Nocturnes_ Five Stories of Music and Nightfall - Kazuo Ishiguro [53]
“That’s right.”
“So what does she think of all this? I mean, this isn’t cheap. Quite a few pairs of shoes she could buy with this kind of money.”
“She’s okay about it. In fact, this was her idea in the first place. Look who’s not paying attention now.”
“Oh hell. I’m such a lousy player anyway. Say, I don’t mean to be nosy, but does she come visit you much?”
“Actually she hasn’t been here at all. But that was always the understanding we had, before I came in here.”
“Yeah?”
She seemed puzzled so I said: “It might sound odd, I know, but that’s the way we wanted to do it.”
“Right.” Then after a while she said: “So does that mean no one comes to visit you here?”
“I get visitors. Matter of fact, someone called this morning. Musician I used to work with.”
“Oh yeah? That’s good. You know, sweetie, I’ve never been sure how these knights move. If you see me do something wrong, you just say, okay? It’s not me trying to pull a fast one.”
“Sure.” Then I said: “The guy who came to see me today, he told me some news. It was kind of strange. A coincidence.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s this saxophone player we both knew a few years back, in San Diego, guy called Jake Marvell. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s big-league now. But back then, when we knew him, he was nothing. In fact, he was a phoney. What you’d call a bluffer. Never knew his way around the keys properly. And I’ve heard him recently, plenty of times, and he hasn’t gotten any better. But he’s had a few breaks and now he’s considered hot. I swear to you he’s not one bit better than he used to be, not one bit. And you know what this news was? This same guy, Jake Marvell, he’s getting a big music award tomorrow, right here in this hotel. Jazz Musician of the Year. It’s just crazy, you know? So many talented sax players out there, and they decide to give it to Jake.”
I made myself stop, and looking up from the chess board, did a little laugh. “What can you do?” I said, more gently.
Lindy was sitting up, her attention fully on me. “That’s too bad. And this guy, he’s no good, you say?”
“I’m sorry, I was kind of out of line there. They want to give Jake an award, why shouldn’t they?”
“But if he’s no good …”
“He’s as good as the next guy. I was just talking. I’m sorry, you have to ignore me.”
“Hey, that reminds me,” Lindy said. “Did you remember to bring your music?”
I indicated the CD beside me on the sofa. “I don’t know if it would interest you. You don’t have to listen …”
“Oh, but I do, I absolutely do. Here, let me see it.”
I handed her the CD. “It’s a band I played with in Pasadena. We played standards, old-fashioned swing, a little bossa nova. Nothing special, I just brought it because you asked.”
She was examining the CD case, holding it close to her face, then away from her again. “So are you in this picture?” She brought it up close again. “I’m kind of curious what you look like. Or I should say, what you looked like.”
“I’m second from the right. In the Hawaiian shirt, holding the ironing board.”
“This one?” She stared at the CD, then over at me. Then she said: “Hey, you’re cute.” But she said it quietly, in a voice devoid of conviction. In fact, I noted a definite touch of pity there. Almost immediately, though, she’d recovered. “Okay, so let’s hear it!”
As she moved towards the Bang & Olufsen, I said: “Track number nine. ‘The Nearness of You.’ That’s my special track.”
“‘The Nearness of You’ coming up.”
I’d settled on this track after some thought. The musicians in that band had been top-notch. Individually we’d all had more radical ambitions, but we’d formed the band with the express purpose of playing quality mainstream material, the sort the supper crowd would want. Our version of “The Nearness of You”—which featured my tenor all the way through—wasn’t a hundred miles from Tony Gardner territory, but I’d always been genuinely proud of it. Maybe you think you’ve heard this song done every way possible. Well, listen to ours.