Busking is pretty good income for me, when I can get it. The problem is, violinists are the pianists of the string family - everyone plays the damn thing, so getting into a group in order to actually play is harder than you might think, and people only give money to solo violinists out of pity. It's gotten easier lately to find cellists, because you know, cellists are sexy (something about having a large throbbing piece of wood between your legs, I'm told). That just leaves the viola…
Sometimes when I'm really desperate for money I'll borrow a viola from the department and tag along for someone, but no one really wants to play it. People don't like admitting they play the viola. I certainly didn't spend sixteen years of my life undergoing the yearly torture that are A.M.E.B exams in conservatorium examination rooms to play that shit. But hey, if I need money, it's better than working at MacDonalds.
Today Velanna is sick so I get to be second violin in the basement of the Queen Victoria Building. Just outside Town Hall Station. It's a prime spot, and it's out of the sun, which in summer makes it our favourite. I mean, you could probably get a few coins from some Sydney commuters for passing out from heat exhaustion, but it's a trick that only works the once and I have rent and bills to pay.
We play all the old favourites. The closer it gets to Christmas (and yes, even though it's October, there are sodding Christmas decorations up already. I don't get it) the more money we can get out of these little sessions. In the week before we'll have a kind of rotating lineup of musicians, tag teaming out of the quartet before we die of boredom or heat exhaustion or whatever and I'll have enough money to buy god. Or it always feels that way.
It's amazing how much money people will give you for playing Vivaldi's Four Seasons over and over again until you want to kill yourself.
In any case we're taking a break. Leliana, our cellist, is off to get us some lunch and Nathaniel is just idly sitting there plucking at the strings of his viola like a guitar, while I flip through music searching for something to play that won't kill me with ennui. He's a good viola player, Nate, doesn't even prefer the violin, but he's unreliable - his father's a total arsehole not to mention one of the richest bankers in Mosman and doesn't think his precious son should be hanging out with grotty students when he can get all the money he needs from Daddy's bank account.
"The problem with getting money from daddy," Nate says, "is that he then thinks he's got the right to ask me what I spend it on." Nate's gay, but not out. Not to Rendon Howe, any way. I suspect that even if he did come out his father would just blanket deny it, possibly issue a press statement to his shareholders denying it and claim the Nathaniel Howe on the Rocky Horror float in the Mardi Gras float was actually a highly sophisticated robot created for the sole purpose of ruining the Howe name.
Nathaniel Howe, of the Mosman Howes, was not allowed to be gay.
"Hey," the voice is like the rich tones of Lel's cello. Seriously. I suspect it might induce orgasms in passing females, randomly tuned to that resonance, like some sort of magic radio orgasmo-wave.
I twist my head to see Andy standing behind me, laden with bags. He's obviously been shopping. Clothes shopping from the looks of things, a couple of brand name bags catch my eye, even though I've never seen him wear anything designer, ever.
He looks fantastic. He's always dressed so impeccably - even when he wears grotty band t-shirts and old jeans he looks gorgeous, and today, even though it's thirty degrees out there and I have embarrassing sweat stains under my arms, he looks fresh and cool in a flowing cotton shirt and cargo pants that show off his feet in Birkenstocks.
Most guys can't pull of Birkenstocks without looking like idiots.
He has nice ankles.
"Andy!" I squeak, accidentally catching my e string with the hook on my bracelet making it twang horribly and almost certainly pulling it way out of tune at the same time.
He grins.
"You're busking?"
I nod.
"With Nathaniel?"
My head whips round to where boy Howe is lounging back in his fold out chair, fixing Andy with an indolent grin, his long dark hair framing his face and my heart gives a lurch. Oh. Of course.
"You know Nate?" I say, trying desperately to keep the disappointment from my voice and failing miserably, I'm certain.
Andy smirks. "We used to hang out."
He's fucking gay. Why didn't I know that? "Yeah, that's one word for it," Nate says, scowling that Howe scowl.
"Would you prefer me to say you pulled my still beating heart out of my chest and stomped on it with your cruel rejections?" Andy says, still smirking. "Broody."
"I'd prefer you didn't say anything at all, Andrew," Nathaniel says. "Especially when it's so wildly inaccurate."
Andy puts one hand over his heart. "You wound me," then he winks at me and I'm now officially confused, because that wink is nothing short of lascivious.
Nathaniel has done his usual "pfah" and turned away, obviously whatever went on between those two didn't end well, and Andy turns his attention back to me. "Hey," he says again.
"You already said that," I point out, and he grins.
"I did. It's a useful word. Many applications, not all of them rural."
I laugh. Out of the corner of my eye I spot Leliana coming back, laden with burgers, chips and drinks and I lean down to put the fiddle in its case. When I sit back up again he's much closer, behind my chair, and his breath ghosts over my ear as he speaks.
"Do you come here often?" He says, and it's long and drawn out, a tired line made sexy just because he's saying it
"Are you flirting with me?"
He shrugs. "Yes."
Fuck.
"Oh," I squeak. I have no idea what to say. He shakes his head, honey coloured eyes twinkling with mischief. I'm dead certain it's a crime for someone to be that good looking.
"You're adorable," he says, leaning back again, and those words make my heart beat so fast I'm surprised it hasn't exploded. "Want to come out tomorrow night?"
"What?"
"Well, that wasn't the response I was hoping for."
"I ah.. I'm sorry! Yes. If you like. I'd like that. Yes?"
"I know someone who's playing in a band at the Annandale," he says. "She said she'd put me on the door. Plus one."
He names the band and I gape. It's one of my favourites. "Oh, wow. You know her?"
He shrugs. "We went to school together in Brisbane," he says.
I smile stupidly and then it hits me and I suddenly want to kill myself. "Oh, fuck," I swear. "I'm sorry. Tomorrow… I can't tomorrow."
He looks hurt and a bit puzzled.
"Um… it's the twelfth," I say.
He looks blank.
I shake my head, not really willing to explain. "I've got to be somewhere else. At least for a while. It's a… " I swallow. "It's a family thing."
"It goes all night?"
"Um. Not precisely."
Some of the families do that, I know. But we were never one of them. There's no point in wallowing in grief, or putting it on display for the whole world so they can pretend they know how we feel. "Grief porn," Aveline calls it, in disgust, and I agree with her.
Nathaniel is making faces at Andy and I get up to help Leliana with the food. "I can probably make it to the Annandale late," I say, although I shudder to think of what my mum will say if I try to skip out early. But it's been four years now. And mum will probably go to bed early and Carver never talks to me any way. It's not like I'll be missed.
And god, it would be nice to have something to look forward to.
"Well, I'll leave your name on the door," Andy says.
"I can pay, you should give it to someone else who can be there all night…"
He smiles, and it's a sweet smile, not his usual smirk. "No. Everyone else I know will already be there."
I swallow. "Well I'll see you there when I get there," I say.
He nods and leaves. Nathaniel gives me a look and I make a face at him.
"He's bi," Nate says around a mouthful of burger.
"Did you hear me asking?" I snap back.
Nate lifts one eyebrow and chews at me.
"Shut up," I say.