James had walked around Mrs. Ford’s backyard when he’d first arrived at her party, awed by what he’d seen. He came from humble circumstances, and this was his first association with how the other half lived. Mrs. Ford’s grounds were lavish. He’d known her house was large but hadn’t seen much of the property itself. There was a separate walk up he used to her studio from the front sidewalk. The studio had been an addition to the house and was built on one side of it; that was all he’d ever seen of her house or grounds.
Of course his mother hadn’t come with him, although both his parents had been included on the invitation. She’d told him she wouldn’t fit in, and he hadn’t argued the point. He thought she was probably right. He hadn’t shown the invitation to his father. There was no way he wanted him or his attitude at Mrs. Ford’s party.
He’d brought his horn, the loaner Mrs. Ford had given him while his was being built. Mr. McKindry’s money was being spent on a custom horn from an instrument maker Mrs. Ford knew. She had told James he’d likely have the opportunity to play at the party, that the horn players who’d be there always got together to have fun playing chamber pieces. After walking around and seeing everything there was to see, he’d stood on the patio, looking at all the people, all the activities, but hadn’t spoken to anyone. There were teens of all ages, a few of them his age, but mostly the ones attending were either younger or older. That wouldn’t have mattered in any case. James was not a joiner.
He didn’t mind that he had no one to talk to. He actually preferred it that way. Social skills were something he lacked; he knew it but didn’t care; he was an introvert and felt no need to talk to anyone.
A group of eight horn players had set up at the back of the yard and were playing horn arrangements of various pieces. He walked back to watch them. They were a mixed-age group, mostly middle-aged and older citizens, but there was one boy who was either his age or perhaps a bit younger in the group. They were playing the Humperdinck Evening Prayer, arranged for horn quartet with the parts being doubled. It sounded really fine, except one horn was just a bit flat and never adjusted. James thought it was probably the kid. Older players would certainly know how to get in tune with the group while the piece was in progress.
He listened till the selection was about to end, then drifted away. If he’d stayed and they saw him watching, they might have invited him to join them, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to do that, not with mostly adults; certainly not with a pitch-challenged teen.
He got a hotdog and a soft drink, then sat on the patio, away from the women gathered there chatting about women’s stuff and watched what was happening while he ate. Everyone seemed very happy. The bar was quite busy; there were groups of men scattered around the lawn with drinks in their hands that had ice in them; the pool had mostly young kids and older teens in it, and they were a splash-happy, noisy group; the badminton court and horseshoe area were both in use by what looked to him to be young 20-somethings, mostly pairings of opposite sex couples. Both groups were wearing tees and shorts.
He’d seen Mrs. Ford, but she was always with someone, and he wasn’t going to interrupt her just to say hello. If he did, she’d probably introduce him to whomever it was she was talking to, and he’d be expected to chat with them. He’d be uncomfortable and tongue-tied. Chatting was the last thing he wanted to do.
He opened the book he’d brought, then closed it again. There were now two groups of horns playing, set apart on the grounds as far as possible. He thought about approaching the smaller group which seemed to be four young adults. He’d seen them get together, and they didn’t appear to know each other. He could probably ask to join them, and they’d probably agree. Even if they didn’t, it wouldn't be awkward. It shouldn’t be. Mrs. Ford said players always got together at these things and just played for the fun of it, and the rule was, the more the merrier, and there’d be no remarks about missed notes or any other playing problems. It was for fun!
Hesitantly, he wandered out onto the lawn and made his way to a spot where he was equidistant from the two groups, where, when he made an effort to listen to what both group was playing, a distinct cacophony was evident. He listened for a moment or two and almost smiled. Then he walked back toward the patio. The task of asking either group if he could sit in was simply too daunting, something he had no idea of how to go about without looking foolish, and he hated that; he really hated it.
Rather than sit down with his book, he didn’t step onto the patio but drifted around by himself, avoiding anyone who looked like they might want to introduce themselves.
Eventually, he got another hotdog. He liked hotdogs, which was a good thing. His mother always cooked at home, but she wasn’t much good at or enthusiastic about it. Hotdogs weren’t unknown to grace the dinner table. His father was never happy about that, but James was at least not the subject of his scorn on those occasions. So, as his mother lacked the energy or the focus to produce more traditional dinners for the family and instead put hotdogs on the table, James wasn’t unhappy at all. Frequently when his mother just didn’t bother cooking anything, like when his father wasn’t going to be home for dinner, James would cook hotdogs for himself.
He’d put mustard on the one he’d had a few minutes earlier, so for this one he used ketchup for comparison’s sake. They tasted distinctly different from each another, and thinking about it, he wasn’t quite sure which he preferred. They both had things to offer. He frowned. He liked things cut-and-dried. Ambivalence wasn’t for him.
He wasn’t to be picked up till eight o’clock. The invitation had said the barbecue-cum get-together-cum-musical fun was planned from 2 PM till “whenever” but would definitely end at 11 PM; food and drink would be served continually; dress was anything one felt like wearing with an emphasis on comfort; a horn should be brought if playing was something one wanted to do; a bathing suit was required if one wanted to swim; towels would be provided.
He’d thought leaving at eight o’clock would be right for him and had told his mother to pick him up then. Now, he was thinking maybe he should have scheduled it for earlier. It didn’t look like he’d be playing, and meeting people wasn’t his thing. But changing his ride would be a nuisance, and he did have his book. Reading it here or at home would be the same, so why not stay? And, they had steak. It had been quite a while since he’d had a steak. Maybe that was worth staying for as well. A steak and baked potato. These steaks looked thick, the potatoes large. His parents couldn’t afford food like that.
He wandered back to the patio and pulled a chair over to a deserted corner, sat down and opened his book.
He’d been reading awhile when he sensed someone approaching. He lowered his book and saw it was the boy who’d been playing in the octet. The one who in all likelihood had been flat; either that or everyone else was sharp; either way, the boy had been the problem. James hadn’t heard any missed notes, but then, it was an easy piece to play. It did need to be in tune, however.
The boy looked friendly enough. James listened as he introduced himself as Freddie and made his sales pitch. James didn’t like the fact that he was a bit disrespectful towards Mrs. Ford. Mrs. Ford didn’t deserve that. Not at all. She was about the greatest woman in the world.
James was around kids all the time at school, but this one seemed a little different. He seemed so comfortable speaking to James. Most kids were just a little off their game when meeting a stranger—either awkward or a little cocky. Most weren’t just as entirely sure of themselves as this boy was. Boys who were that could often be brash. This boy was simply comfortable.
But he was asking the wrong things of James, asking him to swim or play badminton. That was ridiculous. Even if Mrs. Ford was going to participate, it was out of the question. He was a horn player, not an athlete.
James could see the boy was disappointed, but when he was ready to walk off, he was still polite. That was a surprise, and it suddenly occurred to James that this boy seemed nice, and he himself was being rather cold. Besides, this was someone whom he might be able to play with. Playing the horn was the one thing that James treasured over all others. This might be an opportunity. Sure, the boy played flat, but he could try to ignore that or show him how to push in his tuning slide to adjust the instrument into tune. Mrs. Ford had told him many times that intonation was extremely important in a professional player, and that there would be times when it became difficult because the horn section, with each member in tune with the other horns, wouldn’t be in tune with the rest of the orchestra, and he’d have a choice to make. She said it was up to the conductor to fix intonation problems if the players themselves didn’t do so, but it was important for his pitch to be in agreement with the other horns so as not to stick out. So, tune to the horns in the section and let the conductor make any changes he felt were needed.
Playing with Freddie would give him a chance to see how well he could do by playing flat on purpose. It was a challenge, and he loved challenges on the horn. So, as Freddie was walking away, James thought of offering to play a duet, maybe more than one with him. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, though, he became uncomfortable, embarrassed, and he dived back into his book. What if he asked and the boy said no, and even was sarcastic about it?
He didn’t hear Freddie walk away, and so, a couple of seconds later, he raised his eyes from the book. Freddie had stopped and was looking at him with a thoughtful expression.
“I see you brought your horn. I’d be happy to play duets with you if you’d like,” Freddie, said. “I’m going to play badminton with Mrs. Ford first.” He nodded toward where the badminton court was currently not being used. Mrs. Ford was there, wearing shorts and a tee shirt. She was stretching, and two girls, both teens, had joined her. “But after that, if you want.”
“All right,” said James. “I’ll warm up. You could ask Mrs. Ford for a couple of duets you’d be able to play.”
At that, Freddie’s eyes lit up, and then he laughed. There was something so charming, so captivating about Freddie’s laugh that James cracked a very brief smile, watching him. Freddie finally stopped, but still grinning, said, “Oh, I get it. I see. Something easy enough for me. Well, I don’t know just how easy it has to be so you can play it. But I’ll ask Mrs. Ford. You must be her student, just like I am, so she’ll know how good you are at sight-reading, and she’ll pick something appropriate. Something you can play without embarrassing yourself.” He followed that with a challenging grin, showing he was playing with James rather than disparaging him, then laughed.
James sat up straighter, the book suddenly forgotten. It slipped off his chest onto the patio. “I can play anything you can,” he said, entirely ignoring the fact that Freddie had only been having fun. “Trust me.” He couldn’t believe the gall of this kid.
Freddie’s eyes were laughing, and the grin remained. “This should be fun,” he said, then turned and walked over to join Mrs. Ford.
> > >
James got his horn out of its case, screwed on the bell, and then ran through his memorized warm-up exercises while watching Freddie on the badminton court. The two girls had joined the game. James was amazed by Mrs. Ford’s prowess. Freddie and the girl on his side appeared to have learned very quickly that any shuttlecock hit to her that was above her head would come back at them as though fired from a rifle, and he or his partner would be lucky to even get a racket on it, let alone hit it back over the net. He saw the two both trying very hard to hit the shuttlecock to the girl instead of Mrs. Ford. He saw Mrs. Ford laughing and saying things, and it appeared she was laying it onto Freddie pretty thick. Trash-talking? Mrs. Ford? Odd. She never spoke to him that way. Why would she treat Freddie any differently?
It didn’t seem to make too much difference whether it was Mrs. Ford or her partner who received the cock. Freddie and his partner were getting creamed.
James enjoyed watching it. This Freddie kid was way too full of himself. Now, he was getting taken down a peg by a middle-aged woman at a kid’s sport. James smiled, thinking about how he’d be shown later he wasn’t the better horn player here, either. Maybe that would take some of the sparkle out of those eyes. Those intriguing, dark-hazel eyes.
Wow! Did he really think that? Was he remembering that? He didn’t want to think about those eyes, that sparkle. What he did want was to show Freddie that not only did he play flat, but that he was no more a match with him on the horn than he was Mrs. Ford on the badminton court. Now that was something to look forward to.
He decided he didn’t like Freddie much.
The game was finally over. James watched Freddie shake hands with Mrs. Ford and then hug both girls, who were both laughing. Freddie seemed to have that effect on people. Freddie himself was smiling. James wasn’t used to seeing kids their age smile when they’d just been trounced at anything. He’d certainly not have been smiling. But Freddie didn’t seem to mind that he’d been shellacked; he had the same grin that seemed cemented on his face.
James expected Freddie to come over to him at that point, but instead saw him walk over to the bar and get three Cokes. He carried them over to where the two girls were sitting and handed one to each girl, then sat down next to them.
James frowned and then pulled the horn up into position and continued warming up. So much for hazel eyes, intriguing or not.
> > >
He was playing through his minor melodic scales when Mrs. Ford joined him. “James! I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to say hello before. I’m always torn in three directions at once at these things. Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes. That boy, Freddie, and I are going to play a duet. At least that was the plan. He was going to come over here after the badminton match, but he’s sitting with the girls now. He was going to ask you about finding some music we could play.”
“Well, he just did. I was just on my way to get it. Is there something in particular you’d like me to choose?”
“No, just get something easy enough that he’ll be able to play it. I don’t want him to be embarrassed. Well, maybe a little embarrassed. If he has to struggle a little, that’s okay. I’d be fine with that.”
Mrs. Ford got a wry grin on her face. “James, Freddie won’t be embarrassed. Even if he can’t play a note, he won’t be embarrassed. He doesn’t embarrass. Just like the way you don’t play badminton. You have to be very high on yourself to feel embarrassment, and he’s as down to earth as he could possibly be. If he makes mistakes, he’ll just laugh at himself and try to do better. But the thing is, he can ‘play a note’, to turn that phrase upside down. All of them. You two should have fun together.”
“Oh,” was all James could muster.
“I’ll get something to challenge both of you. You’re just playing for fun, remember. Sight-reading. It isn’t a competition.” She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher and held it a moment before she was off into the house.
James turned to find Freddie again, and he saw he was still sitting with the girls. They all seemed to be having fun together. While he was watching, he saw Freddie turn his head in his direction and say something to the girls while getting up off the grass. He brushed off his shorts and then walked to where James was on the patio.
He arrived just as Mrs. Ford came back out of the house. Both boys turned to her.
“Okay, I have two duets here. The easier one is by Mozart, one of his 12 horn duets that make up K. 487. Easier, I said. Not easy. I suggest you play Number 4. If after that you want more of a challenge, I have Otto Nicolai’s Horn Duet No. 3. I hope you decide to play both. I do think you should begin with the Mozart. That’ll warm you up for the Nicolai.”
She handed each boy two sets of music. They both looked at the Mozart as it was the top page she’d given them. The Nicolai was several bound pages.
“James, I think you should play the top line, Freddie, the bottom with both. That’s because the tessitura of the top line favors a double horn, like yours, James, and the bottom line has more low horn, which Freddie enjoys. And Freddie? If you play the Nicolai duet, which you probably will want to do as the Mozart is fairly short, the bottom line will again be the part that you’ll like most as it again has more low notes; you’ll have fun with it.”
The two boys took their horns to the chairs and stands that the quartet had left. No one else seemed aware that they were going to play, which was fine with James. He didn’t mind people watching and listening, but didn’t covet the attention, either. As this was sight-reading, and as he had no idea of Freddie’s capabilities, it was possible the duet would sound like two beginners killing a woodchuck, and he thought it better to have no one or only a few people around to listen as they might think he was the one committing the murder.
They both laid the Mozart charts on the stand and glanced at them. James didn’t see anything that was beyond him, or even all that challenging. The 16th-note runs were manageable, especially as the tempo marking was andante. He looked at the bottom line, Freddie’s part, and nodded. It was what he’d thought: Mrs. Ford had given Freddie the easier part and him the harder one.
Freddie played a scale, then an arpeggio in the key of F for the horn, the key the piece was written in, and asked James if he was ready. James, keeping his voice toneless, said, “We’d probably better tune first.” Then he proceeded to play his E.
Freddie listened but didn’t play. James stopped and said, “You should tune to that. It’s your E, your horn’s concert A.”
Freddie grinned sarcastically. “Duh. Yeah, I know. But you’re a little sharp. I have perfect pitch.
But if you like to play sharp, which a lot of people do, especially string players as it brightens the sound, I can
push in my slides. What do you want to do, play sharp, or tune to a 440 A?”
James wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He felt himself bristle and thought his face might be reddening, but tamped it down, forcing himself to relax. Instead of reacting as he wanted to, he decided to be polite. He said, feeling very generous, “Let me hear your concert A.”
Freddie played his E, and James joined him. There was a very slight but noticeable dissonance. Still being polite, James pulled out his tuning slide very slightly, and the dissonance disappeared.
Freddie grinned at him and asked, “How ’bout this tempo,” and beat his hand against his leg at a pace that was slightly faster than one beat a second.
James put his horn to his lips. Freddie followed suit, then nodded his horn to the beat he’d already established, beating off an empty measure so they could begin together.
This pissed James off royally. He was playing the top part. Traditionally, that meant he was the one to set the tempo; he was also the one to get them started. When Freddie had reached the third nod, James took his horn away from his face.
Freddie stopped beating the count and looked curiously at James.
“I’ll do that,” James said.
“What?”
“Beat the empty measure. I’m playing the top part. I’ll get us started. Just watch me; I’ll nod. We already know the tempo.”
“Oh. Okay. Sure. Go ahead.” Freddie didn’t let stuff like that upset him. He did begin to wonder what it was with this kid, however. He had just been getting them started. No big deal who did it. Why in the world make a fuss about it?
James said, “All right, two beats for nothing,” and raised his horn, ready to play. Freddie, watching, did the same. Then James nodded twice, down and up, at the same tempo Freddie had established and began playing on the third beat. Freddie started precisely with him.
Freddie wasn’t upset by James taking over the leadership role. But seeing how James had reacted and was acting, it did have an effect on him. He was a happy boy, and happy boys are frequently mischievous ones. That was a descriptive that fit Freddie like a glove. The piece they were playing, in 3/4 time, started with James slurring a half note to a quarter note on the third beat of the measure. Freddie began with three quarter notes. What that meant, practically, was that James could mark the beat with head nods all he wanted to, but how fast Freddie played the first three notes would actually set the tempo they would play at. And Freddie, being Freddie, played the quarter notes a bit faster than the tempo they’d agreed upon. Not a lot faster, but quite definitely faster.
Freddie had scanned the piece as had James. He’d seen that James had many more measures with 16th notes than he had. The faster pace would test James much more than it would him. And testing James had become something Freddie wanted to do. The boy was too serious, too rigid, and if he fudged the 16th notes a bit, well, maybe that would soften him up some. Make him see it wasn’t the end of the world. Freddie would have no problem with his own measures of 16th notes, so playing the piece a little faster than it was marked would give him no problem at all.
James could, of course, have just stopped when Freddie upped the tempo. But he didn’t. He simply played the piece, played it beautifully, and when they came to the end, was quite pleased. But it was more than just how he’d played. The piece was written so the two parts played off each other, the sort of piece that works best if the two players copy each other in phrasing and style. And that was exactly what the two of them had done.
When they came to the set of 16th notes James had to play that were marked staccato, that had been how he’d played them, very short, expertly tongued. And when another set of 16ths appeared that were marked as legato, the way he’d played them had been with a quicker tongue than a true legato. Then, later in the piece, when Freddie had had the same figure, he’d played it exactly how James had, sharp staccato, chipped legato, no rubato. Freddie had also copied James’ style of subtly crescendoing on rising moving patterns and decrescendoing on falling ones.
They both finished on the same note. And it was perfectly in tune.
Mrs. Ford, who was with them, standing off to the side, clapped her hands and shouted, “Bravo! That was sight-reading, and it was exceptional. Has either of you played that before?”
Freddie said no, and James, still in the glow of the meeting of two minds in a piece of music, just shook his head, his grin seemingly etched on his face.
“Well, it was wonderful. Musical. Moving. Now, do you want to play the Nicolai?”
Freddie turned to James, and then he decided not to speak. It seemed James wanted a leadership role, and Freddie just wanted to play again. He thought it would be good to let James make the decision.
James took a glance at Freddie, then said, “It’s okay with me. You can decide, Freddie.”
“Let’s do it! I’ll play the bottom again, as Mrs. Ford suggested.”
James nodded and took a look at the music. And gulped. This wasn’t Mozart! This was going to be the challenge Mrs. Ford had said it would be. It would not be easy.
The piece was marked allegro and was in cut time. Freddie looked at it and smiled. “Cool!” he said. “How fast?”
James looked at him and said, “What’s the point of deciding in advance. You’ll just take the tempo however you want it anyway.”
Freddie laughed at that, and again James caught the twinkle in his eyes. “Can’t on this one,” Freddie said, grinning, tacitly admitting what he’d done, enjoying that James had commented on it. “You start with eighth notes and I have quarter notes, so it’s up to you. You take it however you want. I’ll keep up.” He looked at James, and moved his horn to his lips, showing he was ready. James smiled, not that usual a thing for him to do, and got ready to play.
The piece was really tricky. Fast, full of quick eighth-note runs a third apart, making it necessary for tonguing and intonation to be precise. The melody line jumped back and forth between them. The piece would have been a bear even with practice, and the two boys were sight-reading it.
James had the more technical part, requiring him to play many high pitches and fast passages. Freddie had an easier part technically but one that allowed him the license to play molto expressivo passages with great rubato and exhibit his wonderful sound and musicality.
Both boys stumbled a bit here and there, but not much and neither got lost; they both got through the piece, and they ended together. When they did, Freddie, excited and jubilant, raised his hand in joy and shouted, “Yeah!”
James actually smiled again.
Then they were both surprised. They hadn’t noticed, but it seemed everyone who remained in the backyard had crowded around, listening, and they now broke into enthusiastic applause.
Freddie stood up and bowed, grinning broadly. James blushed when Freddie reached for his hand and pulled him up, then held both their hands up in the air, looking like Olympic race winners.
What happened next was a huge surprise for James. Freddie let their arms drop, then he hugged James one-handed, his other holding his horn. It was brief, but he hugged him. Then he let him go and said, “That was great. You play really, really well.”
James looked a little shellshocked, but said, “You do, too.”
At that point, Mrs. Ford congratulated both of them, then told James his mother was waiting for him out front. James checked his watch, saw it was five past eight, and quickly packed up his horn, thanked Mrs. Ford for inviting him, took a step toward the back door of the house, then stopped and looked back at Freddie, who was standing still, watching him, for once not smiling. His expression was one James couldn’t begin to read.
James hesitated, then raised his hand and gave Freddie a quick wave before hurrying away.
Freddie was left standing with Mrs. Ford. He shook his head. “So that was James,” he said.
“Yep,” Mrs. Ford agreed, “that certainly was James.”