“I’m asking you if you’d like to learn it. This is a version for just a solo clarinet and a piano. I already know the piano part.”
“Wouldn’t it be kind of a waste of your time, then?”
“Performing with you? I don’t see that as a waste. I think it would be fun.”
Dean took a long time to think about it before responding, “Okay. Sure. I’ve always wanted to learn this piece.”
“Then take it home and give it a try.”
Dean let out a puff of breath and glanced up at the clock. “I should get going.”
Aiden escorted him back through the kitchen, and they kissed at the door…. Then they made out at the door. At last Dean growled and said, “All right, this time I’m really leaving.”
Aiden looked down into his soft brown eyes. “Will I see you tomorrow?”
“Count on it.”
Aiden gave him a final kiss good night and watched him head out to his truck. This idea of taking it slow wasn’t going to last long, he knew. At the rate they were going, they’d probably end up in bed together tomorrow night.
What am I doing?
It wasn’t that he didn’t like Dean. He liked him a lot. As in… a lot. But was stirring things up between them a good idea? He’d been desperate to escape Springhaven when he was a teenager. Was he really ready to give up on his career and settle down there for good? The last thing Aiden wanted to do was hurt Dean—again.
Chapter Seventeen
“I SPOKE to my friend in South Berwick,” Tom Batchelder told Dean the moment he entered the store. “I’ll talk to you about it when I’m done with these customers.”
Dean could only assume Tom meant the luthier he’d mentioned a few days ago. He waited patiently while Tom assisted Mrs. Brown and her son as they looked over saxophones for him to play in the high school band.
Hey, kid! If you can learn to play “Laura” on that thing in three weeks, I might have a gig for you….
Dean yawned as he trailed his fingers over the keys of a used Yamaha electric grand. He’d stayed up way too late last night. By the time he’d pulled into his driveway, it had been past eleven, and he hadn’t gone straight to bed like he should have. He’d taken his clarinet out and spent two hours struggling with Mozart’s clarinet concerto. The first part—what Dean believed was called the “A section” in musical terminology—was fairly straightforward and very beautiful. But when he got to the B section, it got harder. A lot harder. Not impossible. Dean was fairly certain he could learn it, and at least manage to hit the notes, if not elegantly. But it would take some practice. Fortunately, the third section was mostly a reiteration of the A section, though it got a bit fancy at the end.
But he shouldn’t have stayed up that late. He was half-asleep today.
At last Tom sent the boy away with a used sax that was shiny enough to please him, while still being cheap enough to please his mother. The bell above the door rang as it shut, and Tom turned to Dean. “The news isn’t good.”
“She can’t fix it? Or she wants too much money?”
“She doesn’t want too much money,” Tom said slowly. “She wants a fair price for the job. But that’s starting at two thousand, and it’s just a ballpark estimate.”
Dean nearly swallowed his own tongue. “Two thousand! I could buy a new one for that price, couldn’t I?”
“You could. Absolutely. Which is why she suggested you buy a cheap, used one, instead of trying to repair Ben’s. She’s got one she’s willing to sell for five hundred.”
“Jesus!” Dean might be able to scrape up five hundred dollars, but the thought of tossing all that money away galled him. He had no use for an upright bass himself, so he’d just be handing the damned thing over to Ben. And he knew Ben would never be able to pay him back for it, even if he was motivated to try—which he probably wouldn’t be.
Tom shrugged and walked back to the counter. “It’s a good price.”
“What is?” Dean asked. “What she’s asking for the repair or what she’s asking for the used one?”
“Both. Ben’s bass is destroyed, Dean. Claire’d have to basically build a new one out of the few pieces she can salvage. She told me up front it’s not worth it. The original bass probably cost half of what it would take to repair it.”
Dean could believe that. The bass was a wreck, and it hadn’t been in fantastic shape even when Ben was playing it in the septet. He’d had it for almost fifty years.
“I need to think about this,” Dean said. He was too tired to sort it out now.
“Think about what?” Tom pressed. “Repairing it?”
Dean shook his head. “That’s right out. I don’t have that kind of money floatin’ around. Ben doesn’t either.”
“I don’t expect so.”
Dean hesitated, then let out a long, weary sigh. “I… might want to buy the used one. I don’t suppose she’d consider renting it?”
“I can ask.” Tom rubbed a hand through his short beard. “But this is how she makes her living, Dean. She’s not trying to screw you, but she won’t be able to guarantee the bass will still be kicking around by July if you don’t give her some kind of commitment. If somebody comes along and wants it, she’ll have to sell it.”
That pissed Dean off. Not because he thought Tom’s friend was being unreasonable, but simply because he needed time to think things over. He hated being pressured to make instant decisions, especially when a lot of money was involved. “I’ve gotta think about it, Tom. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.”
He left the music shop in a foul mood. He’d been at this for almost a week, and so far he had exactly one musician lined up for the septet—Dean Cooper. At this rate he’d find himself on stage for the Fourth playing clarinet solos along with a karaoke tape.
Jesus.
There was still one person he hadn’t contacted yet: Lisa Porter. She owned the only used bookstore in town, Bygone Books, and she’d played guitar for the septet.
“JULIE told me about the accident,” Gregory Martel, the conductor of the Manchester Philharmonic, said over the phone. “I’m so sorry.”
Aiden hated the pity in his voice, but of course he had to say something about it. “Thank you.”
“According to her… you’ve recovered?” He was understandably reticent. He was taking a big chance, dropping a new pianist into the middle of a scheduled performance—one he’d never met, who hadn’t performed in years.
Aiden was tempted to tell him, No, I haven’t recovered, and hang up. It felt indecent talking about his condition over the phone with a total stranger. It was so goddamn personal. They might as well have been discussing a bout of chlamydia. Before I put you onstage, would you mind showing me your penis, so I can be sure everything is cleared up? That’s a good boy.
“I still have difficulty playing for more than a couple of hours at a stretch,” Aiden said honestly. He couldn’t lie about that. Martel would be taking a risk if he hired Aiden for this. All the cards had to be on the table.
“The concert is about an hour and a half with two breaks,” Martel said. “But the first two pieces are the Peer Gynt Suite and the Holberg Suite—the version adapted for string orchestra. Did Julie mention I love Edvard Grieg?”
“No, but I’m starting to get the picture.”
“Adore him! At any rate, the most dramatic piece—the one we need a piano for—is the Concerto in A-Minor at the end. As you know, that’s only a half hour. Do you think you can manage that?”
“I do,” Aiden said. He was confident he could play that long, at any rate. How well might be a different matter. “Perhaps you should hear me play,” he suggested.
“Yes! Absolutely! This isn’t normally the way we go about auditions, of course. Normally we would have asked you to submit a résumé and a recording, there would have been trials…. But we’re so pressed for time. I’ve listened to CDs of some of your performances with the New York Philharmonic and your guest appearance with the Russian National
Orchestra. Julie sent those to me. They’re excellent.” Martel paused. “But under the circumstances….”
No time like the present. Aiden’s hands were feeling good that morning. As long as he avoided straining them, they should be up to the task. “My schedule’s fairly free over the next week.”
“We have a rehearsal coming up this Saturday at two. Do you think you could make that?”
Audition in front of the entire orchestra? Terrific. Not to mention Saturday was just two days away, which didn’t give him much time to prepare. But he knew the piece. He was sure he could manage it. He just didn’t know how many times he could get through it before the pain took over. “That will be fine.”
“Excellent! Let me give you the address of the music hall.”
BYGONE Books was nearly empty when Dean walked in. Just Mrs. Rosenbach browsing the shelves and Bobby Johnson curled up in a corner on the shag carpet, reading. But that was about par for the bookstore. It never did a lot of business.
He found Lisa behind the counter, going over a stack of books.
“Holding those for a customer?” he asked.
She looked up from her work and smiled. Even in her thirties, with next to no makeup and a few wisps of her flaming red hair falling across her face, it was easy to see why she’d once been the Springhaven High homecoming queen. She’d been the only girl in school Dean ever crushed on—until Aiden caught his eye, and a whole new world had opened up for him. “I wish. Steve Crowder dumped a bunch of Tom Clancy and John le Carré on me. I’m trying to sort out which ones I already have. I promised I’d buy the ones I don’t.”
“You’ll be pleased to learn I don’t have any books to sell you,” Dean said.
Lisa smirked at him. “No. You’re here to rope me into that damned septet again.”
Dean didn’t bother asking how she’d heard about it. Gossip traveled fast in Springhaven. “I need you, Lisa. At the moment, I’m looking at a septet with nothin’ but a clarinet in it.”
“So you think we’re going to wow them with a clarinet-guitar duet?”
Her dimples were showing, which was a clear sign she thought the whole thing was utterly ridiculous. It probably was. But she hadn’t said no yet, so Dean persisted. “Lisa… if I bring you in, I might be able to convince the others.”
“You’re never going to get Rick and Sarah on the same bandstand,” Lisa pointed out. “And I heard what happened to Ben’s bass.”
“Your spies are well informed.”
Lisa snorted and slid the pile of books off to the side. “Mrs. Harper comes in here a lot for her romance novel fix. She fills me in on everything going on in this town.” She leaned forward on the counter and fixed Dean with her gaze. “And you, my friend, are a sucker. You need to stop letting those old busybodies order you around.”
“That’s a nice way to talk about dear old Mrs. Harper, who gives you her business every week,” Dean said wryly, though he knew she was right. The Lilac Ladies were taking advantage of him. As Lisa said, he was a sucker.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she said, smiling. “They mean well. At least they’re not policing everybody’s morality or anything like that.”
“I made a promise,” Dean insisted. “And I keep my promises.”
Lisa looked as if she had more to say, but she noticed Bobby hovering around uncertainly off to the side, so she directed her attention to him. “Are you all set, hon?”
“I gotta get home,” he said, glancing apologetically at Dean for the interruption. He held up two battered science fiction novels Dean didn’t recognize. “I’d like to buy these.”
“Just shove this shifty layabout out of your way and step up to the counter. Paying customers come first.”
Bobby gave Dean an embarrassed smile, but Dean stepped aside and gestured dramatically toward the counter. He might take issue with the “layabout” crack, but Bobby was buying something, and Dean wasn’t. He waited patiently while the teenager completed his purchase.
As Bobby walked away, Lisa swept the loose strands of her hair back behind her right ear and turned back to Dean. “All right, Sir Galahad, I have a quest for you.”
Dean blinked at her. “A quest? I think these books might be messing with your head a bit.”
She gave him a perfect smile, one that had beguiled many a straight high school student and grown man alike. “Should you choose to accept it—and complete it successfully—I’ll rejoin the septet.”
“All right, I’ll bite. What’s this ‘quest’ you have for me?”
“A box of books. It needs to be picked up at the Romantic Reader in Manchester. And you can take a box I’ve put together for them.”
Dean cocked an eyebrow at her. “Books? Why don’t you just mail them?”
“Honey, I make pennies on these paperbacks. It would cost more to mail them than they’re worth. But Jaqueline and I trade back and forth every once in a while to get rid of things that aren’t selling and shift inventory around a bit. Normally, I would drive down there myself, but with Paul’s father visiting, I don’t have the time right now. He’s completely….” Lisa stopped herself before she could malign her father-in-law. “Well, let’s just say he has high standards.”
Dean didn’t have much reason to drive two hours to Manchester, and he hated the city, but he could make the sacrifice, if that’s what it took. “I’ll do it,” he said. “You promise you’ll perform?”
“Of course, hon,” Lisa replied, her blue eyes twinkling. “I keep my promises too.”
“Can you write the address down?”
She did, on the back of a blank receipt. When she handed it to him, she said, “You might want to check out the books in the box. I can spare a few in payment. I know it’s not much….”
“I don’t read very often,” Dean admitted.
“Jaqueline said she’d toss in a bunch of MM romances. You might like those.”
Dean was scandalized. “Romance novels? Me?”
“Oh, look at you!” she laughed. “Being all macho. I said MM romances.”
“What the hell’s an MM romance?”
“Male/Male, honey. As in ‘gay.’”
That sounded a little more interesting. But he was still baffled. “Lisa, in case you haven’t noticed, there are only three gay men in town, and two of them practically don’t live here at all.” He left Aiden out of his count, not knowing if he wanted to be outed to the town gossips. “What makes you think you can sell books like that in Springhaven?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Do you think there aren’t any high school boys trying to work up the courage to come out?”
That was possible, Dean had to admit. There was always the next generation, and he still remembered what it was like being the only gay teen in Springhaven—to his knowledge—after Aiden left.
“Besides,” Lisa added, “straight women love those books. Two hot guys together in bed?” She fanned herself with her hand and did a fair impersonation of George Takei. “Oh, my!” Then she noticed she still had another customer in the store. “Am I right, Mrs. Rosenbach?”
The old lady looked flustered. “I… I wouldn’t know, dear. I’m just here for books on knitting.”
“Right.” Lisa winked at Dean.
Chapter Eighteen
ONCE Dean found out Aiden was going to Manchester on Saturday, he rearranged his schedule so they could combine their trip. That meant he had to spend Friday out at Sean and Jack’s cabin, helping them repair the roof on the porch. Sean was a handyman himself, so he did most of the work around the place, but once in a while, they’d give Dean a call so they could get a job done faster.
They were kind of odd characters. Not unfriendly, exactly, but they didn’t go out of their way to be friendly either. Just kind of neutral. And they had a tendency to walk around their yard in the nude. Dean didn’t mind—they were both pretty nice to look at—but he thought it was weird they never bothered to ask if he was uncomfortable. He got the impression it just di
dn’t occur to them.
One time he’d joked that he felt overdressed, and Sean had just smiled enigmatically at him. When the job was done, he’d told Dean, “We’re gonna break open some beers and hang out on the porch for a bit. You’re welcome to join us.” Then he’d given Dean’s body a significant look and added, “You can get as comfortable as you want.”
This had been shortly after Dean’s relationship with Phil had gone south, so he’d been feeling kind of lonely. Hanging out naked with two sexy gay guys sounded like a great idea. He’d even fantasized about a hot threesome.
It hadn’t worked out that way. He’d gotten a few glances from them while they sat and shot the shit about what was going on in the town they rarely visited, but it didn’t lead to anything. And Dean had been extremely self-conscious of his nudity the entire time. He’d left feeling horny and frustrated. Jack and Sean were monogamous, as far as he could tell. Just… eccentric. He’d never worked naked with them again. It was too awkward, at least for him. But they were good guys, and they paid well.
The job took all day, and by the time it was dark, he was too tired to think about visiting Aiden. He called to verify the time they were going to leave, then went to bed.
THE next morning Dean drove out to the Scott residence and, for the first time, he got a taste of what Aiden was like under stress. It wasn’t good. He was running around the house in a panic, trying on different shirts, checking his hair, double-checking the time of the audition and the street address—multiple times.
Dean took Mrs. Scott aside and asked in a low voice, “Is he always like this before an audition?” Dean had never experienced that part of Aiden’s life.
“I’m not sure,” she replied. “I think things are different this time.”
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