The Friends List Ch. 02

"Girl, you're going to music school, you don't have to pretend you're not a superstar," Monique added.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"Berklee College of Music," she answered. "In Boston."

"Wow! That's the big time!" I exclaimed.

"I guess," she answered.

"Are you a vocal major?"

"I'm majoring in performance with a focus on piano. I like to sing, but I'm not good enough to do it at a professional level. Piano's what I do best."

"Could have fooled me."

"You know Peter plays music too, right?" Monique asked. I shot her a glance of appreciation for playing wingwoman, but she didn't notice.

"I didn't, actually, but I'm not surprised. Your pitch is perfect. What do you play?"

"I mostly play guitar and bass, but I can also play clarinet, sax, oboe... a couple other wind instruments," I answered.

"I'm having trouble hearing you." Kirsten indicated she was wearing musician's earplugs. "It's too noisy in here and I have to protect my hearing. Can we talk about this later?"

"I'd love to," I smiled.

Monique was up next, singing "Doll Parts" by Hole. Courtney Love was never known for her songbird singing voice, but Monique had been right -- she wasn't much of a singer. I'd only seen her with a swaggering bravado since I'd come home, but suddenly on stage the insecure teenager I used to know was back. To be fair, following Kirsten would have been a tough act for anyone, but Monique looked uncomfortable as she screeched through the choruses.

As Monique was finishing up, Laura arrived. She made eye contact with me as she made a beeline right for our table. Here we go, I thought.

"Hi Peter! Hi everyone!" Laura said brightly.

We all returned the greeting.

"Stand up, let me give you a hug."

I looked around the table, but it was clear Laura was only asking me. Without trying to show too much reluctance, I stood up and embraced her as she squeezed me for slightly longer than a normal greeting hug.

"How have you been?" she asked as she sat down. "I haven't seen or heard anything from you."

"Yeah, I've been busy." The volume in the room was making conversation difficult.

Kirsten shot me a sympathetic look as Monique returned, her ego bruised somewhat.

"I don't know why I agreed to come tonight," she grumbled.

"You did great!" Sam chimed in.

Monique shrugged. "I know how well I did."

The conversation at the table fell away with the noise at the bar making it hard to hear or be heard, but I was conscious of Laura's gaze every moment I was at the table. When she wasn't watching the stage, she was invariably looking at me, and I was once again feeling slightly creeped out. I wasn't used to being sexualized like this, and if it was someone I was into I might have found it flattering, but from Laura I was just uncomfortable.

The evening went on with minimal conversation. Laura got up out of order to sing "You Belong With Me" by Taylor Swift, staring at me the whole time as she sang of unrequited love. She wasn't a terrible singer, and Monique seemed to think it was hilarious, but mostly I just buried my nose in my beer, regretting the life choices that had led to this.

An hour and two beers later, the bar had lapped itself and we all had our second chances to sing. Inspired, I suggested to Kirsten we get up and sing a duet. She loved the idea, and we decided on "It Ain't Me Babe," the version by Johnny Cash and June Carter. Johnny's vocals were right in the heart of my range, and the soaring female part I thought Kirsten could nail. We got up and, well, we knocked it out of the park. The crowd in the bar had grown, and I'd played onstage enough times to know how to project my voice and to demonstrate chemistry with my duet partner. We flirted with our eyes and our body movements as we sang and danced, and when we finished we got the largest round of applause of the evening.

"That was incredible!" Sam gushed as we returned to the table. "You guys need to play together more!"

"I'm down!" I shouted.

"Sure!" Kirsten took my cell phone and texted herself my number. "Let's do it!"

Laura said nothing, but her eyes betrayed her jealousy. I tried not to notice.

After more rounds of karaoke, more drinks (Vanessa in particular was looking over the limit), and very little talking over the squall of noise, we were all pleasantly inebriated and started the walk home. Laura, Monique, and Mark lived in the same neighbourhood as Vanessa and I, so we decided to walk together. I saw Kirsten off with a promise to text her, then finally I was faced with the inevitable.

"You've been awfully distant," Laura began as we headed for home. The others had paired off and were walking ahead of us, out of easy earshot.

"I mean..." I paused, not sure what to say. "It's not like we ever really talked before."

"Yeah, but things are different now."

"Are they?" I asked. "It was a one-night stand."

Laura's face fell. "Yeah, I know. But..."

I let the word hang in the night air.

"We had sex," Laura finally said. "I thought things would be different after."

"I'm sorry. I just don't feel that way about you."

"So you used me?" she asked, suddenly upset.

"No, I went into it with my eyes open, and I was honest with you," I said sharply. "I said before it happened that it was a one-time thing. I'm sorry your expectations weren't in line with mine, really I am. I didn't know you had any deeper feelings for me, and if I'd known that I never would have done it. I'm sorry if you're hurt, but it would hurt you more stringing you along."

Laura sighed and remained silent for a moment. "Well, maybe I can change your mind someday," she finally said.

With nothing else to say to her, I caught up to the rest of the group with Laura in tow, and we walked the rest of the way home.

That night as I was shutting off my phone to go to sleep, a message came in from Laura. It was a picture, taken from her perspective, looking down her clothed body to her hand planted between her legs in her unzipped jeans. It was captioned "Thinking of you." My cock jumped slightly, and the temptation to sext with her momentarily coursed through me, but I forced myself to shut my phone off and go to bed. I still found Laura physically attractive, but I was determined not to sleep with her again knowing it was only going to cause her more hurt in the long run.

The next day, Kirsten texted me.

Hey, Peter. Do you want to come over tonight to jam?

I'd love to, I answered. I'll bring my guitar and amp, do I need anything else?

I've got a pretty well-equipped home studio here, she answered. Bring whatever guitar stuff you want, but otherwise we should be good.

I put on a nice polo shirt and khakis before heading out that evening, gathering up my prized cherry red Gibson 335 guitar, Vox amp and pedal board into Mom's car. It was a short drive to Kirsten's, and despite Monique's earlier prodding, I wasn't thinking about sex, only about jamming and making music. Apart from Walt, I didn't really have many remaining musical friends in town, and I was excited to have found someone talented to play with.

Kirsten's family lived out in the northern suburbs in a relatively big house. Her Dad was locally famous for his radio commercials for his car lot, but other than that, the fact she was musical, and her being friends with Vanessa, I barely knew a thing about her. From what I could remember, she'd only moved to Guelph in the eleventh grade, after I'd graduated, and since Vanessa didn't hang out at our house with her friends that often from then on, I'd only met her a handful of times.

Kirsten greeted me at the door wearing a comfortable loose-fitting yoga top and sweatpants. Despite the dressed-down look and lack of makeup I thought she looked lovely, with fair, lightly-freckled skin, blindingly white teeth, and piercing blue eyes. Her lustrous blonde hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. "Nice to see you, Peter!"

I returned the greeting as I bundled my gear into the house.

"Hallo, Peter," a familiar accented radio voice greeted me.

"Mr. Bäumler."

"Call me Helmut." Her dad extended his hand. "Kirsten has told me about you. I've been ordered to stay out of the basement tonight, but maybe you'll allow an old keyboardist to join you sometime."

"Dad, please," Kirsten blushed.

"It's fine, I love jamming with my stepdad," I reassured. "Maybe the four of us will play sometime."

"Does your stepfather play?" Kirsten's father seemed genuinely excited.

"Let's go, Peter." Kirsten picked up my amp and started heading for the basement stairs.

"I'm being summoned, but yes, he plays guitar and bass."

"We'll talk later," Helmut chuckled. "My daughter is still sometimes embarrassed of her old dad."

"Nice to meet you, Helmut," I said apologetically as I headed for the basement stairs.

I hadn't known what to expect, but Kirsten's basement was a music studio of near professional grade. Sound-dampening insulation covered the walls and ceiling and Turkish carpets covered the floor. There was a baby grand piano in the centre of the room, a small collection of guitars and amps, and a 16-track mixing console that looked like it could have come out of a professional studio. Most impressively to my eyes, though, was the synthesizers -- the family had a collection of seven or eight of them, all seemingly vintage from the 1980's, and most clearly well-used, like someone had taken them all on the road.

"You look impressed," Kirsten laughed as I stared, agog.

"Are these all vintage?" I asked.

She nodded.

"No way. Is that a Roland Jupiter-8?!"

"Yep. Only two thousand were made. It's worth a fortune." She turned the synth on, adjusted a few knobs, and played the opening synth riff from Van Halen's "Jump". "It was the sound of the 80's."

"How does all this exist in this basement?" I was in shock.

"Dad was in a number of bands back in the 80's. You know Peter Schilling, obviously; have you heard of the Neue Deutsche Welle?"

I hadn't.

"NDW means German New Wave, a group of like-minded Germans and Austrians who played the new music of the 80's back in Europe. Peter Schilling, Nena, Trio and Falco all re-recorded songs in English and had broader success to varying degrees. Some bands never bothered. Dad played keyboards in a few of them."

"Anyone I'd have heard of?"

She shook her head. "Not likely. In Germany and Austria, maybe some people would remember. But not here. His band had a few minor radio hits, but never made it big. I think the biggest gig they ever headlined was for about 800 people. They played a few festivals like Rock am Ring to big crowds, but always early in the day or on the side stages. After they broke up, Dad toured with Joachim Witt in the late 80's as a touring keyboardist; that's probably the most impressive thing he did. He made a go of music as a career for a decade or so before packing it in."

"Who's Joachim Witt?"

"Another NDW artist. Give him a listen sometime. It's good music, if you can get past the German lyrics."

"I'm seriously impressed. You've got a whole studio down here. No wonder you're musical, with those genes and this equipment around. What else can you play?"

"Um..." Kirsten thought for a minute. "I've never learned drumming. But I can play pretty much anything with keys, brass, woodwind, or strings. We have a TR-808 drum machine, but I've never had a drum kit."

"Amazing." I found an electrical outlet and plugged my amp in, turning it on to let the tubes warm up.

"Do you want a beer?" she asked.

"I'd love one."

She went over to a mini-fridge buried in a corner and handed me a large brown bottle of a beer I'd never had before -- Erdinger Weiss.

"Thanks. This is German beer, I assume?"

"Natürlich," she answered. "Zum Wohl."

"That's 'cheers' in German?"

"Yes. It means 'to wellness' or 'to your health'."

"Zum Wohl." I mangled the pronunciation, but she still shot me a beautiful smile. God, her teeth were perfect.

"How about you, Peter? How are your guitar skills?"

"I'm a better rhythm player than lead. I don't like squealing wanky guitar solos, and I don't play much blues. I like 90's and modern rock, and my stepfather Walt got me into a lot of underground 70's and 80's music, too. My high school band were basically a bad clone of Pearl Jam."

"Who's your favourite guitarist?"

"Peter Buck. Prince. Johnny Marr. Andy Summers. Ed Robertson."

"Good choices. Do you play new wave?"

I nodded. "I've never played it alongside a synth player before, but yeah, I do."

"Okay, shall we start with 'Major Tom'?" She smiled.

I plugged in, tuned up, and stepped on my chorus pedal. "Let's party like it's 1983."

Kirsten started by sequencing a drum pattern on the drum machine, then, once it was going, added a bass line to simulate the full rhythm section on one of the synthesizers. Once the drum and bass were underway on repeat, she counted herself in and started.

It's amazing how playing with a professional is so much more enjoyable than playing with a bunch of amateurs. I'd always been one of the better musicians in any band I'd played in, but Kirsten was so much better than I was. I could keep up -- most of the time -- but she could effortlessly play just about anything we tried, whereas I had to occasionally look up tabs on the internet or find my place again in the middle of a song. I didn't hear a wrong note from her as she covered the keys, bass and drum machine running through songs by New Order, Gary Numan, Devo, A Flock of Seagulls, Thomas Dolby, the Human League, and more. As I stood watching her, my hands flying along the fretboard, I was in awe of this petite blonde's incredible ability. I was a talented amateur, but she was already a professional, leagues ahead of where I'd be even if I practised non-stop for years.

After nearly two hours, I finally asked for a break as my left hand was starting to cramp. "I haven't played a full set in ages."

Kirsten was glowing with sweat, but wearing an ear-to-ear grin. "That was so much fun." She grabbed another two bottles of Erdinger from the fridge, handing me one as we sat down together on the love seat, the only comfortable furniture in the room.

"Zum Wohl. Tell me about yourself," I began. "I know you're Vanessa's friend, but I barely know you. How did your Dad go from playing in bands in Germany to selling cars in Guelph?"

"Well, by the time the 90's came around, Dad was done with music. He realized he was never going to be rich and famous, he was well into his thirties, and he was sick of the grind of touring. Meanwhile, he'd met and married my Mom, and she was doing her Ph.D. in geomatics. They had my brother Florian in 1988 and me in 1991, and when Mom finished her degree, the only tenure-track job she was offered was in the Geography department here. She's a professor at the university now, and Dad came with her."

"So, when did you move to Canada?"

"1998. I was seven. German is my first language and Germany is still home to me. All my family is there. We're Rheinlanders; I was born in Düsseldorf. We still go back once a year or so."

"So your Dad gave up his career for your Mom and started over in a new country? That's kind of sweet."

"I agree," Kirsten smiled, "but his career gave up on him, too. There wasn't a lot of call for synth players in the alternative rock 90's. When we first came over, he was so disillusioned he didn't play for a couple of years, but gradually as I got more into it he fell back in love with music by playing with me. He plays around town now in a couple of cover bands."

"Yet you kicked him out of the basement tonight?" I teased.

Kirsten blushed. "I wanted to get to know you without my Dad watching."

I put my hand on her knee. "I'm teasing. I'm glad it's just you and me tonight, too."

She smiled and looked away.

"Does your brother play?"

"No. Dad tried, but he inherited Mom's lack of ability. I got all the musical genes."

"Same with Vanessa. Her Dad loves to play, and she was never interested. I think it softened the blow of having a pig-headed stepson for him a little that I played guitar."

"Probably. Dad heard you were coming over and he was thrilled."

"So when did you and Vanessa become friends?" I continued.

"Grade 11," she answered. "I've always lived in town since coming to Canada, but we moved within the city. I went to the first two years of high school at College Heights before moving to Centennial High."

"Makes sense. I graduated from Centennial the year before, so that explains why I never really got to know you. Plus Vanessa doesn't usually hang out with friends at home."

"What about you?" Kirsten locked eyes on me. "All I really know about you is you're Vanessa's stepbrother and you play a mean guitar."

I briefly gave her my life story, growing up with a single parent, having to integrate our two families as teenagers, how Vanessa and I had never been close owing to the age gap and differing personalities, and moving out a couple of years ago to go to university in Kingston.

"And you don't have a girlfriend, obviously, otherwise you wouldn't be sleeping with Laura."

"I'm not 'sleeping with Laura'," I pointed out. "I slept with her once, and I wish I hadn't."

"Oh?"

"It was a hookup at a party. It was fun, don't get me wrong, but I didn't realize she had feelings for me the way she had, otherwise I'd never have done it. It was a heat of the moment decision."

Kirsten nodded. "Laura crushes very hard and very easily. She comes on very strong. A lot of guys are intimidated by that."

"I wasn't intimidated, I just didn't think through the consequences of sleeping with a girl who a major crush on me. And to answer your question, no, I don't have a girlfriend. I've been single since last fall. Do you have a boyfriend?"

She shook her head. "I broke up with my high school boyfriend before moving away, because I didn't want to do long distance. I never really looked for a new one. Boys are too big of a distraction. When I'm in Boston I need to be focused on my playing and my studies. There's so much competition out there, and silly me had to select an instrument that so many other people also play. I couldn't have played the sousaphone or the harp, oh, no. I had to pick the one instrument with more competitors than any other."

"That sounds... kind of sad, actually," I said sympathetically. "Do you get to blow off steam like tonight every now and then?"

"I haven't in a long, long time," she answered. "Tonight was really good for me. It reminded me why playing music is fun. When you're practising for the sixtieth hour that week with no end in sight, you sometimes question why you do it."

"You don't play in any bands in Boston?"

"No. I wish. I don't have the time."

"So no boys and no fun music." I suddenly felt a little sorry for her. "Is it all worth it to you?"

Kirsten responded by getting up and going to the baby grand piano. She sat down and started playing a rendition of Chopin's Nocturne Op. 9 No. 2 in E-Flat Major. Her playing was not just technically perfect but was also full of soul and longing. I moved over and sat beside her on the piano bench, in awe at her genius on display as she played.

When she finished, I gently applauded. "Beautiful."

She looked at me, her deep blue eyes full of emotion, and in that moment, inspired, I leaned in to kiss her, holding back, waiting for a sign to either press on or to withdraw. When she closed her eyes I knew she was mine, and then our lips touched. I kissed her, again, slowly, gently, electricity passing between each other's bodies.

After a moment she pulled back, sighing with pleasure.

"I can see why Laura likes you," she said, her voice cracking slightly.