THE WHITE PIANO by MOLLY WEBB RATED FRC

Just how did Virgil wind up with that tacky-looking white piano, anyway? Could it be love...?

Written for the 2008 Tracy Island Writers Forum Retrofit Challenge.

Virgil had just returned from another arduous rescue. He was tired, dirty and a little discouraged that so much of their efforts on this particular rescue had come to nothing. He knew you couldn’t save everybody every time. But sometimes it got a person down. This had been a hard month with many missions and not nearly enough down time in between.

A blinking light from his computer told him he had mail waiting to be opened. He was going to give it a skip but decided he’d at least look and see if there were any fires to be put out, so he pulled the rolling chair away from the desk and sat down. Clicking the screen on, he pulled up his mail account and scrolled through it slowly.

There was a message from an old friend he’d gone to school with. Her mother had been his first piano teacher. He smiled as memories flooded his mind.

One in particular stood out…

Virgil Tracy sat at the old upright piano in the parlor of the farmhouse. As his fingers flew over the ivory keys, the syncopated rhythms of a Scott Joplin rag drifted through the house. His grandma Ruth was sitting on the back porch just outside the open window, humming along and tapping her foot in time to the music as she snapped the ends from the fresh string beans for the boys’ supper that night.

Grandpa Grant Tracy paused at the bottom of the stairs to stomp the dust and grass from his work shoes and smiled at his wife as they listened to their grandson start to play “Clair de Lune”.

“He still after his father about that new piano?” asked Grant as he walked up the stairs to sit beside his wife.

“Mmm hmmm.”

Sinking onto the cushions beside his wife, with a contented sigh and a pat on her leg, Grant set his hat on the table beside him.

“He’s pretty determined about it,” said Grandma. “Ever since he got a chance to play on the school piano, he’s had this bug about having a baby grand.”

She stopped for a moment to listen as Virgil began to play something modern with a jazz beat.

“He does really amaze me when he just starts making it up like that,” she said.

Grant nodded.

“Well, I need to get these on to cook,” said Grandma as she emptied the cloth full of beans on her lap into the blue-speckled graniteware pot at her feet.

Virgil Tracy was thirteen years old and the family admitted he had quite a gift where music was concerned. For the last couple of years Virgil had begun asking for a new piano, and not just any piano but a new, shiny black baby grand piano.

His father, Jeff Tracy, had been building his new company for the last six years and finally could afford just about anything any of the family might want. But a piano that would cost in the tens of thousands for a thirteen year old boy just seemed too indulgent for words. He kept telling his son that the upright piano, that Grandpa Tracy had bought from a local school when it had relocated to its new campus, was just fine for now. He was sure it sounded every bit as good as the piano Virgil kept begging for.

“Son, do you know how much a piano like that costs?” he would answer when Virgil would start angling again for his heart’s desire.

Looking at his father with a carefully cultivated, big brown eyed pathetic look, Virgil would nod and say, “Yes, sir. But can’t we afford it now?”

“Whether we can or not is not the question, young man. You have a perfectly good piano right now. We’ll just see how things go, shall we?” And that would be that.

The desire for just this particular kind of piano might be traced back to a picture that Virgil had found of his mother, sitting at a baby grand wearing a long black dress and a vivid smile. On the other hand, it might be because he was thirteen, soon to be fourteen and had discovered that girls like guys who could play music. Or maybe it was just the true musician’s desire for a beautiful instrument to create on. Whatever it was, Virgil just knew he had to have a glossy black baby grand piano.

But how to get one? He had been asking his father for the last two years but was convinced by now that his dad didn’t take him seriously. Jeff had told him over and over again that the upright piano in the parlor was a fine piano for practicing on, not to mention where in the world would he put a baby grand?

“That’s a pretty big piano, son. If we could even get it into your grandmother’s parlor I don’t know if we could even move around in the room anymore. We’d have to sit in the hallway just to listen to you. You have a perfectly good piano. Tell you what. When you get older you can see about earning money to buy one for yourself, and I’ll match you dollar for dollar.”

It wasn’t that Jeff couldn’t have bought the piano by this time, but he’d seen what too much money could do to people and he was trying to keep life normal as long as he could for his children…and deep down, Virgil knew he was right. It was a good piano.

But it just wasn’t…it just wasn’t…it just wasn’t a baby grand.

One day spring day that year, an article appeared in the local paper about a fund-raiser for a music department of a nearby college. There was to be a concert in May with a silent auction at the reception beforehand. The article mentioned several donated items for the auction, among which was a baby grand piano. In one of the pictures accompanying the article, the music store owner stood beside the very baby grand of Virgil’s dreams.

It was fate, he just knew it. No one gave away a baby grand piano! I’ve just got to win this, he thought as he looked at the picture again.

That page of the newspaper made its way into Virgil’s top dresser drawer, where he looked at it every morning before he went to school.

He pondered long and hard about how to approach the problem. First, he mentioned the concert to his piano teacher. It would be great opportunity, he said, for her students and a lot of fun to attend the reception beforehand and see what a silent auction was like.

Peggy Huescher had been Virgil’s piano teacher since he was seven. Through the years she had made a habit of letting her students know when musical events would be happening, either locally or on television, so it wasn’t too much of a stretch to get her interested in taking a group of her students to the nearby college for the concert.

When Virgil told his grandma about the concert and fund raiser, things started to snowball a bit. She decided it would be a good idea for Jeff and the three older boys to go also.

Initially his father had said he was busy, to which his grandmother told him to get unbusy. And it suddenly became Jeff, Scott, Virgil and John who would be going. And since they were going anyway, Jeff offered to pay for everybody’s ticket. After all, it all went to the fund raising effort.

When the news was broken to Scott, he took it in stride – suspiciously so, to Virgil, until his elder brother admitted that he was going to use it as a way to ask out a new girl in class that he’d had his eye on. Scott had quickly seen the advantage of a black tie event as a way to impress her. Girls liked excuses to dress up and this was about as dressed up as it gets.

John, who was eleven, did not take the news as well. He kicked Virgil in the shin as soon as his grandmother had left the room.

“Ow! Why’d you do that?” said Virgil rubbing his leg.

John glared at him and Scott just laughed.

“Virg,” said Scott, “it’s going to be a long night and you’re going to have to sit with John, because I’m bringing a date.”

“Great,” muttered Virgil. But then he brightened because his plan was working. So far, so good, he thought to himself.

Each of the boys had a savings account that Jeff had opened for them when they were born. As each child became old enough, they began to make regular deposits from allowances and odd jobs they did. The week before the concert, Virgil checked his balance and was pleased to see that he had nearly two thousand dollars saved. It was a fortune to the thirteen year old, and while he knew it was not enough to purchase the kind of piano he wanted, surely it was enough to bid.

Virgil could hardly sleep the night before the concert. Visions of baby grands danced in his head like sugarplums at Christmas time. When he awoke, it was still early morning and the house was quiet. He went through his check list mentally and thought it would work.

By afternoon, everyone in the household was in a flurry of activity of one sort or another.

Jeff had pulled out the new evening clothes his mother had insisted he needed. He didn’t understand why he had to have more than one suit – they all looked alike to him, after all – but he knew from experience that it was a whole lot easier to just give in to his mother at the front end. Pick your battles, his father had advised him with a wink, a long time ago.

As he picked up the tie he’d laid over the back of a chair, Jeff thought that was something Lucy would have been able to explain to him. And for a second, just for a second, he could almost hear her laugh the way she would when he got frustrated with his tie. “Here, let me do that!” she would say, shaking her head as she retied the silky fabric.

Jeff stood for a moment, staring at the tie in his hand. Then with the smallest of smiles at the corners of his mouth, he turned to the mirror and began the job of tying his tie alone.

Scott was nowhere to be found. He’d grabbed his suit and run hours ago. Not only had the girl he was interested in said yes, but his dad was going to let him follow the rest of the family in a separate car so he could drive his date in style. He was sixteen, had a hot date and a drivers’ license. Sweet!

Grandma spent a great deal of time finding John and making him bathe, finding John and making him get dressed, finding John and making him change into another outfit after somehow spilling grape juice down the front of his best dress suit. She finally sent him to sit in Jeff’s room where his father showed him the fine art of tying a bowtie.

Virgil stood in front of his bed where he had carefully laid out everything so nothing would be forgotten. He was wearing the suit he and his grandmother had purchased for him when he gave his last recital. It had been a great recital and he’d played better than he’d ever played before. Even his teacher said so. It felt like a lucky suit, the right suit to wear tonight. On his bed was his wallet with an ID and his debit card for his savings account. They might want him to pay on the spot so he wanted to be prepared. He’d carefully checked his savings account that afternoon and knew he had exactly 1,996.37. He planned to bid the whole amount. That was a lot of money…it had to be enough. As he buttoned his shirt, he tried to not worry about the one flaw in his plan. The fact that his family was going to be there, too. He would have to sneak away from them long enough to make his bid. Turning to the mirror to put on his tie, his mind churned with his plans, nerves making his fingers clumsy as he worked on his tie. He still didn’t know why Grandma insisted on a real one instead of a clip-on.

Finally everyone was in a caravan heading toward the college town and the concert. Peggy Huescher, Virgil’s piano teacher and three students led, Scott and his date were in the middle with his father and brothers following. Jeff had decided it might be a better idea to have his eldest son in front of him so he could keep an eye on him.

Within an hour they had arrived at the concert hall on the college campus. The sun was setting and it was a perfect late spring evening. The fragrance of lilacs floated in the air and the first star could just be seen when the groups left their cars and walked toward the concert hall whose glass reflected the warm light of the setting sun.

Entering through heavy glass doors set with art deco bronze pulls, the group was greeted with the sound of music, voices and laughter. There were knots of people, the gentlemen dressed in velvety black suits and crisp white shirts. The ladies reminded Virgil of impressionist butterflies, multicolored and fluttering from group to group.

As soon as the information that Jeff Tracy (yes, the Jeff Tracy of Tracy Aerospace!) had arrived with his party, a small group of people broke off from a larger cluster and converged on them.

“So glad you could make it, Mr. Tracy. I’m Allen Collins, head of the Music Department, and this is my wife, Rhonda.” Collins went on to introduce several people, the college president, various board members and their spouses and Jeff returned the favor, introducing them in turn to his family and their friends.

While the college crew chatted up Jeff, Scott and his date drifted toward the nearest waiters bearing interesting looking things to eat and drink. And as soon as his father seemed to be deeply enough engaged in conversation, Virgil made his move.

That went pretty smoothly. Maybe this won’t be so hard after all, Virgil thought as he nonchalantly walked around the lobby. A waiter stopped and offered him something in puff pastry. Taking one, Virgil bit into it and thought it was good enough to find the waiter and make off with two more as he continued his search for the auction. And then the crowd briefly parted and he spotted an easel on the other side of the lobby with a sign that said, “Silent Auction.”

Somewhere beyond it was his piano. Virgil walked past all sorts of objects to bid on. In front of each item, there was a description, the value of the object, the person or organization who had made the donation. There were also a stack of small squares of paper, pens and a clear fishbowl to drop your bid into.

Virgil wandered among paintings, signs bearing gift certificates for things like vacations and dinners, pieces of jewelry and vases, until he came to a poster that bore the name of “Jamison’s Fine Music Emporium. Est’d 1905”. This was what he had come for. The music store was offering a new Bosendorfer baby grand piano. There was a copy of a picture of a piano, and underneath it the information that the instrument pictured was not the exact piano that was being auctioned, but was the same model. It looked just like the piano of his dreams.

Then he looked at the listed value of the piano, and the world retreated two inches for a moment of time. The price was unbelievable and for the first time, Virgil felt a twinge of doubt creep in. Perhaps his bid wouldn’t be enough.

But he’d come too far to quit now. He had to go the rest of the way.

He looked around him, but no one seemed to be paying attention. He turned once more, looking hungrily at the piano, then picked up a square of paper and placed his bid. He took a number from the table and wrote the same number on his bid before he folded it and dropped it into the clear fishbowl where it nestled among all the folded squares that had already been dropped in by other bidders. Placing the number in his pocket, he gave the piano one last look, then turned and went in search of his father and brother.

He nearly collided with his father and John when he stepped around a tall lady in a floaty kind of dress in soft, swirly colors. Jeff steadied him, then smiled.

“There you are. I was looking for you. It’s time to go in and find our seats.”

Boy, that was lucky, thought Virgil. If he’d been two seconds slower his father would have seen what he was doing.

Jeff pulled two tickets out of his pocket and gave one to Virgil and one to John.

“Take your brother and find our seats. I’ll be with you in a moment. I need to find Scott and Mrs. Huescher’s group.” With a gentle push to the two boys, Jeff turned in search of the rest of his party.

John frowned fiercely at his brother’s back as he was towed toward the auditorium doors.

“You realize I’m going to get you for this,” he muttered darkly. “You just wait. I’m going to make you do something that will make you barf with boredom too!”

Virgil barely heard him as they walked into the now low-lit auditorium. The long curved arcs of seating were laid out in the continental style, with no center aisle so that the best seats in the middle were available for the listener. There were indents and raised areas in the walls and irregular shapes dropped from the ceiling. The floors were carpeted and the seats were well upholstered. Looking around him, Virgil approved of the evidence of thoughtful acoustic planning. Finding their row, the two boys moved to the center, where John pulled down a well padded seat, flopped into it and proceeded to look bored. Virgil turned and saw his father and the others reaching their row and filing down toward them.

The orchestra were filing into their seats on stage, shuffling their music onto the stands in front of them, making discordant noises as they tuned instruments and practiced snatches of music for one last time before they began. The audience was filling rapidly, and the noise level rose.

The music students and his teacher were all remarking on how lovely the facility was and how good the food was and how exciting it all was. Scott’s date was a beautiful girl-next-door blonde and the two had their heads close together, speaking in low tones with each other.

John looked at them and just said, “Yuck!”

Jeff sat next to Virgil and asked, “Well, son, how are you enjoying the evening so far?”

Virgil smiled. “Great, Dad.”

Then the lights began to lower and the voices began falling to a soft murmur. One by one and in small groups the orchestra stopped their tuning until there was suddenly silence.

A man in a tuxedo with tails entered from the left side of the stage and walked to the conductor’s podium. He then turned to the audience and made a bow. The audience applauded happily as the conductor took his stand. Flipping a page of his music, he tapped on the music stand. He lifted his arm, baton in hand, and the orchestra came to attention like race horses before the bell sounds. And then the conductor dropped his baton and a crash of music rolled over the audience.

It was an excellent performance, with a lot of surprises for everyone. The vocal students sang numbers from Broadway, popular classics were played, they even had the student drum corps perform at one point. Even Johnny began to have fun, though he’d have cut off his left arm before he’d have admitted it.

As the final notes played, a roar went up from the crowd and enthusiastic applause showered over the performers.

After several bows and thrown kisses by the opera students, the conductor signaled the audience for quiet as the Music Department head came onto stage.

“Hello, everybody. I am so glad you all could make it tonight. I think we all agree that we’ve been treated to some exceptionally fine performances tonight. I am certainly happy that you have been able to see where your money is going.” The crowd laughed.

“Now we come to the moment a lot of you have been eagerly waiting for, I’m sure. The results of the silent auction. We totaled all the winning bids and I think you will be as amazed as I was at just how generous all of you have been to this school and this department. Between the fund raising we’ve been doing over the last six months and tonight’s auction, we have raised nearly half a million dollars!” A gasp came from the crowd and applause again broke out.”

“Tonight’s auction alone has netted us nearly 100,000.” More applause.

And then he went on to call the numbers for the winners. From here and there throughout the auditorium came excited and happy squeals and people waving their bid numbers on high so they could acknowledge that they’d won.

Virgil felt for his number in his pocket. Number 23. They hadn’t announced the piano yet. Come on, number 23, Virgil thought. Come on!

“I know you all noticed an unusual item in our auction. We are very grateful to Jamison’s Music for their extremely generous donation of a new Bosendorfer grand piano. And judging by the number of bids, you were equally impressed at the chance to own such a fine instrument.” The audience murmured in expectation. Virgil was so wound up he almost couldn’t breathe. He swung wildly from hope to despair and back again, the number he’d bid with repeating in his head…23, 23, 23, please, please say 23…

“Number 48,” announced the voice from the stage. Laughing groans and excited chatter broke out in the audience as they looked for the winner. Inside Virgil, there was only silence. A metallic taste was in his mouth. The despair that only a 13 year old boy who’d seen his dream slip away, can experience nearly overwhelmed him.

“Number 48, where are you?” came the voice from the stage again. It was all Virgil could do to look normal and not put his hands over his ears at the hateful sound. He stared at the back of the seat in front of him, not wanting to see who had won his piano.

And then he heard a voice very close to him saying “Here!”

Wait a minute. He knew that voice! Virgil raised his eyes, slowly and disbelievingly, and saw a dark-clad arm held high, a hand holding a square of white paper.

Dad? His dad had bid on the piano?

Jeff looked over at his son. Just a moment before, Virgil had sat in abject misery like he’d lost his last friend, but now he was looking at his father with dawning wonder in his wide brown eyes. Jeff watched as a smile a thousand watts bright lit up Virgil’s face as it sank in that his own father had won the piano for him.

Jeff had done a lot of things in his career that the military, NASA and the media had called heroic. But he’d never felt more like a hero than he did at this moment, when his son looked at him as if he’d made the earth just for him.

“Here,” he sang out again and around him laughter and applause broke out.

The man on stage recognized him and said, “Well, it looks like Jeff Tracy is going to be taking a very nice piano home,” and more laughter and applause broke out.

Virgil was still staring at his father. “Dad!”

“Yes?” Jeff said smiling

Virgil knew he was grinning like an idiot, and in front of Johnny, too – but he didn’t care. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, son.”

John punched his brother on the arm as they all started moving to the end of the row to exit the auditorium.

“Ok. So…it’s kinda cool you got your stupid piano. And the stupid concert wasn’t so bad…maybe.”

Virgil punched his brother’s arm right back and said, “So maybe I’ll sit in the stupid stands and watch you next time you run your stupid track.”

Jeff had to make a quick detour to meet with the organizers of the auction to confirm his bid and get the information for Jamison’s Fine Music Emporium. And although Virgil would have liked to drive to the store that minute, his father had told him it wasn’t really that practical since even if it was open on Sundays, it would have closed for the day hours ago. They would have to wait until the following weekend to go and claim his prize.

Everyone had gone to bed by the time they got home, but Virgil told his grandmother the minute he saw her emerge from her room the next morning to go downstairs and start breakfast. “Goodness sakes! A piano?” said his grandmother as she hugged him and laughed. She held Virgil away from her and cocked her head at an angle, looking at him speculatively. “Was that the real reason you were so fired up about going?”

Sheepishly, Virgil nodded and his grandmother, still smiling, just shook her head. “Don’t you just beat all.”

A little later, after the boys had eaten and gone, Ruth and Grant sat with their son at the large wooden trestle table in the dining room, lingering over breakfast and the Sunday news Jeff liked to download and print. When questioned by his mother about the events of the previous night, he told her that he’d gone to find Virgil in the lobby, and had come around the corner just in time to see him drop his bid into the fishbowl. Jeff had sent the unsuspecting Virgil to the auditorium with John, while he went back to the auction item that had interested his son so much – and discovered the piano. Well, Jeff was the first to admit he didn’t know much about pianos, but he knew his son was about to get his heart broken and, well…it was a fundraiser after all, right? And if it was as good a piano as everyone said, he was getting a bargain anyway. When Grandma asked how much he’d bid, Jeff just smiled at her and said, “Well, let’s just say it was a lot more than Virgil had in his bank account and leave it at that.”

Saturday finally arrived and Jeff, Virgil, Scott and John loaded up and drove the hour and a half it took to reach Jamison’s Music in old town Kansas City. The original downtown where the music store was located had gone downhill for many years until, like many other cities, they had recognized the economic potential of restoring rather than destroying the character filled buildings of their business district. The business owners and community had had banded together to renovate the area and now it was a charming street lined with trees and restored storefronts where pedestrian traffic was encouraged and obviously popular. There was even a cobblestone street where Jamison’s Fine Music Emporium, Est’d 1905 was in the middle of the block between a bookstore/coffee shop and a boutique catering to the college crowd. In the front window could be seen a baby grand piano, its polished ebony surface glowing softly in the interior lights.

The door made an old-fashioned bell tinkle as it was opened by the Tracys. Inside, the air smelled of wood, polish and old sheet music. Instruments of all varieties were displayed throughout the store. Photographs of school bands, college and professional orchestras were hung on the walls displaying a history of the music supplied to students and musicians through the years. They walked to what looked like the original ornately carved wooden counter midway back in the store. A man in a white shirt and tie, sleeves rolled up, was concentrating on a computer screen. He looked up as they arrived.

“May I help you?”

“Actually, we’re here to arrange for a piano to be delivered to our home,” said Jeff.

“We won the Bosendorfer piano you donated to the auction last week,” broke in an excited Virgil.

The man behind the counter stepped away from the computer and around the counter. “Well, now. That is one fine piano,” he said, motioning for them to follow him to the back of the store.

Finally the man halted. Virgil looked around for his piano, but all he saw a white baby grand with a missing leg, propped up on one side on a carefully padded sawhorse.

“Where is it?” asked Virgil.

“This is it, kid,” said the man as he waved his arm at the piano.

Virgil heard his brother John snicker behind him and Scott snort.

“It’s white!” was all Virgil was able to say.

Behind him he could hear his brothers as they started talking about sequined jackets, candelabras and lounge lizards.

“And it’s missing a leg!”

“Well,” said the man, “it is white. The leg was damaged during delivery and taken off for repair. The guy who’d ordered it refused it and my delivery crew had to bring it back. If you ask me, I think the buyer was looking for an excuse. One of those flaky rock musician types, you know. It takes about five years in all for a piano like this to be made, and they’ve got a short attention span in that business. When he came to me in the beginning he had this whole plan to do a classics album, was going to hire a local symphony orchestra, the works. But in the meantime, he hooked up with one of those tattooed lady rockers with the piercings, twenty years younger than him if she’s a day, and suddenly he’s hot again, doesn’t need to go through all the reinvention. So we were stuck with the piano. I decided after it had sat here for 3 years to use it as a tax write-off. You get a bargain and my bottom line gets a break. Everybody wins, right, kid?”

“But it’s white,” moaned Virgil.

“Come on, boys,” said Jeff. “Let’s leave your brother to his piano while we take care of the paperwork.”

They trooped back to the counter where the owner began tapping keys on his computer and speaking in low tones to Jeff.

Virgil drifted to the piano and sat down at the bench in front of it. He stared at the piano in distaste, but couldn’t resist placing his hands on the keys. What could it hurt?

He struck a chord. The rich, syrupy tones that rolled from the piano made the hair stand up on his arms.

A chill ran through his body. What was that sound? He’d never heard anything even remotely like it!

He ran a set of scales up and down the keys. Their notes had a rich, ringing sound. Getting excited now, he fingered notes in the treble register and was rewarded with clear, pure bell-like tones. He played a few crashing chords of Beethoven and the lower registers were moody and dramatic with a harmonic resonance he had never experienced before. The action of the keys was fast and light, silky smooth, the scales even from top to bottom. The damper action was quiet and smooth. There was sheer magic in the piano’s resonance and expression and he found himself moving from one piece of music to the next in a state of bliss, until suddenly he became aware of eyes on him.

He looked up and saw his family, the store owner and a few other customers surrounding him with astonishment on their faces.

“Well, I knew it was a good piano, kid. Didn’t know it was that good, though,” the owner grinned. “If you ask me, you lucked out big time…even if it is white.”

Virgil no longer cared what color the piano was. It spoke to him just the way he had imagined in his dreams.

As they walked from the store, Scott draped an arm across his shoulders. “Well, we can always spray paint it black,” he grinned, moving quickly away from Virgil’s punch.

“Touch it and you die!” Virgil said, but he was smiling.

And now, in the present, Virgil sat back in his chair on Tracy Island, still smiling at the memory. He’d kept that piano through all the years and all the moves since. One thing he knew. You find a lot of good pianos, some excellent pianos, and a very few special ones.

His white piano was one of the special ones.

He was overcome with an urge to go play it, right now, to chase away the world for a while.

And so he did.