Chapter 10 #3
“Impressive, right? It was designed to allow ballet companies to rehearse under performance conditions.”
The auditorium wasn’t just big—it was huge. A Bosendorfer sat resplendent in the middle of the stage. Thomas preferred Bosendorfers to Steinways because of the matchless depth of their lower octaves.
“Try it out,” the man offered.
Thomas didn’t need to be told twice. It had been three days since he’d touched a keyboard.
He sat down on the bench and warmed up with Ravel’s “Jeux d’eau” before moving on to a couple of Chopin’s études—the first, in C major, followed by the twelfth, in C minor.
The PR manager was clearly enjoying his personal concert.
When he was done, Thomas reluctantly stood up and thanked his guide for allowing him to play.
“Come see us again sometime. We host musicians from all over the world. Our audiences enjoy seeing new faces. We’ve even had several French artists, including Ms. Hélène Grimaud, who will be playing here at the end of the month.” Thomas’s eyes widened upon hearing the name of the esteemed pianist.
“Are you serious?” he said to the man. Though his father’s arm passed through Thomas’s as he elbowed him, Thomas could still feel it.
“If you’re interested, I’ll give you my contact information.” The PR manager held out his business card. Then he accompanied Thomas to the stage door and shook his hand.
“So?” Raymond asked. “Who was right this time? You see, I can help you out too. If that offer pans out, we’ll be even!”
On the way back to the house on Green Street, Raymond mentioned he was surprised that the “chauffeur” didn’t look like the one they’d had that morning. Even stranger, the car had changed too.
As they neared St. Patrick Church, Thomas noticed a hearse parked outside. He turned abruptly toward his father. “There are some big problems with your plan.”
“I don’t see any. It’s perfect. But if you prefer Plan B, I’m okay with that.”
“A and B both start the same way. Either way, I have to blend in with the other guests.”
“Unless you want to take the priest’s place, I see no alternative. But I still don’t see the problem.”
“I can’t be incognito now that I’ve met Manon. She’ll recognize me and wonder why I decided to crash her mother’s funeral.”
“Why did you have to introduce yourself to her?” Raymond complained.
“Probably because you sent me in alone to check the place out, remember?”
“All right, fine. So, you ran into each other. She’ll have forgotten all about you by tomorrow. Believe me, she has other things on her mind at the moment.”
“Well, we also talked . . .”
“How much did you talk, exactly?” Raymond fumed, crossing his arms.
“I don’t know. We had a short conversation.”
“I sincerely hope you didn’t flirt with Camille’s daughter.”
“You’re hardly one to talk. And, no, it was nothing like that. She surprised me while I was in the room and wanted to know what I was doing there. What was I supposed to do, run away?”
“You can’t have said anything memorable, though. It was just small talk, right? She’s probably spoken to dozens of people over the past few days. Funeral home employees, florists, caterers. I’m sure you’re worried over nothing. She won’t remember you.”
“I’m not so sure,” Thomas sighed.
“What exactly did you say? Don’t leave anything out, please, Thomas!”
“I told her not to be too worried about the funeral, that the real flood of grief comes later and lasts much longer.”
Raymond looked thoughtfully at his son.
“Was that you speaking from personal experience, or are you just saying that now to try to make up for your giant mistake?”
Thomas just turned toward the window.
“Fine. Don’t tell me. In any case, I don’t know what your superego was thinking, but I’m quite sure your ego was hitting on her. And what’s worse, it sounds like he did a terrible job.”
The car dropped them off on Green Street, where they found the hood of the Saab wide open and Arthur studying the engine. Thomas walked over to him.
“Did it break down?”
“No, but it backfires every time I accelerate. I can’t figure out why.”
“I’d love to help you, but—”
“It’s the fuel pump,” Raymond whispered.
“Maybe the spark plugs are bad,” Arthur theorized as he stood up. “I’ll take it to the garage. Such bad timing. We’re going out tonight, and I’d rather not use the Triumph. What were you saying?”
“Take out the fuel line, clean it by blowing through it, and put it back in,” Raymond explained confidently. “Don’t look at me like that, all suspicious-like. I drove a Saab nine hundred for years, though it goes without saying that mine was in better shape.”
Thomas repeated what his father had suggested.
“The fuel line? Why not. Any idea where to find it?” asked Arthur.
“Here,” Raymond replied as he pointed. “My God, if I could just do it myself, he’d already be on the highway.”
“It’s right here,” Thomas explained impassively.
Arthur got his tools from his workbench, loosened the bolts, did as Raymond had advised, and put the line back in. Then he sat down behind the wheel.
“He needs to pump the gas, or it won’t start,” Raymond cut in again.
“Make sure you pump the gas,” Thomas advised.
Arthur turned the key in the ignition, and the engine purred, then roared as he revved the engine.
“Fantastic! You just saved my whole night.”
“It was no big deal,” Thomas replied.
“No, really! You saved my night and my day tomorrow, too, which I would have spent going from garage to garage, getting estimates. Right now, we’re going out to dinner with friends. Would you like to come along?”
Thomas hesitated. Jet lag was taking its toll, but Arthur insisted.
“Go have some fun with people your age,” Raymond urged. “I’ll take advantage of the quiet to think about how to fix your little blunder. But don’t come home too late. We have to be ready in the morning by nine. Suit and tie, freshly shaven, hair combed!”
Thomas was itching to tell his father he wasn’t ten years old anymore, but he decided to hold his tongue in front of Arthur.
Raymond turned toward the house and walked straight through the closed door.
Arthur opened the passenger door so Thomas could climb in.
“I have to pick up Lauren from the hospital, then we’ll go directly to the restaurant.
You’ll like our friends. Paul was my business partner once upon a time, but he’s a writer now.
And you might know his girlfriend—the English actress Mia Barrow.
Plus, they just so happened to meet in Paris.
Paul lived there for several years. You’ll have plenty to talk about. ”
Raymond watched as the Saab started down Green Street, his face pressed to the window. Once the car was out of view, he made his way back to the Columbarium.