Lab Notes: a novel by Gerrie Nelson Read Free Book Online Page B

his order, then moaned with pleasure as flavors of butter, cream, sherry and exotic mushrooms erupted on her tongue. “Perfect,” she told him.
    “Goot,” he replied, then shooed them out of his galley.
    At the clang of the dinner bell, Charlotte had turned Diane over to Raymond Bellfort who had morphed from the distracted bulldog she’d met at lunch in Pittsburgh to a waggish Saint Bernard who drooled with geniality as he led her through the buffet line.
    Diane found the Bellforts’ double-teamed hospitality exhausting—the real reason she had stayed behind when the group went off to see the Elissa.
    She reached for a cognac from a nearby tray. It was time to discard her Mata Hari ways, rejoin the fun. After all, what’s not to enjoy? The ambience was dazzling; the food and music, wonderful; the people, gracious to exuberant.
    Now, the girl who played the keyboard came in from the deck and sat two seats away from Diane at the bar.
    “You play beautifully,” Diane said to her. “I’ve thought about getting an electronic piano. It must be wonderful having an orchestra at your fingertips.”
    The girl beamed, and self-consciously adjusted her bowtie, worn as a choker over her off-the-shoulder sweater.
    “I’m Diane Rose.” Diane extended her hand.
    “Murphy O’Shea,” the girl said, reaching to shake Diane’s hand.
    “For your age, you have an amazing repertoire of old standards.”
    “That always throws people,” Murphy said. “Ling, the violinist, and I are students at Rice University’s Shepherd School of Music. We found out we couldn’t get many gigs by playing Bach and Mozart. So-oo-o we learned some Big Band stuff and old standards… and here we are. You said you play the piano?”
    “Not as well as you.”
    “Do you want to sit in on the next set? I can change the settings while you play and give you a feel for what the instrument can do. You’ll love it.”
    Murphy’s enthusiasm eventually overcame Diane’s fear of stage fright. She agreed to sit in.
    “Do you know Funny Valentine ?” Diane asked.
    “Yes, I love it.”
    Listening to her grandparents’ vintage record collection during her teens, Diane had developed an affinity for popular music from the forties and fifties. And early in their courtship, Vincent had also developed a love for those songs—particularly Funny Valentine . They both enjoyed its romantic melody but found some of the words to be amusingly rude and often parodied them. Vincent would recite the lyrics and accompany Diane on guitar while she played piano and sang. But when she pleaded with him to sing along, he always begged off saying his voice had the resonance of a moose in rut.
    Now, Diane sat down at the piano. Aware of the returning guests, she played haltingly at first. But eventually the music filled her, eliminating any self-conscious thoughts. Murphy O’Shea stood behind the keyboard, pressing buttons and throwing switches. Suddenly, Diane was accompanied by vibes, George Shearing-style. Then, magically, she was playing an organ, then the harpsichord. She laughed with delight.
    From the dock, he watched her.
    Vincent returned from his harbor tour in time to hear the applause. He approached his wife as she stood up from the piano bench. “I’m sorry I missed it. Judging by the response it must have been a virtuoso performance.” He put his arm around her shoulders.
    Diane made light of her husband’s comment: “You’ve heard me play it hundreds of times.”
    “And I hope thousands more.”
    Diane turned back toward Murphy and Ling. “Thank you, guys. I really enjoyed it,” she said warmly.
    Murphy began playing a haunting version of Funny Valentine and Vincent pulled Diane toward the dance floor.
    Ling picked up a microphone and sang in a hushed voice.
    Vincent led Diane slowly around the dance floor. “When you think about it,” he said pensively, “that song has played a part in every major event in our lives—including our wedding. Makes