Two Violins, One Love, BAE

Chapter 7 Tzigane (sul ponticello)

Brett had his mouth open. He was about to say what had been weighing on his heart for two long weeks when Eddy did something extraordinary. He raised a finger and said, "shh..." and not only that, he brought his finger up to Brett's face and pressed it against his lips. Brett stood stock-still, looking down at the finger against his mouth. He glanced at Eddy who crunched his face, and with the most devilish expression in his eyes began squeezing Brett's lips together.

"Nope. Later, shh!" Eddy said.

"Awight a funk a gum a pissure."

"What was that, BrettyBrett?" Eddy asked as he lifted his fingers off Brett's face.

"I said, all right, I think I've got the picture."

"Great," Eddy said, and then, just as casually, "first we listen to Henryk Skretchi-nini. Can you get the score on your laptop?"

"Think so," Brett muttered. He got up to look for his bag, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, and wondering what the hell had got over Eddy all of a sudden. And since when was he "BrettyBrett"? He grabbed his violin too. "Might as well," he grumbled.

"Come look at his bowing arm!" Eddy yelped from the living room. "If he raises his elbow any higher, he'll punch the ceiling."

"The first page is all sul G, bro, that's why. It's mental."

Brett sat back, cross-legged, on the cushions on the floor, next to his friend, but with a little distance between them. He wriggled his neck, stretched his back and sat up very straight. After a minute's listening though, he couldn't help himself. "The sound's insane. Luuuuv the sound, I'll marry that sound..." Brett whispered. He glanced at his friend who was smiling.

His mood perked up. He didn't always understand Eddy, but when they listened to music together, the world felt right again. It was as if the last two strange weeks, when they'd almost ignored each other, had never happened. Maybe Eddy was right: keep quiet. He had his best friend again. Life was good. Why make it more complicated?

"Who's the pianist?" Brett asked after a moment. "He looks 105. Is he even alive?"

"He's a 2000 year old mummy." Eddy leant forward to examine the screen, and rested his hand on Brett's arm for a few seconds. "He hasn't budged for 5 minutes. How does he get to be so... white and furry?" Eddy sat back, with his leg against Brett's, and his shoulder pressing against his friend whose heart missed a beat.

"He's moonlighting from Darkstalkers," Brett replied as he tried to sit upright again.

Eddy grinned. "Now wait for those double stops! Oh..."

"Oooh, yes, they're good," Brett said, "respect, man... And the mummy is off! Look at his hands!" Brett shouted. "Can't see his fingers, he's so fast. It's a blur."

"Coz he's a rabbit," Eddy replied. "That's why he's so white and furry. Have you ever seen a rabbit run? They're a blur."

Brett collapsed backward holding his sides. "When's the last time you saw a rabbit running anyway?"

"On television," Eddy replied very seriously. "Now get your violin out and try this."

Brett started playing along to the recording when Eddy jumped up. "Wait here," he just said.

Five minutes later he reappeared carrying a stuffed white rabbit and went straight for the piano in the corner of the room. He opened the lid and placed the plush toy on the stool in front of it. "There," he said.

"What...? What are you even wearing?!" Brett exclaimed.

"It's my sister's. Don't tell her, she'll kill me."

"Is that... her scarves?!" Brett asked again. Eddy had taken all his clothes off apart from his underwear, and draped himself in an assortments of multicoloured scarves and ribbons - round his hips, across his chest, dangling from his arms.

"Back in a sec. Practice!" Eddy ordered.

Brett paused the video and practiced the runs with the massive shifts, (aargh)... and pp too... (sigh).

"Ready?" Eddy's voice from behind the door asked. "Play the video! Volume up!"

Brett did as he was told, but stopped playing and let his arms drop. Eddy was making his Tzigane entrance. Not only was he swishing all manners of scarves with every movement, he had on his head the longest, thickest, and messiest blond platinum wig Brett had ever seen.

Eddy, the platinum blond Tzigane, was moving to the mad cadenza like a possessed flamenco dancer.

Brett wondered if his friend'd had a personality change. First there was the announcement to a bus packed with commuters that they happened to have a perfect brother called Ling Ling they'd yet to meet.

And now this.

Or maybe it was because Eddy was in character. When he was not quite himself anymore, when he performed, the shyness, the social awkwardness just evaporated.

Brett put a hand to his forehead and started giggling. "Eddy, what... what are you doing, bro?"

A high-pitched squeal answered him. "You not playing, huh!" Eddy was standing in front of him with his hands on his hips, and shouting, not in his usual voice but in an impossible high falsetto. He stamped his foot. "I make the house nice, I cook for you, I dance for you, and you not practice, you not play for me, huh?" He shrieked. Then he tossed the thick yellow hair off his face and rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

Brett looked up and noticed that for all the silliness, Eddy's eyes were so intense he could feel the sparks showering down on top of him. He grinned. "Err... babe, I'm sorry. I want the best for you, you know that. I give you nice house, I give you nice kitchen, you don't cook very nice Kung Pao chicken, but never mind."

"Whaaaat?!!" Eddy squealed. "You don't like my chicken? I Kung Pao your chicken!" And with that, he jumped on top of Brett.

Brett said "Aaaaah..." as he crashed backward. He fought and tried to sit up again but Eddy was straddling him. The next second, his wrists were pinned to the floor behind his head. Eddy's weight pressed down on his groin, and all he could do was gasp and look up at his friend. His face was framed by an electric halo of wild yellow hair. But under the thick fringe, the devilish expression had returned.

"Rraaaach..." Brett spluttered.

Eddy bent down towards his friend. "What's that you're saying, BrettyBrett?" He asked in his falsetto.

"Bbbbrrwaah... your... hair, it's tickling, pfffrt. Get it off my face. And don't hurt my left hand. Ouch."

Brett felt Eddy shift his weight a little, but he was still pinned to the floor like a butterfly.

"Now BrettyBrett," Eddy squeaked, "there's something you wanted to tell me?"