A Million for Eleanor: A Contemporary Story on Love and Money (2 page)

“I like that song. But I wouldn’t worry about dad: she is too foxy for him.”

“That’s right! The only thing I really remember about her is that she abused cosmetics. It doesn’t do her a favor.”

“Why?”

“Because if you put even a little bit too much makeup on such a fine face you’ll look like a whore. Inevitably.”

“Does she really overdo it?” he asked quickly, more interested in his sister’s opinion than he would like to be.

“Absolutely, even if the photo you showed me was taken on the day of her sister’s wedding.”

“Am I really the only one in this family who can appreciate true finesse?” he exclaimed with fake indignation.

“No, you’re just the only one with skewed tastes. Has mom agreed?”

“Yes, after a while.”

“And why do I always find out everything last?” Elisa sighed. “It’s unfair!”

“Because you play piano all the time,” he said sharply. “And, by the way, you forgot to eat lunch.”

“But I have to rehearse,” she said, almost embarrassed.

“Nearly everything is right,” he said, sinking into the black leather armchair to the piano’s left and asking himself why he remained standing this whole time. Elisa finally cracked, and he still couldn’t believe it took her so long. “The First Hungarian Rhapsody is one of the few Liszt’s pieces that are
melodies
as opposed to agility exercises. Meaning that any agility is secondary to the feeling. If you catch the right one no judge will have a moral right to penalize you for anything unless you start hitting wrong keys. Given that, you must decide what interpretation you are going for as soon as you hit the first F-sharp and not let it go until the climax is over. Do you understand where the climax of the piece is?”

“I think I do.” Elisa shrugged her shoulders with slight yet perceptible diffidence.

“Forget about the ending, then. It’s too hectic, and it’s obvious that the melody has already fallen apart. You have to find the true culmination, and put your absolute best in it.”

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to play it fast enough.”

“Even if you lag by three seconds per minute no one will notice. But don’t fall below six. Chances are, there will be at least one judge who’s worth her salt, and she’ll be merciless if she catches you.”

“My fingers are too short,” she continued, examining her hands.

“Compared to Liszt’s – yes. For a lady of your age they are perfect.”

“Play something for me,” she said suddenly.

“Oh, please! I don’t even remember when I touched the piano last.”

“That’s what I was afraid of.” Elisa frowned. “You say you’re going to marry and won’t play?”

“Correct.”

“Even your favorite nocturne?”

This was the question he did not want to hear most and, not knowing how to answer, he kept silence.

“What if I don’t go?”

He sighed and gave Elisa a long pensive look. He knew she was not acting and would not go if she decided so. Very seldom did she display any outbursts of stubbornness, and usually they didn’t take her too far, but for a moment he thought this time would be different. Tired of waiting for his response, and possibly knowing he was not going to give it anyway, she turned to the piano and started some sad serenade with such determination as if intending to play it through. Then she dropped it and turned back to him again.

“I think you take me for a fool,” she said.

“No.”

He wasn’t lying, but he knew he wouldn’t persuade her.

“Does mother know? I mean,
everything
?”

“Yes. I would have told you too, but there are things that shouldn’t be talked about at all.”

“Like those you did after college? You are not going to kill her, are you?”

Elisa’s face remained perfectly angelic even as she said that.

“Of course not!” he cried with indignation.

“Are you sure?”

“Ask mother if you don’t believe me.”

“That’s what I think I’ll do,” Elisa said, rising so elegantly it was hard not to compare her to something aerial. “Is she in the library?”

“Yes. Go talk to her and then tell me what you decide. How does this sound?”

“Why do you even need me?
You
must have already planned everything.”

“Because you’re an indispensable part of the plan.
I want to see you all together. All my favorite women at once. If you don’t come, the picture will be incomplete.”

“There is nothing worse than that in the whole world.” Elisa sighed. “Okay, give me a few.”

When her steps became inaudible he left the warm cavity of the armchair and sat on the piano bench. From early childhood he considered musical instruments mathematical machines and sometimes considered finding the formula of music itself, but never tried: not so much because he doubted his scientific skills, but because he didn’t know what he’d do if he found it.

“Try again,” he whispered to himself closing his eyes. His fingers fell on the keys and he ran them up the octave to the notes he was
looking for. “You know it’s not the same when you switch tonalities, even if the pattern remains identical. It just doesn’t make you eyes water, as if going through you instead of touching the...”

Then this thought was interrupted by an explosion of pain; a wave of asphyxiating nausea crashed on his throat, and the world began to spin like a frenzied helicopter propeller. He automatically opened his eyes, seeing not the room but ugly dark-blue blotches floating in front of it. Next second another wave of nausea followed, throwing him on the floor. He felt so sick he lost track of reality, believing that someone was hammering iron nails into his skull. He just couldn’t understand why his head wouldn’t explode, releasing all the pressure and saving him from this excruciating agony.

When the pain abated enough for him to realise what was going on his first thought was to get up before Elisa would return, but it was too late. He heard quick steps approach him, and then a warm palm landed on his temples, taking away the pain, nausea and vertigo at once and making him feel almost fine. He cautiously stood up, Elisa propping him on his elbow, and returned to the armchair.

“Elisa,” he said hoarsely, resembling an emperor who had just recovered from a devastating debauch and prepared to make an earthshaking announcement. “Do you know why one must never find the formula of music?”

“Because there is no such thing?” Elisa supposed, unsurprised by the question.

“We don’t know that. But what if it exists and we do find it?”

“Then everyone will be able to write music, right?”

“Yes. And how will it affect music at large?”

“Why should it affect it at all?”

“Because such a formula will turn composing into an assembly line.
And with it, your chances of coming across a good melody will drown in copious and tasteless renditions of every imaginable scale. Not to mention that music could be used for manipulating people.”

“Are you trying to scare me?”

“Certainly not.” He shook his head. “At any rate, if this formula exists, a genius who could find it will never bother to try, while fools who search for it all the time won’t find anything anyway.”

“Down with music for now, all right?” Elisa looked into his eyes. “It’s not the first attack this month, is it?”

“It is, I swear. Everything was fine since August. And even then it was my fault. I spent too much time in the sunshine bareheaded.”

“You can’t blame the sunshine now.”

“I’m not going to. I’m just very nervous.”

“What if you get overwhelmed and end up in a hospital like when we were watching that tennis match and your Russian princess lost?”

“It was the final of the US Open,” he said discontentedly, unhappy that Elisa brought up the subject. “And had it not been for the netball in that break-point rally, everything could have been different.”

“But it was what it was. You fainted and spent three days on a drip. Thank God she didn’t see how you were taken away.”

“Oh, please. The drip wasn’t even necessary. And I am still waiting for your answer.”

“Well, mother told me everything,” Elisa said, landing on the piano bench. “And I decided you
would
need me tonight.”

“So, you agree?”

“Yes. I am curious to see her.”

“Or you want to see whether I am right in my attitude? Now you know for sure what I think of her.”

“Maybe,” Elisa shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t really know, but I know I should go.”

“In that case you can start getting ready for an unforgettable evening. No rush,” he added, noting the worried look she threw at her watch. “Even if she agrees the dinner won’t start until nine.”

“It’s quarter past four now,” Elisa announced as if they were already late. “What do you mean by
if she agrees
? Do you think she won’t?”

“I don’t know. She remains the only woman outside my family who managed to surprise me more than once.”

Unwilling to take another minute from his sister, he returned to his study, the only room in the house that could be accessed only by him. He automatically locked the door and came up to a huge walnut desk in the middle of the room. On its green felt top stood two fashionable black leather valises that could suit equally well a travelling attaché or a cocaine courier. He had filled them up the day before, and every time he looked at them they made him evoke the plan he was going to realize, testing it for both necessity and sensibility.

Having gazed at the valises long enough and come to the same conclusion, he walked up to the window and opened it, letting in a gust of wind that would have gladly picked up some papers from the desk, had its surface not been as clean as a freshly moaned tennis court. A serene October afternoon was nearing its end, and even though the twilight was not to be expected for another hour, the sunshine had already lost its intensity, fading into the sharp blue translucency of the sky. He took several deep breathes through the nose, trying to imbue himself with the subtle scent of fallen foliage, looked at the people walking the street so busily as if theirs were the most important affairs, and shut the window, killing another gust of wind that stormed into the room in search of prey. Then he took a cell-phone from his pocket and dialed a number, looking at the valises again.

“Good afternoon, my good man,” he said into the phone. “How do you do? Very well, thank you. Do you think you could do me a favor? I am looking to get an iridium ring with a few lines engraved inside… That’s correct, iridium. As pure as you can get. Solid. How about Monday, around seven? Perfect. I will see you there.”

He put the phone back into the pocket and sat down on the couch, a neat item capable of unfolding itself into a bed of considerable size and acceptable resiliency. He grabbed a thick book in a red worn-out cover from the nearby shelf and tried to read, but every word triggered too many unrelated associations and memories. After a minute of unfruitful struggle he threw the book back on the shelf and lay down. He knew he would not fall asleep, but there was nothing else for him to do until the daylight behind the window would grow grey and the street lamps would turn on their illumination, marking the beginning of the night he had been waiting for
for the last nine years of his life.

***

Trying to suppress the nervousness that began tickling his guts as soon as he saw the wanted white two-storey house, he ascended its porch, put the valises down and took a deep breath. For a few moments he was looking at the door as if considering walking straight through it; then he exhaled and pressed the doorbell button which produced a disturbingly low ding. For a minute everything was quiet, but then he heard a slight shuffling of house slippers.

“Who is there?”

“A friend of your youth,” he said, knowing she’d recognize his voice. The next moment the door swung open, throwing an avalanche of light into his face. The abrupt change of luminosity hit his eyes like a razor, but when his pupils contracted enough to discern the slim silhouette standing in the doorway he forgot about the pain.

“Good evening,
Eleanor
,” he said, savoring her name as if it were a delicacy.

“Richard? Is that you?”

“Yes.” He bowed. “How are you?”

“What are you doing here?”

There were still no welcoming notes in her voice.

“I came to visit you.”

“Oh my god! Are these bags yours? Are you in trouble?”

“Not that I am aware of. Why, do I look it?”

“No, you don’t,” she admitted after a quick examination of his white silk suit. “How did you find me?”

“You have no idea how much one can find out about another person knowing their name. Sorry I didn’t
call, I wanted to make a surprise.”

“Congratulations. You are the last person I expected to see.”

“Whom
did
you expect?” he asked with interest.