The Tolerance Wars - 32
where would you even start
upper and lowercase
begin at the beginning—Chapter 1
The Tolerance Wars
32.
where would you even start
“Hey it’s Tony, leave me a message, sometimes the tape gets messed up, so if I don’t get back to you it’s nothing personal.”
Always made me smile. Was an older rig. So she could take the little outgoing message micro-cassette out of the machine. Set it on the table beside. Which was where it mostly lived. Unless she was taking messages. Which she would choose her own time. Gotta respect that. Once ‘misplaced’ it for weeks. The world did not burn down.
“Heya. Maybe got a thing goin’ on. Maybe not. Dunno. Give me a call.” We had a system. It worked.
Also I was a full day in and no idea whether we’re going to be able to make back what Marcus and the house put down. Usually by this point I had an angle. Something happy-making all round. Not my idea, a couple of generations of best practices people in the business shared with me, there’s always something that at least points in the direction of useful. But right then on the phone I had nothing. I flipped the handset a couple of times to uncoil the cable and clunked it down on the metal hook. Sometimes hanging up is more satisfying than others. Not one of those times.
Finished the walk with hugs and plans for dumplings. Both felt like we had people to call. Which felt pretty good. I had enough time to shower and collect my thoughts. Message out to Tony, I sat down with a guitar for a few minutes to do nothing in particular. Which is exactly what happened. Like it does sometimes. Can’t always be life-changing. Sometimes it’s just about showing up. Though I was at it enough I wondered how long. And as usual I felt like I’d been meditating for a bit. But yeah, how long?
Felt like maybe a little past time. Leaned the guitar up in its corner, grabbed a jacket, threw it on and checked myself in the mirror, black fading to grey jeans, collared white rough-linen shirt, copper brown jacket, long dark hair doing what it does. Yeah it’s gonna hafta do. tumbled down the stairs. Threw open the door.
“Hope I’m not too early.”
That smile. Those eyes. That dress.
“I couldn’t remember which of us said…” And she held up a brown paper bag.
I probably should’ve said something.
Small tilt of the head. A different smile. “Breathe.”
“Uh.”
“I look okay?”
“Like you own it. Anywhere you are.”
“You look like you could be headed out for the night.” Eyes took me in. I liked the feeling.
“Maybe over-dressed for just popping to the corner. It’s what I grabbed.”
“I’d say you’re just fine.”
“And I’d say you’re right on time.” I took the bag she was still holding up. Moved to let her pass through and start up the stairs. I pulled the door shut and followed. At a respectful distance. Self preservation.
By the time I got to the top of the stairs she’d taken the step towards the kitchen. Then she turned and held out her hand. I gave her the bag. She half turned and popped it on the table behind her. Then she turned back. To me. Leaned back against the door frame. There was a moment. T took about a half a step in her direction. Pretty sure she did the same.
The phone rang.
The look that passed between us was very complex.
Then she picked up and handed it to me.
“So we’re popular in places we’ve never been.” Tony. Of course.
“Pretty much. How’d you hear?”
“A sister gave me a headsup. Email. Link she sent opened up a whole universe. All those blogs. So much music. Spent the last couple days. Got lost in it more than once. Is that a thing?”
“I only heard about us this morning. You already knew?”
“Uh huh. Didn’t want to bother you until I had a sense of what’s up.”
“Here’s me bin thinkin’ I was mister useful.”
“You don’t have to explain the internet to me.”
“Okay kinda guilty.”
“You are often useful. And thoughtful. And kind. And probably spent the day worried about how you were gonna tell me.”
“Also guilty. Though today I did also think about other things.” Which got a smile From the lady in the dress. “We got dumplings going, enough to share. Your favourite scientist is nodding.”
“What’s she wearing?”
I told her.
“Yeah no, I’m gonna go back online, see maybe how we play all of this. Marcus gave me some ideas…”
“You told Marcus.”
“Of course. Only made sense. Everybody’s happy to have us do the best we can. Make the music. Get it out there. Still the plan. He’s got some people he’s gonna talk to. And has maybe a suggestion for a lawyer, who’s apparently a human being and can maybe help us navigate through all this without giving everything away. Meanwhile we figure out a return on his investment when it comes. His words.”
“You’re telling me it’s in capable hands and I should take the night off.”
“I’m telling you I have no idea how we’re gonna be making the rent in six months. But we’ve got time to breathe. And my girl is standing there right now. In a dress she’d like better memories of.”
“Oh?”
“Hadn’t occurred to you.”
“Uh…”
“You’re sweet. Pass me.”
“What?”
“Give her the phone. You’re hopeless.”
I held out the handset. Archer took it, curly cord wasn’t superlong, moved to the wall by the receiver. “Heey,” she looked down, at what she had on, “yeah.” Big smile, “Aw, thanks.” Listens then looks over at me, “Not really.” More listening. “You sure?” Then, “D’you want to tell him?” Looks down. A different smile. “Okay. Bye.” And she holds out the phone to me. I take it. Hear the dial tone kick in. Hang it up. Also not satisfying. “Not joining us.”
Both of us standing by the phone. I wasn’t sure what to say. “I did offer dumplings.”
“She said you’re hopeless. Is that true?”
And she kissed me.
For a while.
At one point I’m sliding a hand along the back of her neck, head cradles in my hand and I sense her smile. I check in. She’s fine. Then, “You remember the painter?”
My other hand is resting where hip meets back, warm against warm. “Should’ve been a sculptor?” Gentle squeeze, I hear a short breath in. Then another.
“I lied”
“Oh?” Slightest of pressure, hand moves over curve, heat without friction.
“He was a guitarist."
My turn to smile. ”You have a thing?"
“Let's call it a theory."
And she kissed me again.
For a while.
“Not hopeless at all.” I could hear the smile from where she nestled in my shoulder. We’d made it to the bed. Eventually. The magic dress was hanging over the chair, hopefully better memories. I felt us breathe together. Through the window tail of golden light moving to evening.
“The world has never felt so perfect.”
“Dopamine.”
“Scientists are no fun.”
“It’s a high.’ She snuggled into me slightly, “My favourite way to get there. And no before you ask I’m not even slightly addicted.”
“Understood. How’s your theory?”
“Could use more data.”
“I could help with that.”
“I was hoping.”
We got to the dumplings.
Eventually.
“C’mon.” She’d rolled out of bed made my closet grabbed my favourite shirt instantly owned it and headed for the kitchen in one move. I fumbled with jeans maybe a little less gracefully.
“So this is what you look like on a night off?” We were sat at the table. Noodles and dumplings in bowls in laps. Conversation mostly wordless smiles.
“I might have more clothes on.”
“This is fine.”
“Are you incorrigible?”
“Who’s asking?”
“I don’t know what a night off looks like, really.” Ignoring the question. Self preservation. “If I’m not gigging I’m mixing some project.”
“It looks good on you. A night off.”
“Better with you in it. And Tony was not wrong.”
“Hopeless? Not what the data suggests.”
“That maybe I can get better at not knowing how to work it for a while.”
She blinked. “The most amazing things fall out of your mouth.”
“It’s been a time. Maybe now is different.” I knew what i meant. Struggled for words. Like always. “Beginner’s mind.” That was close. “Might be a good time to get good at that.”
“Because now is different.”
“If it is, hurling down random solutions from the way things used to be is not gonna cut it.”
“Will you know if it’s any different?”
“Think so. Especially if old ways aren’t working.”
She had a thought. “Will people know? If it’s different.”
“You mean music?”
“Mm.” Working on noodles.
I thought about it. “Guys I worked with in my early years knew guys who’d worked the Catskills. Mostly variety shows. That whole part of the business is gone now. Eventually it all disappears.” Though maybe that wasn’t the question she’d asked. “Does anybody know it’s gone?” And hit my last dumpling. “Dunno.”
We had green tea watching the parade from the big window as the evening settled in. Night time patios along the block drew a different crowd. Different show. I was probably nodding my head. Some kind of internal groove. As usual.
“I wish I heard music the way you do.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant. “Everybody hears music.”
“I mean when you’re playing it. There’s so much going on. I’d love to get a sense of how that works for a musician. How it feels.”
“I’m not sure I could put it into words.”
“You’re a storyteller.”
“I am not.”
She just looked at me. Almost no eyebrow. Not strictly speaking necessary. Even in the half-light.
“Okay,” I admitted, “Maybe so. Still…”
“And you think your world is changing.”
“Well, it’s always changing. So yes.”
“They do say to write what you know.”
I thought about the combinations of players I made music with. How that all worked. Tried to imagine getting that down in words. Who would read it?
“I would,” she said. So I must’ve said it out loud. She was quiet for a second. Then, “A series of snapshots. From a time before music changed.”
I wished I could hate the idea more. The best I could do was, “Where would you even start?”
Silence. For a while. We looked out along the street. Down the block people were starting to make their way into the club.
“The night we met?”
I thought about the world.
Changing.
“It was a good night.”