Nik glances between us and sits back a little in his chair. For a moment I think he wants to be out of the line of fire, but then I get it.
He just wants a better view of the forthcoming action.
“First of all,” Elliot says, and it’s lucky that the room is so warm, because his voice is cold enough to freeze lava, “I didn’t say that it ‘sucks.’ I said that this piecelacks musicality.”
“Well, hell, so does Phillip Glass.”
I’ve surprised him there. Phillip Glass stayed at the Bellamy when there was some big retrospective show about his music, which is the only reason I know who he is. But I’m hardly going to admit that to Elliot.
“Phillip Glass? His entire work isbuilton melody, Oliver. Critics who call him tuneless or repetitive are simply wrong. He has a complete and deep understanding of musical theory,” Elliot lectures. “It’s the only reason he can break the rules so thoroughly. He’s a modern genius. The composer ofthispiece, by contrast,” he glances up as though the musical is visible, swirling around our heads “is…not.”
Nik and I both chuckle. It took a while for me to understand when Elliot is kidding around. He’s not the kind to laugh at his own wit. But I can tell much better these days when he’s joking. He getsextraunderstated.
I shrug. “It’s a bop,” is my return argument.
“It may be, but it will also be a one-hit wonder.”
The thing is, he’s right. The band who made this song—a weird pop-synth, acid-house mix with almost too much autotune even for me—broke up about a month after it hit number one last year. None of them have made anything that charted since then.
The best defense is an offense, though, so I press on. “Why don’tyouplay for us?” I suggest. “Give us an example of musicality.”
I’ve got him there. He looks away from me. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” I press. From the corner of my eye, I see Nik give a warning shake of the head. But why should I concede the argument just because he’s the Dom?
I’m also really, really curious to hear him play. All that work he does on the silent piano, all that complicated music he scribbles down…and I’ve never even heard a single note.
For a long moment, Elliot says nothing, and the pop song plays on to its jangled end. When the next song begins, then and only then does he speak.
“Alright,” he says. “I’ll play for you.”
Nik’s jaw literally drops, but he shuts it just as fast and makes a throat-cutting motion to Daniel, who pauses the music at once. “Lord Arden has offered to play for us,” he says. Across the room, Zee, who has been talking to a group of staff members, turns her head so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash.
“Really?” she asks.
“Really,” Elliot says stiffly, rising up and tugging his clothes straight. “If you will permit it, Zee.”
“Of course,” she says, moving toward us now. “We would all be very honored.”
Elliot goes across to the grand piano in the corner, and everyone returns to find a seat. Some of the subs grumble very quietly to each other, but as soon as Elliot’s fingers hit the keys, they drop silent.
I don’t know how to describe his playing.
There’s something deeply familiar and welcome to it, a simple melody, but each chord pulls at my soul.
I feel sunny summer days, and then I could swear I smell petrichor in the air, wet leaves, my nose turning cold but filled with the welcoming, warm scent of hot chocolate…I sense every season I’ve ever known, all at once.
And then it changes. There’s a discordant note—only it’snotdiscordant, it’s perfectly timed, a melancholic yearning that makes the previous melody all the sweeter. I ache with longing, with a deep need for something vital, but I don’t knowwhat.
It stops suddenly, and all around me the audience slump, as though we were all held up by his playing alone.
“That’s as far as I’ve got,” Elliot says after a moment.
“That was…” Zee isn’t often speechless. When I look over at her, she has tears in her eyes.
She’s not the only one, either. Around the room I can hear a few sniffles, and here and there someone is dabbing lightly at an eye or touching the end of a nose on a Kleenex.
Elliot hasn’t looked at anyone during his playing, but now his gaze lands on me, and I see hesitation.
