Page 34 of Caught in a Storm
“Call me, okay? Later. I’ll answer…probably.” Margot stands. She’ll throw some things in a bag, have Jimmy get her that cab. She’ll get a drink on the train if she gets nervous, then maybe another one.
“Wait,” says Rebecca. “One other thing.”
Margot waits.
Rebecca stands now, too, beside the old couch. “I was right, you know.”
“About what?”
“You. People missed you, Margot. And now you’re awesome again.”
When Rebecca is gone, Margot steps into the elevator. Jimmy calls her name, so she hits the hold button.
“Um, just so you know, Miss H.,” he says. “Maybe it’s not my place to say. And I’m sorry for eavesdropping. I’ve got the YouTube here on my PC. I saw you play, and you were real good. Thing is, though, you never stopped being awesome.” Jimmy puts his hands in his pockets. “You’ve been awesome this whole time.”
Chapter 19
“Okay, kiddo, one more time, with feeling.”
His student, Sophia, draws a big, weary sigh, as if Billy has just asked her to pick up the Steinway and walk around the apartment with it. “Didn’t I do it right, though?”
“Yeah, you’re doing great. But you gotta do it over and over, until your muscles remember it without you even having to think about it.”
Sophia’s only a few months into her lessons, so she’s not sold yet on “over and over.” She’s nine and very small. Her hair frizzes at the ends, and her feet sway a few inches off the floor. “Fine,” she says.
“You warm enough?” asks Billy. “That sweater’s not too too big, is it?”
She pushes the sleeves up on the cardigan. Billy let her borrow it because she was cold. “No, it’s okay. I like it.”
“Don’t think I’m just gonna let you walk out of here with it, though, okay?”
“I won’t,” she says. Then, with the grim determination of a Depression-era gravedigger, Sophia plays the intro to “Levitating” by Dua Lipa. Billy always asks students to bring in a few of their favorite songs so they can learn to play them. It helps Billy convince them that the vast instrument before them is something to be enjoyed.
“Keep going. Little louder. Hit those keys now, show Dua some love.”
The girl fumbles over notes, but she does so with impressive force. When she gets to the end of the first verse, which is as far as they’ve practiced, Billy finally gets her to smile by suggesting that maybe he briefly lost consciousness and the real Dua Lipa climbed in through the window and started rocking out.
“No, it was just me,” Sophia says.
“If you say so.”
There’s a knock at the door. Billy checks the clock. “Probably your mom. Moms love sneaking back early to see the action.”
“She says you’re famous,” says Sophia. “My dad said so, too.”
“Who, me? Nah, I’m Internet famous. Barely counts.”
She’s just a kid, but Sophia seems to get the distinction. “Is that why you’re moving out? Are you gonna live in a mansion, like The Rock?”
There are packed boxes stacked in orderly rows all around them. The walls are bare, and his TV and stereo are unplugged. His old acoustic guitar sits on a crate of Rolling Stone magazines. There’s a second knock at the door. “I’ve been to The Rock’s place a bunch of times. Not super impressed. You ready to show your mom how well you’re doing?”
Billy hops off his teaching stool and heads to the door. As he opens it, he says, “Hope you’re ready to be impressed.” The first thing that crosses his stupid mind is that Sophia’s mom looks different. His second thought is a happier one. So happy that it’s difficult to fully trust what he’s seeing.
Margot Hammer pushes the hair out of her face. “Hi.”
A few seconds pass. Could be three, could be twenty. Probably somewhere in between. “You,” he says. “Again.”
“I forgot to sign your friend’s wall,” she says. “Kind of a bitchy move, right?”
