American Music - Jane Mendelsohn [51]
He will remember the moments when his orchestra seemed to conjure itself, when it achieved the purity of a single mind. A mind in which many different voices conversed, argued, flirted, seduced, philosophized, all within the limits of one being. He will remember the drums, he will never forget the drums, and he will remember the faces, the unconditional love he felt for those faces. He will not remember the uneasy feeling of failure, the brush with oblivion, the premonition of unrequited life. He will only remember the memory.
Later, when they ask him about that first night at Roseland, he will lean back and he will close his eyes and he will say:
You should have seen us. You should have been there.
Joe
He took her to the apartment of a drummer he knew, someone who wouldn’t be home. He remembered where he kept the key. It was in a planter in the hallway. A dying plant opposite the elevator. His friend would be traveling. The apartment was dark and empty.
She said she didn’t believe that he would ever leave Pearl. He said he would. It would be very difficult, but he would. She said that tonight she would believe him. He said that he would take care of her. He said that she could trust him.
They were lying on the floor. She wouldn’t go into the bedroom. The light of a December morning came up cold and very white and her skin looked almost silver.
Later, she said: I didn’t think that the band was all that great.
Her head was resting on his chest and he looked down at her and smiled.
You’re impossible, he said.
No really, she said. They sounded off of their game.
I don’t know. I thought they were good, he said. But I might have been distracted.
Milo
One day Honor realized that he would not always need to live in this place, that he was getting better, that she had helped him. She took comfort in the fact that even when he seemed to be guiding her through the past, she must have been doing something to help him move toward the future.
Still, although he could walk again, Milo would never lie on his back. He would not give up his secret. Stories yes, but never his secret.
Tell me what happened, she said.
It’s just another story, he said.
It’s not just a story, she said. It’s you.
PART THREE
In the slaughterhouse of love,
Only the best are killed …
Don’t run away from this dying.
—RUMI
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was almost funny. First Pearl told him with tears in her eyes and an optimistic yet resigned expression. Then Vivian told him the same thing, only with a terrified, stricken look on her face. He had two women depending on him more than ever and he could do nothing other than walk along the river with his hands in his pockets wondering how he could get on another liner not only to escape his predicament but more important, to make some money. He reassured himself by thinking that Pearl would probably not make it again this time and then he despised himself for having such a thought. And Vivian, she was not ready for this but perhaps it would settle the matter once and for all; he would have to be with her now. It had been weeks and he had still not spoken to Pearl about Vivian. But once Pearl saw that he and Vivian would be a family, he surmised, she would have some sympathy. Again he was disgusted with the way his mind worked. Why should Pearl care about his happiness? Why would he imagine that she wouldn’t be sickened by his betrayal and hate him for it? Of course she would not wish him and Vivian well. He was insane to hope for that. Worse, he was a terrible person for thinking of leaving her. Ever. But most of all now.