Page 75 of The Good Part
‘You’re not interrupting,’ he says, taking the mug from my hands.
‘So, I pitched the idea, and everyone loved it. There’s plenty to do, but it feels good to have something to work on.’
‘That’s great news, well done.’ He grins up at me, and I loiter at the door, unable to make myself leave.
‘Can I stay and watch you work for a bit, see what it is you do?’ I ask him.
‘Sure, be my guest,’ he says, indicating a leather armchair in the corner of the room. Then he pushes his sleeve up and shoots me a bashful look over his shoulder. ‘I’m self-conscious now.’
‘Pretend I’m not here.’
He turns on a screen and a scene from a movie starts to play. A man and a woman are holding hands, confessing their love for one another beneath a night sky full of dancing green auroras.
‘What’s this?’ I ask.
‘Meet Me in Oslo, a romantic comedy I’m scoring. This is the climactic scene where the leads confess their feelings for one another. I can’t get the tone right.’
‘I rarely notice the music in movies,’ I admit. ‘Is that bad?’
‘If you notice it, that usually means the composer hasn’t done their job. The score should make you feel, it should add to the emotion of the performances on screen, not distract from it.’ He presses a button on the huge dashboard of controls in front of him and the scene from the film restarts. ‘Sometimes it’s understated,’ he says, playing a few chords on the piano, ‘then it builds.’ He keeps playing, developing the music into something bolder, pressing a button to add some strings. ‘But if you go too big, it’s distracting.’ The music he’s playing is now sweeping and dramatic with heavy, clunking chords. I laugh, because it’s changed the mood of the scene so completely, then I shake my head in awe at his ability to improvise like this.
‘Wow, you’re amazing,’ I say, and he rubs a palm up his neck, shifting in his chair.
‘It’s just practice,’ he says, turning back to the piano. The speaker crackles, and Sam leans across to shift a dial. ‘Sorry, this speaker’s seen better days.’
‘Can’t you get a new one?’
‘I was planning to, but then someone spent all our money on strange purple suits.’ He says it playfully, but I shoot him a grimace.
‘Can you make it into a horror movie?’ I ask, nodding towards the screen. Sam raises an eyebrow at me before turning back to the piano. He restarts the clip, then plays a dark accompaniment, full of foreboding, and I clap with glee.
‘That’s so sinister. How do you do that? Ooh, can you do a version where she’s an evil creature from outer space, but he’s in love with her, and doesn’t care?’
‘What am I, a performing monkey?’ he says, pretending to scowl, but the smile lines around his eyes give him away. ‘I thought you were here to watch me work.’
‘I thought you were showing me what you can do. Wooing me with your musical dexterity.’
‘I need to woo you now, do I?’
‘Maybe. I don’t remember any of the wooing, so...’
He pulls a second stool out from beneath the piano and beckons me over. I sit down and he moves his chair in behind me, his hands covering mine on the piano. Gently he guides my fingers to the notes, teaching me a basic set of chords. It feels like there is some muscle memory because my fingers pick it up easily, though I’ve never learnt to play.
‘Do I play?’ I ask, but my voice wavers, distracted by every point where his body is in contact with mine.
‘Yes, I taught you,’ he says gently, needling his chin into my shoulder. My head tilts towards him, but then he moves back to his side of the keyboard. ‘Play those notes, whenever the man is talking,’ he instructs me, then he restarts the clip and hits ‘record’ on his deck of controls. I play my light, flighty chords when the man is talking, while Sam thumps out a more sinister tune whenever the woman does. When the scene ends, we grin at each other, celebrating our mutual accomplishment. Then Sam plays the scene again, with our new musical score.
‘He’s in love with her and she’s a psycho,’ I laugh.
‘Like all the best love stories,’ Sam says with a wry smile, and I elbow him in the ribs.
‘I think this is the version you should go with,’ I say, standing up. ‘And now I’m really going to go, let you work in peace.’ I need to stop distracting him, get back to work myself, but as I turn away, he takes my hand and pulls me back to face him.
‘Thank you,’ he says.
‘What for?’
‘For coming out here, for taking an interest.’ He looks so sincere, as though this small exchange between us has been something important. ‘For reminding me you’re still you.’
