===========================
Summer Samba
by Nancy Kaminski
(c) July 1997
===========================
A little Nick and Nat romantic interlude for Soulseeker,
on the event of her wedding on August 9, 1997.
~~~~~
Natalie rode the elevator upwards, a large book clutched in her arms, and
listened to the music filtering down the shaft from the loft above. Against the
chorus of creaks and groans from the ancient machinery she could just make out
that it was a female vocalist, singing to an insistent South American rhythm.
As the door slid open she saw Nick sprawled out on the black leather couch, one
leg hooked over the back, his eyes closed. His fingers beat a gentle rhythm on
his stomach in time to the music. For once, the usually ubiquitous wine glass
was nowhere in sight.
Well! Nat thought. 'This music hath charms to soothe the savage--whatever.'
Without opening his eyes, he called, "Hi, Nat, c'mon in."
Were her ears deceiving her? He sounded almost--content. He certainly looked
relaxed enough lying sprawled out like a teenager talking on the phone. She
concentrated on the music as she crossed the room to sit in the chair opposite
the couch. Placing the coffee table-sized book on the low table between them,
she said, "What's this? Not your usual classical or headbanger stuff."
The vocalist's voice was cool, a mellow soprano, singing in a language she
didn't recognize offhand. The music was seductive, the melodies pensive and sad.
And yet at the same time, they were somehow insistently hopeful. Where had she
heard that voice before?
Nick sat up and smiled at her. "It's Astrud Gilberto." When her expression
showed no recognition, he added, "She sang 'The Girl from Ipanema.'"
"Oh, that's where I've heard her. She was mainly in the Sixties, right?"
He nodded. "They just reissued some of her albums. My LPs were about worn out,
so I ordered the new remastered CDs. Pretty nice, huh?"
Nat grinned. "I never figured you for the rumba type." She arranged herself
comfortably in the deep chair and put her sneakered feet up on the table.
"Not rumba," he corrected. "Samba and bossa nova. This one is mainly samba."
"Uh-huh." She shook her head in amusement at this newly-revealed aspect of her
favorite patient. She pushed the large volume across the table with her toe.
"Here's the book I was telling you about."
She had found the book while browsing in a used book store--"The Greek World," a
collection of photographs by Eliot Porter. She had been instantly captivated by
the photographs of Greek ruins and landscapes, all washed with a marvelous
translucent light and amazing color. The blues and whites could only be
Mediterranean, and Porter had caught aspects of familiar scenes that made them
seem surprising and new. The celebration of sunlight and classical beauty made
her think of Nick.
One night in the morgue, she had enthused about her find until Nick had asked to
borrow the book when she was done with it. Tonight was the first chance she had
had to bring it over, after the end of a busy week.
As he drew the book towards him and started leafing through it, Nat leaned back
and let the music wash over her. The Brazilian was singing in Portuguese-
accented English, now...
How insensitive I must have seemed
When he told me that he loved me.
How unmoved and cold
I must have seemed when he told me, so sincerely.
Why? he must have asked,
Did I just turn and stare in icy silence?
What was I to say? What can you say
When a love affair is over?
Now he's gone away
And I'm alone with the memory of his last look.
Vague and drawn and sad
I see it still, all his heartbreak in that last look.
Why? he must have asked,
Did I just turn and stare in icy silence?
What was I to do?
What can one do
When a love affair is over?
The regrets of the failed love affair echoed in her ears, and she was overcome
by a feeling of gentle melancholy. Will this be what it's like when he leaves?
she asked herself pensively. Will he pretend there's nothing there any longer,
to protect himself from getting hurt? Will I? She stole a glance at him and
found his eyes on her.
"They're not all that sad," he said, as if reading her mind. "But I like the
mood this music evokes. It's so--emotional. So human." He paused and smiled
again. "And it's wonderful dance music."
Nat imagined herself in Nick's arms, dancing the samba under a tropical moon,
palm trees swaying gently in an ocean breeze. If it could only be... She sighed.
"Yeah, it sure is. Too bad I don't know how to do whatever it is you're supposed
to do to it."
Nick put down the book, stood, and bowed slightly. He held out his hand. "May I
have the next samba?" he asked, all Old World courtesy.
Nat stared at him. "No, really, I don't know how," she protested, as a song in
plaintive Portuguese drew to an end.
He ignored her protests and pulled her to her feet, then drew her into his arms
and held her close. "Don't worry, I do. Just follow my lead." He smiled into her
eyes, their faces just inches apart. "Just follow me, and let the music fill
your soul."
The rhythms of the next song swelled. Gilberto's cool, clear voice sang,
Why are my eyes always full of this vision of you?
Why do I dream silly dreams that I feel won't come true?
I long to show you the stars caught in the dark of the sea,
I long to speak of my love, but you don't come to me.
Nick led her gliding around the loft, their hips swaying together to the
sensuous music, his arms strong and sure around her. Natalie stumbled the first
few steps, but he easily guided her into the dance. She found herself gazing
into his blue eyes, her body moving under its own volition in perfect, sensuous
time with his. The music surrounded her, engulfed her, and carried her on its
wings.
So I go on asking if maybe one day you'll care
I tell myself little dreams to the soft evening air
I am quite hopeless, it seems,
Two things I know how to do--
One is to dream, two is loving you.
The song drew to a close, and they drifted to a halt, just looking at each
other. Nick kissed her lips softly and smiled. "See? The music tells you what to
do."
Natalie leaned her cheek against his chest. "Mmm-hmm," she breathed. "The music,
and you. That was wonderful."
He continued to hold her, swaying gently with her as the next song wove more
Latin magic. After a while he murmured into her hair, "I know a wonderful place,
with live music all night long. Sambas under the stars. Would you like to go
there with me?"
She sighed. "Oh, yes. It sounds wonderful." She closed her eyes dreamily,
swaying with him and surrendering to her senses. "Where?"
He tightened his arms around her. "Rio."
Her eyes flew open in shock, and she pushed away from him to stare into his
face. "In Rio?! Nick..."
He grinned at her. "I'll charter a plane. We can be there tomorrow, stay a few
days, and come back in time for work on Tuesday." He laughed at her expression.
"What good is being filthy rich if you can't throw it around now and then? Go
home, put a few things in a bag and get your neighbor to feed Sydney. You can
buy whatever else you need down there."
Natalie continued to stare at him. "You're serious, aren't you? You really want
to fly down to Rio and dance."
"Yup, just like Fred and Ginger. Let's go." He twirled her around once, than
stopped and raised an eyebrow. "Well? It's up to you."
Natalie laughed. The thought of doing something so unexpected, so frivolous, so
utterly romantic seizing her imagination. And to think she had just been
dreaming of dancing with Nick under a tropical moon... "Why not? Can we do the
Carioca, too, like Fred and Ginger did?"
"Of course. He taught me how to do it, after all."
"No! Fred Astaire taught you to dance?!"
"Well, not exactly. I learned just like everyone else... I watched him very
closely at the movies."
As he expected her to, Nat slugged him gently in the chest. "You idiot! You had
me going there for a minute! I never know when to believe you or not!"
He smiled. "I would never lie to you." He paused for a moment, then shook his
head. "Exaggerate a bit at times, perhaps, but never lie." He released her from
his embrace and stepped back slightly. "Now, do we have time for another dance,
Miss Rogers?" he inquired gravely.
"Of course, Mr. Astaire." She curtsied and held out her arms.
They stepped off together in complete harmony as the album segued into the next
song, the Summer Samba...
Someone to hold me tight, that would be very nice,
Someone to love me right, that would be very nice,
Someone to understand each little dream in me,
Someone to take my hand, to be a team with me.
So nice--that would be so nice,
If one day I find
Someone who could take my hand and samba through life with me.
Someone to cling to me, stay with me right or wrong,
Someone to sing to me some little samba song,
Someone to take my heart, and give his heart to me,
Someone who's ready to give love a start with me.
Oh yes, that would be so nice.
Should it be you and me?
I could see it would be nice.
Yes, Natalie reflected as she swayed in Nick's arms, it was very nice indeed.
Finis
~~~~~
Credits:
Music from "The Astrud Gilberto Album" on Verve Records.
"How Insensitive," by Jobim--DeMoraes--Gimbel, Duchess Music Corp.
"Dreamer," by Jobim--Lees, Corcovado Music Corp.
"So Nice (Summer Samba)," by M. Valle--P. Valle--Gimbel, Duchess Music Corp.
"The Greek World," photographs by Eliot Porter, text by Peter Levi. New York:
Dutton, 1980.
Summer Samba
by Nancy Kaminski
(c) July 1997
===========================
A little Nick and Nat romantic interlude for Soulseeker,
on the event of her wedding on August 9, 1997.
~~~~~
Natalie rode the elevator upwards, a large book clutched in her arms, and
listened to the music filtering down the shaft from the loft above. Against the
chorus of creaks and groans from the ancient machinery she could just make out
that it was a female vocalist, singing to an insistent South American rhythm.
As the door slid open she saw Nick sprawled out on the black leather couch, one
leg hooked over the back, his eyes closed. His fingers beat a gentle rhythm on
his stomach in time to the music. For once, the usually ubiquitous wine glass
was nowhere in sight.
Well! Nat thought. 'This music hath charms to soothe the savage--whatever.'
Without opening his eyes, he called, "Hi, Nat, c'mon in."
Were her ears deceiving her? He sounded almost--content. He certainly looked
relaxed enough lying sprawled out like a teenager talking on the phone. She
concentrated on the music as she crossed the room to sit in the chair opposite
the couch. Placing the coffee table-sized book on the low table between them,
she said, "What's this? Not your usual classical or headbanger stuff."
The vocalist's voice was cool, a mellow soprano, singing in a language she
didn't recognize offhand. The music was seductive, the melodies pensive and sad.
And yet at the same time, they were somehow insistently hopeful. Where had she
heard that voice before?
Nick sat up and smiled at her. "It's Astrud Gilberto." When her expression
showed no recognition, he added, "She sang 'The Girl from Ipanema.'"
"Oh, that's where I've heard her. She was mainly in the Sixties, right?"
He nodded. "They just reissued some of her albums. My LPs were about worn out,
so I ordered the new remastered CDs. Pretty nice, huh?"
Nat grinned. "I never figured you for the rumba type." She arranged herself
comfortably in the deep chair and put her sneakered feet up on the table.
"Not rumba," he corrected. "Samba and bossa nova. This one is mainly samba."
"Uh-huh." She shook her head in amusement at this newly-revealed aspect of her
favorite patient. She pushed the large volume across the table with her toe.
"Here's the book I was telling you about."
She had found the book while browsing in a used book store--"The Greek World," a
collection of photographs by Eliot Porter. She had been instantly captivated by
the photographs of Greek ruins and landscapes, all washed with a marvelous
translucent light and amazing color. The blues and whites could only be
Mediterranean, and Porter had caught aspects of familiar scenes that made them
seem surprising and new. The celebration of sunlight and classical beauty made
her think of Nick.
One night in the morgue, she had enthused about her find until Nick had asked to
borrow the book when she was done with it. Tonight was the first chance she had
had to bring it over, after the end of a busy week.
As he drew the book towards him and started leafing through it, Nat leaned back
and let the music wash over her. The Brazilian was singing in Portuguese-
accented English, now...
How insensitive I must have seemed
When he told me that he loved me.
How unmoved and cold
I must have seemed when he told me, so sincerely.
Why? he must have asked,
Did I just turn and stare in icy silence?
What was I to say? What can you say
When a love affair is over?
Now he's gone away
And I'm alone with the memory of his last look.
Vague and drawn and sad
I see it still, all his heartbreak in that last look.
Why? he must have asked,
Did I just turn and stare in icy silence?
What was I to do?
What can one do
When a love affair is over?
The regrets of the failed love affair echoed in her ears, and she was overcome
by a feeling of gentle melancholy. Will this be what it's like when he leaves?
she asked herself pensively. Will he pretend there's nothing there any longer,
to protect himself from getting hurt? Will I? She stole a glance at him and
found his eyes on her.
"They're not all that sad," he said, as if reading her mind. "But I like the
mood this music evokes. It's so--emotional. So human." He paused and smiled
again. "And it's wonderful dance music."
Nat imagined herself in Nick's arms, dancing the samba under a tropical moon,
palm trees swaying gently in an ocean breeze. If it could only be... She sighed.
"Yeah, it sure is. Too bad I don't know how to do whatever it is you're supposed
to do to it."
Nick put down the book, stood, and bowed slightly. He held out his hand. "May I
have the next samba?" he asked, all Old World courtesy.
Nat stared at him. "No, really, I don't know how," she protested, as a song in
plaintive Portuguese drew to an end.
He ignored her protests and pulled her to her feet, then drew her into his arms
and held her close. "Don't worry, I do. Just follow my lead." He smiled into her
eyes, their faces just inches apart. "Just follow me, and let the music fill
your soul."
The rhythms of the next song swelled. Gilberto's cool, clear voice sang,
Why are my eyes always full of this vision of you?
Why do I dream silly dreams that I feel won't come true?
I long to show you the stars caught in the dark of the sea,
I long to speak of my love, but you don't come to me.
Nick led her gliding around the loft, their hips swaying together to the
sensuous music, his arms strong and sure around her. Natalie stumbled the first
few steps, but he easily guided her into the dance. She found herself gazing
into his blue eyes, her body moving under its own volition in perfect, sensuous
time with his. The music surrounded her, engulfed her, and carried her on its
wings.
So I go on asking if maybe one day you'll care
I tell myself little dreams to the soft evening air
I am quite hopeless, it seems,
Two things I know how to do--
One is to dream, two is loving you.
The song drew to a close, and they drifted to a halt, just looking at each
other. Nick kissed her lips softly and smiled. "See? The music tells you what to
do."
Natalie leaned her cheek against his chest. "Mmm-hmm," she breathed. "The music,
and you. That was wonderful."
He continued to hold her, swaying gently with her as the next song wove more
Latin magic. After a while he murmured into her hair, "I know a wonderful place,
with live music all night long. Sambas under the stars. Would you like to go
there with me?"
She sighed. "Oh, yes. It sounds wonderful." She closed her eyes dreamily,
swaying with him and surrendering to her senses. "Where?"
He tightened his arms around her. "Rio."
Her eyes flew open in shock, and she pushed away from him to stare into his
face. "In Rio?! Nick..."
He grinned at her. "I'll charter a plane. We can be there tomorrow, stay a few
days, and come back in time for work on Tuesday." He laughed at her expression.
"What good is being filthy rich if you can't throw it around now and then? Go
home, put a few things in a bag and get your neighbor to feed Sydney. You can
buy whatever else you need down there."
Natalie continued to stare at him. "You're serious, aren't you? You really want
to fly down to Rio and dance."
"Yup, just like Fred and Ginger. Let's go." He twirled her around once, than
stopped and raised an eyebrow. "Well? It's up to you."
Natalie laughed. The thought of doing something so unexpected, so frivolous, so
utterly romantic seizing her imagination. And to think she had just been
dreaming of dancing with Nick under a tropical moon... "Why not? Can we do the
Carioca, too, like Fred and Ginger did?"
"Of course. He taught me how to do it, after all."
"No! Fred Astaire taught you to dance?!"
"Well, not exactly. I learned just like everyone else... I watched him very
closely at the movies."
As he expected her to, Nat slugged him gently in the chest. "You idiot! You had
me going there for a minute! I never know when to believe you or not!"
He smiled. "I would never lie to you." He paused for a moment, then shook his
head. "Exaggerate a bit at times, perhaps, but never lie." He released her from
his embrace and stepped back slightly. "Now, do we have time for another dance,
Miss Rogers?" he inquired gravely.
"Of course, Mr. Astaire." She curtsied and held out her arms.
They stepped off together in complete harmony as the album segued into the next
song, the Summer Samba...
Someone to hold me tight, that would be very nice,
Someone to love me right, that would be very nice,
Someone to understand each little dream in me,
Someone to take my hand, to be a team with me.
So nice--that would be so nice,
If one day I find
Someone who could take my hand and samba through life with me.
Someone to cling to me, stay with me right or wrong,
Someone to sing to me some little samba song,
Someone to take my heart, and give his heart to me,
Someone who's ready to give love a start with me.
Oh yes, that would be so nice.
Should it be you and me?
I could see it would be nice.
Yes, Natalie reflected as she swayed in Nick's arms, it was very nice indeed.
Finis
~~~~~
Credits:
Music from "The Astrud Gilberto Album" on Verve Records.
"How Insensitive," by Jobim--DeMoraes--Gimbel, Duchess Music Corp.
"Dreamer," by Jobim--Lees, Corcovado Music Corp.
"So Nice (Summer Samba)," by M. Valle--P. Valle--Gimbel, Duchess Music Corp.
"The Greek World," photographs by Eliot Porter, text by Peter Levi. New York:
Dutton, 1980.