Girl-Talk

Meg and Christine forgot to rent movies, and there was no popcorn in the apartment. They wound up settling for homemade raw cookie-dough and a re-viewing (for at least the hundredth time) of Christine's copy of The Princess Bride. Christine sat curled in her papasan, staring at the screen, occasionally mouthing the words. She and Meg both memorized this movie when they were young girls having sleepovers in Christine's room. Christine was an only child and had her own room; an arrangement vastly preferable to sharing Meg's room with her very nosy younger sister. Each of them was certain she'd meet her Westley someday.

Tonight's coziness called back comfortable memories of those nights, though the roles were reversed. In high school especially, Meg had been boy-crazy and often regaled Christine with stories of her romantic pursuits. In those days, Christine rarely had stories to tell. She was a shy girl who spent much more time playing her cello than thinking about boys, or school, or anything else. She made it through her entire high school career without a boyfriend. As a result, when she left the conservatory, she'd begun dating as though her life depended on it, making numerous bad choices in the process. In the meantime, Meg had found a wonderful guy to whom she was very nearly engaged.

"Meg?" On the screen, Vizzini was climbing into the boat to spirit Buttercup away.

"Mmm?"

"What did you mean by 'catch and hold him'?"

"Haven't you noticed how…I don't know how to describe it… how detached he is? And you say that every time he gets upset, he just logs off. Relationships take sticking power, Miss Chris, let me tell you that from experience. Oooh! I love this part! The Cliffs of INSANITY!"

After the climb up the Cliffs began, Christine ventured another comment. "What would you do if you were me?"

"If I were you? I'd probably be just as head-over-heels. You musician types are so emotional. I tell you one thing, though. I'd Google the hell out of him as soon as I knew his last name – make sure he's not a sex-offender or something."

"Do you think he likes me?" Christine felt ridiculous asking such a juvenile question, but she certainly couldn't ask Erik, and Meg was usually a pretty good judge of these things. Of course, Meg usually had facial expressions and body language to go by.

"Shhhh! The Fight Scene!" The two young women watched the classic duel scene at the top of the Cliffs of Insanity. Or, rather, Meg watched. Christine impatiently watched Meg watching the movie. When the duel was over, Meg answered her question. "Sure, he likes you. Why else would he spend so much time chatting with you and playing for you and teaching you to sing? The question is, does he like you enough to stop being so damned secretive?"

"I hope so."

"I hope so, too. Now, can we stop talking about Erik and watch the movie? I don't want to miss the part where Westley defeats Fezzik." Meg was already glued to the screen before she finished talking. Christine sighed and gave up. No sense beating a dead horse – or trying to get Meg to talk while The Princess Bride is playing, she thought.

When the movie was over, Meg stood and stretched, declaring that it was time for her to go home. If she hurried, she could catch about five hours of sleep before her shift began at eight o'clock. Christine also needed to toddle off to bed and sleep, but when the door closed behind Meg, she began to hear the music.

Of course, as a musician, there was always music echoing in Christine's brain. She had composed several short pieces in her life, mainly to see if she could. This, however, was one of those rare times when the music was speaking itself to her. It wanted to be played. Right then. She sat down to her cello and drew the bow over the strings, tuning up absently. She found herself playing into her empty apartment, making chicken-scrawl notes on the scratch paper she habitually kept near her practice area. Once she was sure she could remember it the next day, she started walking towards her bedroom. Halfway down the hall she stopped. It was not enough simply to compose and sleep.

The monitor flickered to life and Trillian loaded quickly. AngelofMusic was not logged in. Of course not. It's two in the morning. Christine was glad he was not logged in. She clicked on his handle and sent an offline message:

minorchord: Tonight, in my mind, you were E-minor. Ask me tomorrow.

It was one of the bravest things Christine had done in a long time. She did not consider herself a composer, and never shared her musical sketches with anyone else. The message was irretrievably sent. He would ask her about it tomorrow, and she would play it for him if her courage allowed.

Christine's cryptic message awaited Erik when he logged in around noon to begin work. At first, all he could think about was that he had been on her mind last night. Checking the time stamp, he saw that the message had been sent at two-fifteen in the morning. Why was she awake so late? He knew that she shared a morning shift at the coffee shop with her friend, Meg. If she was awake at two-fifteen in the morning, she'd barely gotten five hours of sleep. He spent the next four hours contemplating the connotations of being E-minor in Christine's mind. It wasn't an unusual tuning; some of the most beautiful classical music was written in E-minor…

For the first time in his editing career, Erik missed a deadline.

Once the article was successfully edited and emailed back to the writer along with his sincere apologies, Erik hovered near his computer playing aimlessly on the violin and waiting for her to log in.

minorchord has logged on.

AngelofMusic: Not only have I not edited any good articles today, I missed a deadline by half an hour. What did you mean by that cryptic note you sent me last night?

minorchord: All shall be revealed in the fullness of time. I've already warmed up, and I'm ready for my lesson, Professor Erik.

AngelofMusic: You are far too chipper for someone who has had less than six hours' sleep.

minorchord: I'm punch-drunk, maybe. I've had a lot of espresso today. A lot. Please, can we sing now?

AngelofMusic: Certainly.

Erik had prepared himself well to hear her sing. The amount of progress she made with just the one lesson was staggering. Erik remembered the effect those two lessons had had on his voice. She was so like him…

"I'm glad you warmed up before you logged in. I want to play around a bit with your range today. I think you'll be surprised at yourself."

For the next half hour, Erik played pieces of simple classical arias and asked Christine to sing back what she heard. He began to emphasize technical work, such as resonance, mask, and enunciation. To avoid stressing her vocal chords for the second time in two days, he cut the lesson far shorter than he could have wished. There was so much she had still to learn! Nevertheless, he was pleased with how quickly she corrected herself.

"That's enough for today." Regret tinged his voice.

"I never imagined I could sound like that. And it will only get better. Thank you so much, Erik. This has been a dream of mine for years." It had. She'd been completely devoted to her cello and declined voice lessons when they were offered, thinking she could only concentrate on one thing at a time.

Erik's voice was so low, she could barely make out his words. "You're very welcome," he muttered, then his voice became inaudible to her. "Anything to make you smile."

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Nothing…it was nothing. My microphone slipped." The lie was easy and guiltless.

"Oh. Well. Anyway. Thank you. But, did I do well at my lesson?"

"Yes. Yes, of course."

"Then I get my answer. I'm ready for it."

Erik rolled his eyes, glad she couldn't see him. "What was your second question? What do I think of Lesley Garrett? That's a pretty serious question, isn't it?"

"I wasn't being literal with every question and you know it. You are teasing me." A pout appeared on her round face that emphasized her full lips.

"Ah, but you asked them." Erik waggled his finger at the microphone, and suddenly found himself wishing he could wag that finger directly under her upturned nose. "And here we begin our negotiations. My offer is this: If you will agree to answer the same question you ask and I answer, I will allow you to drop one question."

"Wait. Did I hear you correctly? If I agree to answer my own questions after you answer them, you will get straight to the questions I really meant to ask?"

"Yes. Do you agree?" Erik sounded over-eager to get her agreement. Christine could only remember some of the questions she had asked, but she had no doubt he remembered them all perfectly. She sincerely hoped the Lesley Garrett question was the only useless one.

"Alright. But you don't get to play djinn tricks on me. You must answer my questions to my satisfaction." Christine's tone made it absolutely clear she considered him fully capable of tricksiness, and she would have none of it.

"If you are willing to do likewise..." It was half question/half challenge.

"I am."

"May I assume that you wish to drop the Lesley Garrett question?" Erik smirked.

"Erik..." Christine's voice was not accustomed to carrying a threatening tone, but Erik thought she did very well for one so unpracticed.

"Your first serious question was, 'Where do you live?' I live in a two-bedroom apartment in The Park at Northgate, which is in Seattle. If you'd like the address, I'll give that to you as well, but you've promised to answer whatever I answer, I don't think young women should give out their addresses over the web. Do you?"

Christine was grinning broadly, her face beginning to ache. Who would ever have guessed that he was so close? "You're not far away from me at all! I'm at the Whisperwood apartments. We could meet..."

"NO!" Erik realized he had shouted the word. He looked and winced to see her wounded expression. Her mouth was working, but no sound came out. Trying to take back the hurt, he said it again, more softly. "No. Not yet, not now. I...I haven't answered all your questions yet. You can't know that you want to meet me. You haven't..."

"I just thought...I only thought that we could get together someplace public and maybe... play together. Microphones only transmit one way. I only thought we could play together." She was close to tears, stung by his rejection.

"Wait, Christine. Wait until I've answered everything. Please." He was watching the webcam, watching her face, wanting to see that hurt look disappear. 'Please' was not a word Erik was used to saying, but he was willing to say it, if it would help erase that look. "Just promise me you'll wait. Please."

Christine just nodded and then brightened, remembering that she had something to give Erik.

"Ok. I promise. Do you remember your question? That deadline you missed?"

Relieved, Erik blew the breath he was holding out slowly. "I remember. I'm sure the journal remembers, too. Thank goodness I've been on time for six straight years. What was that about?"

Christine didn't answer him. She simply took her cello and began to play. She had worried she might forget the melody from the night before, but it flowed as easily and naturally as the first time. Erik listened, entranced by the sweet, sad melody. 'You were E-minor in my mind last night.' This is what she meant. When the last strains of the song faded he wanted to speak, but before he could say a word of praise, he saw

minorchord has logged off.