Coffee Sonata (23 page)

Mike stopped, and the sudden silence was as deafening as the skilled drumming, making Vivian’s ears ring.

“Who’s there? Martha? Is there a problem?” Vivian had never heard Mike sound this stern and impatient.

“It’s me, Mike. Vivian. Eryn and Manon are with me. We just wanted to drop by and…say hello,” Vivian finished, and grimaced at how tentative she sounded. She glanced apologetically at the others.

“Vivi?” After a rustling of clothes, Mike appeared in the hallway dressed entirely in black—black jeans, black button-down shirt, and black boots. She moved with the same feline grace that Vivian had seen several times before, and her mouth went dry.

“Yes. Are you all right? Would you care for some company?”

Mike didn’t speak for a few seconds. Instead her eyes darkened to a blue-black flame and studied them intensely. “Sure. Come on in.”

Mike watched the three women step inside and glance around her living room. Though she expected signs of disapproval or condescension, she saw neither.

Instead Manon, whom she suspected of having impeccable taste, looked around smiling. “You’ve done wonders with this room, Mike. I never knew a basement apartment could be so cozy.”

“I know,” Vivian said. “If you ever get tired of the coffeehouse business you could have an entirely new career as an interior decorator.”

Mike wondered if they were being patronizing, but their smiles and comments dispelled her suspicions. When Eryn put an arm around her waist, she began, slowly, to relax.

“You okay, Mike?” she asked quietly. “I worry when you lock yourself in here and beat the living daylights out of your precious drum set.”

Embarrassed, Mike glanced at Manon and Vivian, but saw only concerned kindness in their eyes. “I had a bad morning,” she murmured. “You know, some days you just reach a point where…” She shrugged. It was hard to explain.

“Some days you just need your friends to help you beat the drums,” Vivian said. “And here we are.”

Friends?
Eryn was one of her few friends, after Martha and Edward. She barely knew Manon, and Vivian…Vivian was far more than a friend.

“Yes, and I appreciate it.” Though Mike was hesitant, she meant it. When she withdrew, like today, she felt very antisocial. But to her surprise she didn’t feel invaded now, though their presence made her apartment seem smaller.

“Eryn and Vivian, you’ve been here before, but Manon, feel free to look around. It’s just this room and a bathroom and kitchen. Not much to write home about.” Mike remained standing next to her couch. “Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked, when she finally remembered her manners.

“Not for me, thanks, I’m fine. Which reminds me, I haven’t seen your kitchen,” Vivian remarked, and moved carefully toward the doorway at the far end. “Over here?”

“Yes.” Mike watched Vivian step inside the small kitchen and flip the light switch.

“Ah, there’s an espresso machine here if I change my mind. That’s my girl!”

Mike self-consciously felt her cheeks warm. Why wasn’t Vivian more careful with how she chose her words? Or was she simply being facetious?

“I really like how you’ve mixed old and new things,” Eryn said. “I’ve been here a lot of times and still notice new things each visit. Like that one.” She pointed at a dark wood figurine. “That’s beautiful. Where did you find it?”

“I’ve had it for over a year, Eryn,” Mike said. “I bought it at Before, the antique store on Main Street.”

“Oh, yes, I know it well.” Manon walked up to Mike. “I saw a twin to your figurine not long ago, if you’re interested.”

“I am, actually.” The small talk was making Mike nervous, and she didn’t know what to do with her hands. Usually, her image as an educated, street-smart woman helped her out of most situations, but nothing was remotely normal today.

She had worked up a sweat playing her drums and had released all the negative energy that had mounted the last few days. But to be interrupted before she felt ready had thrown her for a loop, and she was balancing on a tightrope with no safety net.

“Mike, I want to tell you something,” Manon said, as she took Mike’s hand between hers and moved her out of earshot. “You hardly know me, but I’m very proud of you.”

“What?” she asked, stalling. Mike knew exactly what Manon was talking about.

“You were one of the Belmont Foundation’s first applicants for a grant from the City Youth Center. You’ve turned it into a remarkable success story.”

“You remember,” Mike whispered with stiff lips. “Yes, I’m one of your charity cases.”

“You’re nothing of the kind. You required a modest grant to finish high school, but then you worked and put yourself through college.”

“I needed more charity to make it through the university.”

“Only because you became ill.”

“Ill?” Mike laughed, and she didn’t like how she sounded. From the corner of her eye she saw Vivian and Eryn walk over to the small dais where she kept her drum set. Vivian glanced at her but kept listening to Eryn.

“That’s one way of putting it.” Mike gave a short, joyless laugh.
Yeah, ill is a very safe way to put it. Politically correct, no doubt.
Mike didn’t want to listen to the inner voice that told her Manon was only trying to be considerate and polite.

“Anyway,” Manon continued, “it’s comparable to taking a student loan or accepting a basketball grant. Not many succeed with their studies the way you did. I was so proud of you for graduating
summa cum laude
at Providence State University.”

“You kept track of me.” The words ached in the back of Mike’s throat. “Why?”

“Yes.” Manon’s voice didn’t falter. “I remembered your application and the circumstances you lived under at the time. When I came to the café with Eryn the first time, I didn’t know you were the Michaela I’d heard of a long time ago. You were so very familiar so I checked my records and was surprised when I realized it was indeed you. You’ve done so well.” Manon became misty-eyed for a moment, which baffled Mike completely. “I also know that you repaid the foundation by submitting monthly payments over the last three years.”

Mike couldn’t believe her ears. “That was supposed to be anonymous.”

“It would’ve been, if one of our assistants hadn’t overheard you arranging the transactions at the bank.” Manon brushed invisible lint from the sleeve of her Armani jacket and smiled.

Mike was annoyed, though she preferred that feeling to the irrational feelings of dread she’d battled all day. It was better to be irritated than wallow around in painful confusion. “I intend to repay you completely.”
I owe you the money…and more. God, Manon, if you only knew.

“I realize that,” Manon answered kindly. “Since you don’t have to, we consider your contribution ‘extra money’ that we intend to spend wisely.”

“Really? How?”

“We’re going to need toys, books, TV sets, et cetera for the children in the new hospital wing, so my assistant and I thought that your contribution would be a great start. What do you think?”

“I…I think that’s terrific.” Mike couldn’t imagine her money, the repayments she’d struggled with ever since the café began to show a decent profit, could be better used. “I like it.” She felt the tension in her shoulders gradually lessen.
There might be atonement after all.

“Good.”

“Hey, Mike, show me how this works.” Eryn called out, interrupting them. “Something like this?” She banged on the drums in a series of ear-damaging thuds.

“Stop! Stop!” Mike called out, half laughing as she hurried toward the drums. “Not like that. The ceiling might cave in.”

She replaced Eryn and let her sticks run over every instrument, ending with a resonant boom from the bass drum as she used the pedal. She loved the powerful sound of her digital drum set.

“That’s more like it,” Manon agreed. “You need to stick to your guitars, Eryn.”

Eryn didn’t seem at all rebuked. “If you say so, Belmont.” She walked over and took her guitar out of the case. “I should be able to hook into your amplifier, shouldn’t I?”

“Yeah, try that one.” Mike pointed at a box behind her. “I can hook up four other instruments too.”

“Do you still have your keyboard?” Eryn asked, and then peeked at Manon, who raised an eyebrow. “You had a Yamaha set up when I was here a while ago.”

Mike pulled aside a curtain next to the drums. “I traded it for this digital piano. Better sound quality.” She caressed the keys. It had taken her a year to save up for it. She’d hoped to have time to learn how to play, but the café took most of it, and her heart was still with her drums.

“A Roland!” Manon exclaimed, and there was very little of the cool socialite in the way she approached the Roland MP60. “May I try?”

“Of course. I think that’s what Eryn has in mind.”

Eryn glared at her in a friendly way and shook her head. “Don’t make me look like a calculating mastermind.” She paused and made a production of looking around as she contemplated her words. “Well, come to think of it, mastermind is pretty accurate.” Eryn grinned.

“We’d all testify to the calculating part. You’re not exactly subtle.” Vivian winked and sat down on the chair next to her.

Mike immediately walked over and placed a hand on Vivian’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just a little tired. I had lunch with Mayor de Witt and her husband. What a couple. The husband’s a bit of a windbag, though, but a nice one.” She wrinkled her nose. “I think they wanted to make sure I’d attend the celebration for Mrs. Dodd Endicott tomorrow evening.”

“Are you?”

“Yes. He asked if I would honor her with a song too, but I declined. I’m not singing anywhere but the charity event.” Her voice sank into a raspy whisper. “That’s…it.”

“Don’t let them push you into something you don’t want to do.”

“I won’t.”

A chord from Eryn’s guitar interrupted them. “Mike, grab your sticks and get over here.” She motioned toward Manon. “Give me an E, please.”

Manon complied, and Mike had no idea what they were up to but obediently sat behind the drums. “What are we playing?”

“I thought we’d jam,” Eryn suggested as she quickly tuned her Stratocaster.

“Jam?” Manon said. “I’m not very good at improvising.”

“All right, I’ll show you. Pick three chords you think go well together. Any chords.”

Manon looked down at the keys, as if she contemplated the myriad of possible chords to choose from. After she slowly raised her hands and let them land gently on the keys, shimmering tones filled the room, and Mike held her breath. She wasn’t about to join in yet; instead she waited for Eryn to do something. She didn’t have to wait long. When Manon had played her three chords twice, Eryn’s guitar came to life.

Sharp as a knife, the first tones hung in the air before the Stratocaster plunged deeply into a roar and met the piano perfectly. In only a few seconds Mike’s arms rose almost of their own volition and expressed the rhythm she could hear among the other women’s tones. The bass drum set the pace, and her hands worked the sticks over the snare and toms, but without the need to beat out her usual inner turmoil.

Mike heard the other two instruments play against each other, with each other, and it took her almost a full minute to realize how well they had incorporated her into the mix. They never excluded or ignored her, and when she tried a new pattern, a new rhythm, they caught on and followed it, teased it, and helped her sustain it.

She saw Manon lean over the digital piano and caress life into the keys. The aristocratic woman looked striking and, in some strange way, more approachable.

Mike’s eyes slid over to Eryn, and she noted how Eryn’s unraveling braid made curls surround her rosy cheeks, and her eyes glimmered under half-closed lids.

A rich tone—unexpected and beautiful—resonated through the room. The three women kept playing and exchanged mystified glances. There were no words, only tones, but Mike had never heard anything like it. Then Vivian got up and approached them, and her voice merged with the instruments. It rose and sank in perfect harmony.

Manon appeared to find new inspiration, and her hands rushed to the lower octaves of the keyboard. To match Manon’s move, Eryn’s guitar roared, and Mike let the hi-hat and the snare drive the bass drum, to encourage Vivian to keep going.

Vivian moved both hands out in front of her, as if she embraced a lover or greeted an invisible audience, and her voice, still wordless, carried the full tones all the way home.

After another minute of chasing and dancing with each other’s instruments, Mike felt the surge of energy ebb away and the music fade to an end.

She sat with her sticks resting on her thighs, breathless, and waited for the others to find their bearings. Eryn’s face glowed with enthusiasm, and Manon remained silent, as if at a loss for words. Vivian sat down again, her expression indecipherable.
What’s she thinking? Did she like it? Surely she must’ve sensed the magic.

“What did we just do?” Eryn asked, and rested her guitar against the wall. Then she raised her hands in a gesture of incomprehension as she answered herself. “I’ll be damned if I know…but I do know that it sounded like nothing I’ve ever heard before.”