“Play me the most difficult piece you know.” Marty Laundry sat down on the piano bench next to Nanine.
“Why?”
“Professor Noonan couldn’t sing your praises loud enough. I just want to hear what you can do.”
“Alright.” Nanine laughed. She sat for a moment considering. “Okay. I’ll play you the one I did for my mid-term performance exam way back when I was an undergraduate.”
“Fine. What’s the name of it?”
“Prelude in G-minor opus 23 number 5.”
“Oh my God.” Laundry laughed. “What a name! Who made that one up?”
“Sergei Rachmaninoff.”
“A Russian?”
“Yes. He was born on April first 1873 and died March eighth 1943.”
“So, I gather he wasn’t into heavy metal rock then.”
“No.” Nanine laughed. “He wasn’t!” She put her hands on the keyboard. “He did compose some of the most technically difficult music ever created though. It takes a great deal of talent just to play his work at all, much less to play it well. Now that’s a marked accomplishment for any musician – to play it well.”
“Okay then – go ahead. Play it for me.”
Nanine took a deep breath and played the song, using Professor Noonan’s thundering velvet hands technique, taking care to play the very quiet passages smoothly transitioning into the very loud parts. Finally, she finished and put her hands in her lap.
Laundry looked at her unsmilingly with a furrowed brow. “Fantastic,” he said. “I’m truly impressed. What in hell are you doing in this place then?” He looked around. “Some flyover hick college teaching rubes and pig farmers to play Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star on the piano?”
“Oh, I enjoy it. I love seeing my students grow in their talents and refine their abilities on the piano – or on any instrument for that matter.”
“Do you play other instruments?”
“Sure.”
“Which ones?”
“Pick one.” Nanine gestured around to the room filled with musical instruments.
“Oh, okay.” Laundry laughed. “Hmm, let’s see.” He put his hand to his chin and rubbed his unshaven face. “How about that one?” He pointed and laughed again. “Let’s see you try and play that huge big round horn – whatever it is.”
“Oh. The Sousaphone? Sure.” Nanine walked over, sat on the bench which held the huge instrument upright, and ducked her head underneath the bell.
“You’re serious?” Laundry’s mouth dropped open. “I was kidding!”
Nanine shrugged and smiled as she brought her mouth up to the huge mouthpiece. She took a deep breath and played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.”
Laundry laughed uproariously and applauded after she was done. “Bravo!” He cheered. “I am blown away!” He stood next to Nanine and reached up on tiptoes to look inside the massive bell. “What do you call this weird thing again? It sounds like a tuba!”
“It’s a Sousaphone. It was invented by John Philip Sousa.”
“I recognize the name. He was a composer wasn’t he?”
“Yes. He wrote marches mostly. That’s why he’s called the March King.”
“Can you play something by him?”
“Sure.” Nanine ducked her head back under the Sousaphone and walked over to a long black case lying on the floor. She reached down, flipped open the latches and took out a slide-trombone. She lifted it up and blew air through it twice moving the slide back and forth.
“What are you going to play?”
“One of Sousa’s most famous compositions – The Stars and Stripes Forever.”
“The trombone part I assume?”
“No.” Nanine winked. “The piccolo part.”
“Th- the what?”
“Just listen.” Nanine took a breath and played the incredibly intricate and iconic piccolo solo part on the slide trombone flawlessly.
Laundry just stood there with his mouth open. When she was done, he applauded again almost reverently this time. “Awesome,” he said. “Simply awesome. If you tell me that you can shred on a steel guitar – I’m going fire our lead guitarist.”
“I can.”
“Let’s hear you.” He pointed at a guitar leaning up against the wall behind a drum set.
Nanine walked behind the drums and picked up the electric guitar. She put the guitar strap around her neck and turned on the amplifier next to it. She tuned it and then looked back up at Laundry. “I can’t play this one nearly as well as you do, Mr. Laundry – but what do you want me to play?”
“Call me Marty – please – and well, since you’re into classical music, how about some classic rock?”
“Like what?”
“More Than a Feeling by Boston.”
Nanine played the first few minutes of the song, her fingers flying nimbly up and down the frets. Laundry walked over to her and put his hand on the guitar. Nanine stopped.
“I’ve never met anyone like you before,” he said. “You’re a damned musical genius. Is there anything you can’t play?”
“No. Not really. Not if I have enough time to practice it.”
“How long would it take you to learn an instrument you’ve never played before?”
“Half an hour – maybe more.”
“You’re hired.”
“What?”
“How much do you get paid by this ho-dunk corn-silk university anyway?”
“Hired? What do you mean?”
“I want you to quit.”
“What?”
“I want you to quit this place and come join us in the band.”
“Join you?”
“On tour, composing new songs and playing the piano – or anything else you want to do on stage behind me.”
“B – but – I – I can’t do that.”
“$500,000 in it for you – easy. I’d have to talk to our road manager first, but I’m sure I could swing that amount for someone of your talents – no problem.”
This is a new book that I’m writing here on Facebook. Each week I post a new installment and you can actually read it as I’m writing it. Not even I know what’s going to happen yet! Come back each Thursday night and see how it turns out. You can read my other published books at www.aperrinauthor.com
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