Prelude by M G Reyes

Author:M G Reyes [M G Reyes]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-10-23T21:59:21+00:00

Nervous energy

“I GUESS I WAS AROUND four years old. I was in the street with my mom...”

Leo interrupted. “In Gainesville?”

“Actually, no. In New Orleans. My mom and dad took me there for Mardi Gras.”

“Interesting,” he said. “I’ve never been, but I really want to.”

“Oh, you gots to go to the ‘Big Easy,’” I said with mock seriousness.

Leo, however, answered sincerely. “I will, definitely. One day. When my life gets a little less restricted.”

“How do you mean ‘restricted’?”

He became instantly guarded. “You know how it is. Between flying back and forth from Marseilles and school, I don’t get a lot of free time to spend in the United States.”

“Really? Have you traveled a lot in this country?”

“I’m a little embarrassed to admit it,” he said with a wry grin, “but actually, only to Boston, Providence, and the Harkness.”

“No!”

“It’s true,” he replied with a sorrowful pout. “I haven’t even been to New York.”

“And you such a jazz fan!”

His expression shifted abruptly, as though he’d seen something alarming. A second later, he’d composed his features into bemusement. “You’ve been asking about me? Hmm, I see. Why would you do that, Miranda?”

It was a pretty effective way to turn the tables. I felt my face turn pink. “I asked Naomi Glick about you.”

“Oh, you did? Intriguing.” He stroked his chin, an exaggerated gesture. “What did she tell you, apropos me?”

“That you’re crazy for jazz. And it was ‘apropos’ you playing the Kreutzer Sonata with me. Naomi was surprised that you knew it so well, is all. Given your usual tastes.”

“Naomi Glick? That girl makes a lot of assumptions about me. The best jazz pianists are usually classically trained. Great jazz takes a lot of skill. You have to be a demon with scales, a lot of practice. Me, I don’t miss a day.”

“You’re serious about it. That’s what you want for your career?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said. We’d walked for a few minutes by now and arrived at a wooden park bench set a little way off the path. A shiny brass plaque pinned to the back of the bench announced that it had been a donation from a former student, Harris McArthur. Leo brushed aside a few fallen leaves and tiny stalks before inviting me to sit down. When I’d done that, he sat at the opposite end of the bench. He took out another cigarette, was about to offer it to me when he remembered our previous exchange, then pocketed it again with the suggestion of a frustrated sigh.

I broke into a grin. “Go ahead. Addict.”

He seemed resigned. “No, no. How could I damage the lungs of such a beautiful violinist?”

My grin widened, triumphant. “You play your scales then.”

“And Bach. The preludes, especially. They’re excellent technical exercises. And they lend themselves quite easily to jazz, as it happens.”

“I’m grateful to whoever taught you the Bach C major prelude,” I said with a tiny bow of my head.

“It was my first teacher, Tany Guardiola, and I was five years old,” Leo said. “Likewise, I’m grateful to whoever taught you the Ave Maria.

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