Forbidden Melody

Chapter 2 - Emma

6 months later...

Strange Fruit by Billie Holiday

Ravel, Concerto in G Major

Bach, Sonata for Piano and Violin in B Minor

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The arm holding the needle of the turntable spun Billie Holliday's Strange Fruit album. I imagined it filled the small apartment. It wasn't much of a place. Just a small studio with cream colored walls adorned with photos of album covers of my father's favorite musicians. I sat stretched across a white leather couch, admiring my father swaying in his recliner to the music. It had been one of his favorite records since I was a child, he'd played Holliday's music more times than I cared to count. He seemed to be humming the tune, choosing not to sing along and instead enjoy Billie's silky-smooth tone.

I assumed the song had ended once my father turned. I studied his lips as he spoke. "Rebecca," he grinned, sitting upright in his chair. "I think this should be our opening number at the Factory." He was referring to the Knitting Factory, one of the premiere locations for jazz musicians in New York during the eighties and nineties. And to Rebecca Miller, the lead vocalist of his band Red Harvey and The Ramblers, which had broken up ten years prior. While Rebecca had been a beautiful woman, short and curvy with dark auburn hair and enchanting blue eyes, I'd looked nothing like her. I was tall, supposedly like my mother who had died in childbirth, with brown eyes and untamable blonde hair.

There was no need to blame him for mistaking us. Not anymore. Not after his diagnosis. A year ago I'd be arguing with him by now. "I'm your daughter. Emma. Remember?" Years of reminders grew tiresome after a while, so I'd grown to accept it. Instead, I spent early mornings just enjoying his company, regardless where in time he was or who he thought he was speaking to. At least he was able to speak to me.

When I glanced at the clock, I'd forgotten how long I'd been there. It had been a good day and he'd been in an upbeat mood all things considered. I'd got lost in his company. Silently, I cursed, getting up from the couch to fetch my coat.

I noted out of the corner of my eye, he was speaking again. After I'd gathered up my coat and keys from the counter, I walked back. When I was in sight of his face, I nodded to him. "What did you ask?"

"Do you think it's a good idea?" My eyes drew on his lips as he spoke.

"What is?" I inquired, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair from my face.

"Opening with Billie at the Factory this weekend? Do you think we can swing it?"

I smiled, reaching down to take his hand. "You can swing almost anything." My father looked pleased and settled back into his recliner. I leaned over to kiss him on the forehead. "I have to go now." I hesitated, deciding not to call him Dad. It would just confuse him further, the last thing I wanted was to dampen his cheery mood. My father nodded, reaching up to squeeze my upper arm. We paused on one another once more before I slipped away.

Outside, it was drizzling. I held up an unopened magazine I'd stolen from my father over my head as I scampered across the pavement. My old Subaru sat parked on the far side of the parking lot. As I stumbled up to the driver's side door, I heard a snap beneath me. My body crumbled into the car, the magazine fluttering to the ground. My heel had caught in a small pothole in the pavement and snapped off. The single pair of black heels I owned. I managed to pull myself into the car with one functional shoe.

It was a drive to the Bard from the assisted living home. I barely had enough time to make it there, nevertheless a trip home. My body shifted, leaning over the center console as I rooted through the backseat. A pair of white sneakers sat underneath a pile of sheet music. I stuffed them on my feet, tossing the broken heels into the back without a second thought.