Frantz Raeder
"Where are my morning briefs, adjutant?"
"Here, Sir."
"Nice folder organization, Frantz."
The slight man stiffened. "I'd prefer Raeder, Sir!"
"I heard your argument that you think the men will be fooled into thinking you're not my ex-husband if I call you by your last name. I however, dismissed it, with prejudice, because it's arrant nonsense, Frank. And I don't want you to think I didn't want you to be right, I wanted it to be that simple..."
"Yes, Maam."
"You're still angry at me, aren't you?"
"My ex-wife cheated on me with my best friend, or my best friend cuckolded me with my wife, not sure which is the worse betrayal, really."
"..."
"Can I go now, Sir?"
"Sure, Frank."
It was half an hour before the unofficial, all-volunteer band practice, in the smallish auditoria. Frank Raeder was in a corner, drinking, when Cynthia Goldenrod walked in.
"You going to be ok, Frank?"
"Who wants to know?" His voice slurred, was belligerant.
"Only the only person less likely to report your ass to Sophia than Brador. I thought we had practice today?"
Practice? "Yeah, I brought my sax." "Heretic..." "Come on, if id said i had a oboe i wouldn'tneed to justify myself." "Yeah, cuz Bach wrote for it. " "Grow up!". And she put her lips to her reeds and blew, Frank knww the piece, it was ridiculous, he could barely do it on a piano, an instrument that can handle the chords much better. "Then he realized whst she was doing... she wasn't proving she could do it, she was challenging him to do better on his 'better' instrument, but drunk. Toccata and fugue in D minor was not commonly played by a single sax, he'd seen shhet music for it, for a sextet. It was on the ragged edge of his piano skill, while drunk perhaps, or close enough he shouldn't waste so much time worrying about it... The rest of the volunteer band filtered in, the grand harp, the tuba, the cello, and something... happened. Cynthia's brother joined in, his trombone.. Well Frank had wanted to throttle him that day, but now, it'd have been an insult to the music. Michael 's play was usually all energy and no soul Not today, today the six players mixed instruments that shouldn't have mixed so well, or at least that should have had more gaps. Frank's piano wasn't soloing a piece written or so it often felt, for an organ. and that tuba ... 'Clean' Brador was inspired, raising his play with each successive measure as they stopped, Frank growled, she was there. Sophia.
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