Of course they talked more about Esther. She asked a thousand questions he couldn’t answer. Her concerns were understandable, but his mother hadn’t met her, hadn’t seen how perfect she was. He took extra care in cleaning up and asked his mother what he should do about the hickey. He got the expected, “You shouldn’t have it in the first place” but she covered it with some make up and offered some credible excuses to tell Esther. Finally, she grilled him on how to act around her parents: be sure to say what a lovely home they have and sit up straight and chew with his mouth closed and compliment anything given him and on and on. He listened. He really did want to make an impression.
On his mother’s advice, he’d found a florist open on Sunday and bought some flowers for Esther’s mother. “Bring her mother some flowers,” she said. “It will make an impression and make her think you’ve got some sense.”
Chapter 3
The house was a big white two-story place with green trim and a colonial front. The yard was immaculate. An older but well kept Cadillac and a new Continental sat in the looped driveway. Ruben checked the address a third time to make sure he was in the right place. He was. Looking at himself in the rear view mirror, he suddenly thought he looked stupid. Well, he thought. Too late now.
He walked up to the house, flowers in hand. As soon as he knocked Esther opened the door. In the afternoon sun, he could see that her hair was indeed black and her eyes were a dark, chocolate brown, contrasting sharply with her very fair complexion.
“Hello, Ruben Barlow. I’m relieved you’re here. My father wondered if you would actually come. He said young men sometimes have second thoughts about meeting parents.”
He smiled. “I have to admit I’m nervous.”
She suddenly seemed concerned. “Didn’t you bring your guitar? My parents are looking forward to hearing you play.”
“It’s in the trunk. I didn’t know if I should bring it in now.”
She stepped through the door. “Let’s get it together.” She put her arm through his and started walking toward his car. The contact made him dizzy.
“I brought some flowers for your mother. My mom said it would make your mother think I had some sense.”
Esther found that delightful. “She is absolutely right. My mother will be very impressed.”
Ruben opened the trunk and got the guitar. Esther took the flowers and smelled them.
“Ummm. They smell wonderful. What a cute car you have. Is it yours?”
“Yes. I’ve always liked these old Chevys.”
“Do you work on it yourself?”
“Good grief, no. I don’t know a thing about cars.”
She moved close and spoke in a low voice. “Neither do my father nor brother, although sometimes they pretend to.”
The inside of the house was as great as the outside. Ruben immediately noticed a grand piano in the spacious living room. “I hope I hear you play.”
“My parents will insist upon it.”
A distinguished, fit-looking man in his late-forties appeared, drying his hands on an apron, and extended his hand.
“Ruben,” said Esther, “this is my father, Dr. Richard Rosenberg.” Ruben put his guitar down and shook his hand. “Father, this is the young man I told you about, Ruben Barlow.”
“I’m honored to meet you, sir.”
“And I you, Ruben.” Esther’s father turned. “Rebecca, come and meet Mr. Barlow.”
A beautiful, dark-haired woman who looked very much like Esther came into the room.
She also extended her hand and smiled. “Hello, Ruben. I’m Rebecca Rosenberg, Esther’s mother.”
“Mother, Ruben brought you some flowers.” She handed the flowers to her mother.
“Oh, how thoughtful of you. Thank you so much. Esther, could you put these in some water?” Esther took the flowers and disappeared. By this time, Ben had entered the room. He looked slightly older than Esther but the family resemblance was obvious. They shook hands and exchanged greetings. Ben’s eyes were still narrowed at Ruben but they had softened a little compared to when they first met. Ben picked up Ruben’s guitar and placed it by the piano.
The father asked him to sit and the talk began. When he was asked to play, Ruben was ready. He was now on display, just as he had been many times before. He knew rock and roll would be a bad idea and had already decided what to play. This was music he had made up and kept in his head, intricate guitar work involving chimes and double picking while playing melody and background at the same time, something he’d learned listening to Chet Atkins. Ruben was confident – this was his world and he was very comfortable in it.
He positioned the guitar, checked the tuning, took a deep breath, and began playing. The music was played with no pick, only his thumb and fingers. The sustaining notes of the fine old guitar blended together to make a wonderful, haunting sound. As the song progressed, it became more and more intricate, rising and falling, changing directions yet keeping whole and harmonious. The song lasted about four minutes, finally transitioning from the flamingo flavor to an almost bluegrass sound, different yet congruous. When he finished, there was complete silence.
Esther took his arm and whispered, “That was absolutely fantastic.”
Dr. Rosenberg sat looking at Ruben. “Where did you learn to play like that, and who wrote that wonderful piece?”
“I’ve never had any formal lessons. And that song is mine. I made it up.”
“Incredible,” said Mrs. Rosenberg. “It’s obvious that you understand theory. If you can’t read music, how did you write that?”
“Basically, I combine chord progressions and scales until they sound good.”
“The intricacy of that piece is impressive under any circumstances,” she said. “With training, you could be a world class musician.”
“That’s what my mother keeps telling me. Sometimes she gets mad and tells me I’m wasting my talent. I just don’t see it. I love playing rock.”
Ruben always remembered that day as one of the best in his life. It was a day for playing music by Bach, Beethoven, and young Barlow. Ruben never considered himself in the same universe as the great composers, but the Rosenbergs liked his music, and he truly enjoyed listening to them play. Esther was wonderful. The notes were clean and clear and cascading from the piano like water from a tall mountain. He stood behind her and marveled as her perfect hands alternated between black and white to make all the musical colors of the rainbow.
When it was time to leave, they asked when they might meet his mother. Ruben replied that he had to play in Pismo Beach the next Friday and Saturday, but he would love to take everyone out to dinner the following Sunday. They replied that would be too expensive for a young man, and he assured them he made plenty of money. They were taken aback to hear how much. If they ever noticed the hickey on his neck, they were too polite to mention it.
When
