Soul and Song
an excerpt

Excerpt from Day One:

"There is no curry," William said, turning to Johann. "How can you ask about curry at a time like this?"

"A time like what?"

Johann winced as William threw another towel over the mess in the sink – dishes clattered together with the sound of breaking glass. William opened a drawer and slammed it shut after retrieving a spoon, which he rapped against Johann's forehead. "A time like this."

He turned to survey the kitchen, and then opened the blinds, letting the hazy gray of the last afternoon smog flood the room. "The light is perfect," he said, and he swept the tablecloth off the kitchen table with a flourish, sending the red geranium and the breakfast dishes crashing to the floor. He began to build a pyramid of pears, sending a warning glare at Johann before he opened his mouth to speak.

"No vibrations," William said. "This is art."

It was a delicate balancing act, pear on top of pear – he set an apple at the apex, and pulled his easel out from the corner, setting it in front of the table. Johann watched him fumble with his paints, and then slipped out of the room, his footfalls almost silent.

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Excerpt from Day 4:

Antoinette was waif-thin – anorexic, Johann suspected, having watched her eating at post-concert receptions – and wore too much makeup. Her eyes were huge and swathed with color, the lids painted peacock blue and the lashes trembling under the weight of heavy mascara. She looked up at Johann and put a hand on his arm, pulling him over to the door.

Her bangles rattled together as she sat down on the nearest bench, crossing her legs and lighting the cigarette. It dangled between her fingers, ignored, as she peered up at Johann through the haze of smoke.

"Have one," she said, passing him back his lighter and fishing in her purse for her pack of cigarettes.

"No thanks," Johann said. His eyebrows twitched as she waved her lit cigarette in the air, smoldering ashes knocked off onto his shoe. "I need to go practice soon."

"What's that?" she asked, waving at his case. "You giving up the piano?"

"No," he said. He picked up the harp and turned toward the doors. "Look, Antoinette, we'll chat later, all right? I need to go now."

"Johann, darling," she said. Interposing herself between him and the door, she took a puff from her cigarette at last. "Is this any way to treat an old friend? I did not go sleepless for three nights in a row to help you pull that audition downtown, just to see you brush me off like this."

"I never asked you to give up your sleep, and you –"

She put a hand on each of his shoulders, pulling herself up to look him in the eye. "We're going to have a talk soon," she said. "We'll do lunch tomorrow – or else I'll make you sorry for it. I'll –"

Her threat was ruined by the odd, clenched pronunciation of the words, the cigarette gripped between her teeth while she pressed her thumbs into Johann's collarbones. Tiny, whip-thin, and deceptively sweet, Antoinette was still a force to be reckoned with.

Johann took a step away from her, ducking out of her grasp and backing into the glass door. "All right, all right," he said. "Lunch tomorrow. I'll take you to the Thai place you love, the one with the fabulous spring rolls."

"Take me to the salad bar down on Water Street," she told him. "I'm on a no-carb diet."

"Fine," he said. "Fine." He caught Antoinette's hands before he turned back to the performance building, and felt the thinness of her bones and the steady flutter of blood beating through her veins.