone Aaron’s been looking for. You’ve got a feel for this stuff that’s rare.”
“Bottom line. You make it easier for all of us,” said Eleni. “Not even thirty minutes, we had that bell jar on the verge of humming. That usually takes hours.”
“If we get it to hum at all,” said Mal.
“And we like you,” said Eleni. “Aaron likes you. Even Ron likes you.”
“Shit,” said Ron, a blush filling the space between his freckles.
Aerie was a block away from her house. She stopped under a street lamp on the corner of Court and Plain, not wishing to give away where she lived.
“Can’t you give us another shot?” said Eleni.
Aerie fidgeted, agitated. “Honestly guys. Playing that stuff made me feel sick. I don’t think I could go through that again.”
“I can let you try my ‘ludes,” said Mal. “They can really shave the edges off of things.”
“Just one more time?” said Eleni.
“We’ll be your best friends forever,” said Ron, feigning sweetness.
“You’re not gonna find a better gig than this,” said Mal. “Ever.”
“Got that right,” said Ron. “Getting paid even when we don’t play. That’s what I’m talking about.”
“Not to mention,” said Mal. “The notoriety. There’s a buzz around us in Ithaca. Like we’re some secret super group.”
“We ever got a gig, half the town would show up,” said Ron.
“Doubtful,” said Eleni. “To the musicians I know, we’re a running joke.”
“Hey. We’re not chopped liver,” said Mal. “We have chops.”
“Except for Ron, that is,” said Eleni.
“Hey! Fuck you,” said Ron. “I’m all about tone.”
“No denying,” said Mal. “Ron can make an old Martin sing like no other.”
“If only he could strum on the beat he’d be dangerous,” said Eleni.
“What beat?” said Ron.
Eleni took Aerie’s hand. “Give us another shot. If it gets to be too much for you. Just stop playing. We’ll help you through. Remember, it’s only music.”
“One more rehearsal, Aerie. What about it?” said Mal. “There’s a full moon coming up which means a production.”
“Double pay makes a thousand bucks,” said Ron. “Aaron’s good for it. He needs that bass. He’s been looking for it … how long?”
“Since before he found us,” said Eleni.
As much as she hated the music, Aerie liked being around these guys. She was almost glad to have been accosted atop the loading ramp, to have had their company walking home.
Perhaps she had over-reacted a mite during the jam. They all seemed to deal with the music just fine. She had to admit that the extra money was attractive. She could cut back on shifts.
“Alright,” she said. “I’ll give it another shot. I’m off Friday. And I’m going on lunches all next week. Tell Aaron, next time he calls, I’ll pick up. I won’t delete his messages without listening to them.”
“Oo-rah! That’s more like it,” said Ron, his ever present grin acquiring a bit more torque. Mal gave him a high five.
Eleni rose up on her toes and gave Aerie a peck on the cheek.
Aerie was surprised she had given in so easily. Yet, she no longer had the impression that she was entering dark, dead-end cave. There was a light on the other side of the passage.
“Good night you all,” she said.
“You live … here?” said Mal, craning up at a big Victorian.
“Couple houses down,” said Aerie. “G’night, you all.”
Eleni nudged Ron and Mal and whispered to them.
“Good night,” said Mal, as the trio ambled back towards the center of town.
Aerie waited until they turned the corner and made her way back home. She could already feel a touch of the queasiness returning. Maybe she didn’t need that pizza after all.
Chapter 10: Radiator
With a brilliant sky and chiseled hills before him, John surged away from the last traffic light between Ithaca and home, singing along to some cheesy 80s synth pop that happened to match his mood.
He sang along, half a beat behind. “Take … me … on. Take. On. Me. I’ll … be … gone, in a day or … TWO!” He followed the vocals up the ladder, reaching but missing the last unreachable rung, voice cracking like an adolescent’s.
Cindy’s mom and dad had taken the boys to Syracuse for the day, for a long-deferred outing to the Gifford Zoo. They weren’t due back till dinner.
John told Cindy that he was headed to Career Services at Cornell but as he drove into town, the futility of the exercise dissuaded him. He kept up well enough with the dismal employment situation on-line, and already knew that there was nothing happening in the local market for electrical engineers. The folks at Cornell wouldn’t be telling him anything different.
Not that Cindy cared that much whether he found a job or not. Despite her grumblings, she enjoyed being out of the house, being the professional breadwinner, having her own personal house husband.
John went instead to the Pyramid Mall, trolling the bookshop, playing with iPads in the Apple store. He considered sticking around to see a movie but nothing on the marquee interested him. Puerile comedies, CGI effect-fests. Hollywood didn’t make ‘em like they used to.
After he left the mall, he had dropped by Wegman’s to pick up some groceries and sundries. He loaded up on Huggies, Go-gurts and Juicy Juices for the boys along with a smattering of grown-up food—strip steaks, broccoli, some buffalo wings from the deli for lunch.
He happened to be the only male in the store apart from a few doddering old men pushing carts for their elderly wives. It made him wonder about his manhood.
The Aha song ended and shifted into Depeche Mode’s version of ‘Route 66,’ part of a solid block of post-punk pop, a veritable golden oldies marathon. He loved 80s music. He had grown up on it; it was the first music he paid attention to post—‘Old MacDonald Had a Farm’.
A white plume rose above Route 13 like smoke from the Sistine Chapel. A small white car was pulled over in the breakdown lane up ahead. Patches of silver duct flapped from a fender. A young woman stood before the open hood, hands on her hips. He pulled over to lend a hand.
As he approached he noticed the Darwin fish bumper sticker and winced. That would have been enough to send Cindy packing, but John was more tolerant of diverse lifestyles and opinions. One insult to his faith was not a deal breaker. Who knew, it might not even be her car.
The woman glanced up at him and glanced away, pretending he wasn’t there. She wore jeans holed at the knees, a Jamaican flag T-shirt and an unzipped grey hoodie. She had an oily rag wrapped over her hand and was struggling to open her radiator cap. The sickly sweet smell of anti-freeze hung in the air.
She gave him a glare as if he were some barfly coming over to hit on her. But what a look! The shape of those eyes—subtle folds that made her look the tiniest bit Asian. Hair couldn’t get any blacker or sleeker, as it whipped around in the swirling wind, screening her milky complexion like a burkha. She would be stunning if she would only smile.
“Don’t open it,” said John.
“Why not?” she said, her voice potent with challenge.
“You open it now; it’ll explode in your face.”
“Did you see than damn geyser? Hard to believe there’s any pressure left inside.”
&nb
sp; “Oh, there is. Believe me.” John noticed the black hulk lying in a fully reclined front seat—an upright bass zipped up in a tattered nylon case. He recognized the car as one he saw pull into the hell house’s driveway the other day. A weird little ripple slid through him.
“Got a container I can borrow? I want to get some water from that brook.”
“Uh, sure.” John went back to the Volvo and opened the trunk, exposing the half dozen brown paper bags. One of Nigel’s beach buckets would have been nice to have, but Cindy had emptied his trunk of anything related to beaches or picnics and sequestered them in a large Rubbermaid bin labeled ‘SUMMER’ in neat, permanent marker.
He peeled away the shrink wrap from a case of Poland Spring and handed her a bottle. “You’ll probably need a couple more bottles at least.”
“Are you sure you want me to use this?”
John shrugged. “I’ve got a whole case.”
She took the bottle and peeled off the wrap. The column of steam had thinned to a strand. Water sizzled and bubbled out of the radiator cap. She topped off the reservoir. It didn’t need much.
“Hmm,” said John. “That tells me you have a clog, or a stuck valve. You might want to replace your thermostat. That’s probably why you overheated, unless one of the hoses is clogged. Maybe get it flushed. And get some anti-freeze in there. Water’s not sufficient with the winter coming on and all.”
“You think I’m an idiot?” she said, wiping her hands on a batch of fallen leaves.
John blinked, and blinked again. “No. Of course not.”
She slammed the hood, trapping the drawstring of her hoodie.
“Shit. I can’t do anything right.”
John reached into through the driver’s side window and released the hood latch, so she could free herself. He admired the figured maple peeking out from rips in a ragged bass case. “Wow. You play that big old thing?”
Her glare intensified. “Why? Do I look small? Weak?”
Her reaction took him aback. “Not all. I just meant … that’s got to be a hard instrument to play … for anyone.”
She struck him as the anti-Cindy. No polite façade. She kept her feelings on the front-burner, in full display. Physically, as well. Not unfeminine at all, just as muscular as Cindy was sleek.