Inside Out by Grayson Cole

Rett touched her arm. “No, leave it. I like this one.”
    She looked up, startled. “I thought you hated jazz.”
    Sometimes when Tracey was caught off-guard, she clamped her teeth over her lower lip. It was pretty damn hard for Rett to concentrate when she did that. “Truth is,” Rett turned to a safer subject, “I don’t know much about it. I do know that I like this song, though.”
    â€œIt figures.”
    â€œFunny. It doesn’t have anything to do with the Von Trapp family. I just like this song. I can get it better than a lot of that other stuff.”
    â€œWell, after classic jazz, I mean, Duke Ellington, Count Basie, it becomes an acquired taste. To get the hard-core, avant-garde styles, you kind of have to get schooled on where they come from and what the artists are trying to do, same as for any medium of expression. Listen to this.” She scooted over to the stereo and changed CDs. “This song is one of my favorites and I hated it the first time I heard it. What you gotta look for is the sheer unexpectedness of it. It wants to take you by surprise, it wants you to know that it’s off key at all times, but that every move is right for the music; it’s all on purpose, methodical. It forces you to be at odds with it and to see how the voice of the piece is ambivalent and almost trapped by itself. Ornette Coleman, the guy who composed this, is a genius when it comes to this stuff. It’s not exactly atonal, but, at the same time, it is. Coltrane’s on this piece, also bringing his own special melancholy to the mix.” She was silent through the rest of the song, then seemed to wait for his response. Rett smiled. Tracey noticed and said, “This song has never made me smile. I just stay still and kind of brace myself as I travel it like a roller coaster.”
    â€œThat’s poetic.”
    â€œWhy were you smiling?”
    â€œBecause I can see it. You know, see what you see,” he answered. He could also see the way the song made her feel. “I know that sounds corny, but I can. What’s the name of it?”
    She stopped the CD. “ ‘Lonely Woman’ ”.
    Whatever they had shared was apparently over now.
    Later, Tracey was bragging about her skill at playing cards. Rett decided he ought to show her how it was really done. She brought out a deck and they started off with poker. After graciously offering to deal, Rett decided to deal himself a hand just a shade better than Tracey’s a couple of deals in a row. The phone rang, and Tracey, deep in thought, rose from the floor, still concentrating on the hands that had just been shown on the table. She picked up the phone.
    â€œHello?… Oh hey, Monica…y-no, no, I’m not doing anything. What’s up?… I was planning to be there around eight…” Rett started to deal again but Tracey held up a hand to halt him. He shrugged and left the cards alone, sitting back in the armchair. “No, nothing before then… Okay, about one? Yeah, I can swing that. Uh-huh. Okay… Okay… See you tomorrow.” When she hung up, Rett asked her what that was all about. “I’ve been volunteering at this center on the west side of town. That was one of the counselors. She wants me to help her get ready for her anniversary party tomorrow.”
    â€œThat’s really nice. I see that you do indeed have a soft side.” Rett tried not to think about the fact that he had seen that side the night before and wouldn’t mind experiencing it firsthand again.
    â€œNot really,” Tracey responded, sitting at the table again. “I just want to have something civic on my résumé.”
    â€œGirl, you don’t fool me.”
    â€œNo?” She smiled kind of bashfully and shook her head. “No, I guess I don’t, even though you try to fool me.” Garrett gave her his best “who me?” look. She went on.