Part 36 (1/2)
”Oh, please. Come on. What do you think I'm going to do? Rewrite it?”
”No. You might, I don't know, laugh at me and think I'm stupid.”
”Never. I would never laugh and I know how brilliant you are.”
”Well, let me just try to read it through and spell-check it and then we'll see.”
”How many pages have you got?”
”Twenty-two.”
He whistled low and long.
”When did you start writing?”
”This morning. I'm waiting for the carpenter. Wait! What if he came and left?”
”Just call him. I'll tell you what. I'll go pull the back off of your piano like I said I would, you polish your pages, and then I'll read while you get dressed.”
”What?” I looked down at my lap. I was still in my pajamas.
We lost it, laughing and laughing until we had tears rolling down our faces.
Then he said the magic words, ”This is why I love you, Cate.”
”You do?” Did I hear him correctly?
”Yeah, a lot, in fact.”
”So, how come you never told me?”
”I thought you knew.”
”I might faint.”
He kissed my cheek. ”You polish and I'm going to work on Cunningham.”
Well, how was I supposed to concentrate on anything now besides the fact that John Risley just told me he loved me? My mind was spinning. What did it mean that John loved me? People love chocolate and opera and cars and a great movie or a song. Was it all the same? Of course not. But did it mean he wanted to marry me? No, you big crazy, I told myself. Or did he want to just keep going as we were? Well, I wasn't going to blow this historic moment by bringing any of my neurotic thoughts up to him. That was why women got called pushy and I wasn't going to wear that nasty label. Oh, I told myself, just be happy, will you? Breathe. Relax. Breathe some more.
I checked the spelling and grammar about ten times and I was ready to print.
”Hey, Cate?”
”Yeah?”
”Come here! You're gonna want to see this!”
I hit the print b.u.t.ton and went out to the living room.
”Come around here,” he said.
There, written in black ink on the inside of the back of my piano, were the signatures of George Gershwin and DuBose and Dorothy Heyward and underneath George's signature it read, Folly Beach, June 1934.
”Oh. My. G.o.d!”
”Do you realize what this means?” he said.
”Yeah, that either the one at the museum is a fake or Gershwin rented more than one piano?”
”Bingo. Is this another sign of karma or what? Plus, do you have any idea how much this thing could be worth?”
I s.h.i.+vered from head to toe. Karma.
”More than it was yesterday, that's for sure. I need a gla.s.s of water and I think I'm hungry. Do you want a sandwich or something?”
”It's almost three o'clock. I ate. You didn't eat?”
”No, I, well, I guess I was so preoccupied that I forgot.”
”Wow, I may have created a monster, Igor.”
”Oh, you're a riot,” I said and smiled. I went to get a banana and thought, writing! What a great way to lose weight!
I picked up the twenty-two pages from the printer and gave them to John, who was still sitting on the floor, marveling at the fact that I owned a piano actually used and signed by Gershwin and the Heywards.
”I'm going to go change,” I said.
”Isn't this incredible?”
”Yep.”
Well, the discovery was phenomenal but I wasn't telling anyone about it except Patti and the kids and Aunt Daisy and Ella. It would be good for John's students to see it, because it would add more authenticity to the whole Porgy House story and bring it all to life. I wondered then if the museum's piano was signed as well. It didn't matter really. Mine was. What a piece of luck!
I was dressed and putting on some makeup and I heard John coming up the steps.
”Cate?”
”Yeah? It's terrible?”
”No, Cate. It's absolutely wonderful. I'm gonna put the curse on you now.” He walked over and put his right hand on my shoulder. ”G.o.d save you, you're a writer.”
”Oh, John! You really think so? I'm so happy!”
”Just keep writing. I wouldn't change a word.”
So I did.
February finally turned into March and flowers were in bloom everywhere you looked. John's wife, Lisa, pa.s.sed away and John felt terrible.
”What did you tell them to do? I mean, did you make arrangements?”