Hands slide over a ruler, a pencil, an eraser on a page. The drawing board holds the paper steady as lines are drawn, faint at first until he is happy with his progress. Then he fills them in more heavily giving the drawing more definition, breathing life into the design. As he works he makes calculations both on the paper itself beside the developing floor plan and on a battered old calculator - the scientific kind, one he has owned since high school. The numbers are almost completely worn away from the buttons now, but it doesn’t matter. He knows the device intuitively. He sips coffee from a chipped cup with a fancy pattern. The coffee is good, fresh from the grinder. There is nothing in the world like a great coffee. He is sure it helps his creative impulse.
He has been at it for hours, working on the project - the assignment. It’s due in a couple of days and he knows he is way behind on it. He must get it done, so he sits in the front room of the house, having gotten away from the city so he can finish the project without distraction. He feels alone, however. No one else is here, not even his dog.
He can hear the ocean, the waves breaking gently on the shore outside. Music plays quietly in the background. It is the guitar: a selection of soft, languid tunes that help him work. He is lost in concentration.
He has failed to sense her presence. She slips into the house quietly, through the doors that open out onto the balcony. She wears a mischievous smile, a figure hugging long summer dress, flip-flops. She covertly slips out of those flip-flops now, places the basket she is carrying down in the old chair and tiptoes the last few feet to where he is working. Still he hasn’t sensed her; such is his concentration.
And then...
The scent of her hair, the freshness of its perfume is unmistakable: rosemary and mint. He feels her cheek against his as she leans in close to him. Her lips press his cheek tenderly. The kiss lights up his face and he leans back in his chair. She falls into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck. She gazes at him, her eyes filled with love.
“I couldn’t stay away.”
He wants to scold her, but he can’t. They agreed he needed to get this assignment done without distraction. But he is so glad she’s here.
They kiss, long and tender, tongues meeting and embracing.
“I’m glad you came.”
***
Changes...
Andy became The Pub’s house musician. In addition to his duties behind the bar, once a week he would perform whatever he wanted for the evening crowd who were now frequenting The Pub in increasing numbers, just to hear him play. Word was quickly spreading about this young virtuoso that played pieces of rare beauty and they responded enthusiastically, tipping him generously. Gideon, surprisingly, began paying him extra for his expanded role. For a man who had previously regarded Andy with contempt, the gesture was significant. In fact, Andy noticed a tangible change in the old man’s behavior towards him. He sensed in Gideon, an appreciation for his playing, a deeper understanding of music than Andy might previously have given him credit for. It was as though Gideon had heard these beautiful pieces somewhere before. In this harsh, urban place, far from the soft inspiration for the kind of music he was performing, Andy had created a sort of musical sanctuary. A rather beautiful, unspoken conversation had been allowed to flourish between him and the patrons.
Andy’s performances had attracted another observer, but he remained carefully out of sight so as not to alert Andy to his presence. Bruce DeVries spoke to no one while he watched his son play. He simply observed in silence, then left before anyone noticed. Not even Gideon knew he was there. Once Andy’s performance was over, Bruce disappeared into the night as silently as a ghost.
Sometimes Andy would play as the opener to another act, or sometimes he would play impromptu duets with whomever happened to be in The Pub at the time. If they were halfway decent, then they were welcomed up onto the stage. It might be a vocalist or someone with a guitar of their own. Gideon had a few authentic Irish instruments scattered about the walls as ornamental pieces, and even these were recruited into service: a dusty old Irish drum, a battered but still usable mandolin, even an old fiddle. It was wild and raw and a little crazy, but somehow it worked.
Within it all - the music and the people, the euphoria of the music and the smiles on people’s faces as they made music together - Andy began to feel peace. His confidence grew. He adapted his style to embrace a broader palate of music. He was enjoying his new role so much that his enthusiasm spilled over into his bar work. He derived greater satisfaction from it. He even began experiencing a feeling he wasn’t used to in anything he had ever done: pride.
He no longer missed any classes at the Conservatory, which didn’t escape the notice of Veldtman or Casper or any of the faculty heads. They watched with quiet astonishment at the turnaround in this troubled virtuoso. He seemed to be driven by something very powerful: a desire not only to excel but to attain something that had been missing. Veldtman had never seen anything quite like it. She worked with him in the group tutorials and in one-on-one sessions, marveling at his technical brilliance. It was a quality that had previously lacked an emotional core. When he had played before, Andy was single-minded in his approach. He played the music flawlessly, but he did not move with it. He didn’t feel the emotion that the music was supposed to evoke. Suddenly, from out of the shadows, Andy had begun to display an unprecedented soulfulness in his playing. It was as though a door had been unlocked to an expressiveness that had long lain dormant. It had become a central dimension now, that was even more staggering in its artistry than even Andy had ever thought possible.
In their sessions, the teacher and the student found a dialogue that had been, for too long, suppressed by his self-destructiveness and her inability to reach him. They shared a renewed energy towards fostering more of his ability - that investment in his music that was truthful, that laid bare his regrets, his frustrations and his hopes. Andy was drawn to the events in the trauma room as a beginning point for his change. Increasingly, he sensed that there was another cause for it. The sense of the presence was becoming stronger. The visions, the dreams were becoming more vivid. As though they were not so much dreams now as they were memories. Memories that were not his own.
Yet they were.
Andy became less of a loner at the Conservatory, and had even begun to strike up tentative friendships with some of his classmates, some of whom he’d never talked to before, though he’d been in class with them since the beginning. They practiced together, discussed assignment work on the campus lawns and sometimes gathered at lunchtime.
He changed his diet, taking advantage of a nearby grocer that stocked fresh fruit and vegetables daily and he began cooking. He found he was actually quite a decent chef, turning out meals that both he and Beck enjoyed immensely.
His appearance began to change. He put on a little weight, filling out rather than fattening up. His gaunt face became a healthy, clear and surprisingly handsome one with vibrant eyes, a squarish jaw and a healthy head of hair that he had allowed to grow out just a little.
He ran every morning, rising at the same time each day and taking the same circuit around the local neighborhood. Somewhere along the way he had managed to bring a training partner with him: a mongrel pooch belonging to the old Italian lady who lived in the apartment across the hall. She was too frail to handle the dog outdoors anymore and so she offered him payment for helping her out. Andy wouldn’t take money, so instead, a steady stream of delicious Mediterranean cuisine began making its way across the hall.
His relationship with Cassie ended. There had been no contact between them for some weeks. Her calls to his cell trailed off and, though he tried several times, he didn’t get through to her either. He felt disgusted with himself for having let it go in that fashion, but she represented a link to Vasq and the life he wanted to leave behind.
His father remained painfully aloof. Bruce visited The Pub as he usually did but he ignored Andy. A couple of times Andy attempted to talk to his father, even offered him a drink, but Bruce dismissed his approaches. Samantha witnessed these exchanges and felt awful. It was clear Andy was trying to reach out to his father but he was slapped down each time.
***
Andy arrived at The Pub late, having had to stay back at the Conservatory to finish an extended tutorial. Gideon hadn’t booked anyone so, once again, Andy was going to perform for the Friday night crowd.
Stepping into the front bar a little after five, Samantha was relieved to see him. She had been staffing the bar all by herself.
“Where have you been?” she asked, clearly harassed.
“Sorry, I missed the train,” Andy said hurriedly as he slipped in behind the bar.
“There’s a good crowd in tonight. Bigger than usual,” Samantha remarked. “Gideon is already rubbing his hands together. You’ve become his little cash cow, I think.”
Andy grinned and took orders for drinks from a group of city workers, who had stepped into the bar behind him.
“The old bastard’s created a monster with these live gigs, I think. I should consider asking for a raise.”
“Ppffft!” Samantha retorted. “Do you honestly think anyone could release a sphincter as tight as his?”
Andy smiled warmly as he served up the beers for the group before him. His smile caught Samantha’s attention, so much so that she stopped what she was doing and looked at him quizzically.
“What is going on with you, Andy DeVries?”
He met her gaze and held it for a moment before shrugging his shoulders.
“Nothing. Nothing’s going on. I just - I dunno - I’m feeling different. Everybody’s entitled to an epiphany every now and then, aren’t they?”
“That’s some epiphany.”
“Maybe. But when you come that close...,” he raised his hand, bringing his thumb and forefinger together, indicating just how close he had been.
Samantha nodded her understanding.
Beck appeared in the entrance to the bar, and Andy smiled in greeting. His smile quickly faded, however, when he noted that Beck’s expression was tense.
Beck sat down at the bar and took off his cap. Samantha and Andy exchanged concerned glances.
“Are you OK, man? You look like somebody stole your car.”
Beck tried to offer a smile at Andy’s words, but failed miserably. Samantha poured him a beer and set it down in front of him.
“If I owned a car ... then, yeah,” Beck replied. “Nah. It’s nothing. Just had a hard shift on the site, is all.”
His explanation was lame. Andy frowned suspiciously.
“C’mon, Beck. You are the worst at bullshitting. What’s really up?”
Beck looked away. He was clearly struggling with whatever was burdening him. Eventually, he scratched the back of his scalp and looked up at Andy solemnly.
“I had a couple of visitors to the site today,” he said. “They were, uh, interested in knowing where you were at.”
Andy’s stomach dropped, and he felt as though he was going to be sick.
“What did they want?” he asked.
“Well, they weren’t really specific on the details, but they did take the opportunity to subtly threaten me. Told me that they knew my cell number, where I like to hang - shit like that.”
Beck rubbed his hands together then took a large mouthful of beer from his glass.
“We moved them on pretty quickly,” he said with a hint of sarcasm. “But I would consider watching your back, Dev - just in case.”
Andy exhaled and stared off into the distance. He should have known Vasq was going to make things difficult. Not only for him, but for his friends as well. Andy shook his head, then turned towards Samantha and Beck.
“Well, are you gonna do something?” Samantha asked with concern.
“I don’t know,” Andy replied hesitantly. “I’m not sure if there’s anything I can do. He’ll back off eventually. Vasq won’t risk exposing himself, for fear that he’ll draw attention. He can’t afford that.”
“I hope you’re right, Andy,” Samantha said. “He sounds like a persistent SOB.”
They were both quiet.
It was time for Andy to begin his set. The moment he appeared on the small stage, there was a round of applause from the audience, which caused him to blush. He hadn’t gotten used to this kind of reception, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. He had yet to fully understand how a guy playing classical guitar in an inner city pub in Chicago could so appeal to an audience he wouldn’t have picked as having such eloquent tastes.
Gideon patted his shoulder on the way through and handed him a jug of beer to take up to the small stage. He smiled approvingly, the way Andy wished his own father would smile at him.
He played an hour-long set, mixing it up a little by playing pieces that he was most familiar with. He performed several guitar concertos by composers such as Gabriel Faure, Sor, Paganini and Spanish composer Joaquin Rodrigo. The audience was as appreciative as always. The music was an elixir, taking them out of their day-to-day lives and delivering them to a place of sanctuary.
During this first set, a lone figure slipped into the front bar from the chilly outside and sat as far back as he could. He looked across cautiously to where Andy was performing, but couldn’t quite see him over the heads of people who were standing in the entrance. Samantha approached Bruce DeVries with a barely contained look of disdain and poured him a beer. She said nothing to him.
Andy took a break and retreated to the front bar where Samantha had a beer waiting for him. He wiped his face with a towel as he sat down on the stool. Beck and Samantha were looking at each other awkwardly. The men’s room door had just closed behind Bruce.
“What’s wrong?” Andy asked, lighting up a cigarette. “Do I sound bad or something?”
“No. Not at all,” Samantha answered hastily. Her reflexive response didn’t convince him. Andy turned to Beck, who shrugged and hid in his beer.
“You’re sounding great out there,” Samantha said, changing the subject. “You’re definitely growing in confidence.”
Andy smiled bashfully and examined the crowd in the main bar.
“They are a good audience,” he said.
Samantha kept one eye on the door to the men’s room, hoping Andy’s father wouldn’t suddenly appear. Andy butted his cigarette and stood, much to her relief. He returned to the stage and settled onto his stool just as Bruce emerged gingerly. He scanned the room, then stepped forward.
“OK,” Andy began, plucking the strings of his guitar to check it was still tuned. “At around this time, I like to invite people from the audience to come and join me if they think they can perform.”
There was little response from the bar as the murmur of conversation continued.
“Hmmm. I usually like to have at least one person come up here. A vocalist, perhaps? C’mon - anyone is welcome. Except for you karaoke wannabes. I don’t do karaoke.”
There was a faint laughter from the audience, but after a few moments there were still no takers. Andy shrugged and prepared to launch into something.
“I’ll play with you,” came a familiar voice from the audience.
Andy squinted in the spotlight to see where that voice had come from. A woman stepped into view and approached him.
It was Sorrel Veldtman.
Dressed in a battered black leather coat and her trademark loud head scarf, she stepped up onto the stage and nodded at Andy, smiling as he stared at her dumbfounded.
“I’ve enjoyed listening,” she said breezily as she took up her place on the spare stool.
Unsure of what to say in return, a shocked Andy handed her the spare guitar and she began tuning it.
“Uhh ... thank you,” he said, watching her awkwardly.
Veldtman caught his stare.
“Are you OK?” she asked teasingly. “You did ask for anybody, after all.”
Andy shook his head, embarrassed, and smiled.
“Sorry,” he stammered. “I just didn’t... I wouldn’t have picked you for a ... pub-goer.”
“Ahh,” Veldtman nodded. “There are a lot of things that you don’t know about me.”
Andy picked up his glass of beer, swallowed a mouthful too quickly and very nearly spluttered.
Veldtman dragged her fingers across the strings, assessing its sound. It was clear she wasn’t overly impressed with the battered instrument, but her expression was one of “It’ll do.”
“What shall we play, Andrew? You seem to have brought a little culture into this place recently. Why don’t we give them something best suited to a duet?”
Andy nodded, genuinely impressed.
“OK ... how about Deciso?”
Veldtman grinned broadly, and together teacher and student launched into a quick-fire rendition of the first movement from Astor Piazzolla’s famed Tango Suite. The general chatter in the bar died away and the audience turned towards the stage.
The worldly experience of Veldtman’s playing contrasted beautifully with Andy’s technical brilliance which, it was clear, was something very special for somebody so young. Together they conjured intense imagery from the music of Deciso, a piece that bristled with a controlled erotic energy of the legendary Argentine dance.
Andy felt a satisfying rush as he played through the piece, every now and then watching Veldtman for cues to step forward and deliver the solo parts of it. He was just as absorbed by Veldtman’s exquisite skill as the audience. Her fingerings were flawless. She led him perfectly, the two guitars capturing a harmonic synergy. Samantha and Beck smiled as they watched their transformed friend.
Andy and Veldtman reached the end of the piece and the audience responded with terrific applause. Andy was buzzed, laughing joyously and he turned towards Veldtman as she slapped her hand into his, nodding approvingly.
“Very nice,” she said. “There is certainly more to you than meets the eye, isn’t there?”
Andy didn’t know what to say.
“Why don’t we play some more?” she said.
“Oh. Most certainly.”
Together they played, showcasing a group of compositions suited to a duet. Then they changed tack, launching through some very eclectic pieces. They included the classic Jose Feliciano interpretation of The Doors’ “Light My Fire,” which Veldtman sang with surprising effectiveness. They played some blues standards that had the audience clapping along enthusiastically, then Veldtman finished off with some passionate ballads from her homeland.
By the time they finished, Andy felt elated. It was the most satisfying musical experience he could recall having had. He was struck not only by Veldtman’s technical mastery but also by the emotional investment she delivered into her playing. It was that same emotional investment that he so aspired to - the key to a performance that transcended the music and attained perfection.
“That was amazing,” Andy gushed as he gestured to Samantha, at the main bar, to get them a couple of drinks. “Thank you - thank you very much.”
“Oh, it was a pleasure,” Veldtman replied as they stepped down from the stage and went across to the bar. “You certainly haven’t been wasting your time. You have brought wonderful music to this place.”
“Well, I don’t know if it’s always appreciated. But they seem to have embraced it,” Andy said.
“Embraced it?” Veldtman replied as Samantha set two beers down in front of them. “Andy, they have accepted you unreservedly here. You only need to see the appreciation on their faces. I am sure you wouldn’t derive that sort of reward from others in your life.”
Andy nodded, considering Veldtman’s words as she studied him keenly.
“Those others aren’t going to be a fixture in my life anymore,” he said. “I’ve made some decisions about that recently.”
Veldtman smiled.
“That’s good to hear,” she said. “Hopefully, it will have given you some clarity to reconsider some other opportunities.”
Andy shook his head slowly.
“The Concert Series?” he exhaled wearily. “Look, you and I both know that the Conservatory will laugh any application I make.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Veldtman challenged him.
“Well, I dunno,” Andy said. “The fact that the council want nothing more than to drum me out of the school? I know they have it in for me, that they don’t want me there.”
Veldtman nodded as she sipped her beer.
“Seems you have it all figured out.”
“Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” he said.
Veldtman merely offered him a wistful smile.
“I think you should seriously reconsider your suitability. I think it would be a tragedy if you didn’t at least submit an application.”
Veldtman paused and finished her drink. “Don’t let it slip away, Andy. You have a chance to achieve real greatness.”
Across the room, Bruce DeVries stepped discreetly through the crowd, watching Andy and the woman talking. He slipped through the door and disappeared outside.
Veldtman stood and touched Andy’s shoulder. She reached into her jacket with the other hand, took out a folded piece of paper and set it down in front of him.
“Reconsider, Andrew. I think you’ll be surprised. You’re more suitable than you realize.”
Andy looked at the piece of paper and unfolded it. It was an application form for the concert series. His eyes widened, noting that Veldtman had already filled in parts of the application, including her endorsement, which was a requirement for selection. She was challenging him - he knew that. Veldtman had championed him, even when he was at his worst depths.
Veldtman regarded him a moment longer, her eyes filled with encouragement. Then she turned and left the bar. Once Veldtman was gone, Samantha sidled up to Andy.
“That woman was incredible,” she remarked. “Who was she?”
Andy smiled distantly.
“A good woman ... a really good woman.”
“She seems to have made a good impression on you,” Samantha said.
Andy left his beer unfinished on the counter as he stood and picked up his guitar. He seemed a million miles away.
“Yeah.” He nudged Beck on the shoulder. “I’ll see you at home, man.” He left the bar.
“What was that all about?” Samantha muttered to Beck.
***
Andy walked home, his surprise pairing with Veldtman still buzzing in his mind. It left him energized, eager for another experience like that. Her last words to him stuck in his head as he passed underneath a street lamp.
‘You have a chance to achieve real greatness.’
He shook his head as another thought crossed his mind about the Festival and about its location. That faraway continent - so far from here.
“Australia,” he said to himself. “Is that where these dreams are coming from?”
He fished the application out of his jacket and examined it in the light from a street lamp.
Melbourne, Australia.
What was it about that city that felt so familiar?
He turned into an alleyway he often took as a shortcut home and drew up the collar of his jacket higher around his neck. He adjusted the weight of his guitar bag on his shoulder.
From behind him came the sound of a car’s engine revving hard as twin beams cut into the darkened alley. Andy turned around to see a white sports car coming towards him and he moved to one side to let it pass.
Only it didn’t pass him.
Instead, the car screeched to a halt a few feet away and its doors opened, expelling several figures.
It was Vasq’s crew. Andy felt a sudden knot of dread in his stomach.
He stood fast as Vasq stepped out last and held his arms out in that arrogant, theatrical greeting of his. Though he was silhouetted in the darkness, as Vasq moved to stand in front of the car’s headlights Andy could make out his sinister grin.
“Yo dawg!” he greeted sarcastically.
Vasq and the trio accompanying him were brandishing steel bars and knives. Andy looked beyond them to the car, and spied Cassie and the girl from the warehouse, Alyson. Even in the poor light from the street Andy could see that Cassie was affected. She was looking at him through bleary eyes.
“I’m very disappointed that you haven’t returned my calls, Dev,” Vasq said, walking towards Andy. The others surrounded him. Andy stood fast.
“I wasn’t aware I needed to return your calls, Emilio. I told you already, I’m done. I’m not working for you anymore.”
Vasq clicked his tongue against his teeth.
“Dev, Dev, Dev. You don’t realize that you can’t just make that decision on your own. You have to consider how it will affect others - namely, me.”
“It’s not my problem, Emilio,” Andy said flatly, steeling himself as the crew spread themselves out.
“Hmmm.” Vasq moved towards him until he was standing toe to toe with Andy. “No. No, it’s not. It’s very much my problem, dawg. My competition is taking advantage of this. Your ... recalcitrance is only ... exacerbating my problem.”
“Wow, Emilio,” Andy commented. “You learned two whole new words this week. I’ll bet that took some effort.”
Blindingly fast, Vasq smashed the steel bar in his hand across Andy’s right cheek, splitting his skin down to the bone. Andy reeled backwards, but Vasq’s colleague was there, brandishing his own steel bar. Holding it like a baseball bat, he swung hard, hitting the guitar on Andy’s shoulder. The sickening crack spun Andy like a top. The guitar inside the bag splintered and broke in half. Andy fell to his knees before Vasq. He felt sick to his stomach, his head throbbed. Blood poured from the gash in his cheek.
“You can’t just walk away, you fuck!” Vasq screamed, tearing the shattered guitar from Andy’s arm and tossing it aside. “I won’t let you!”
He grabbed at Andy’s collar, pulling him close, then spat in his face.
“Fuck ... you!” Andy croaked, vomiting unexpectedly all down Vasq’s front.
Vasq’s features contorted with rage and he exploded, slamming Andy in the side of the head with his flattened hand, then kicking him to the ground.
In the car, Cassie, gasped. Tears filled her eyes and she turned away, unable to watch.
Vasq set upon Andy, beating him and kicking him so violently that he vomited again, this time all over one of the gangsters’ shoes. It enraged the thug so much that he kicked Andy in the stomach. He then tore open the guitar bag and pulled out the shattered instrument, using it like a club to beat Andy’s flank. Andy could only curl himself up in a ball to protect himself from the worst of the blows.
Soon he lay unconscious on the pavement. Vasq signaled for them to stop. They fell back to the car as a gate opened nearby. An elderly Chinese man, armed with a handgun, emerged with his wife beside him.
“Let’s go!” Vasq called. The crew fled to the car. Vasq looked down at Andy’s lifeless form and spat on him.
“I own you!”
The car’s tires screeched and smoked as it took off, crushing the shattered remains of Andy’s guitar and disappearing down the alley.
The elderly couple ran over to Andy’s crumpled body, the wife already dialing 911 on her cell phone. Her husband dropped to his knees beside Andy checking him for any signs of life, horrified at what he saw. Andy’s face was already beginning to swell up and he was bleeding heavily. The man’s wife pleaded into the phone for someone to come.
Quickly.