Tallis' Third Tune

by Ellen L. Ekstrom

  “And you.”

  “We had some pretty interesting conversations, didn’t we?”

  “Let’s see; there were books – Lord of the Rings, music – Ralph Vaughan Williams and Jimi Hendrix.”

  “There was love.” Quinn again brushed the hair out of my eyes, which I closed, sensing that his face was near, and waited for his kiss. When I opened them, I was no longer on the train, but sitting on the swing in the back yard of the house where I lived with my brother, Dennis.

  I spun around, unbelieving at first. Calm set in as something deep within me told me it must be. It would be.

  It was a particularly warm day. From the color of the grass and the blown roses, it must have been August, some time in the early evening. Music drifted out of the house, Are You Sitting Comfortably – a favorite song of mine – as did the sound of dishes being taken from the cupboard, the sound of meat sizzling on a grill.

  “Alice! Supper!”

  Dennis’ voice didn’t surprise me at all. I shoved myself off the swing and climbed up the stairs to the back room of our Mediterranean-style house and walked through to the kitchen where Dennis was scooping mashed potatoes on to plates and Harry, his college friend, was spearing steaks off the range for delivery to the table.

  “Uh oh…” Harry hummed, and winked.

  “No drama tonight, okay?” Dennis demanded, leveling the spoon in my direction so that globs of mashed potato fell onto the floor, to be lapped up by my Pomeranian puppy, Sammie.

  “What?” My response was a bit forced and too high in pitch.

  “You’ve got that look – you’re not still moping over that jar-headed jock of a boyfriend, are you? It’s been months,” Dennis grumbled. “C’mon, eat. It takes food to mend a broken heart.”

  I dug in to the mashed potatoes after spooning a bit of margarine on them. A bite and then another, and I said, “Will Parmenter was ages ago. And if you must know, I was thinking about someone else.”

  “Great – more drama!” Harry chuckled.

  “Not funny,” I sniped.

  The telephone in the living room rang and Dennis glared at me, saying, “Dinner hour is for dinner – socializing is for after, with martinis – or in your case, a Shirley Temple,” before he got up to answer it. A moment later he came back and took up where he left off with the meal. “You know, I have to give Louie a call – these are the best steaks he’s had in the shop in a long while. What do you think, Alice? Should we get our Thanksgiving turkey from Louie’s Butcher Shop this year? That was Quinn on the phone, by the way…”

  “Dennis!”

  “…and I told him you were eating and that you’d call him back. Okay?”

  The meal was consumed in the quickest time possible and made me wonder if I’d expired from a heart attack. As I got up from the table, Dennis took my hand gently and pulled me on to his lap.

  “I didn’t say when you’d call him back,” Dennis continued. “Haven’t you used up your phone allowance for the week?”

  “C’mon!” I whined. “Those were calls about the winter play and costume parades and fittings!”

  “You’ve been using the phone way too much and phone bill’s been too high – we can’t afford that right now while I’m trying to get the business off the ground and make some money.”

  “Five minutes – c’mon Denny! It’s been all summer.”

  “If he’s interested, he’ll wait until tomorrow.”

  “Why don’t you get me a phone of my own for Christmas?” I hinted.

  “Why don’t you learn to be patient?”

  “You’re a stinker,” I grumbled, sliding off his lap and heading towards the door. “I’m going to finish the costumes for act two.”

  “Dennis, you really have to stop doing that to the poor girl,” I heard Harry say as I left.

  Once out of the kitchen, I darted as quietly as possible through the dining room that now served as Dennis’ office/studio, skirting past the stacks of books, portfolios, sketchbooks and art supplies both on the floor and on the table, almost knocking over our mother’s dressmaking dummy that now wore one of his suits and a tie. I set it back and stepped respectfully around my mother’s neglected sewing machine cabinet that had been idle for a year now, the pieces to a dress she was making for me still stacked neatly on the platform where she’d left them. Drawing tightly the lengths of tapestry that divided the office and the spacious mission revival living room, I carefully lifted the phone out of its box inside the roll-top desk, cradled the phone in my arms and gently pulled on the length of cord, letting it snake behind the sofa and end table, letting it trail behind me as I went out into the enclosed porch and eased the door shut, but not before grabbing a pillow off the sofa and throwing it into a corner by the potted palm, where I sat knees drawn up to chest with the phone balanced on my stomach. Reaching for my purse on the coat rack, it took some time to find a slip of paper that had been tucked away in an inside pocket at the beginning of summer. I unfolded it carefully as if it were an archeological find and studied the neat, architectural handwriting. Moments passed before I picked up the phone receiver and started to dial. It was odd, watching the rotary disc spin around as each number was selected in turn, no less strange to me than the anticipation I was feeling, the dread and excitement, even though I’d dialed that number almost a thousand times…

  I stretched out and held my breath, waiting for someone to pick up.

  “Uh, hi! Hello, this is Alice, Alice Martin; may I speak with Quinn?”

  Moments passed – dreadful, painful moments – until I heard the receiver click. “Okay, Dad, you can hang up now!” Quinn was shouting, then, into the receiver, “Alice, hi!”

  “Hi! Welcome home,” I greeted.

  “Just got back an hour ago – Dad! Damn it, hang up the phone!”

  I stifled a laugh.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “No, I’m fine – a piece of celery in my throat, from dinner – you know, the threads.”

  “Wow, you should be careful…”

  “How are you? It’s been like forever.”

  “Fine, fine – at least now…So, what did you do this summer?”

  “Not much of anything really, just hung around the house – oh, I’ve been designing more costumes – they asked me to do the winter play.”

  “Wow, how many does that make, three, four? What’s the drama club doing?”

  “A Scottish play.”

  “Which one?”

  “The one with three witches – you’re not supposed to say the name; bad luck.”

  “Too bad it’s not Romeo and Juliet; you know your Italian Renaissance stuff.”

  “Well, technically that’s medieval, the original story, that is.”

  Quinn laughed. “Okay, you won that round. Still, everyone says you’re a great costume designer.”

  “Everyone, huh?”

  “That would include me. Are you thinking about making a career of it? There are schools back east and there’s New York, Broadway.”

  “I want to teach history at the college level – but I guess I could design on the side. My brother’s got connections.”

  Tappa-tap-tap-tap-tappa. Tappa-tap-tap-tap-tappa.

  I listened, trying to figure out the sound. “Quinn? Are you alright?”

  “Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. Hey, I finished ‘Lord of the Rings.’”

  “The whole trilogy?”

  “Wasn’t much to do most nights; lock downs after the auditions and concerts, and there wasn’t anyone to hang out with, so…y’know, when I got to the ‘Return of the King’ I kept thinking of you – as Eowyn.”

  “‘I am no man!’” I quoted from the battle of the Peleannor Fields.

  “Exactly! Yeah! Yeah, great book…”

  “I cried at the end.”

  “You cried?” Quinn was incredulous.

  I put my feet up on the door, wondering what my legs would look like in chain mail. “Well, it was romantic and so moving. I should ge
t some chain mail, what do you think?” I said aloud and regretted it until he spoke up.

  “Uhh…yeah! With a mini skirt! You’d look great with those legs, and, shit, that was really stupid. I don’t know why…”

  “No worries! Okay, didn’t you think it was beautiful and moving? How Frodo and Sam saved Middle Earth? And how Aragorn and Arwen were meant to be together?”

  “Well, yeah, but how many endings does a book need?”

  “If I had written it – one.”

  We laughed and were silent, though I could hear him on the other end of the receiver.

  Tikka-tap, tikka-tap, tikka-tikka-tikka…it was a pencil being tapped on a surface like a drumstick.

  He was on the end of the line – that’s all that mattered.

  “I was wondering – do you want to go to a movie or something?” He asked all of a sudden.

  “Uh, sure! When?”

  “Tonight maybe?”

  “Yeah, okay. Do you want to meet downtown or…”

  “I’ll pick you up.”

  He was silent for another long, tortuous moment, and then, “Okay, well, I’ll see you in an hour?”

  “Okay…I’m looking forward to it, Quinn.”

  Another pause. Why?

  “Yeah, well, okay! See you soon.”

  I slammed down the receiver and did a happy dance that was interrupted by Dennis.

  “Gotcha!” he said, yanking the phone from me. “We can’t afford another fifty dollar phone bill.”

  “I’ll work extra hours at the dress shop and I’ll take on some students for tutoring,” I giggled, dancing past him to the stairs and he played along, doing the Frug and the Chicken behind me up the stairs and down the hallway to my bedroom. “I’ve got a date tonight – with Quinn.” I pushed him back out into the hallway. “I’ll make it up to you – I always do, don’t I? Now go, I have to get ready.”

  “Nothing sexy!” Dennis called over his shoulder as I slammed the bedroom door.

  The closet was full of dresses – my one weakness was clothes – yet I frowned at everything that was taken out and inspected. My favorite, a sleeveless red velvet mini-dress with a high waist and gold brocaded bodice, was bought with three months’ allowance because Olivia Hussey had worn a red velvet dress in Romeo & Juliet, and I’d seen stills from the film in a Scholastic magazine feature earlier that year. I didn’t care that it was too hot for velvet, and slipped it over my head anyway, adjusting the bodice around the strapless bra I’d chosen to wear – the pink lace number I’d bought with lunch money, the one Dennis said I couldn’t have. For a moment I looked at the budding cleavage, and then at the tissue box. No. Boys could tell the difference. Next, I scuffed my feet into a pair of gold sandals. The dirty-dishwater blonde hair was unraveled from its perpetual braid and brushed out so that it was all waves and curls like a Pre-Raphaelite Madonna or angel. For added measure I sprayed a bit of Yardley’s “O! De London” on my neck.

  “There!” I sighed, glancing into the mirror.

  Still, the girl looking back wasn’t what I wanted.

  The eyes were too large and far apart; the hair could never make up its mind to be blonde or brown and settled mostly for taupe unless I was out in the sun, and then it went to the shade of dirty dishwater; the mouth was thin and wide. Someday I hoped I would develop more curves. At least I’d gone up a bra size over the summer, though no one would notice, not even in my low cut red velvet dress. I looked back at the tissue box and sighed. No. It would be too obvious. There was one saving grace to my adolescence: I’d been spared zits. Dennis said I was enchanting and pretty, but he lied. What did he know about girls, especially when all he seemed to attract were pretty boys? I wanted to be stunning, exotic in beauty, the kind that made boys and men walk into telephone poles or trees when I passed by with an air of confidence…

  The doorbell buzzed.

  “I’ll get it!” I shouted in a most unladylike manner and practically threw myself downstairs to get the door before Dennis or Harry. I was too late. Dennis was at the door and was chatting amiably with Quinn, who was dressed in a linen sport coat, a pair of slacks, shirt, and Sperry Topsiders. He was a “Hill Kid” from a family of wealth and privilege and always dressed like he came out of a prep school or Esquire magazine ad.

  “Here she is,” Dennis announced and did a double take in my direction. “My, look at you!”

  “Alice! Oh wow, my favorite dress,” Quinn blurted out and then recovered with a “Hi!” that was too forced and boisterous.

  “Hi! You look great yourself.”

  “I thought I was too dressed up, but seeing you…”

  “Can’t wait for the prom next year!” Dennis crowed. “Let me get the camera!”

  “Shall we go?” I pleaded, desperate to get away.

  “Behave!” Harry called as I slammed the screen door in his face and Quinn and I scrambled down the stairs to the street.

  “I like Dennis,” Quinn laughed as we turned left up Rose Street and walked to Oxford.

  “He’s annoying,” I grumbled.

  “He’s your brother – aren’t brothers supposed to be annoying? My mother did the same thing when I left the house. Sometimes I wish I had a brother – at least you can sucker punch a brother.”

  “Didn’t you say your father’s musical instruments have a room of their own?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, think of them as brothers and sisters.”

  “So my guitar and cello would be their nephew and niece?”

  “I guess,” I said, adding, “and that would definitely make your family as strange as mine – maybe stranger.”

  We both laughed at this as we followed the perimeter of the university en route to the movie theater on Addison and talked about his “family” of musical instruments and the acoustic guitar his mother had given him for his birthday, the auditions for orchestra chairs and how he spent part of the summer with his grandmother in York, England. From there we discussed the costume designs I was working on, the collection of short stories I was writing, and what classes we were going to take in the fall.

  The noise of a crowd made us stop short when we stopped at Oxford and Center.

  A cadre of National Guardsmen had arrived in Jeeps and was taking up position near the entrance to the stadium. A band of protesters taunted them, waving anti-war signs. Someone was burning a flag. Police sirens started to wail as the Guardsmen moved into formation.

  “Oh wow,” I sighed. “The last time this happened I almost wound up in the hospital…”

  “Why?” Quinn’s voice had a sharp edge to it.

  “The tear gas – I was walking home from school and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. A few of us were going to the library to study but we saw the protesters and wanted to join them. The Guardsmen threw canisters just as we walked past and the fumes burned my eyes and throat. I thought Dennis and my mother were going to kill me.”

  “Why? It wasn’t your fault. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea – damn, tear gas! C’mon,” Quinn grabbed my hand and we took a sharp right towards Kittredge, pushing against the crowd coming at us from downtown to join the protest. “We can go over to the U.A. Theatre – it’s playing there,” he said, quickening the pace. A handkerchief came out of his pocket and he thrust it towards me. “Just in case – I don’t want our first date to be in the emergency room.”

  I glanced up at Quinn and he winked.

  We skirted by J.C. Penney’s, Hink’s and the public library, and as we approached the box office he relaxed the death grip on my hand, but didn’t let go.

  “Thanks,” I murmured, handing back the handkerchief. I craned to look up, hoping for a smile. Quinn had grown a foot taller over the summer. He looked older, and the grim set of his jaw and eyes made him look formidable, though it was hard to believe a boy as gentle as Quinn Radcliffe was someone to be reckoned with.

  “Don’t they know it won’t do any good? They just keep sending people over there to di
e,” he muttered, shoving the handkerchief back in his pocket.

  “Sorry?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I hope you don’t get drafted.”

  “That makes two of us.” Quinn glanced down and smiled. “That really is my favorite dress.”

  “Is it? Thanks.”

  “You know what movie we’re seeing, don’t you?”

  A line was forming at the box office and so I saved our places in line while Quinn went across the street to Edy’s Ice Cream Parlor. He came back breathlessly and handed off a strawberry cone. “My favorite!” I gushed.

  “Yeah, the school cafeteria – you always seem to go for the strawberries,” he remarked.

  “I thought you ate lunch in the band room with the orchestra kids.”

  “Part of the time, but I mostly sit in the back of the cafeteria and work on compositions. The noise actually helps; it’s called white noise – like a TV when the station signs off, it blocks out everything and helps me concentrate.”

  “You watch me go for strawberries, huh?”

  “I’m not a Peeping Tom or following you around or anything like that, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Quinn blurted out nervously. “I hope you don’t think…”

  “I’m teasing you, Quinn!” I laughed. “It’s okay if I tease you? I’m the type of girl that if I don’t tease or try to make you laugh, you better worry.”

  “You’re the only interesting girl in the school. That’s why I noticed you at first. Other guys did, too. I heard them talking. You don’t draw attention to yourself; there’s something about you, well…”

  “Thank you,” I whispered, touching his arm and smiling up at him.

  “And then there’s the smile,” he said now.

  There wasn’t much more I could say. I brushed the hair off my face and glanced at Quinn from time to time as we moved slowly in the long queue that had snaked down Shattuck to Kittredge and around the corner, with more people arriving as the show times approached for this, the most talked-about movie of the year.

  “Hey, is that…?”

  I looked where Quinn was gesturing with his chin.

  It was!

  My ex-boyfriend Will had joined the line with his latest, Amber Lynne Smollers, the sister of Quinn’s rival in just about everything. I looked away but not soon enough. Will hailed me with a wave, a stupid grin.