Love Turns the Page

NOAH HEARD THE sound of organ music the minute he opened the door of the Church of the Good Shepherd. He walked silently through the narthex and stood for a moment at the point where the center aisle began, listening to the music. Not wanting to disturb the organist, he walked slowly and quietly down the aisle, which was no mean feat given that the floor was made of some sort of polished concrete with tiles inset at intervals in a vague pattern. Having been raised in a small-town Southern Baptist church, he hadn’t been entirely enthusiastic about joining the choir of any church. He’d hated the hellfire and brimstone oratory at his home church, and had stopped attending services as soon as he was old enough to get away with it. Cindy, his coworker and reason for joining the choir, had insisted that Episcopal churches were unlike anything he’d experienced growing up—and he was willing to consider anything to get away from his roommate for one or two more nights a week. He shared an apartment with a fellow college student, and their relationship was, at best, strained.

As he reached the steps leading to the choir area, the music stopped briefly then started again. This time, the piece was light and airy, and the notes rose and fell in pitch at a fast and furious pace. Reaching the altar area, he leaned against the altar rail and watched the organist. The young man playing the organ was wearing cutoffs and a tank top, and he was sweating profusely, as it was late June and the air-conditioning wasn’t running. Noah watched in total fascination as the man’s hands flew over the keys, as did his feet on the pedals. The player was clearly having trouble with his music in that the bound volume of music from which he was playing was not cooperating. Every time he turned a page, the page didn’t want to stay put and kept flapping back.

Finally, the player flipped a page too violently, and the book began to slip off the music rack. Without thinking, Noah leapt forward, crossed the few feet of space between where he sat and the organ console, grabbed the music, and settled it firmly in place on the music rack. The player hadn’t missed a note, which made it clear to Noah, himself an amateur musician, that the music had been at least partially committed to memory. He started to step back, but with a quick nod of his head, the organist said, “Stay.”

Noah remained standing and scanned the music hurriedly until he was confident that he knew where the player was on the page. When the player neared the last two measures on the page, he nodded his head at Noah. Noah quickly turned the page, pressed it down carefully until he was certain it would stay in place, and was rewarded with a bright smile. He continued turning pages as instructed until the piece had ended. When the last note had finished reverberating around the stone and plaster walls of the sanctuary, the organist looked at Noah and said, “You’re hired.”

“Excuse me?”

“Are you free Saturday evening?”

“Yes.”

“Do you own a black or dark navy-blue suit?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’re hired.”

“Hired to do what?”

“I’m performing in concert at Jacoby Symphony Hall Saturday evening, and my page turner pooped out on me yesterday,” the man said. “The job is yours.”

“What do I have to do?”

“Stand beside the organ console looking pretty and doing what you’ve been doing for the last five minutes, except you’ll be doing it in front of a thousand people. By the way, the honorarium for the service is fifty bucks.”

“Just for doing that?”

“Well, that includes one practice session. That and the concert and will probably take up five hours of your time, tops.”

“Okay,” Noah said.

“That aside, how can I help you?”

“I came to audition for the choir.”

“You must be Cindy’s friend.”

“Friend is a bit strong,” Noah said. “She and I are coworkers. I’m Noah Webster.”

“Now there’s a famous name.”

“I think my mother thought it was cute at the time. You don’t want to know what I think.”

“Well, Noah Webster,” the man said, “I’m Tom Foster.”

He held out his hand, and Noah shook it. He noted that Tom’s eyes were as dark as his curly black hair and positively radiated intelligence and humor.

“Pleased to meet you,” Noah said.

“We have to go up to the choir room for the audition,” Tom said, “but first I need to clean up. As you might have noticed, I’m sweating like a Mexican whore. Follow me.”

He turned off the organ and removed the key; then he grabbed a gym bag from beside the organ bench. Slipping off the bench, he led Noah through a series of corridors, the last of which ended in a locker-room. “This church, as you may know,” Tom said, “has an indoor pool that people use for a quarterly fee, and this locker-room serves the pool.” Tom began pulling off his clothes, then located a towel in his bag and added, “I’ll be back in a jiff,” before he disappeared through an open door.