Warrick flexed his fingers idly as he leaned against the bar, eyes sweeping over the crowd of around a hundred and fifty assembled in the nightclub. This was a pretty big showing for an early Saturday night. Then again, the club's PR guys had done their job advertising this show. "See Siren and the Piano Man LIVE!" Warrick had rolled his eyes when he saw the first flyers. "Piano Man," indeed. The piano had entered his life a long time ago, back when every kid decides they'll learn to play an instrument. But while most kids he had known picked up drumsticks or a guitar, he had been drawn to the piano.
His grandmother had been a wonderful piano player. He remembered sharing the bench with her, watching the gnarled fingers drawing out beautiful melodies. Warrick had asked her if it hurt her to play. After all, the arthritis that twisted her hands had forced her to give up sewing and gardening. She just laughed.
"'Rick my boy," she had drawled in her slow, deep voice, "playing is the only time my hands don't hurt. The music's magic takes it all away."
After she died, Warrick had spent countless hours hunched over that old piano, tortuously picking out note after note, teaching himself to read music, and slowly, ever so slowly, learning how to make the same magic. But as the years went by, as most childhood pursuits do, his playing stopped. He didn't have the time or energy anymore. He had a career now, something else to take up most of his attention. He also had an addiction, which devoured what little was left.
And then there was Holly Gribbs. Her death had been his fault. No words or assurances could make that go away. She was dead because of his need for gambling. Grissom had kept him on, saying the fault belonged to all, but that couldn't take Warrick's guilt away.
That day he had gone walking through one of the worst parts of Las Vegas, desperately trying to keep from heading directly for the Strip and its whirling, clanging distractions. Hands shoved into pockets, feet shuffling along, Warrick had wandered up and down streets lined with dilapidated houses and crumbling buildings. That was where he heard it.
Halting and choppy, notes of piano music drifted down from an open window. Stopping dead in his tracks, Warrick listened. Whoever it was wasn't very good, but they kept after the same piece again and again until it sounded better. --The music's magic takes it all away.--
He headed for a pawnshop a couple hours before shift and bought a keyboard. A far cry from the delicate ivories of a real piano, Warrick still felt better than he had in a long time as he ran his fingers across the keys. He surprised himself with how much he remembered. After that, he always tried to devote at least an hour or two a day to play.
Which was how he had ended up here. For no real reason, he had dropped in this small club, named "Odyssey," one night five months ago. Restless and jittery, Warrick commandeered a table at the back and settled in. And then he saw it.
The club had a piano. And not only a piano, but a full grand piano with a sweeping curve, black surface polished to a mirror shine. Odyssey had been without a piano player for a while, so Warrick struck a deal with the owner. In return for time on the piano either before or after closing, he would play for an audience once a week. Warrick hadn't liked the idea of playing for people much at first. But after a while, he began looking forward to his show, a 45-minute set for a group of 20 people or so. And it was worth it to play on that piano.
Warrick had been careful not to let anyone he knew find out. This was his escape, his chance to leave everything else behind him; his struggles, his work, his pain. He was proud of the fact that he was managed to keep his fellow trained investigators from finding out about his moonlighting.
The voice of Billy, the bartender, broke into Warrick's line of thought. "Hey Rick, you ready for tonight?" Everyone in the club knew him as Rick, his grandmother's nickname for him. He thought she would have approved.
Warrick half shrugged in response. "I guess so."
"Biggest crowd you've ever played for."
"Don't remind me."
"Aw, come on. The two of you are the best act we've ever had in here. It's called word of mouth. People love ya. What's so bad about that?"
"Long story."
"Bartenders always have time for long stories."
Warrick turned his head and fixed Billy with his "drop it" stare. Billy immediately returned his attention to the glass he was drying.
"By the way, I saw Serena sneaking backstage. You might want to go meet up with her."
Checking his watch, Warrick nodded. "Yeah. See you."
"Yeah, good luck tonight!"
Waving a hand, Warrick began picking his way along the edges of the crowd. There were a lot of people packed in here. He was going have to be careful. The last thing he needed was anyone he knew showing up and spreading the word.
Ducking through the stage door, Warrick scanned the cramped backstage corridor for his partner. Serena had come to the club two months ago and they had started performing together on a lark. She had a haunting, hypnotizing alto voice, one that more than earned her the stage name "Siren." Trained in voice and flute, she could've been a star. If not for one problem.
"Rick, over here," came a soft, low voice. He turned to see Serena coming towards him. Her tall form was dressed in her performance outfit, a sleek blue dress with long sleeves, a high neck, and a line of rhinestones that traveled from her shoulder down to the floor-dusting hem. It was the only dress he had ever seen her wear.
Her gait was shuffling, her right leg dragging slightly. Her right arm had an odd stiffness to it. That was because most of it was gone, replaced by a cheap plastic prosthetic. Burn scars covered the right side of her face, and her right eye remained fixed. That was because it was ceramic. Its brown color didn't match her true eye, which was an otherworldly gray. Her cinnamon brown hair was swept over to hide the patchiness of the right side scalp.
A car accident had caused these injuries. He had never asked her about it, and she had never offered any further explanation. She had once been a beautiful woman, and even through all of those scars, it still shone through. Especially when she sang.
"Hello, Serena," Warrick stepped forward and dropped a quick kiss on her left cheek. "You look lovely tonight."
"Good evening, Rick," Serena replied with a lopsided smile. "Don't I always?"
Warrick returned the smile. "Yes, you do."
The ritual completed, Serena gestured towards the stage. "Are we ready for tonight?"
Warrick blew a breath out through his teeth. "As ready as I'm going to get."
"Still worried someone's going to see you?"
"As if anyone will pay any attention to me once you sing."
She deflected the change of topic. "They might want to see you, hear you play."
"I just..." Warrick fixed her with an almost-pleading look. "This is what I do to get away from things. To get away from everything else I gotta do. I want to keep them apart."
Serena nodded, her lips pulling back into her peculiar smile. "I know. I understand. That's why I sing."
He had no idea what she did offstage. Her time on the stage was the only time she shed her quiet, shy, reserved nature. She probably spent her time in the real world trying not to be noticed. What must it be like, he thought, to go through life knowing everyone around you pities and maybe even fears you?
"Hey, you two, get ready! You're on, like, now!"
Both heads turned to see the stage manager waving his hands. "I think that's our cue," Serena said as she slid her good arm through Warrick's. "Let's go."
"And now Odyssey welcomes the two you're all here to see, give a big hand to Serena the Siren and Rick the Piano Man!" They stepped out onto the stage to bright lights and applause. After taking a quick bow, they assumed their places, Warrick at the piano and Serena in the curve. She adjusted the microphone in front of her slightly before scooping up the harmonica that rested on the piano surface. Not able to work the flute or any other wind instrument with one hand, she had taught herself the harmonica.
"Hello, everyone," her voice was carried out through the crowd. "Thanks so much for coming out to see us tonight. We're going to lead off with one of everyone's favorites, I'm sure."
Taking a deep breath, Warrick reached out and placed his hands on the keys. Concentrating himself, he launched into the first bars. Serena joined in with her harmonica on the opening measures of "Piano Man."
Then she sang.
"It's nine o' clock on a Saturday The regular crowd shuffles in There's an old man sitting next to me Makin' love to his tonic and gin."
The piano and the harmonica melded together, weaving a spell.
"He said 'Son, can you play me a memory? I'm not really sure how it goes But it's sad and it's sweet and I knew it complete When I wore a younger man's clothes.'
Oh, la la la de da di da Da da di di da da la..."
Together they launched into the chorus.
"Sing us a song, you're the Piano Man Sing us a song tonight Well, we're all in the mood for a melody And you've got us feelin' all right."
Everything else faded into the background, and all Warrick knew was that his grandmother had been right. The music's magic does take it all away.
END