Page 12 of Strings
Nothing. I don’t hear footsteps, a TV, or anything. I check my watch. It’s 7:46. They can’t be sleeping, can they? Crap. What do I do now? I pound harder. After a few minutes, I slide down the door and pull out my phone. Scrolling through my emails, I try to find a name or phone number for whoever lives here. There’s nothing. What if they’re on vacation or left the country?
I decide worrying will get me nowhere fast, so I research my new gig instead. Reviewing the job description for the events manager for the Los Angeles Symphony, I shake my head. I don’t know how to do half of this stuff. I lied on my résumé, and even faked transcripts from the University of Michigan. I’m hoping someone will train me. I’m a fast learner, so I’m sure I can pick up on stuff right away. How hard can it be?
I swallow hard. The only thing I didn’t lie about was my experience in concert production. Booking gigs for The Rabbit, a hotspot nightclub in downtown Detroit, gave me a lot of experience dealing with musicians. I’m sure they’re all mostly the same. When I met the guys from Ravaged Beast, I knew I had a winner. I took that band under my wing and got them their start. Sure, they all but abandoned me when they got the chance to open for Five Finger Death Punch, but knowing I helped them get there still makes me smile.
Footsteps on the stairs pull me away from the website. It must be a 500-pound man with how heavily he’s walking.Stomp, stomp, stomp. Pause ten seconds.Stomp, stomp, stomp.
Imagine my surprise when a petite female with skin like bronzed chocolate rounds the corner carrying three bags of groceries. I jump up to help her.
“Oh my fuck, thank you,” she says as I take a bag from her arms. “This ‘You need more exercise, Cherese. Take the stairs, Cherese,’ from my doctor is complete bullshit. He can kiss my fine ass. God invented elevators for a reason.”
She stops in front of 2B and glances over at my bags. “Oh shit, are you threesee?” She says it likes it’s my name.
I nod.
“Well, fucking-A. You got here fast. I figured you’d be strolling in around midnight with LA traffic, flights, and Ubers. What’s your name?”
I repeat my new name in my head several times before I let it leave my lips. “Natalia Pearson.”
Placing her bags on the floor, she holds out her hand to me. “Cherese Ottoman. Yes, like the footrest. Don’t you dare crack any jokes or we won’t be friends—ever. I’m not a stool.”
“Didn’t even cross my mind.”
She opens her door. “Come on in.”
“Um… do you have my keys?” I ask.
“No one’s going to take anything. This is Sym’s Square. Well, that’s what we call it. Almost everyone in the building works for the Symphony. Except for Mrs. Marcum in Five D. I think she came with the building.”
I smile awkwardly as she picks up her grocery bags and flips the light on inside. It’s gorgeous. The walls are light blue and her furniture is grey steel. There are pillows everywhere. I hope my place looks the same. I carry her bag to her kitchen table.
“I’m associate clarinet. Who are you?”
“I’m sorry, what?” Did she just speak in a foreign language?
“What do you play?” She pauses and stares. “For the Sym? You do play, right?”
“Oh. No, sorry. Long day. I’m the new events manager.”
“Gotcha. Makes sense. You must be replacing Lori. She’s on baby number two and decided to stay home. We all loved her. Those are some big shoes to fill.”
I smile awkwardly as she starts unpacking her bags.Keys would be good here. Anytime, Cherese.Shifting my weight from one foot to the other, I watch her unpack vegetable after vegetable. It seems she got one of every color, shape, and size.
She notices me eyeing her food. “It’s a lot of green, isn’t it? I probably went overboard. But at thirty-four, the last thing I expected to hear was high blood pressure. I’ll be damned if I’m starting pills already. I have no idea what to do with half of this stuff. Do you cook?” she asks.
“Not at all. I basically eat from the three main food groups. Chocolate, chips, and liquor.”
She makes a cross with her fingers at me like I’m evil. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. I give myself two days eating healthy before I go in search of Little Debbie snack cakes.”
“Zebra Cakes are the best.”
“Personally, I’m more a Nutty Bar girl, but Fudge Rounds and Oatmeal Cream Pies will work too. Shit.” She stops suddenly and stares down at some frozen chicken. “I already don’t want any of this.”
I kind of like her. I think. I’ve never really had a female friend before.
She snaps her fingers. “Keys!”
She opens a cabinet and hands me a key chain with a big music note on it. “It’s not much at first, but it’s fully furnished. You’ll probably want to paint and spruce it up a bit. No one has lived there for around a year. Mostly the newbies get set up here unless they’re local. Some have homes or prefer the condos close to work. I’ve been with the Sym for four years now. I could have moved out, but I’m a creature of habit and I got used to being here, so I decided to stay. We’re super close to shopping and nightlife. There’s a bus that picks up right down the street. I have a car now, so you’re welcome to hitch a ride to work whenever I’m headed toward the office. Sometimes we’re at the Plaza, where the offices are, and other times we’re at the Round Theater. Really depends on what’s going on. The concertmaster can be a bit of dick at times and he hates it when people are late, so I make it a point to try to stay in his good graces.”
