Page 34 of A Much Younger Man
Chapter Nine
Beck usedmy phone to tune my guitar, then he played scales on it like a virtuoso. I watched his fingers move with more dexterity than I could claim, even in my surgery suite, with a sigh.
“Okay, first things first.” He sat on the coffee table with my guitar in his hands. “Put your hands out and let the guitar get your scent.”
“Fuck off.” Beck could be silly—another thing I liked about him. I took the guitar from him and assumed the position.
“Which chords do you know?”
“G, E, and D reliably.”
“That’s a start. Play them.”
Embarrassed as all hell, I did what he asked, strumming each a couple times like a rank beginner.
“I hate this,” I whined.
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“Well, Dr. Freud,” I said sourly, “it’s probably because I hate doing anything I’m utterly crap at, especially in front of other people.”
“I see.” He stroked the tiny scruff of his beard. “That’s stupid.”
I gave him the look that deserved. “All right. What next?”
“You, my impatient friend, are going to learn some exercises. This will help build the strength in your fingers and improve dexterity.”
“And possibly drive me mad.”
His eyes sparkled. “It’s probably too late for that, huh?”
Probably was. “What do you want me to do?”
“Let me demonstrate.” He got his guitar from its case and did some complicated moves on the neck without strumming. “Spiders. Think of spiders. It’s not easy to learn to move the fingers independently. You try.”
I tried to do what he did. My fingers moved like lazy caterpillars when they moved at all. It took way more effort than I imagined. I had to think about each finger the whole time, move these two fingers first, move these two next—like patting my head and rubbing my belly at the same time. It was maddening.
Rico squawked, “Couldn’t be bothered.”
“Does he tell all your secrets?” Beck asked with a laugh.
“Only the embarrassing ones.”
“You think you’ll remember that exercise? Will you do it?”
“How often?” I tried to imagine doing something this frustrating daily.
“Um. Maybe a few minutes, three times each day?”
“I think I can handle that.” Although it was seriously going to cut into my brooding time.
He showed me how to make sure the guitar was in tune, and then sketched out a rudimentary chord chart for a song to practice. “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as it turned out.
“Do you know how idiotic I feel doing this?”
“You know the saying about old dogs and new tricks?”
I nodded. “That’s total bullshit, by the way.”
