Nine Volt Heart (15 page)

SUSI

T
HE FANTASTIC THING ABOUT approaching
obstacles as a professional is that there are trained skills to fall back on,
such as deep breathing exercises.

I’m trying to be rational about this. I made it through the
events of the past rough time by keeping a rational mind. When my great-aunt on
my mother’s side prescribed faith healing and my father’s cousin claimed that Bag
Balm and tobacco juice are the best remedies, and even my brother tried to talk
me into Chinese herbs and acupuncture, I found that following my own advice—to
stay rational—was the key to salvation. That, and music. To me, music is just
another kind of rational thought. I just can’t explain to others how that is
true.

To approach this situation rationally, I had to breathe in
order to calm down enough to think. I took up my journal to write, trying to
turn down the volume of my own voice saying oh god oh god over and over again.
Since I don’t believe that sort of prayer is anything other than an invocation
for despair.

And I don’t believe in despair.

Fine. First foundation truth that I have to accept and live
with: I slept with a complete stranger.

As I write that statement and sit back and examine it, it is
false. I knew him to a degree. The correct statement should be: I slept with someone
who was someone else.

No, the truth is: I went to bed with a man because after
singing with him, I thought I knew him. In retrospect, I didn’t have the
correct name in my possession, but I was sure I knew who he was last night, and
that I could trust him with my life.

Oh god. I did that.

I trusted him in ways I wouldn’t trust anyone else in the
world. I never trusted Logan in all the years I knew him to surrender myself
completely (thank heaven).

Then, after I trusted this man completely, he—

I suppose the logical conclusion is that Jason didn’t cause
the misunderstanding.

However, he did laugh about it.

And he touched my face.

I could still smell sex on his hands. He had used a
condom—more than one—so I must have smelled myself. Oh god.

~

Half-way through music theory, I couldn’t stand it any longer
and left the kids with an in-class rote assignment to transpose a piece of
music from one scale to another, while I tore into the library. It took a
minute, both to discard Nancy the librarian’s insistence on offering help and
to determine which years that man might have been at Prescott, but I finally found
the right yearbooks.

I sank to the depths of sneaking books out of the library
and back to my desk, where I spent the next two periods, stealing time from my
students to look through them. Over the two years he attended, his name
appeared multiple times in the index of the first yearbook: orchestra, debate
club, chorale, drama club, track, honor society, jazz ensemble. Though in most
instances, the caption included the tag, “Not pictured: Jason Taylor.” Or, as
in the case of the track pictures, distance, movement, and crowds occluded any
real study of his face. In the few pictures where he appeared, it was the same
person I had met. Thinner, with that gawky awkwardness of a too-tall,
too-fast-growing adolescent, and even longer hair than now. The later year, his
senior portrait was missing, and there were far fewer entries. No track, no
debate or drama club. No picture in the orchestra later than Christmas. In
neither book could I discern what instrument he played, though he seemed to be
in the back with the larger woodwinds, fooling around instead of looking at the
camera.

Two days’ intimate acquaintance with a man and I had become
a liar, sneak, and library thief, in addition to having participated in certain
activities that I couldn’t quit thinking about. With no sleep and an
adrenalin-laden sense of fear crowding me, making me feel that I needed to flee
danger, I performed my duties for the day no better than a simple-minded twit.
When I did try to pay attention to business, my body kept interrupting my
thoughts, as if the after-shocks of an earthquake continued to ripple through
me. This did not bode well.

During my prep period, when I was not engaged in preparing
for anything except despair, Angelia came into my classroom.

“Susi, what the hell happened?”

“I found the wrong Jason at that music club.”

“Then kept him all weekend? You took him to the trustee
meeting and—oh lord, you took him to the symphony with Randolph’s grandparents.
And to lunch with Freeman Lukas.”

“He’s a musician. He fit in with everything. People liked
him—that is, everyone but Randolph.”

“Did you sleep with him? Oh god, you did.”

“I don’t know how it happened. We were singing together.
Then—”

“You sang with him? You went to bed? What else does this guy
have going? Can he walk on water?”

“No, but he is talented. Paul Harris knew him from when he
went to school here. Look at this yearbook. It’s his junior class picture.”

“He looks young for you.”

“This was twelve years ago.”

“That’s his name? Did you ask Rosemary or the career
counselor for his file?”

“Angelia, I couldn’t do that. It would be prying.”

“I could. I’ll go ask now. You should Google him on the
Internet.”

“Stop it. He wants to bring a friend over tonight, to
convince me that he is not a psycho-killer.”

“He is at least a master of the six degrees of separation.
Can I drop by for a peek at what it takes to get you into the sack after all
this time?”

“It is not going to happen again.”

“He wasn’t any good in bed? Too bad. He seems cute, but
those can be the worst.”

“It was the most incredible night of my life. Yet I don’t
trust what happened. It went from dream to nightmare in a heartbeat.”

“So he was good in bed? From this track-meet picture, it
looks like he has long fingers. We both know what that means.”

“Angelia—”

Rosemary, the school secretary, knocked and came in with a
sheaf of papers in her hands.

“Susi, Randolph asked me to print out your grant application
and mail it. Everything seems to be in order, but there are three pages that
need signing. And I need a copy of the 501-C-3 information for your institute.”

“Show me where to sign.”

“Here and here. This other page is the request for
background checks for you and Angelia and one of the instructors. You each have
to sign.”

“The other instructor isn’t in town this week. He said he
would sign, but I don’t know how to find him.”

Angelia said, “I’ll sign it. I wonder why the check they did
on us when we started teaching isn’t enough.”

“You can’t sign, Angelia.”

“Susi, Rosemary, you two close your eyes and don’t look.
Rosemary sees so many forged signatures every morning when the excuse slips
come in, she won’t mind turning a blind eye to one more.”

~

I did manage to pull myself together to call my friend Andrew
at Berklee to beg him once again about Zak’s admission.

“You didn’t get my phone message?”

“Andrew, you know I’m bad about the telephone.”

“Yeah, and you can’t do email. I should have used Pony
Express. The admission office sent a letter to the boy’s house this morning.
He’s in.”

“Thank heavens. You don’t know what this means to me.”

“I won’t be so crude to ask if it makes a difference in our
friendship.”

“You are such a sweetheart, Andrew. Now I have to go call
Joseph at Juilliard for that girl I told you about.”

“The soprano?”

“Yes. She got all of her paperwork in on time. All of her
recommendations and her audition were stellar. She still needs to be convinced
she can do it. She’s eighteen, but you’d think she was thirteen. She’s too
sheltered at home, and they haven’t prepared her to let go.”

“Maybe tossing her into the deep end of the pool wouldn’t be
right for her. I can’t believe you spend your time this way, Susi. Come back
East again and play with us big boys.”

“It turns out that I like working with kids. You heard what
I’m up to?”

“Yes, and I hope it works for you. However, you of all
people can swim in the big pond.”

“That was before. I’m better off here. I need to be in
Seattle, because of my father, if nothing else.”

“How is he?”

“He’s as active as ever, however hard it is for him to get
around. I just wish he could have stayed at home.”

“It’s trite to say, but it’s part of growing up; seeing your
parents grow old.”

“I’ve had enough lessons in growing up for a while. I’d like
a reprieve. Thank you so much for your help, Andrew. Will I see you out here
soon?”

“Next fall when we do auditions.”

“I will be right here, trying to find the best for you ahead
of time.”

“I still love you, Susi.”

“Save it for your wife, Andrew. You know better.”

“I don’t much like being grown up, either.”

JASON

“J
ASON, BUDDY, I’VE BEEN
trying to reach you all day.”

“Hi, Karl. I switched off my phone when we went into the
studio.”

“You also told the chick who answers the phone not to put me
through because you’re too busy.”

“She’s a woman, not a chick. Are you in the office early
tomorrow, Karl? I want to come talk about the foundation thing. Do you have
time?”

“If it’s before eight-thirty. Can you be here that early?
How did work go today?”

“Early is easy. Work is outstanding. Toby and Ian got tight
on the new material right away. We should be able to wrap up this little task
quickly. Look, I want to get on to the next thing right now. The studio is open
mornings until July, so I reserved it and said you’d work out the details. Can
you? And can you get me a temp like we had last year? Can you find that same
woman, Martha Cooper? She was excellent.”

“She works full-time in my office now. I need—”

“Lend her to me for a couple of months. If she can’t start
today, tell her tomorrow is fine. I need her no later than eight every morning.
Can you have your guys arrange to get the masters in the vault duplicated? I
want to spend a little studio time packaging live material from the past years.
Then I need—”

“Jason, slow down. Contract for studio and masters, yes.
Admin, OK, if Martha wants to do it. Otherwise, I’ll have her find and train a
temp.”

“How do I hire someone under eighteen? Can you take care of
that? I remember having to sign something when I first worked, but that was for
playing in bars, and I don’t need that. Martha should arrange the food right
away. Lunch was inedible. There is other stuff I need and several people I have
to contact, so I’ll email that list to her, OK?”

“Fantastic. Say, Jason, what are you doing this summer? Are
you going on the road after all?”

“Yes, of course we’ll be on the road. Except part of the
time I’m staying here and teaching guitar.”

“Ephraim Vance would like to talk to you. You need to come
in so you can meet while I’m here with you.”

“I saw Ephraim Saturday. What more does he have to say?”

“He wants to help work out the final problem with Dominique.
Do you want to talk about it now or wait till tomorrow?”

“I was in a good mood but it’s gone now. So you might as
well tell me.”

“She claims a stake in the band name, because of the
recording contracts you signed while you were married to her. The record
company has already booked a tour for Stoneway this summer, and you need to
come along. Otherwise, she will take the name to tour and—”

“Twist the shiv when you stick it in, Karl. Where did she
get this idea?”

“Ian and Toby have already agreed to give up their rights if
she’s part of Stoneway. Of course, Hakeem signed off interest when he left last
year.”

“So what’s she going to do? Go to Disneyland and pick boys
off the performance stage?”

“The contract says that Stoneway does a tour this summer,
so—”

“Frickin’ hell, Karl. I spent the last dozen years building
that band’s reputation. How can Ian and Toby just walk away? They didn’t say a
word today. Good god, she cannot take the band’s name, and she cannot come on
the road with us.”

“Actually, looking at your contract, she can. Stop breathing
like that into the phone. Do you want to talk about it now or tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. The break is over. We want to work more before we
go across town.”

“Did you think again about what I said this morning, Jason?
About getting legal agreements?”

“Forget that. Just concentrate on getting me out from under
the frickin’ circus with Dominique.”

“Did you at least get little Sheila’s last name?”

“It’s Susi. No, I forgot to ask. We got off track when it
turned out she doesn’t know who I am.”

“Oh shit and firecrackers, Jason. How could she not know?
She’s just not admitting it.”

“She mistook me for a friend’s cousin, and she doesn’t know
Jason Taylor from Adam—Ant, Faith, or Duritz. Or Ryan, for that matter. She
doesn’t know anyone living in this century, except half the Seattle Symphony
and all the rich old men on Capitol Hill. I think she’s a time traveler from
another dimension.”

“You have to explain your situation to her.”

“I’m going to wait for a day or two. She likes me for who I
really am. You can’t imagine the thrill.”

“Who you are turns out to be a target for vituperative
women.”

“One woman. Though I still don’t know what Dominique has to
vituperate over. She’s the one who damaged me.”

“Tell your little Susi what’s up with you. As your attorney,
I’m advising you, it doesn’t work out like Ernest Lubitsch comedies.”

“Two days. Maybe three. I want to enjoy this. Just for a
moment.”

“Please tell me you used a jacket, Jason. At least tell me
that. As your attorney, I—”

“You were a lot more fun before you passed the bar exam,
Karl. When you used to sit in with us and play music all night. Why don’t you
come play with us again?”

“Perhaps. Someone, however, has to be the grownup. I need to
call my architect right now and tell him the budget for my house is larger than
I thought. I can make it big enough that my wife won’t even have to see me when
I’m there. That should make her happy.”

“I’m going to audition a new singer with Ian and Toby. I’ll
see you tomorrow morning.”

“Who’s the singer?”

“Susi, of course.”