Cooee! Over here! I’m waiting and ready for you! Look! Don’t you admire my hourglass figure? True, not as slim as some, but then again, I’m not so young any more. But I think I’m wearing pretty well, wouldn’t you say?
Don’t you admire the gold bands I wear on my neck? My rich mahogany body, the intricate rosette I wear at my waist?
Now, I’ll be the first to admit I’ve not always been faithful. You watched me go off to the Czech Republic with another, and you didn’t even try to stop me. And worse, it was with a woman! An oriental wench, twenty years older than me! I blush when I remember that there‘s even a video of us together. For that I beg your forgiveness.
So, reach out for me. I’m longing for the caress of your fingers, the excitement of your skilful touch, waiting to abandon myself to you, I don’t care! It may sound shameless but I want to surrender to you!
Don’t listen to her, look at me! See, I wear bands on my neck too, but of better quality, and above them, a piece of precious ivory. And, ‘tis true we are of similar age, but see how much younger I look, my face smooth and unblemished. I know you adore my curvaceous body, and I thrill to the touch of your hands upon my waist.
And I have breeding. I was born in far off Japan before I came to London, when young. My father was a skilled craftsman. Look at her! She can’t even tell you where she was born, and her father was just a humble factory worker!
I’ve always remained faithful to you, never run off with any ‘floozie,’ like her. And I hear she even let herself be caressed in public, whilst being filmed, no less! Honestly, she has no shame!
So come, my dear, grace me with your gentle touch and I will sing so sweetly for you!
He entered the music room, looking round at the instruments hanging on the walls and stood on stands. For some reason, the first two he ever acquired caught his attention. Yes, there was his Saxon, bought from a mail-order catalogue for £30, what 43 years ago? Orange-faced, and a body of dull brown mahogany. Of anonymous ‘foreign’ manufacture. Nevertheless, its tone had improved with age. He’d had the frets filed too, and changed the tuners himself. He’d even had a golpeador fitted for flamenco.
Then there was his Takumi. Bought from Ivor Mairants Music Centre in Soho, perhaps three years later than the Saxon? £150. Ivor himself had demonstrated it, playing Variations on a Theme by Mozart by Fernando Sor. His thumbnail had been broken, so the bass was soft.
He remembered taking it to a luthier in Muswell Hill to have the ‘action’ lowered, the man working on it with a cigarette in his mouth. A long cylinder of ash defied gravity, hanging directly over the instrument as the man slackened the strings. He’d stood, expecting it to fall, then been told to return in a couple of hours, before discovering the fate of the ash.
Then he thought of his partner twenty years ago. How she’d gone on a guitar orchestra tour to the Czech Republic and taken his Saxon, her own instrument needing repair. Later, she’d paid for extensive rework on the Takumi – the top sanded down and French polished; silver dots laid along the edge of the neck, the saddle lowered and the ‘tie block’ changed to incorporate bridge pins, in order to get the strings as low as possible. Quite recently he’d had the French polishing redone.
Then his eye caught the exciting contours of his Jackson Randy Rhoads RR-5, an electric model with an asymmetric V shape. It had a longer, thinner ‘fin’ on the top, to rest the arm on, and perfect balance with a strap. It was finished in cream with a black pinstripe, with gold hardware, and a gold ‘V’ shaped tailpiece, where the strings went through the body. A pricey and ‘flashy’ instrument. Yes, he would practice on that one today. Sorry girls!
Featured in the book, To Cut a Short Story Short, vol. II: 88 Little Stories
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