I’ll Wait For You

Chapter 6

When the band members finally arrived, Elinor barely controlled the flush on her face well enough to greet them. They flocked into the room, and she floated through conversation with them, trying to discern more of their personalities, who might be tricky, who might be easier to get along with.

Arina shared her vision, as they brought snacks out of their backpacks, and sprawled over the sofas. Elinor liked the impression Arina gave off – a tiny, blonde haired woman who only reached up to Elinor’s shoulders, but seemed to make up for the lack of height in force of personality.

“We want to make a mix of classical and new wave music. We’re inspired by bands like Nouvelle Vague, London Grammar, Austra, Birdy, Nightwish, Within Temptation. I know that’s a pretty broad category, but if you listen to them, you’ll get why.”

“I know a few of those,” Elinor said with a smile.

She was sandwiched between the dark eyed Arina and the red-headed pianist, Freya Eriksson. The two women together made a hilarious contrast, since although Arina was tiny, dwarfed by virtually everyone, Freya towered above everyone else, Scandinavian tall with hollow cheeks and a waspish face, Freya also held a kind of wild, otherworldly beauty, as if she was a fairy who had descended upon the mortal world. Either that, or a Viking. Elinor could quite happily picture Freya decked out in full armor and a winged helmet, spear and shield at her side, and let the image amuse her for a bit as she recalled which bands she had listened to. “I know Birdy, London Grammar and Within Temptation. I never got around to Nightwish though I have heard of it. Not listened yet to Nouvelle Vague or Austra. But I take it they’re female singers, too?”

“Right,” Arina said, smiling. “So you’re not a complete uncouth heathen. Good to know.”

“That ranks you as higher on our list, FYI,” Freya added, her voice deep and sonorous. She had the quality of voice where she could be heard from the other side of the room, even without shouting. It carried. However, she wasn’t a singer, but a pianist and violinist.

But maybe she does sing? Elinor recycled information, realigning the group’s roles. They had left their instruments scattered by one of the sofas, as if the sofa itself had a sign that declared: Musical Dumping Ground. Elinor scrutinized the people she would be cooperating with, trying to catch nuances in their body language and of how they perceived her, all along with the recent and arousing occurrence of Kostya Vasilev kissing her in the office, stirring her feelings to new, dizzying heights. A height she didn’t want to crash down from.

“We’re a pretty ragtag group,” Arina continued explaining, with Darren the electric guitarist and Isaac the drummer nodding along.  Oscar the bass guitarist, bushy browed and stocky, glared into nothingness. “And all of us come from either impoverished or sh*tty backgrounds. None of us ever thought we would end up where we are today. At least two of us expected to be dead at this point, and one of us died for about… fifteen seconds? Is that right?”

“Yes,” Oscar grunted, confirming her question. Elinor twitched an eyebrow at the revelation.

Arina clasped her hands, grinning devilishly, her lips wide and stretching nearly from ear to ear. “Nothing like a good old story of suffering and woe to bring people closer together. And make music, of course. We’d like to know who we’re working with, so if there’s anything you want to tell us, please do. And we’ll do the same back. Since our music and theme will lie on matters of the heart, of longing, loss and hope, we want to see where you will fit in.”

Longing, loss and hope. Elinor wanted to laugh hysterically on the spot at that declaration, but reined it in, since although Arina had a playful expression, she also held something dark and serious in her gaze. She meant every word, and her body language suggested hostility if Elinor took to it badly. Elinor was impressed with Arina’s no-nonsense plunge into darker subject matters, although she didn’t feel comfortable with the idea of sharing her nightmares.

Then again, she’d never fully tried to express the empty hole in her stomach, and the sensation that the world was passing by her and making her gray, and all she felt like she was doing was standing there, unmoving.

Slowly, she began to explain to them of her life as the center of attention, put out on a pedestal to look down on those who waited for her.

She told them of her desperately poor family, of their love and self-sufficiency, despite the lack of wealth. Her mother and father had been excellent individuals. They struggled on some months, but never once prioritized their needs above hers.

She’d saved and saved for years when she was old enough to work, staying home until she earned enough to almost place a mortgage. And then Aidan. Their love. Then the loss of love, and the miscarriages. And the conviction she would never be able to have children again. She also showed them the messages from Aidan.

Finishing her story left the group in a profound silence.

“I hope he burns in hell,” Darren finally said, chocolate brown features contorted in disgust at the vision of the ex-husband painted before him. “Because I don’t feel sorry for him at all.”

The others murmured assent. It seemed within this world of musicians, powerful hatred was getting to be a thing. Elinor liked having the weight of her sadness lifted by others, as it reminded her that she didn’t need to be alone. That she wasn’t alone. Arina held her wrist with delicate, small fingers, encased by a blue long sleeved top. Elinor arranged the contours of her blue and white dress better, so it didn’t bunch up awkwardly between her legs.

“I’d say that was tragic enough to merit a spot on the writing team,” Freya said slyly, combing her red hair with large hands.

“Is that how you rank potential employees?” Elinor grinned despite herself. She didn’t get offended by brash statements, as long as she understood that the person who spoke them did not intend their words in a serious manner.

“No,” Arina said, waving a hand at Freya to shut up, “Don’t listen to her, she lies.”

Isaac cleared his throat. The drummer resembled a typical handsome American movie star, with blonde wispy hair and baby-blue eyes. Elinor found this information interesting, considering that he performed a role in a band that was less attention seeking and rewarding than others. Everyone, after all, looked at the singer and the lead guitarist. No one paid so much attention to the rest of the composition, though everyone played equal importance.