Page 10 of Broken Chords
Chapter Five
Chord:a group of notes sounding simultaneously or in close succession.
Triad:the simplest chord; a triad is a three note group formed by two consecutive thirds. A triad in a key I identified by the scale-step number of its root and expressed by a roman numeral
Damian
I open the door of the music building for Charlie, falling in step beside her as we head for the instrument storage room where my cello waits. “Think the big piano majors’ practice room is open?”
“Should be. I put my name on the schedule for this evening. So even if someone’s in there, we can kick them out.”
I grin down at her. “Good. I’d hate to have to try to squish into one of the smaller rooms.”
She laughs. “I don’t think you’d fit, much less you and your cello. And you need room to play that thing, don’t you? Will you even fit in the room we have? Yeah, it’s bigger, but it’s still not what I’d call big.”
With a shrug, I spin the dial on my instrument locker, yanking on the metal once I’ve entered the combination. Hoisting my cello onto my back, I close the locker door, leaving the lock hanging open. “Let’s give it a try. We can take over the instrumental rehearsal room if we need to. But anyone could walk in on us there.”
She raises her eyebrows at me. “Planning on needing privacy for some reason?”
I laugh, but it comes out a little more husky than I planned, her suggestive tone making my blood run hot and my pulse pick up. Eventually, yes, I would like to take her somewhere even more private than a practice room. But not tonight. Instead I say, “I don’t feel like having a nosy audience. Do you?”
Her smile is crooked, her gaze a little more calculating than I’m used to. “No. I guess not.”
I gesture for her to lead the way upstairs. The other two piano majors’ practice rooms are occupied, but the big one is empty. The sheet on the door has her name written in from five till eight. It’s just after six right now, so that gives us lots of time to play through the music stashed in the pocket on my case.
As she unlocks the door, I leave my cello next to her and go steal a chair and music stand from an empty practice room. Charlie helps me wrestle all the equipment in the room, laughing at the tight fit in the curve of the piano. There’s just enough space next to me for my cello case.
I pull out the music first, setting several pieces on my stand. A couple of them I already had, but I also printed some from IMSLP, the public domain online music library, and checked a couple of things out of the university library.
I got a range of time periods and difficulty levels. I don’t have a clear picture of Charlie’s abilities. She’s a freshman, but she’s also twenty-one, so that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. But Dr. Gomez has singled her out as having the worst technique of the new class, so …
Since this is supposed to be for fun, I decide to start with the easy stuff I have my private students play in middle school and high school.
As I’m unpacking my cello and moving my case against the wall, Charlie sits at the piano and slides back the keyboard cover, the sound audible over the piano music bleeding through from next door. They might just be six foot baby grands, but they can make a lot of sound.
Charlie adjusts the bench, sitting and playing a quick scale followed by a simple chord progression—I, IV, V, I.
Shuffling through the music, I pull out the Suzuki Cello Book 5 and hand her the piano part. “I have to confess that I don’t know much about piano repertoire. My piano skills are limited to what I learned for freshman Keyboard and Analysis. I thought it’d be fun to just goof off with some easy stuff, so I pulled things that are easy for me. I have no idea what the piano part’s like, though.”
She gives me a cheeky grin. “I’m not sure if you’re trying to make me feel better or worse if I think it’s tough.”
With a laugh, I open my own sheet music and settle in my chair. “You’ll be fine. Fake your way through anything that’s hard. It’s just fun. I don’t care if you miss notes. I don’t even know how your part’s supposed to sound, really.”
From my place in my chair, all I can see is the top of her head as she flips the book open to the Vivaldi Sonata in E minor and softly plays through the opening. I sit up as straight as I can, trying to get a look at her, but she’s hunched into the sheet music. All I can see is the top of her head.
After a few seconds she stops and straightens, lifting up so she can look at me over the piano. “Sorry. Should we start?”
I give her a reassuring smile. “Can I get an A first?”
“Oh! Of course.”
She sits down and hesitates for a second. Then a resounding A in four octaves blasts from the piano. From the volume she gets like this, I’m glad the lid is closed.
She hammers the As the entire time I’m tuning, letting them die away when she realizes I’ve stopped. “Was that good?” She sounds so uncertain, it’s surprising. So far she’s been all sparkle and confidence.
“That was great. Thanks. Uh, normally just the A above middle C is fine, though. And you don’t have to play quite so loud. In here. Since I’m basically sitting inside the piano.”
She giggles, and the sound makes me smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve never really played with anyone like this. It’s always been just me before.”
