Page 116 of Switch!
“Uh-huh. And when you say blue…”
I laugh and shake my head. “On the lighter side for sure.”
“You mean cyan.”
“I guess.”
“Not good enough,” Trixie says, nudging me playfully. “I really think I’m onto something here. I took all the blue people you pointed out previously and divided them into two categories. The deep blues seem sad. The cyan people are, I dunno, relaxed?”
“Let me check again,” I say. Just as I’m about to, I notice a ramrod thin man with white hair climb out of a ridiculously small sports car. The kind that usually costs a fortune. He’s further away than I like, but if I’m quick, we still might be able to catch him. “Target spotted,” I say, nodding in his direction. “Let’s hope he went to the ATM recently.”
Trixie stands so I can stretch out on the bench. I hear the beginning of a song before I slip into the void’s silence. Targeting the man isn’t difficult. I’ve done this enough that I have good aim. I take note of the color of his energy as I near. Orange and yellow, with veins of black running throughout like some sort of otherworldly marble. Weird! We’ve seen plenty of orange before, the men in particular when they’re with a woman. I suggested that orange might represent horniness, which made Trixie laugh so hard that she doubled over. I’m pretty sure magenta has to do with love, as cheesy as it sounds. Yellow is much rarer. I have no idea what it represents. I’ve never seen black before.
I possess the man, but I don’t take over right away. This has become a recent policy of mine. I don’t want to interfere if a person has something truly important they need to do. One guy was late picking his kid up from school due to work obligations. We caught him on the way to his car, so I let him go rather than delay him further. As for my latest unsuspecting donor…
I won’t eat here anymore if they’ve over-salted the caper butter again. The chef’s apology didn’t seem very sincere last time. Maybe I’ll remind them of that before ordering.
He’s hungry. Or hangry, judging from his attitude. I’m tempted to let him eat and lure him over afterwards, so he’ll be in a better mood. Although I might be in a different body by then and miss the opportunity. Before I throw this fish back into the pond, I want to know how big it is, so I think the question I’ve come to rely on.
How’s the bank account doing?
A rush of endorphins fills the man. That’s unusual. Most responses range from anxious if money is tight to contentment if the balance is nice and fat. This man, Gary MacIntosh, is absolutely giddy about his wealth. The flashes I receive from him are of seven-digit sums. He’s a millionaire! The glee he feels about this fact is soon overshadowed by another.Appetite. The wealth he’s accumulated isn’t enough. Gary can already buy anything he wants and has everything that he needs, and yet he still wants more.
If the business deal goes through next week, I’m going to call my ex-wife to tell her. No no no, I’ll go there in person! I’ll buy that Rolls Royce she always wanted and drive it to her pathetic three-bedroom house, just to watch her tremble with envy. I hope her new husband is there too. A dentist! What the hell was the stupid bitch thinking?
Yuck. I already don’t like this guy. Possessing him once is enough for me. I decide to stay with him rather than let him eat. Gary isn’t worried about being late for his reservation. If they don’t seat him, they’ll feel his wrath, a prospect he finds more appealing than food.
I’m braced for a tough sell, since I can’t imagine him having any appreciation for music. I’m about to take control when he spins around, focusing on the park. On the song in particular! Gary noticed it on his own, and I’m blown away by how it sounds to him. I’ve experienced Trixie’s music through many sets of ears, but never with such nuance. I can hear what she’s doing wrong, like when she angles her bow slightly too far on a return stroke. What really stands out though is everything she’s doing right.
Gary crosses the street of his own accord, drawn to the music. Maybe for once, I won’t have to do anything at all. Trixie is already engaging with him, smiling before closing her eyes and really giving it her best. The terms that fill Gary’s mind are alien to me. Arpeggio, tremolo, ponticello… He’s noticing more than I can keep up with, and when Trixie finishes her second song, he begins clapping before she can begin another.
“I always preferred a Russian bow hold myself,” Gary says. “You’re using an altered Franco-Belgian if I’m not mistaken.”
“A Galamian,” Trixie says, her eyes lighting up. “You play?”
“I used to,” Gary replies. I’m treated to a flash of memories from his youth. “My playing got me accepted into Julliard.”
Trixie’s mouth drops open, her violin hanging limp at her side. “You went to Julliard?”
“Not quite,” Gary says, bitterness rising within him. “My mother put her foot down and insisted I take a different career path.” Which led to tremendous success and wealth, but he still resents her for it.
“I can relate,” Trixie says. “I was all lined up for the Cleveland Institute.”
“A fine university,” Gary says approvingly. “I never let a year end without attending one of their Christmas concerts.”
Trixie’s shoulders slump, her face pure anguish. “So lucky! I’d give just about anything to see them play.”
“You might have been part of the orchestra, had you attended. What got in your way? An overbearing parent?”
“Money,” Trixie says. “It wasn’t a full scholarship.”
“I see. Is it too late?”
“Not yet. That’s why I’m out here playing.”
She wants money.
Gary isn’t put off by her need. He can relate. “Then let’s consider the next song an audition.”
