Chapter 87

“What’s the difference between a classical guitar and a pizza? A pizza can feed a family of four.”
—Faye Kellerman, Hangman

“I DIDN’T GET A CHANCE to tell you Wednesday evening,” I said to Cindy as we were opening our instrument cases. “You look really ... um ... pretty in that dress. More ... um ... mature.” I wanted to say that she looked gorgeous and sexy but, in some ways, she looked like a little girl playing dress-up. Only the dress fit. Really well.

“Thank you,” she whispered. I hardly ever heard Cindy use her full voice. Or maybe that was her full voice. I couldn’t imagine what it would be like for a slight girl to grow up with two noisy athletic brothers. “I really appreciate you having gone to such an effort to match. We make a good pair. On stage.”

“You know what my videos usually look like. Do you have any suggestions for what we should do today?”

“I think it should be as much like usual as possible. We’re partners in this so I don’t want to stand in front of you like at the recital concert,” she said. “After all, it’s your YouTube channel.”

“Do you have one?” I asked. She nodded. “There’s no reason we can’t upload the video to both channels. Your fans should have access to it as well.”

“Thank you, Jacob. Tune?”

We spent the next few minutes making sure our instruments were tuned together as our friends and families filed into the music room and found seats. I tested our positions to be sure we were both in the camera frame. I wasn’t too sure how my mike would pick up her flute so we played a little warm up piece—just some exercises—so I could decide if I needed to shift the mike around. The acoustics in the music room were different than the concert hall but overall it wasn’t bad.

“After I heard these two play on Wednesday evening, I just thought that they should have a recording,” Ms. Devine said to the group. “I’m glad you all came to hear the new duo, Marvel and Hopkins.” She sat down and people settled. I turned on the video and nodded to Cindy.

I’d like to say it was as good as it had been Wednesday evening. Working in Kahn Recital Hall was pretty special and added to the performance. Nonetheless, we connected. It was different having Cindy back where we could catch each other’s eye as we played. We’d discovered how easy it was to connect when we played ‘Tango Ladeado’ and the rollicking ‘Mozart in Hell’ or ‘Libertango’. I think it took us both by surprise when we connected on the lament, ‘Llanto’. All of a sudden, she was there ... I mean right with me. We were like one person playing two instruments. It was sweet and sad and wistful. When we finished it, we had to pause a minute to get ourselves centered again for the ‘Tango Ladeado’. Well, I could edit out the awkward pause.

We did it. We got right back to our more rapid-paced connection and went almost seamlessly from that to ‘Mozart in Hell’. When we finished, Cindy was inches from my face and we smiled at each other. I was thankful the people watching and listening let the last notes fade before they started applauding.

27 January 2020

I talked to Em for a long time last night. I need to find a way to get out there for a visit. This being separated sucks royally. Maybe it would be different if her job was exciting or even interesting. She’s out of her probationary period and now she has to work Saturday and Sunday since she’s the new kid. She works four tens and is off Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. She wasn’t able to watch my concert with Cindy until she got home at eight last night and by then it was almost midnight when we finally got to talk.

She’s lonely. She even said she’s going to move back to the barracks at the end of the month so she’ll see other people at night. Once she has her truck loaded in the morning, the bulk of the day is spent alone with just brief conversations with receiving clerks for the rest of the day.

She calls the place she’s moving barracks but that isn’t really what it is. A small college near San Diego finally gave up and closed its doors. Declining enrollment has hit schools hard and it didn’t have anything ‘special’ to offer. The campus has been nationalized. The dormitories have been turned into housing for people doing Service. That’s housing for a couple of thousand. Em says one of the good things is that there’s a library and an auditorium where they hold performances of various sorts. She hasn’t been able to attend any yet because of her work schedule but I guess they aren’t all on weekends.

We compared schedules and she’s going to try to get a week off that corresponds to my spring break. We might have to share some of the time with the rest of the family but I just want to hold her and tell her how much she means to me. To all of us.

My new popularity as news of the Sunday concert spread Monday was short-lived. We had a huge amount of homework for all our classes. I wasn’t practicing for a recital any longer so I could go home right after school. Until track season started in two weeks. It was amazing how quickly people stopping to congratulate me at lunch turned into people stopping to wish Livy good luck. Our girls’ basketball team was hot and sectionals were this weekend.

“Let’s just do study time at my house in the afternoons,” Joan said. “We can divide up into whatever groups we need to study. Livy, you can come over right after practice and we’ll still have a chance to go over the Constitutional Government notes. And I need help on my AP Human Geography retake. I seem to recall some people owing me assistance from last year.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I said. “And I’ll help on your project any way you’d like.”

“The only problem with that is our study sessions ... Well, it’s the only time of the week that Jacob and I get to ... you know...” Desi was blushing.

“No one’s going to notice if once or twice a week you disappear into my room for a little while,” Joan giggled. “Just don’t leave a wet spot in my bed unless you plan to stay the night and sleep on it.”

“That opens all kinds of possibilities,” Beca said, kissing our lover on the cheek.

“Hey, this might be too embarrassing for a lunchroom conversation,” Rachel said, leaning in and dropping her voice. “But we need to be able to talk about these things with each other if we’re really all a pod. How are we all doing ... you know, sexually? I mean is anyone feeling like they aren’t getting the attention they need from any of our partners?”

“Wow, Rachel. You put it right out there in the middle of the table,” Beca said.

“Yeah, but she’s right,” Joan said. “We do need to be able to talk about these things. If we were just a couple, we’d talk about our needs, wouldn’t we?” she asked Beca.

“We do,” Beca affirmed. “And you’re right, we talk as couples within our group but we need to talk all together as well. I feel pretty good about the level of attention I’m getting from all of you. I think I’d like to spend a little more time cuddled between Desi’s breasts. They’re so cushiony.”

“I only ever get time with Jacob and with Rachel,” Livy said. “It’s my own fault for the kind of schedule I have. Jacob and I sometimes go to his house after a morning run and hop in the shower together. Rachel sometimes comes over and wakes me up on Sunday morning so we can watch his concert together and then make love. But I don’t feel like I’ve made enough of a connection with the rest of you. And I want to.”

We didn’t have time to continue our discussion because the bell rang for class and we all had to hurry. It was clear, though, that part of our study time each evening was going to be spent talking about our relationships. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“We need to talk.” V1 had some pretty horrendous memories that started with those words. It seemed like they were always associated with some complaint or another. Probably legitimate complaints but humiliating and guilt-inducing all the same. “You aren’t pulling your weight around the house. It’s like you expect me to do everything, including raising your children for you.” I sighed. I went to work every day and came home tired at night and she wanted me to run the vacuum?

I had to struggle into enlightenment. That’s one of the things that was missed in the #metoo movement. Yes, the things we did were offensive and demeaning to women. They were wrong. But they were accepted. We didn’t stop to consider how our actions made others ‘feel’ because it had just always been this way. A whistle at a woman in the office was a compliment. She went to all that work to get her makeup right and wear those high heels and tight skirt. She deserved to be appreciated.

We learned. Probably one of the greatest contributions of the hippie generation and women’s liberation. We found out what pigs we were. Some ignored the revelation and continued right into the highest levels of corporate and government offices still being pigs. Others of us made an effort to reform. Did I regret having overridden the protests of a girlfriend I was trying to feel up? Philosophically, yes. Practically, I could still remember the charge I got when she came on my finger and I spurted between hers. She had to have wanted it, right?

“We need to talk.” I learned playing with the kids when I got home from work was not ‘babysitting,’ it was being a father. My wife’s vagina was not an open tunnel constantly awaiting my cock to fill it. My job didn’t actually require ten hours a day instead of eight—two of which were unpaid since I was salaried. My secretary’s ass was hers to do with as she pleased, not mine to pat as she walked by. And I didn’t have to have two martinis and a cigar every evening to unwind.

By the time V1 met Renie, I’d lived alone for nearly five years after Rebecca’s death. I was fully domesticated. I did my own laundry. I cooked my own meals. I cleaned my own house. Renie made it clear she would help with those chores and share the workload of maintaining our home, but she had a career as well. She went to work each day just like I did. She needed a martini in the evening to wind down, too.

I noticed, though, that when I hit retirement, I started to slide back into that mold of the pig my contemporaries had all been before we were enlightened. I could be deeply offended by the accusations of sexual assault, the language our politicians used, the subtle and not so subtle discrimination against women in the workplace. And then, inside, V1 would shrug and say, “That’s just the way the world is.”