In Harmony

by JN Welsh

  “Boombox,” he stated.

  “Hello, Tommy? It’s Nyah. Nyah Monroe.”

  He cleared his throat free of the grain of rice lodged there, because if he thought of the last person on earth he’d expected to hear from, Nyah Monroe would be it. “Well, hello. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”

  “I didn’t expect to call you.” The distinctive rasp on her melodic voice was less snarky than the night they’d reacquainted at Rebel, but not by much.

  Silence.

  “Okay.” This is how we’re going to play this? “What can I do for you?” he finally asked.

  “There’s this thing.” Her sigh weighed heavier than his mother’s biggest cast-iron pot. “I...need some help.”

  “Thing?” He set the fork down, surprised that her conversation had become more important than his mom’s cooking. Nyah didn’t give off the “I need help” kind of vibe. If she asked for it, then he was interested.

  “An agent thing,” she confessed.

  His curiosity bubbled. “I thought you didn’t want an agent.”

  “I don’t,” she stated. She seemed not to know how asking for help worked.

  He leaned on the backrest of his chair. “And you’re calling me, why?”

  “Because I need an agent. There’s a gig I’m trying to get, but they won’t let in unagented talent.” She sounded in a bind but he’d be a fool not to enjoy this.

  “So you need me,” he returned.

  She gave him that bottom-of-the-pot exasperation again. “I need an agent.”

  The last time he’d seen her, she rebuffed him so hard the black and blue bruises on his ego remained. What had changed? He half thought to ask her if she’d grown up yet, but no sense in poking the bear. “Well, how about we discuss this over lunch. I’m in the middle of dinner, and I actually have a couple of meetings in the city tomorrow that I need to prepare for.”

  “Lunch is tough.”

  “Breakfast?”

  She hissed. “I’m working.

  “Wanna help me out here?”

  “How about coffee tomorrow afternoon?”

  “I’m booked.”

  They went back and forth several more times, consulting calendars to the point where he questioned whether they’d find a time that worked for them both.

  “How about Tuesday at two p.m.?” Nyah offered.

  He double-and tripled-checked his schedule. “That works. Where do you want to meet?” He waited several seconds too long for her response. “That wasn’t supposed to be a trick question.”

  “David Geffen Hall,” she said at last. “There’s a cafe. I’ll meet you there.”

  “At Lincoln Center?” That’s an unexpected location.

  “Yeah, well, now that you know you’re going to a fancier place, get your etiquette credentials in order.”

  “You’re funny.”

  “I’ll see you on Tuesday.” She hung up before he could offer any departing words. Her request for him as an agent had a story attached and his anticipation in getting the details was almost as potent as his desire to see her again.

  * * *

  Tommy passed the iconic Revson Fountain at Lincoln Center. Curiosity as to why Nyah had picked this location piqued. It was sentimental to him, like it was for many New Yorkers, as a cultural hub for the arts. Ballet, opera, and orchestra could all be found here. The location housed various events, including Midsummer Night’s Swing and Jazz at Lincoln Center. He’d taken a date here once to show her his dance moves but the woman had been versed in all the Latin dances and spun circles around him, putting his roots to shame.

  He showed up, with almost an hour to spare, in an attempt to beat the school bus traffic. With ample time on his hands, he decided to entertain himself in the hall before heading to the cafe to perhaps check his emails, make a call or two, and close a few deals. He heard music coming from the concert hall and the tune of instruments merging together into a piece drew him. An usher dressed in black stood just outside.

  “Is there a performance?” Tommy asked as he approached.

  “Practice for the philharmonic performance tonight,” the usher explained.

  “Mind if I go in? I’m waiting for someone and it would be a nice way to pass the time.”

  “You need a ticket. You might be able to get one at the box office if you like. It would still be valid until practice is over.”

  “Can I do it online? Here?” Tommy pulled out his phone, fingers at the ready.

  “‘Fraid not. This session is no longer available on the website, but the box office is just outside to left.”

  Tommy thought it over.

  “It’s worth it,” the usher said. “Someone from the London Symphony is visiting and there are a few solo performances being done at the end. It’s a real treat.”

  “Yeah? Do you know who?” Not that Tommy would know anyone, but he might.

  “Principal percussionist Gladys Yeh and double bassist Nyah Monroe.”

  She still performed as a classical musician? And deejayed? The plot fucking thickens.

  “I’ll be right back.” He’d seen Queen Roe in action at Rebel. To get the full picture of who he wanted to represent, he wanted to see her on this stage, too.

  He trotted to the box office to get a ticket, which was no small feat since the attendant expressed major qualms about selling him a ticket for a practice that had less than an hour left. With some convincing and his sales pitch about how the arts deserved every dollar, along with prayer hands and a plea, she sold him the ticket.

  He hurried back to the concert hall and the usher let him in when the music paused. An almost full house greeted him. This is a rehearsal session? A few people exited, and because it was general admission, he found a middle seat on the right-hand side where he could see the bassists. The performers dressed casually and he half expected to see Nyah in Afro puffs and pum pum shorts. Instead her charcoal dress hit her knee with a bright red shirt layered underneath. The sleeves were rolled up to accent the dress but she pushed them up above her elbows. A black obi belt, wrapped twice around her narrow waist, made her outfit and slim body even more elegant. She wasn’t hiding behind heart-shaped sunglasses. The stage lights made her, and all its occupants, visible. If he hadn’t admitted it to himself before, there was no denying it now. No matter what arena she played, Nyah’s beauty and stage presence couldn’t be ignored.

  The conductor commanded the musicians’ attention and offered suggestions, which they all listened to with reverence, taking notes and repeating phrases. The exquisite pieces soothed him and he hadn’t even known he needed to be soothed.

  Soon activity broke out on the stage and a pianist sat at her instrument and Nyah came forward with her bass. A videographer stood poised to capture the performance and a photographer snapped photos. Tommy thought it apropos that both Queen Roe and Nyah Monroe attracted celebrity treatment.

  The pianist played an introduction before Nyah began. Her bow glided over the stings, producing a key so pleasant it hurt. To watch and hear her awakened all his senses. He inhaled as if he’d stepped out into a fine fresh day. Rosin, maple and steel mixed with the age of seat cushions and carpet in the hall. The people who remained breathed less and slower as if to experience every note and nuance played. Magnificent. She was a female version of Orpheus, charming him effortlessly. He wished his aunt could hear this. Tia Carmen hadn’t loved classical music specifically but she loved any music that sounded beautiful and Nyah’s playing was exactly that. His vision blurred, then a heavy droplet fell to his cheek and he tapped the spot to be sure it was real. He swallowed and blinked his eyes dry. Half of him wanted to leave the concert hall to give his brain a moment to catch up, but the other part was riveted.

  When she finished the audience broke into applause. A woman stood up in the front row and spoke.

 
“A very nice version of the piece, Nyah. I’d like to see you take a bit more risk on the middle phrase—” the woman sang the notes “—and instead of a steady bow, work with varying tension.” The woman again sang the demonstration, but lost him when she went on to chat about perfect fifths and diminished notes. This time Nyah’s bow stroked softly, and then the sound grew louder, taking the phrase from wow to perfection. Watching this was better than binge watching a series on Netflix.

  “Lovely.” The woman clapped. Whoever this woman was, she knew her shit, and Nyah, though professional, nodded like a nervous performer wanting to please. “Wonderful. Thank you, Nyah. I look forward to your London symphony application.” The woman turned to someone behind the scenes. “I’m ready for Gladys.”

  Tommy felt like he’d just witnessed a mic drop moment, not for Nyah but for him. Did she plan on trading in her New York citizenship for London? He’d seen what he wanted to see and so he used the pause in performances to head out.

  “Did you enjoy the performances?” the usher asked.

  “More than you know. Thank you for the recommendation.” Tommy headed for the cafe and settled down from the magical moment he’d just witnessed, readying for his lunch date with Nyah. He sat at a table in view of the iconic fountain and waited.

  Twenty minutes later, Nyah approached him with confidence that increased with each step, as if she recaptured it on her way from her critique experience in her hall. That she slipped so easily back into the command she showed onstage as Queen Roe roused him at his core. She waved to someone before her eyes found him. “Hello, Tommy.”

  “Hello.” He rose to his feet and shook her hand. “How are you?”

  “I’m good.” She sat down and crossed her long legs, then wrapped her ankle around her calf and tucked the whole thing to the side. He checked his fantasies from imagining what other ways she could demonstrate such flexibility.

  “Can I get you something?” she asked. He might have taken her formal greeting personally had he not just witnessed her give what appeared to be a high-stress audition.

  “Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” He sat on the edge of his seat.

  “I invited you. It only seems fair.” She folded her hands over her lap, her fingers hanging over the hem of her dress.

  “How about you let me get you a coffee?”

  She shrugged. “I’m capable of ordering.”

  “I don’t doubt that. Would you like anything else?”

  She leaned slightly against her backrest. “Chicken salad on a lightly toasted croissant with lettuce and tomato. It’s my Tuesday usual. Do you need to write that down?”

  He pinched the material of his slacks at the thighs and tugged them down to smooth his look. “I think I can handle it.”

  “And instead of a regular coffee, I’ll take a cappuccino. I’m back on caffeine today.”

  He adjusted his glasses, which had slid down slightly. “Were you off it before?”

  “Only on Sundays, but I extended it to Monday. I’m kind of feenin’.”

  He arched a brow. “Any other adjustments I need to make?”

  She shook her head and grinned. “That will be all.”

  He placed his orders with the barista and waited for their coffees. In the distance he saw Nyah focused on her hands. She pressed her fingertips together like they were puppets talking to each other. In his opinion, she’d played a masterpiece on that bass. Surely her hands paid the price. He returned with their drink orders, a cappuccino for her and an espresso for him. “Someone will bring over our food.”

  “Great. Thanks.” She brought the cream-colored mug to her lips and blew before taking a quick sip.

  He set the demitasse and saucer on the table. “So...classical bassist, huh?”

  She gave him a quizzical look.

  “I was inside during rehearsals and saw your solo.”

  “You did what?” Her light skin crimsoned over and she’d leaned so far forward he thought she’d either spill her coffee or fall off the chair.

  “Wow. You’re all kinds of red.” He sunk his teeth into his lower lip to tamp down his amusement.

  “How long have you been here? I didn’t expect you to come here in time for rehearsals. You had to be really early.”

  “Forty minutes, to be exact. You were outstanding.”

  “I did okay.”

  “I’ll make a note that okay equals amazing in Nyahnics.” That drew a smile, and he monitored the little jump his heart made in his chest.

  “Whatever.” She waved a hand. “Can we talk business now?”

  “Sure.”

  “Have you ever heard of Artistique?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it’s an art installation festival and features a few music genres. I’ve never been but I hear it’s pretty cool.” His client list played a few other eclectic festivals but Artistique’s smaller scale wasn’t up their alley. His artists wanted big spots.

  “I really want to play there and the creative director really liked my submission. However, they don’t take unagented talent anymore. See where I’m going with this?” Her sleeves had slipped down to three-quarters and she pushed them above her elbows again.

  “So you need an agent.” He sweetened his espresso with half of a sugar stick and stirred.

  “I don’t need an agent, per se. I just need someone who is an agent to submit for me.”

  “So you need an agent. More specifically you need me to be your agent. The only way that can happen is if you’re my client. My real client.”

  “Yeah, but like I said...”

  “Let me stop you there.” He didn’t bother to hold up a hand. She wanted to talk business and that’s what he’d give her. “My profession is agenting. I don’t take what I do, or my reputation, lightly. So when people hear that Boombox is representing an artist, they expect a level of excellence.”

  “You’ve seen me perform. It’s not like if you represent me on this that I’m going to be a trash performer. I just want you for this one thing.” She tapped the fuller part of her bottom lip. “Like a la carte.”

  “No. That’s not how this works? I have a short list. If you qualify—”

  She gasped. “Qualify? At the club you were all like I want you to be my client and shit.”

  He did but he needed to keep the upper hand, because Nyah had no idea how many cards she held. He didn’t want to wait until she found out. “That was then. This is now. You need me. So the next thing we need to do is identify our terms.”

  She scoffed, huffed, and blew air out her nose all at the same time. “This kind of sucks.”

  “I can bet that coffee and probably something like Red Bull are staples in your diet just so you can get through your gigs.”

  “How?”

  “I know you’re tired and I think you might need more than a planner at this point. I didn’t realize that you were managing a whole other career in addition to deejaying.”

  “Well...”

  “According to the usher there is a Friday night performance and then you perform at Rebel afterward, only to practice on Saturday for a Saturday night performance?”

  She gulped her coffee. “When you put it like that it sounds pretty bad but I love both careers.”

  “Then get some help managing them, so that you can do them well. I can help and I know an entertainment company that can help you.”

  “You mean Wallace Entertainment, don’t you?” She mentioned the company like a curse word.

  “Why not? I’ve worked with them in the past and—”

  “Not interested.”

  “You haven’t even given me a chance to give you any details about working with them.” He wanted to huff and puff, too. “Despite what you may have heard, or your preconceived notions about the company, I can assure you that they have some great people who can really h
elp you.”

  “I don’t doubt it, Tommy. I just... I really don’t want a team like that. I want to keep my contacts to a few people who can organize my two worlds.”

  “So you do need help?” He needed her to admit it in order to be of any use to her.

  “I guess,” she mumbled.

  He squinted through his lenses to try to identify her resistance. “Why don’t you want to admit you need help?”

  She seemed at a loss and he wasn’t about to push now, when she at least seemed pliable to the idea of having him agent her. He didn’t get the chance to think more about it when a pretty woman who looked mixed walked by with a very white-looking man trailing her. The woman almost looked like she tried to shoo him away before she spotted Nyah. Her face brightened and her mouth crept into mischief.

  “Hey, Nyah,” the woman said. Her tone spoke volumes that only a true friend could decipher.

  Nyah jumped out of her seat. “Hey.” Her breathlessness made his lungs ache. “I stayed for your session with CeCe. You were on it. How’d you think you did?”

  “It went well, I think, but you? You made me cry,” her friend said.

  He could relate.

  “Well, she had critiques so...” Nyah’s humility was admirable but quite unnecessary.

  “That’s why she had corrections. She can make you greater than you thought you could ever be. I really want to work with her.” The woman’s wide-set eyes gave away her Japanese descent, but her skin was closer to Nyah’s.

  Tommy cleared his throat.

  “Oh, sorry. Tommy, this is my friend Gladys, principal percussionist.” Nyah frowned over Gladys’s shoulder. “And this is Evan, a violinist.”

  Tommy stood and shook Gladys’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He turned to Evan and did the same.

  Gladys’s eyes rinsed him like an overhead rain shower. “Is this the guy you’ve been jetting out after practice for?”

  Nyah’s cheeks flared and she scrolled through the number of choice reasons to offer her friend that would explain Tommy’s presence. When Nyah chuckled he assumed that she was either hiding something or needed to allow her friends to think they were dating. No matter the cause, he was up for the game and rolled with it.