The Stereo

Lloyd rushed out of the cleaners, suit in hand. He froze. He couldn’t help it. He still had an ear for music. And what came at him from the store next door … he cocked his head; it was live, not recorded. He was sure of it. There was a certain twang – that one note had a certain twang. But it worked. The energy, the sheer skill of so many notes packed into a single riff, then bridged to another, and the twang worked right into it. He had to see.

Misty, skittish as she had become, caught the movement out of the corner of her eye. Her hands leapt away from the keyboard and she returned to the tedium of tuning.

And there went the twang.

“Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” She didn’t need to look up at him, she’d seen him coming.

“Um,” Lloyd wasn’t a musician, just had a good ear. He didn’t know the right words. He moved his hand in a slight seesaw motion. “You changed its sound.”

“It was out of tune.”

“But it worked for what you were playing.”

Misty turned fully toward him. “Really?”

Lloyd came over to the piano, ignoring his hurry. “Play it again.”

She indulged him. Perhaps he would turn out to be a paying customer. He did look to have money – wearing one fine suit, carrying another.

He shook his head. “No, not the same.”

“That’s because it’s in tune now.”

Lloyd nodded. “But you were able to make it sound good without the tuning.”

Misty shrugged. “Comes in handy sometimes.” She looked over the showroom. “Why tune if I can sell one as is?”

“Yet here you are tuning.”

Misty gave him a knowing look. “Some can tell.”

Lloyd smiled and nodded. “Do you have a recording of your playing? I’m planning a gala; my client might be interested in hiring you to play the cocktail hour.”

“Sure.” Lloyd followed her back to the break room. “I have to warn you, I usually can’t get away to do gigs.” She rummaged through a drawer. “Here it is.” She turned around to hand him the recording but he didn’t see her. His full attention was on the stereo. His freshly cleaned and pressed suit lay crumpled on the floor. In slow motion he knelt down and gingerly ran his finger over the stereo’s controls. He said something but his voice had dropped to so low of a whisper that she couldn’t make out his words. He continued to stare at it.

Misty looked at the clock. Ethan would be back any minute and she wasn’t to have customers in the break room. She cleared her throat, but he didn’t hear her. “Sir?” Still nothing. She didn’t want to disturb whatever was going on here but she had to get him out of the break room.

“Mistyyyy!!” Ethan roared from the front. “Corporate just called, my sales are down! Why are sales …” Ethan’s long strides had already carried him to the back.

When Lloyd rose and turned, he saw the beet-red face of a jealous lover. “I’ll take it,” he said to Misty. And Misty knew he wasn’t talking about a piano.

Ethan tried to take over the sale but Lloyd graciously bowed out. His suit was already returned to its place over his shoulder. “I have a meeting for which I am late.”

It wasn’t until the next morning that Misty spotted the business card tucked into the turntable. The stereo was one of the few things in the break room, or in their apartment for that matter, that wasn’t Ethan’s or that didn’t belong to the store. She and her sister had saved for a long time to buy it for their brother as a graduation present. They’d bought it used but it had been meticulously cared for and was a high-end piece of equipment, much better than anything new their money could have bought. When he was called up for Desert Shield, her brother had left it with her until his return. It wasn’t for sale.

But there was a dollar figure on the back of his card. It was staggering.

She had to know. She dialed his number.

Memories swirled in Lloyd’s head. The mental picture of that stereo. In that break room.

In her room.

All he could say was that he had known the original owner. He would pay any price asked.