One Wasted Night
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Dan Richards's turn:
Only thing that would make today better would be if I could've brought Cindy with me. Oh, let's get past that whole 'cute redheaded travel companion' thing, or the conversations that bounced from one corner of the world to another, or the red head leaned against my chest with my arm around her on the open road. Nope! She'd met some of the client engineers with me at another venue and they asked for her in specific.
"Where's the little redhead?" was the first question from the head of their engineering department.
"Talking her way through a senior-level physics course," I said. I surveyed the looks. I already know that 'this guy's married to a college student'. That's bad enough. So I toss a little gasoline on that fire. "She's fifteen."
"I told you," Steve said. Steve's the senior engineer. "She and her adopted sister lectured me about multi-protocol interfaces for our protection networks. Her sister's a year older."
"You mean there's two of 'em?" the younger engineer squeaked.
"Buddy, if you ever get to Auburn, come by our office. I can show you the holes in the floor where their railgun was bolted down. Before the government bought it and hauled it off."
"You built a railgun?" he asked.
"You didn't listen," I said. "I didn't build it. They built it. Research. Design. Much of the fabrication. There are four of 'em, actually. Let's get to the conference room and connect my 'puter to the projector and I'll show you the slideshow."
After the slideshow, I could've been selling watermelons. They were ready to sign our contract. "Gentlemen," I said, "now let's talk about our engineering and technical support services." And I showed 'em what they were really buying. I flipped through some qualifications of not only our engineers, but also our field technicians.
"Wait! Go back one slide!"
I know what's on the slide in question – Jason and Susan with almost a hundred thousand dollars worth of test equipment connected to another client's devices. I flipped back.
"That's, uh, Piedmont Co-op, isn't it?"
"Yeah. We work for them. Why?"
"I went to school with the engineer there. He tells me about the work y'all did for them, but he sent me pictures of your technicians. That blonde girl..."
"Susan Ellerbee," I said. "She'll graduate from Auburn next year with her double-E. She's also a darned good machinist. The guy you're ignoring is her husband, our senior technician, Jason Ellerbee. He's fleshing out his engineering technology degree into his own double-E."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah ... another guy. She's a cutie."
"I will pass along your compliments," I said.
I drove off knowing that we had that contract. The miracle of modern electronics has me a playlist running Mozart through my speakers, incongruous, perhaps, for the hinterlands of Georgia, but it sure does make the miles go by, although it pales in comparison to having Cindy do the narrative along with it. One night away from her and I'm loopy over it.
When she Skyped me after dinner, she had Terri sitting with her, so the conversation was more subdued, "I miss you, baby" sort of thing. Terri's subject to spend the night with one of the sisters if a husband is out of town. If two husbands are out of town, then the two sisters choose a location and spend the night together, sometimes with the addition of Terri. Terri keeps things G-rated. No Terri, the conversation between wife and husband may be just a little bit spicier.
I didn't NEED the spicy version. My little redheaded pixie and I have run wild on one another for two years now. Familiarization has not led to boredom, it's led to, in her case, virtuosity. The squeals, giggles and sighs from her tell me that she's the same way. Still, no Cindy? I'm not going to whack off because I miss a night with Cindy. I'm going to save that up because I KNOW what's gonna happen when I get home. Supernovae are mere flashes in the night compared to what she will do with me when we're back together.
So now I'm driving down the road listening to one master, Mozart, and thinking of another, my Cindy. Then another thought swims into view, the idea of Stoney and Johanna coming in for a visit. I'm sure that's going to turn our little community into happy turmoil. Make that MUSICAL happy turmoil.
The phone rings. Cindy's ringtone. When I connect, I don't get a chance to speak before, "Hi, my baby. How's the drive?"
"The drive is the drive," I said. "They asked about you at the meeting. You have a following. They got kind of irate when I showed up without you."
"I'm just a curiosity," she said. Of course, I could hear the smile when she said. "Like a horse that can count..."
"Don't sell yourself short. They see you as an example of possibilities in the universe. Said make sure I bring you next time I show up."
She did a little giggle. "Well that makes me feel good. Uh, Nikki's got Stoney and Jo over at her place. I was just getting ready to see them. They flew here in that Pitts S-2. Promised me I could fly it."
"That thing's like a flying sports car," I told her.
"We talked about those little sports cars."
"Elfling, if you really want one..."
Another giggle. "The car or the airplane?"
I was thinking of myself in a Pitts. Stopped myself before I got into trouble. "The car."
"Certainly not. Dan Richards, you KNOW that's not me. That plane, though..."
"Hundred and fifty thousand dollars," I said. "Used."
"I know. Used. I looked. Twenty pounds of baggage and two people..."
"Want a graduation present?"
"No! Most assuredly no. And stop tempting me, Dan Richards. You know I have weaknesses."
"Yeah," I laughed. "Airplanes. Engineering."
"And forty year old ... No, that's wrong. Just the one. You're my weakness."
"Perhaps I will exploit that weakness tonight, little one," I said.
"As long as I get to exploit you right back."
"I'm hoping you do." That's something to anticipate.
"Drive carefully, love," Cindy said.
"I love you. See you in a bit, baby" I replied. Felt a little empty when the click ended the phone call.
Drive. Drive some more. And some more. And start seeing the familiar roads into my new hometown. It's plenty home enough for me, because at the end of the drive, I get out of the truck, walk into my apartment, wash my face for refreshment, then walk over to the Alan-Tina-Terri place. I can hear laughter. And I've got my guitar slung over my shoulder.
The first thing I collect when the door opens is a flurry of kisses from my nubile pixie redhead, to the squeals and catcalls of the rest of the gang.
Cindy wheels around. "Yeah, go ahead ... Like any of YOU would do anything differently." She didn't get much kickback on that one. I swept the room, noted a young man sitting in near enough proximity to Kara to count as nominally 'with her'. Kara's right in the hump of the weight-height distribution for her age. This young man was decidedly on the small side.
I walked up to him. "Dan Richards," I said, extending my hand. "Cindy's husband." Just in case that kiss at the door went unnoticed.
He stood. Okay, same height as Kara. Points for standing, I thought. He thrust his hand into mine. "Albert Williams. Squashed Possum, Arkansas. Mechanical engineering student. Kara invited me." He cut his eyes at Kara. She was opening up her violin case. I remember that look in a girl's eyes before.
"Seriously? Squashed Possum?!?"
He laughed. I get the feeling that he's more comfortable here than other places he's been. "No, not really, but you know, the Ozarks in Arkansas, they think we're nothing but hillbillies anyway, so I play with 'em. I'm actually from near Yellville, but if I told you that, chances are slim that you'd have an idea. And I get called 'Bert'."
"Well, you're welcome here, Bert. Happy to meet you," I said.
Kara had sidled towards Jo. Stoney had his banjo out. "You can't fit a banjo into a Pitts S-2," he said while I watched them. "Sit down. We need to tune. Jo, give us a G."
Once tuned, Kara turned to Johanna and said, "Celtic!" and something I didn't catch, and she and Johanna launched into a reel. Stoney plays with Johanna (!!! – Hey! We're talking MUSIC) all the time so he picked right up. I had to watch his fingerings to see what the chords were, and I picked and strummed along. Music happens.
When it finished, Johanna said, "Everybody limber?" She fixed her eye on Dan 2.0. "Dan Granger! Where's your push-fiddle?"
I'm thinking 'Wow! I hadn't heard an accordion called a 'push-fiddle' in ages.'
He smiled sheepishly. "Come on, Jo. You know I'm not fit to make noise with this bunch!"
Nikki nudged him. She knows her powers over the guy. "While you're bringing it, get my 'te-fer'. (a 'te-fer' pronounced 'tee-fair', or 'little iron', is a musical triangle common to Cajun music.)
Dan 2.0 got up, turned to the crowd and said, "First one makes fun of me, I'm gonna go home and cry."
Dan walked out the door. Kara said to Jo, "Brandenburg three-three."
Jo said, "We've tried it a time or two, right, babe?" to Stoney.
Stoney sighed. "I'm gonna burn out a finger." He took a deep breath, nodded.
"One – two – three!" and a musical avalanche ensued.
Cindy squealed in glee, punching me. She leaned over and whispered, "This is magic! I live in magic!"
In the midst of it all, Dan 2.0 returned with his little Cajun accordion and Nikki's triangle. She dangled it and told Kara, "Gimme a G!" to the laughter of the crowd. Her striker hit the triangle and produced a single ringing note. She smiled. "Okay, I'm good to go."
"You'd better have been practicing," Kara told Dan 2.0. "How about Back Door?"
"La Porte En Arriere," Dan said, giving the title in Cajun French. (Auth. Note: It's real! Look for it in YouTube) Dan's turn to lead. "One – two –three..."
I've been playing bass to that tune for decades. It's a Cajun staple. I've heard it done at a noticeably more sprightly pace, but Dan G. was riding on the edge of his competence at the pace we used. And we pulled it off amid claps and laughter.
Jo grinned. "You DID practice! And Kara! Quite the flourish!" She looked towards Kara. "Okay. We've done Celtic, and Classical and Cajun. Is Bert up to his turn?"
"Bert?" Kara said softly. When she said his name, it was like somebody switched a light on in his face.
"Golly," he said. "I..."
"Bert, I've heard you play. And we talked..." Kara being assertive, and with a boy, yet. I was watching personal growth in action.
"Awww, okay, baby..."
'Baby'?!?
He gently accepted her violin, tucked it under his chin. "I'm so limited," he announced. "Key of G. Turkey in the Straw." He didn't count. Just started right up and let the rest of us jump in. Since Kara had given up her violin to this Arkansas fiddler, she sat with her hands folded. Smiling. I noticed when Bert finished his last note with a little flourish.
"You need to get your own violin, Bert," she said. "You're abusing mine."
"Uh, Kara, punkin, I've seen you work this thing harder than I just did."
The flurry of playing and singing and clapping and banter called for a refreshment break, so I took a quick lull as a chance to question Cindy. "Bert and Kara?"
She giggled. "Friends. He shows up at the greenhouse for some math study, and Kara's in there doing her solo act as chamber music, you know how she does?"
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