Perfect Fifths_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [97]
Jessica slows her pace as she contemplates how to answer this question. “Strange but true,” she begins. “A woman crashes into her ex-boyfriend at an airport. She hasn’t seen him in three years. This woman once received a decoupage Barry Manilow toilet seat cover from this ex-boyfriend right before their last attempt at reconciliation. Soon after the crash, the woman gets on line at an airport’s customer service center. In front of her are twenty furious members of the Tristate Chapter of the Barry Manilow International Fan Club who have missed their flight to Las Vegas to see the one and only Barry Manilow, the Showman of Our Time, in his final performance of his Final Farewell Tour …”
“Aha.” It dawns on Marcus that he saw them, too, from afar.
“Aha. And wait, there’s more. As she is waiting, she receives a phone call. Her ring tone? ‘I Can’t Smile Without You,’ by the one and only Barry Manilow, the Showman of Our Time. The twenty members of the Barry Manilow International Fan Club immediately embrace her as one of their own.”
Jessica doesn’t even bother telling Marcus about the Barry Flutie dream because this story is already strange enough, true enough without it.
“Do you believe me?” she asks.
“Of course I believe you,” Marcus says. “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”
Jessica doesn’t answer. Without saying it, each knows what the other is thinking:
If Marcus hadn’t chosen His Greatest Hits eight-track to play in the Caddie as he drove Jessica to their first “nondate” at Helga’s Diner ten years ago, would He have served as the cheesy leitmotif throughout their relationship, starting with the eight-track, peaking with the toilet seat cover, and culminating with tonight’s performance of one of His songs in front of an audience consisting solely of rabid members of His fan club? If Marcus had chosen another eight-track in the stack left behind by the Caddie’s octogenarian pre-owner, say, Dolly Parton’s Greatest Hits, would Jessica and Marcus have found themselves—through predestined fate disguised as random happenstance—duetting on “Here You Come Again” in front of an audience of crazed Dollywoodies?
Jessica and Marcus simultaneously slide uneasy smiles in each other’s direction because there is no way of answering any of these questions.
The empty elevator opens up to receive them, and Jessica breaks the silence by asking a question Marcus can answer. “So what’s in the bag?”
“If I tell you, it won’t be a surprise.”
“Like there haven’t been enough surprises today already?”
“Oh, you can handle a few more.”
Jessica honestly doesn’t know if this is true. The doors close, cutting them off from the outside world.
Marcus is humming to himself. It’s a familiar tune, yet Jessica can’t quite place it. She’s about to ask Marcus about it when he stops humming.
“You really are a terrible singer.”
“Oh, that again?”
“But there’s a certain magic to your tone deafness,” Marcus explains. “You were singing an imperfect fifth.”
The elevator stops on the tenth floor. Jessica and Marcus take a step backward in anticipation of a crowd. When the doors open, no one is waiting to get inside.
“Clearly, I know nothing about music,” she replies, jabbing the close-door button. “What’s an imperfect fifth?” She presses it again and again until the doors finally shut. The elevator resumes its ascent.
“A perfect fifth is an interval between a note and seven semitones above it.” Jessica nods, her eyes on the up arrow because she’s too nervous to look him in the eye. “The first two notes in the theme to Star Wars are a perfect fifth.” He clears his throat, then sings, “Staaaaar Waaaars …”
“Oh my God,” she honks. “When did you become such a nerd?”
Marcus sighs. “I was always a nerd, Jessica,” he says. “I just hid it better than most nerds.”
“Too well?”
Marcus purses his lips, nods. Jessica is only now beginning to understand just how much of Marcus’s cock-first confidence is subterfuge for deep-seated … nerdiness.
“There’s another example I could give you, but I’m not sure if I should.”
Jessica gives him a measured look.