the world, and much less that I would marry . . . whatever. I mean, I do believe you, that I said it, because I know what asinine things I’m capable of saying, but you should know me well enough by now not to listen to half the stuff I say.”
While she tries not to cry, something in her dies.
But she doesn’t want to give up just yet. She’s not even sure he actually heard her music. Perhaps he only read about it. Perhaps if he hears it, he’ll be won over. The entire last year of her life was built on the statement he made in the dark. She refuses to believe it was utterly meaningless and her efforts were pointless.
“Have you heard any of my music?” she asks softly.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure yet. I don’t go to stores much. Except the one I work in. Been so busy. But some friends of mine have heard it. Get this,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “One of them heard the piece that’s at the florist. He ended up shelling out $100 he hadn’t intended to spend. Oh, and I have a client—remember Mrs. Lockford?—well, she bought thirty tubes of lip balm at Walgreens.” He slaps the table and thrusts himself back in his chair, as though to say, “Case closed.”
Lily smiles, nodding sadly. She has indeed composed music for Astor Flowers and Nivea lip balm. She sometimes gets hired to compose music for entire stores and sometimes for specific products in stores.
Strad grins and sweeps the hair out of his face. “I love the little signs the stores are forced to put on their doors by law. What’s the wording again? It kills me.” He pauses and thinks. “‘Warning: Your tastes may be temporarily compromised by the ambiance in this store.’ And then, then, my favorite part is something like, ‘Be aware that you will be buying under the influence. You are advised to familiarize yourself with the return policy of this establishment prior to making any purchase.’ Ha!” He slaps the table again, startling the cutlery.
Lily smiles and nods. She’s always been charmed by Strad’s bursts of enthusiasm.
But she’s not going to let them distract her now. Focus and perseverance—one might even say fixation—have always been among her greatest strengths, as well as greatest sources of misery. She may be sweet and fragile, but she’s like a missile. When she has a mission, nothing can distract her, and as long as there’s a shred of hope, she doesn’t give up. Now her last shred of hope rests in playing him her music.
“Could you do me a big favor?” she says. “I’d really like to play something for you, to get your opinion on it. Do you have a few minutes? We could stop at the Building of Piano Rooms.”
Strad hesitates only a moment, and then says, “Sure. I have a few minutes.”
Lily pays the bill and they walk to the Building of Piano Rooms two blocks away.
They rent a small room. She feels a little uncomfortable, as though they’re booking a hotel room for sex, which of course she would much prefer.
The room contains nothing but a piano and two chairs. In her state of mind, it feels grim and seedy. The piano is giving off the vibe of a bed. She knows that’s just her perception, skewed by years of longing and frustration. In actuality, the space looks like a miniature classroom.
Strad sits on a white plastic chair near her.
She will play exquisitely. She wants him to be in awe. She’s not sure this is the most effective path to love, but she knows of no other way. If she can incite in him a very intense degree of admiration, perhaps the leap to adoration will be possible.
“What do you want me to beautify?” she asks.
He looks confused. “I thought there was a piece you wanted to play for me, to get my opinion.”
“Right.” She forgot. “But I need you to pick something randomly for me to beautify. I need to know how well I perform when I’m not prepared. That’s what I need your opinion on.”
“Okay. How about a pen or something?” he says,
While she tries not to cry, something in her dies.
But she doesn’t want to give up just yet. She’s not even sure he actually heard her music. Perhaps he only read about it. Perhaps if he hears it, he’ll be won over. The entire last year of her life was built on the statement he made in the dark. She refuses to believe it was utterly meaningless and her efforts were pointless.
“Have you heard any of my music?” she asks softly.
“No, I haven’t had the pleasure yet. I don’t go to stores much. Except the one I work in. Been so busy. But some friends of mine have heard it. Get this,” he says, leaning forward on his elbows. “One of them heard the piece that’s at the florist. He ended up shelling out $100 he hadn’t intended to spend. Oh, and I have a client—remember Mrs. Lockford?—well, she bought thirty tubes of lip balm at Walgreens.” He slaps the table and thrusts himself back in his chair, as though to say, “Case closed.”
Lily smiles, nodding sadly. She has indeed composed music for Astor Flowers and Nivea lip balm. She sometimes gets hired to compose music for entire stores and sometimes for specific products in stores.
Strad grins and sweeps the hair out of his face. “I love the little signs the stores are forced to put on their doors by law. What’s the wording again? It kills me.” He pauses and thinks. “‘Warning: Your tastes may be temporarily compromised by the ambiance in this store.’ And then, then, my favorite part is something like, ‘Be aware that you will be buying under the influence. You are advised to familiarize yourself with the return policy of this establishment prior to making any purchase.’ Ha!” He slaps the table again, startling the cutlery.
Lily smiles and nods. She’s always been charmed by Strad’s bursts of enthusiasm.
But she’s not going to let them distract her now. Focus and perseverance—one might even say fixation—have always been among her greatest strengths, as well as greatest sources of misery. She may be sweet and fragile, but she’s like a missile. When she has a mission, nothing can distract her, and as long as there’s a shred of hope, she doesn’t give up. Now her last shred of hope rests in playing him her music.
“Could you do me a big favor?” she says. “I’d really like to play something for you, to get your opinion on it. Do you have a few minutes? We could stop at the Building of Piano Rooms.”
Strad hesitates only a moment, and then says, “Sure. I have a few minutes.”
Lily pays the bill and they walk to the Building of Piano Rooms two blocks away.
They rent a small room. She feels a little uncomfortable, as though they’re booking a hotel room for sex, which of course she would much prefer.
The room contains nothing but a piano and two chairs. In her state of mind, it feels grim and seedy. The piano is giving off the vibe of a bed. She knows that’s just her perception, skewed by years of longing and frustration. In actuality, the space looks like a miniature classroom.
Strad sits on a white plastic chair near her.
She will play exquisitely. She wants him to be in awe. She’s not sure this is the most effective path to love, but she knows of no other way. If she can incite in him a very intense degree of admiration, perhaps the leap to adoration will be possible.
“What do you want me to beautify?” she asks.
He looks confused. “I thought there was a piece you wanted to play for me, to get my opinion.”
“Right.” She forgot. “But I need you to pick something randomly for me to beautify. I need to know how well I perform when I’m not prepared. That’s what I need your opinion on.”
“Okay. How about a pen or something?” he says,
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