NOTE: Things get intense in this part. I felt that the trauma that caused Joe's burlap condition had to be incredibly painful to produce such painful and long lasting repercussions. It's a cruel and horrific moment, but I thought it necessary to the story. Just wanted to warn you. --max
Part IV
As it turned out, his ladies should have worried. When Joe saw Consuela Mufti in spotlight with a cello between her knees playing the string quartet she had composed beginning her incredible recital, the naturally deep tanned skin of her soft oval face framed by raven black hair that ended as if pointing at her full breasts filling a silky deep maroon shirt that barely contained them, the face shining with a compellingly sweet beauty despite the slight contortion taut with concentration, she seemed to exude a glow beyond the hot spotlight that reflected off her, an internal glow, an aura the orange red color of persimmons. He was spellbound and remained so throughout the solo that followed the string quartet and the chamber orchestra piece she conducted concluding the recital; all her compositions.
Adding the awesomeness of her music to her awesome beauty completely floored him.
At first he thought the music oceanic in its sort of undulating bed with great swells, but realized it more resembled a landscape of fiery coals that licked up unexpected flames or popped explosively. She used sliding notes similar to the great contemporary Greek composer Xenakis, but with more control; less random. In the group pieces what seemed unharmonious, like the melody and rhythm centered music of her father's India that never embraced Western harmony, would suddenly find surprising mixes of thirds or fifths or more jarring harmonies as the sliding notes would somehow join together, often in the shorter slides that created that sort of bed that Joe had misinterpreted as ocean. The solo piece also full of sliding notes but with plucking on occasion, had a structure of lovely sparseness framing a long passage of frenetic, incredible playing, true tour de force stuff, that, after the last echo of a final pluck resonating surprisingly, made him realize, despite the contrasts of speed and slowness, that the piece had held a thematic melody resonating with him far longer than the final note and the silence that ended with an explosion of applause.
He didn't know what to say to her afterwards. It's like what he would imagine would happen if he were to meet one of his heroes: Daevid Allen or Mark Rothko or Thomas Pynchon or Gandhi (to be Indian about it, her father being from India). Surprisingly though, he didn't feel tense. Perhaps it was his ladies beside him or her warm deep brown eyes and sweet, kind face.
"That was incredible," he told her amongst the small throng of fans greeting her backstage. He offered her more to weigh her down--her arms had been filled by roses and other lovely flowers--though his was a different sort of offering: rosemary and mint. The smell had pleasured his nose throughout the performance though for some reason he smelled persimmon as well. She still emanated that color, but only faintly.
"You must be Joe," she murmured, smiling broadly, her eyes lit by post performance excitement and shining with surprising moisture. Surrounded by Maya and members of the band must have clued her in to his identity. Despite the throng, she seemed to have eyes only for him. "I've heard you have a great knowledge of music and are not one to give out praise when undeserved." She actually bowed her head before claiming his eyes with hers again. "Thank you."
Finally her eyes lit on the others, catching Barb's and that infectious smile that increased her own.
"That was great, babe," said Barb.
"Thanks," she giggled most enchantingly. "Give me half an hour or so to change. I'll meet you guys outside the stage door." With a last glance that held a moment, she actually winked at Joe before receiving more well deserved praise from the small throng. And more flowers.
Dinner proved even easier for Joe being in the company of the lovely half Indian and half, well, Indian (of the Mexican, perhaps ancient Mayan extraction) musician, Consuela. It reminded him of the inauguration of his threesome relationship with Carol and Maya at the Moosehead after the premiere dance performance the year before. At first it seemed an intimate bubble had formed as it had then around the two of them. But the bubble expanded to include his two lovers. Connie seemed to encourage that. At the same time, much to Barb's consternation, Connie hardly noticed her sitting in the seat beside her despite Barb's attempt at conversation, gaining rarely more than one or two word responses. Eventually Barb shrugged and shifted her attention to her two lovers.
"Do you mind me calling you Consuela? It's such a lovely name and therefore appropriate," Joe asked her.
"Such a silver tongued devil, isn't he ladies?" Consuela chuckled.
"I guess he has his occasional moments," Maya smirked.
"They're memorable in their rarity," Carol added.
"Thanks," Joe murmured though chuckled along with the three ladies' giggles.
"It's my name, Joe," she responded, avoiding smugness when she added, "It wouldn't bother me in the slightest."
"Good. So why play in a lowly rock band? You obviously have great skills playing classical and contemporary compositions. And I found your compositions...well... brilliant."
"Thanks," Consuela blushed charmingly at the complements. "But choices in the profession, especially the composing part, are few and far between. It's even worse than writers. How many poets live on their publishing?"
"Few."
"Maybe five or six that I can think of still alive," said Carol.
Consuela nodded. "In that highly artistic realm of writing, many survive on teaching the next batch in improving their own unmarketable skills. The same looms for me and my young colleagues."
"Speaking of teaching," Maya interrupted, "Joe needs lessons to play electric bass. We'll pay whatever your fee is teaching kids if you have the time."
"Sure," Consuela smiled. "I have lots of time since school's done. I could always use another student." Her grin broadened. "And I think I'll enjoy it."
"Me too," Joe grinned back. "But what about your playing? There must be orchestras out there that could use your skills."
Consuela sighed. "Sure, it's a highly skilled profession taking years of obsessive training to hone talent into a competitive gleam unlike say a naturally talented poet..."
"Or a rock bassist," Joe added.
"Right, but even though there's a hell of a lot less of us competing, there's not a lot of positions being filled and there's enough of us at my level to make finding such a position in the realm of the unlikely."
"So, just like a rock band," Maya suggested, "you create your own position."
"Actually I'm hoping that may be happening," Consuela replied thoughtfully.
"The string quartet?" Joe guessed. And when Consuela nodded, he added, "I thought you four meshed beautifully, almost intuitively."
"Thanks. Stop with the complements already. You'll give me a big head."
Joe shrugged, "Only what you deserve. I can tell you know your talent, but I don't see it going to your head. You're too grounded. Being confidant is certainly no flaw. In fact in terms of creativity, it's necessary. So you guys are sticking together?"
"I think so. We're going to try to meet at least once a week. You see, we've rehearsed and played together all through the year. All four of us compose music and play each other's music in various permutations, sometimes with others playing their instruments in the composers' workshop we've been attending together for the past school year."
"So you're all composers!" Joe spouted enthusiastically, an idea popping in his head.
"Uhm, yeah," Consuela chuckled. "It's why we chose to call ourselves the 'Eclectic Quartet'. All four of us compose differently. Actually we're debating the name, with the alternative being 'EQ' because we could assign the 'E' different words such as 'Ecstatic' or 'Electric' or 'Exotic' or 'Effervescent' or whatever depending on the performance.
"Cool," said Carol
"Yeah," both Joe and Maya agreed.
Consuela shrugged. "Again who knows if there'll be any shows for us beyond this recital which happened to be our debut for an audience."
"Do you have recordings of your work?" Joe asked her, still a bit excited. "I mean all four of your quartet's compositional work?"