Page 18 of Unruly
His brow crinkles. “But how? They lived long before television and radios.”
“Others play their music.”
“Ah. Yes, that makes sense. I imagine that bothers Beethoven a great deal if he’s aware. He was a prickly fellow.”
“You knew him?”
“Briefly. A genius, but very particular, as well he should have been.”
We reach the T station and take the stairs down. Farnsworth presses closer to me, his eyes roaming over the masses of people we pass. When we reach the bottom of the stairs, he exhales, glancing around.
“It’s so busy.”
“Always. Let me check the schedule.”
I turn to read the signage on the platform, and when I turn around again, Farnsworth is standing in front of a busker playing the violin.
“We can take the Red Line to Quincy Center.”
Farnsworth glances over his shoulder at me and nods. “Fine.”
I stand beside him, listening until the performance ends. Several people are gathered around now, and Farnsworth watches with fascination as people throw money into the violin case. I pull a few bucks from my wallet and hand them to him. He smiles at me before bending down to put the money in the case and thank the performer.
“Art on the street?” he asks as we walk to the correct platform. “Free to anyone?”
“Yeah, a lot of people perform for the public and work on tips.”
“How wonderful. What a service.”
I cringe slightly, twisting my lips. “Well, it’s not meant to be a service, really. It’s more of a necessity.”
“A necessity? For whom?”
“The artist. They might be unemployed or underemployed or can’t find work in their field of art, so they make a few bucks on the street.”
He falls silent as he seems to process this. “So, we benefit from their misfortune?”
Damn. “I guess you could look at it that way.”
“Sad.”
“Not always though. Some choose it. They like the freedom it gives them.”
“Hmm.” He goes to straighten the bow tie he’s no longer wearing. “What a strange world.”
I smile. I suppose it would be to him. “Been on a subway before?”
He shakes his head. “My visits to the Above are brief and focused. I’ve heard of things more than I’ve seen or experienced them.”
“Gotcha. I prefer it over driving. It’s faster and pretty safe.”
He turns to me, a slightly amused look on his face. “Safety is the least of our concerns.”
“Ah, right.”
The train pulls in, and we wait as some people deboard then we push our way on. It’s pretty crowded, so I choose to stand, holding onto a pole. Farnsworth folds his arms over his chest, but as soon as we’re in motion, he sways slightly and reaches out to grab the pole as well.
We’re close to each other, almost pressed together, and as I gaze into Farnsworth’s gray eyes, I realize just how attractive he really is when he’s not in the stifling atmosphere of the underworld. He licks his plush lips, impossibly long eyelashes fluttering, and just as he steps back, a child runs through the crowd, chased by an older child, and several people smash into us, forcing us together.
