by Gerald Elias
‘Sí, that’s me.’
‘Hello. I’m Tallulah Dominguez.’
The name didn’t register at first.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jacobus said, finally remembering. ‘You’re the pianist performing with Yumi.’
‘That’s right. I’d like to introduce you to my friend, Alonzo Sumter. He’s head of the jazz department.’
Jacobus put his plate on his lap and extended his right hand. It was shaken twice, first by Dominguez, then by Sumter.
‘In a relationship?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Yes! How could you know that?’ Dominguez said.
‘You’re standing to his left and you shook my hand with your left hand. He shook my hand with his right. Why would that be? I’d guess it’s because the two of you are holding hands – your right, his left. So, married or a relationship? I didn’t feel a ring on either of your hands so I guessed relationship, though I can’t be sure since a lot of musicians abstain from wearing rings because it could interfere with one’s playing. That’s why I asked.’
‘Anything else you learned?’ Sumter asked. His voice had a rich African American resonance, not much different from Nathaniel’s, though a slightly higher register. Much younger, too.
‘You play guitar?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Yes!’ Sumter said, surprise in his voice. ‘Do you know me?’
‘No. Never heard of you. But you have long nails on your right hand, and there aren’t too many other instruments where long nails are an advantage. I considered the possibility that you might be gay, but since gay people don’t necessarily grow their nails any longer or shorter than anyone else and I already figured you had a relationship with the young lady, I concluded it was that you played guitar.’
‘Cool!’ Sumter said. ‘Very cool. We were at your masterclass last week.’
‘Oh?’ Jacobus readied himself for the barrage.
‘We thought your comments were right on,’ Sumter said.
‘Really.’
‘Of course,’ Dominguez continued. ‘The standards here are going to hell. Everyone rests on their laurels—’
‘And their asses,’ Sumter interjected.
‘No one cares anymore. The old guard—’
‘No one?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Well, of course, some people care,’ Dominguez replied. ‘Alonzo is trying to build a jazz department here, and you would think he’d get some support. After all, not all great music is from DWEMs.’
‘DWEMs?’
‘Dead, white European males.’
‘I see.’
‘Alonzo applied for a Caldwell grant from the Conservatory for three years straight to have a Piazzolla festival. He wanted to do Piazzolla’s Four Seasons along with Vivaldi’s. Don’t you think that’s a great idea? They turned him down each time. And you know why?’
‘No. Why?’
‘Because,’ Sumter said, ‘the so-called experts on the committee who control the purse strings are the entrenched interests. Guys like Handy and Evans—’
‘I know Handy. Haven’t had the pleasure of Evans.’
‘Theory department,’ Dominguez said.
‘Teaching about DWEMs?’
‘See! You understand already,’ she said. ‘They have lost their passion, if they ever had it.’
‘Dunster, too,’ Sumter added.
Ah! Jacobus began to understand more clearly.
‘Let me guess. He’s on the grant committee, too.’
‘Yes, he is,’ Dominguez said. ‘And that’s why what you said at the class was so important. They don’t insist their students study even the most elementary— Oh, I can’t even talk about it, it gets me so upset.’
‘If you don’t hold those guys’ feet to the fire,’ Sumter added, ‘this whole school will go down the tubes.’
‘Time to get rid of some dead wood?’ Jacobus postulated.
‘They might not have told you this because they don’t want it to get out, but Elwood has focal dystonia. He can’t even play anymore, his hands shake so bad.’
Jacobus recalled Schlossberg at the party telling Audrey Rollins to clean up the mess that Dunster created when he had dropped his plate. He was sympathetic. When it came to playing an instrument, focal dystonia was worse than blindness.
‘People have to retire sooner or later,’ Sumter continued. ‘Right?’
‘For the good of the school,’ Jacobus said, unsure if he was being sarcastic.
Jacobus heard a familiar voice in the background noise of conversation. It was a voice at once glib and pompous, and, like a busybody in-law one hadn’t seen for years, it was no longer totally unwelcome.
‘Absolutely,’ Dominguez replied.
‘Excuse me, folks,’ Jacobus said. ‘But my hot pastrami is starting to congeal.’
‘Of course,’ Sumter said. ‘It was a pleasure meeting someone …’
‘Someone who understands,’ Dominguez completed.
And then she kissed Jacobus on the cheek. Both cheeks! Maybe it was his lucky day.
Jacobus knew the voice in the crowd would find him eventually. He popped a thin slice of meat into his mouth not knowing exactly what it was. Tongue! As he swallowed it he conjectured that it tasted him while he was tasting it.
‘Ah, Mr Jacobus! What a dubious pleasure to see you again.’
‘Lilburn! I was just eating tongue. Apparently you’ve still got yours flapping around. I thought the Times put you out to pasture.’
‘In a sense, Jacobus. But I must say, this grazing is not unpleasant in the least.’
‘Help yourself, Lilburn, and then let’s talk.’
Jacobus held out his plate.
‘Throw a bialy on this for me. With butter.’
When Lilburn returned, he handed Jacobus his plate back and pulled up a chair.
‘What took so long?’ Jacobus asked.
‘I fought hard for this bialy, Mr Jacobus. It was the last one, and I practically had to wrestle the rabbi for it.’
‘That’ll make it doubly enjoyable,’ Jacobus said. ‘So tell me, what brings you all the way from New York City to the bucolic hinterland?’
‘The Times sent me here,’ he said, ‘to cover Schlossberg’s funeral and do a retrospective piece.’
‘I’m sure that’ll sell a lot of papers.’
‘Think what you might,’ Lilburn said, ‘but Aaron Schlossberg was on the verge of becoming a giant in the music world.’
‘Among midgets, a child is a giant,’ Jacobus replied.
‘How literary of you, Jacobus! May I use that in my piece?’
‘Only if you give me a free copy.’
‘Some things don’t change, do they?’ Lilburn said.
‘I want you to help me,’ Jacobus said.
‘Thus confirming my comment.’
‘I’ll remember you ever said that. This is what I need you to do: As you do your piece on the dearly departed demi-giant, I want you to ask around – discreetly – to find out as much as you can about how he died.’
‘Complications from his diabetes. It was in all the papers.’
‘So they say.’
‘Do you have any reason to doubt that?’
Jacobus could sense Lilburn’s antennae go up. Though he had been the well-researched if sometime patronizing music critic of the Times for decades, his hidden passion was for investigative journalism, and he had a nose for it. Jacobus explained his so far, modest qualms.
‘I don’t think there’s anything there, Jacobus,’ Lilburn said, evidently disappointed. ‘And once I finish this piece I have a looming deadline to complete my memoir.’
‘Don’t worry, Lilburn. I’ll buy both copies. In the meantime, just do your Woodward and Bernstein thing and keep me abreast.’
‘I suppose it won’t do any harm, and maybe, as with Mozart’s death, a bit of doubt over the cause of his demise will add some intrigue to the story.’
‘You think the notion that Salieri poisoned Mozart has any legs?’
&nbs
p; Lilburn laughed. ‘I think that tall tale has been disproven time and again by the experts. You don’t believe it, do you?’
‘Not a bit. But as far as Aaron Schlossberg’s concerned, let’s not assume we know who the experts are.’
NINE
‘Here comes Yumi,’ Jacobus continued.
‘Egad, Jacobus!’ Lilburn said. ‘How could you know that? With this crowd milling about, there’s no way you could have heard her coming.’
‘Would you believe me if I told you I can sense the aura of my dear former student, even when she’s miles away? A karmic connection, as it were?’
‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’
‘Don’t be an idiot, Lilburn. It’s that flowery soap she uses I smelled all the way up the Taconic Parkway. The damn stuff makes me wheeze. Karmic connection! Jesus, Lilburn.’
‘Mr Lilburn!’ Yumi said, joining them. ‘So good to see you. You look a bit flushed. Are you feeling all right?’
‘Ah, Miss Shinagawa!’ Lilburn responded. ‘No, I’m fine. Just fine. Your mentor was just explaining his … his …’
‘No need to explain,’ Yumi said. ‘I can imagine. Can I get you a glass of wine?’
‘No, thanks. Still on the wagon. Coffee would be wonderful, though.’
When Yumi returned with the coffee, she said, ‘I never had a chance to thank you for your kind review.’
‘Don’t thank me,’ Lilburn said. ‘It was one of the best recordings of the Four Seasons I’ve heard in a long time.’
Jacobus intervened. ‘Before you start kissing each other’s asses, tell us what you found out about the party last week.’
Yumi hesitated.
‘Don’t worry,’ Jacobus assured her. ‘I’ve explained to Lilburn that I think things are even less kosher than the corned beef.’
‘I wish I had something more interesting than the usual campus gossip to report.’
‘I wish you did, too,’ said Jacobus.
‘I’d be interested, too,’ Lilburn said. ‘It might help fill out my Times piece.’
‘Well, of course everyone was talking about the food poisoning last week,’ Yumi said, ‘trying to outdo each other with who had the worst symptoms.’
‘Took away your appetite, did it?’ Jacobus quipped.
‘Yes. I can’t look at food now without feeling queasy.’
‘Your loss.’
‘But everyone’s recovered. So that’s the good news.’
‘What’s the bad news?’
‘Nothing out of the ordinary. There are two music theory teachers, Gunter Braun and Tanner Evans. They’re at each other’s throats, as always. Gunter is a Schenkerian and Tanner is a Pistonian.’
‘Are they really?’ Lilburn said thoughtfully. ‘Yes, I at least know Walter Piston’s work,’ Lilburn said, ‘because he was more of a composer. He taught at Harvard and only passed away ten or so years ago. He had some pretty famous students, like Bernstein and Carter.’
‘Then you should know Heinrich Schenker was a German music theorist,’ Jacobus answered for Yumi. ‘My parents knew him, and it’s possible I even met him when I was a kid. He developed a philosophy that music is primarily a melodic, linear phenomenon. He thought all tonal music was supported by a few basic harmonic pillars from which greater and greater contrapuntal detail emerges. Piston, on the other hand, had a more vertical approach to music theory. That music tended to follow harmonic chord patterns.’
‘Yes, yes. Long ago, in a different life, when I was a music student we all studied Piston harmony. Numbering chords according to their relationships was homework from hell, but after a while that turned out to be helpful.’
‘Apparently Gunter and Tanner don’t share an inclusive viewpoint,’ Jacobus said.
‘I guess not,’ Yumi laughed, ‘but they have one thing in common. They both agree that performers are the dregs of the earth. That we’re just car mechanics who don’t understand anything about music. But they were very polite telling me so.’
‘What else?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Not much. Dante Millefiori—’
‘The conservatory orchestra conductor?’ Lilburn asked.
‘That’s right,’ Yumi replied. ‘He was holding court with Sybil and Lisette Broder – the staff accompanist – and Connie Jean—’
‘Who’s Connie Jean?’ Jacobus asked.
‘Connie Jean Hawkins. She’s Dean Hedge’s secretary. She makes his appointments, files all the grades, and supervises all the scheduling. You can’t get a room to rehearse in without going through Connie Jean.’
‘What did she have to say?’
‘Not much, because Dante did all the talking, as usual. Somehow he was able to go from complaining about spending the night in the hospital to proclaiming that if not for him, Aaron Schlossberg would never have become so famous.’
‘Why does he think that?’ Lilburn asked.
‘Because Dante premiered a lot of Schlossberg’s compositions and was able to take the conservatory orchestra on international tours, with Schlossberg’s music on the programs.’
‘I might think,’ Lilburn interposed, ‘that it was the other way round. That if not for Schlossberg’s music, this Millefiori fellow would never have been able to get tour funding and would be a nonentity.’
‘That’s exactly what Sybil said. She was upset that Dante would be so arrogant on an occasion like this, while she’s mourning her husband’s death.’
‘When all is said and done,’ Lilburn said, ‘he’s nothing more than a student orchestra conductor!’
‘You should have a talk with him then. He was saying that it takes more genius to conduct students than a professional orchestra, because—’
‘Whatever,’ Jacobus interrupted. ‘It sounds like he’s perfected his spiel. Give the man credit for the gift of self-promotion. He’d probably make more money as a motivational speaker than as a musician. But it doesn’t sound like he’ll benefit from Schlossberg’s death whether he’s the chicken or the egg. Was that other conductor, Tawroszewicz, there with him? He and Sybil are as friendly with each other as a mongoose and a cobra.’
‘I haven’t seen him anywhere today. But that’s not necessarily a big deal. Shivah goes on for a whole week.’
‘Really, Rabbi Shinagawa? Remind me again when it was you received your ordination. Tell me, was there anyone else whose presence or absence might not be a big deal?’
‘The only other people I spoke to were Dean Hedge, who was sitting in a group with Elwood Dunster, Dolly Cooney, and a man in a business suit who I didn’t recognize.’
‘Dunster, the violin professor, and Cooney of the Venerable Bead fortune?’ Lilburn asked.
‘Yes, that’s right,’ Yumi replied.
Jacobus could hear him scribbling on a pad.
‘Horrid play on words, Venerable Bead,’ Lilburn muttered. ‘Surprised she ever made a dime.’
Yumi continued, ‘They were all huddled together when I approached them and looked taken aback when they noticed me. But Dean Hedge was very polite and introduced me to Dolly Cooney, who I’d never met, and to the gentleman, who’s the director of the local hospital and a conservatory trustee.’
‘Did you catch his name?’ Lilburn asked.
‘A Dr Pine. Louis Pine.’
‘Was he Schlossberg’s doctor?’ Jacobus asked.
‘I asked him that. He gave me a big smile and said, no, he doesn’t practice anymore. He just run things now, he said. They all thought that was very funny.’
‘And the name of the hospital?’ Lilburn asked.
Yumi laughed. ‘That’s an easy one to remember. The Dolly Cooney Medical Center.’
Jacobus stopped chewing his bialy. He said, ‘Were there a man and a woman with them who might have looked like brother and sister?’
‘You mean the Feldsteins?’ Yumi asked.
‘Yeah. Dunster said he had invited Eli and Eve, Hiram’s progeny, for Hedge to shake down for ninety-million dollars.’
‘
No, they weren’t with that group.’
‘What do they look like?’ Lilburn asked.
‘Why do people always ask me that dumb question?’ Jacobus said.
‘Why do you assume people are talking to you?’ Lilburn responded.
‘I’ve never met them,’ Yumi said, ‘but I did see a couple here who were also at the masterclass. They were dressed like they were trying not to look rich and they did look pretty Jewish.’ Yumi apparently realized she had just said something tactless, as she added, ‘at least among us goyim.’
But Jacobus’s thoughts had already drifted from ethnic profiling back to the group that Yumi had interrupted.
‘I think we need to take this conversation outside. I know just the place.’
Jacobus led them to the stand of maples behind the veranda where he had hidden from Sybil Baker-Hulme the week before.
‘Why all the cloak-and-dagger?’ Lilburn asked. ‘There are mosquitoes out here.’
Jacobus ignored him.
‘What were they talking about?’ Jacobus asked Yumi.
‘The Feldsteins?’
‘No, the Cooney cluster.’
‘Mainly about how much Aaron Schlossberg would be missed. What a great man he was. How much he did for the conservatory. You know, things that would be appropriate for the occasion.’
‘You mean the customary bullshit,’ Jacobus said.
‘Yes, that’s accurate,’ Yumi replied.
‘I assume that’s after they noticed you. Did you hear what were they talking about before that?’
‘No. The sound is too live in that room. It’s all a wash. All I can say is that they seemed … concerned about something.’
‘The food poisoning incident,’ Lilburn said. ‘This Dr Pine is a doctor, after all. Maybe they’re worried about medical expenses, or legal action. Or, perish the thought, maybe even about people’s health!’
Jacobus heard Lilburn slap at a mosquito.
‘Possible. But that’s over and done with,’ Jacobus said. ‘The more recent incident is Aaron Schlossberg found dead slumped over a piano keyboard.’
It began to drizzle.
‘I think we’d better go inside,’ Lilburn said.
‘You’re some Boy Scout,’ Jacobus said. ‘OK.’
They took a step toward the house.
