Chapter 3
TATE
“Hey, Dad?” I call, peering down the stairs into the basement of our building.
“We’re here!” he calls back.
I head downstairs and smile when I spot Dad talking to Larry, one of the other residents.
They’re sitting on the old, rust-colored leather couch—cracked and sagging—left behind by a previous tenant, waiting on laundry in one of the giant, ancient washers.
Honestly, a scrubbing rack and bucket would probably work better. The machines are always breaking down.
“How was work?” Dad asks as I walk over to the old piano that’s been here longer than we have and take a seat. He looks paler today, the dark circles beneath his eyes more prominent. He smiles at me and my chest twinges.
“It was good,” I reply, running a hand over the marked piano lid that’s closed over the ivory keys, tracing the dips and grooves of tiny knicks in its dark wooden surface. Each tells its own story about the people who have played on it. All those souls connected by music.
“You going to give us a song, eh, Tate?”
I smile shyly at Larry. His old, kind eyes crinkle at the corners as he looks at me hopefully.
“Um…” I lick my lips, a flicker of nerves rustling in my stomach as I glance toward the staircase.
“It’s only us here, Sweetheart,” Dad says encouragingly.
He’s right. We are the only ones here. And even though the old piano is battered and needs a good tuning, there’s a charm about it that I love. I often find myself sneaking down here alone to play it.
To dream.
“I know you’re good, I’ve heard you down here,” Larry says.
He’s a sweet man. He lives here alone after losing his wife a few years ago. Something my father and him bonded over. And it’s a comfort knowing that when I’m at work or out with friends that Dad isn’t alone.
“Okay.” I give in easily because, apart from my father, this is what I love most in the world, and the pull to play is too great.
I get myself into position before taking a deep breath and lifting the lid, revealing the black and white ivory keys. I flex my fingers above them.
Then I start to play.
Once I reach the chorus, the words come on their own.
“I believed your words, but they were all pretty lies. Now I’m left empty and broken with tears in my eyes.”
I close my eyes as they leave my lips, barely more than a whisper. Each syllable gets easier to sing the more times I play this song. It’s as if the music is healing me note by note, the sting lessening each time.
“Is that a new one?” Dad asks, studying me as I play the final chords, letting the melody drift to an end.
“Yeah. Just something I’ve been working on.” I shrug. “I got inspired after watching that film. You know the one where he’s killed in service?”
I can’t bring myself to look my father in the eye as I wait to see if he bought my lie.
“I like it,” Larry declares, giving me a bright smile.
“Me too,” Dad adds.
I exhale, my tense shoulders relaxing.
Dad gestures to me, waving his hand in the air as he thinks. “Tate, play Larry that one about becoming who you are. You know which one I mean.” He snaps his fingers, humming the tune to remind me. But I know exactly which song he’s referring to.
I shake my head, my throat tightening. “Not right now. I’m meeting Ashley. I should get ready.”
“Ah, okay.” Dad nods, and the love in his eyes makes my throat ache even more.
I close the lid of the piano and stand, picking up my purse. “I’ll make some dinner and leave it in the oven for you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” he says.
“I’ll leave it in the oven,” I repeat firmly. I know if I leave it up to my father, he’ll skip dinner altogether.
He chuckles. “Okay. Thanks, love.”
“Don’t wait up, it could be a late one,” I tell him. “Nice to see you, Larry,” I add as I head toward the stairs.
“You too, Tate,” he replies.
“Have fun,” Dad calls. “And bring that uniform down before you go. I’ll put it in the next wash.” He jerks a thumb toward one of the ancient machines. “Thing needs it; it’s covered in that brown stuff again.”
I look at the cocoa powder that’s covered my pink shirt and black skirt.
He’s right. I’m covered, just like I am after every shift.
The stuff gets everywhere. But I love it.
I’ve even designed a couple of new stencils with Caffeine Couture’s logo on that I can’t wait to try out.
Maybe it’s silly, but I love the smile they bring to people’s faces when they notice them.
“Will do, thanks, Dad,” I call back as I head for the stairs.
“Oh my God, is it always this busy?” Ashley shouts over the crowd’s cheers that erupt around us.
“There are more people each time. People fly in from overseas now if there’s a rumor that he’s going to do a performance,” I shout back.
My eyes zone in on the man dressed all in black, including a ski mask, who’s appeared seemingly from nowhere in front of a piano on wheels that’s been set up in Grand Central Station, tucked away around a corner at the base of one of the staircases.
“How does he get away with it?” Ashley asks.
The sound from the crowd reaches a new high as the man takes a seat.
“I don’t know. The charity donations, I guess?” I shrug as I point out the giant collection tubs that have been set up on our side of the rope fencing that surrounds the piano. They’re already spilling over with bills and coins.
When I first discovered The Masked Maestro a couple of years ago, it was by accident.
He had a following of two hundred people on his YouTube channel.
He turned up during a ‘Sing for Hope Pianos’ event and blew people away with his rendition of Beethoven’s Für Elise.
Good Morning America even played a clip of him.
After that, everyone wanted to know who the guy in the mask was.
And his followers jumped to over six hundred thousand overnight.
Now he gets the city’s permission to do random pop-up shows comprising of just four songs each time.
He announces on his social media the date of when one will be.
But doesn’t release the location until thirty minutes before it starts.
Ashley and I had a mad dash to make it here in time.
The crowd falls silent with anticipation as he rolls his shoulders, preparing to start. The broad muscles of his back rise and fall as he takes a deep breath. I wonder if he gets that bundle of nerves before he plays, like I do. I doubt it.
His first note draws a collective intake of breath from the crowd. I join them, entranced as he plays a perfect rendition of Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata from memory, each note delivered flawlessly.
Ashley stands beside me, dumbstruck as he flows through Etude by Chopin, followed by Little Red Riding Hood by Rachmaninoff.
“Oh wow, he’s incredible,” she says, her eyes glued to his dark form hunched over the keys.
“I know, right,” I whisper back, unable to look away from him as he plays the final bars.
I hold my breath waiting to see which piece he’ll choose for his final one. I’m hoping for an Einaudi piece. I loved hearing him play Nuvole Bianche a few months ago.
He pauses, head bowed to his chest, fists clenched above the keys. The crowd falls silent again. Waiting.
I swear I can hear the emotion thick in his lungs as he drags in a rough breath, his chest rising with it. For one long, tense second, I wonder if he’s going to play at all.
Then he exhales slowly and begins.
My mouth goes dry as the first notes ring out, traveling all the way to the celestial ceiling of the station above us and scattering there like bursts of shooting stars.
“This one’s different,” Ashley remarks as the song builds pace.
“I know.” Because for the first time, it isn’t a classical piece I’m hearing, but a modern one.
“What is it? I know it, I just can’t…” Ashley nods along to the tune.
“A cover of Unstoppable by Sia,” I say, frowning as my vision blurs around the edges until all that exists in my line of sight is him, or more specifically his hands as they press down so hard on the keys it’s like he wants to break them.
His head is lowered, and I bet if I could see his eyes they’d be screwed shut. He plays the song like he both hates and loves it at the same time.
The raw emotion in it brings a lump to my throat.
“I love it.” Ashley grins and bumps shoulders with me.
But I don’t feel it.
I can’t breathe.
All I can do is stare as he finishes the song and stands abruptly from the piano.
The crowd gasps as he knocks one of the ropes to the floor and storms off toward the subway.
The sight of him striding away gets swallowed by the crowd before he disappears from view completely.