We
arrived unfashionably early even for Denmark: about 5:30 p.m. The owner and his
lean, swarthy Italian waiters were in the middle of setting tables and filling
bread baskets. This restaurant had embraced every cliché from empty chianti
bottles used as candle-holders, to checkered tablecloths draped askew on wooden
tables, and to the scent of garlic and parsley being fried in olive oil. Then
we came in and set off yet another symbolic ritual.
Do
not misunderstand me. This was not an evening on the town. We were
musicians, a string quartet, having dinner before a concert in the jazz club
around the corner.
For
many years we all had been playing recording jobs in Copenhagen, often as part
of a string quartet chosen by some arranger. It turned out that quite a few
arrangers chose the same people, these three women and me. So after having
played together by accident quite a few times we decided to formalize our
group. We gave it a name and printed some brochures and we were in business.
Now
we were very established and sought after. So we were having an innocent
evening together, a meal and a concert with young jazz musicians. Only now we
were being watched, probably in the hope of a scandal or two.
I
should add that the problem did have a certain magnitude because not only were
these women extremely good instrumentalists, but they were also extremely
attractive, and sisters to boot. I might as well have been on a date with three
actresses. Except that their playing, whatever their looks, was extremely solid
and soulful. Actually, the three of them had a more masculine way of playing than I did.
We
had a giggly time at dinner and a little glass of wine with our scallopini. I
think it was during my last sip of wine that I abruptly figured out how to see
my own position in relation to all the stalkers surrounding us. I should have
made a little speech for the waiters:
"Hey,
guys, you are wondering whether or not the four of us have had a good time
together, to take a word from your menu, as far as carne
is concerned. Well, you would never understand the answer.
The stately, blond lady on my left has borne me through many a beautiful
movement, she being the base of all our relations (cello). The pretty, little
woman with the fawn eyes has held us all in place from the middle with her warm
hands (viola). The beautiful, full-bodied woman on my right has been my soulmate
in song, staying ever so delicately at my side wherever I choose to move in our
foursome (violin). Let me put it this way: Good playing is sexy. You should try
it sometime!"
The
boss winked at me on the way out. I gave him my best you don't know what you are missing look. And I meant it.
You can buy my book
"Pieces: A Memoir in Eight Movements and a Prelude"
at
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