Ghost Music Read Free Page A

being nosy, but I stood up and walked barefoot through the living room and looked out of the open window. I saw a red-haired woman in a green satin dress climbing the front steps, unsteadily, as if she had been drinking. Close behind her came Victor Solway, in a white dress shirt with his bow tie dangling loose, and a maroon tuxedo slung over his arm.
Maroon
, yet.
    He was deeply tanned, Victor Solway, with two white wings on either side of his jet-black hair. He looked like George Hamilton’s shorter and bulkier brother. He made a playful grab for the woman’s bottom as she reached the top of the steps, and she screamed and flapped her pocketbook at him.
    â€œMy friend Daisy warned me about you! She told me you couldn’t be trusted to keep your hands to yourself!”
    â€œYou’re blaming
me
? It’s all your fault, you temptress! You shouldn’t go waggling your tush like that! What do you think I’m made of? Granite?”
    At this, the red-haired woman collapsed with laughter, her hand held over her eyes and her white breasts wobbling. VictorSolway took out his key and opened the front door, and the two of them staggered inside.
    I heard the front door slam, and then Victor Solway’s door. After a while, I heard the muffled sound of Tony Bennett singing “Cold, Cold Heart.”
    Shit and double-shit
. I could tolerate almost any composer in the world except John Williams. I mean,
Star Wars
, do me a favor. And I could tolerate almost any singer except Tony Bennett.
    I went back to my keyboard. I had been scoring a link for Billy Wagner to accompany his interview with an eccentric family in Bakersfield who insisted on dressing in turn-of-the-century costumes, 365 days of the year. The mother and her two daughters even wore whalebone corsets. But I had totally lost the mood now. How could I write tinkly 1890s piano music with Tony Bennett droning through my floorboards?
    â€œAnother love before my time made your heart sad and blue—”
    Jesus. Couldn’t they play something halfway cheerful? Apart from that, what the hell was going on down there? I heard more hysterical laughter, and banging around. I couldn’t believe that Kate was joining in. She had seemed far too aloof for a threesome with Victor and a tipsy redhead in a bulging green satin frock.
    I played a few bars of
Magician
, and then I switched the keyboard off. I went through to the kitchenette, opened the fridge and poured myself a large glass of zinfandel. Grow up, I told myself. Stop being such a stuffed shirt. Kate could do whatever she wanted, couldn’t she? It’s none of your business. If she wants to have a drunken orgy, that’s entirely her affair. She can take the whole cast of
Spamalot
to bed with her if she wants to.
    But this afternoon she had seemed so distracted, and so fey. I simply couldn’t imagine her rolling around in bed, screaming and laughing. And—rightly or wrongly—I had felt that she had been asking for my help or my protection or somebody to confide in, at the very least.
    I went to the front door, and opened it a little way. Tony Bennettwas singing,
“Why do you run and hide from life? To try it just ain’t smart.”
    I was still listening when Malkin, Kate’s fluffy white cat, came up the stairs. She sat on the opposite side of the landing, giving me a baleful stare.
    â€œHey, puss,” I coaxed her. “What’s your mistress up to? Come on! Just for once, stop pretending that you don’t know how to talk. All cats can talk, don’t try to deny it.”
    Malkin continued to glower at me, saying nothing, but purring like a clapped out air-conditioning unit.
    â€œYou want to come in? How about a saucer of milk? I’m sorry, I don’t have any Wild Kitty in the fridge, but I might be able to stretch to a can of anchovy fillets.”
    I opened the door a little wider and stepped back. “Come on, puss. What is it,