Hunter's Moon (2011)
Hunter's Moon
“Now, though, he was dressed formally: black slacks, white dinner jacket, hair brushed smooth to his shoulders, sun-bleached, with streaks of gray. He was hunched over the piano, fingers spread, face close to the keys, like a nearsighted novelist at a typewriter.
Wilson and I entered the shop unnoticed to listen. It was like stepping into a musician’s attic: a cramped space, no airconditioning but cool, instruments overhead, violins, guitars, swaying with ceiling fans like the pendulum of an ant...ique clock. There were reading chairs, a chess set, a workbench of disassembled artistry. Red-shaded lamps melded shadows with the reticent lighting of a Chinatown whorehouse. If Sherlock Holmes lived in Key West, it would’ve been here.
When Tomlinson finished, Wilson and I waited for the last note to end before I said, “Ten years I’ve known you and I’ve never heard you play.”
Tomlinson looked, threw his hair back, and focused. Said, “Marion?,” as if coming out of a trance while his brain relocated.MoreLess
Wilson and I entered the shop unnoticed to listen. It was like stepping into a musician’s attic: a cramped space, no airconditioning but cool, instruments overhead, violins, guitars, swaying with ceiling fans like the pendulum of an ant...ique clock. There were reading chairs, a chess set, a workbench of disassembled artistry. Red-shaded lamps melded shadows with the reticent lighting of a Chinatown whorehouse. If Sherlock Holmes lived in Key West, it would’ve been here.
When Tomlinson finished, Wilson and I waited for the last note to end before I said, “Ten years I’ve known you and I’ve never heard you play.”
Tomlinson looked, threw his hair back, and focused. Said, “Marion?,” as if coming out of a trance while his brain relocated.MoreLess
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