Jigs and Reels

I should have had the sense to demand answers as soon as I read that text. Who the hell takes their fiddle to dinner? But in an effort to be more “chill,” I got into my best friend’s car that evening, fiddle case in hand. Once Katie had me ensnared in the silver-and-rust-colored death trap, travelling down the highway at speeds high enough to preclude my escape, she broke the news.

“We’re meeting some friends.”

A groan left me before I could stop it, and I blurted the questions I should have asked in the first place. “Who? And where are we going?”

I didn’t have the energy for spending time with people I did not know. Katie’s “friends” could be anyone from college girls to conspicuously single gay men, and if they were going to be at this dinner engagement, I would much rather be somewhere else. Alone.

“You’ll like them, I promise,” she assured me.

The non-answer irked me. “And why did I bring my fiddle along for this? You’re not expecting me to entertain your friends, are you?”

“What? No.”

We took an exit and I frowned. I’d thought we were heading for a restaurant, but we seemed to be pulling off onto a rural road. The old car’s brakes let out an ominous squawk as we rolled up to a stop sign at the end of the exit ramp. My seatbelt locked up and slammed me back against the cracked leather. For a second, I felt like a prison inmate about to receive his final injection. “Where are you taking me?”

“To the devil. I want you to win me a golden fiddle.” She grinned, a flash of brilliant white teeth contrasting her dark skin. Adorable as she was, I continued frowning. Charlie Daniels jokes about me being a fiddle player. So original. When I didn’t laugh, her smile turned into a pout.

“Fine. We’re going to their house.”

I groaned. “Katie!”

“You’ll like them,” she said again, reaching over to give my leg a reassuring pat. “I promise,Eli. You’ll like them.”

I did not feel convinced.

* * * *

Our mystery hosts lived in a Cape Cod style house with white siding and slate grey shutters. A stone walkway led up to a white door. Katie took her time on the approach, surveying the manicured lawn and late summer flowers blooming in the beds bordering the walk. She looked thrilled about this adventure, but then, Katie was always thrilled to have an adventure. I tried to remain optimistic. Last time she’d dragged me out with people I didn’t know, we got into a political discussion and I’d wanted to fly at them like that bunny in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

Katie rang the bell. Somewhere in the house, a spritely jingle played and a woman’s voice called, “I’m coming!”

“Smile,” Katie said, nudging an elbow into my ribs. The front door opened and I made my lips curve as a woman greeted us. She had dark hair, dark eyes, and a big smile. She looked older than the people Katie usually hung out with—maybe even near forty—but it didn’t subtract from a bright energy she seemed to emanate.

“Come in!” She stepped aside and held the door. “Did you have any trouble finding us?”

“Nope,” Katie said. She put a hand on the small of my back and I had no choice but to move forward onto this stranger’s foyer. “Hope it’s okay we parked in front of the garage. You’re blocked in.”

The woman psh’ed and waved a dismissive hand. Her attention turned to me. “This must be The Fiddler.” She said “the fiddler” like a proper noun, like I was the King or the President. The Fiddler. Nothing like a healthy dose of high expectations to make an uncomfortable situation even worse.

“Hi,” I said, offering my hand, praying it didn’t start sweating the second she took it. “Elijah.”

“Hitomi.” After a handshake and a smile, the woman, Hitomi, turned and in a surprisingly sonorous voice, shouted, “Pee, the fiddler’s here!”

Pee?

Pee, whoever they were, made an indecipherable response from up a set of white-carpeted stairs in front of us, but did not appear. Hitomi gestured for us to follow her and led us on a brief tour. It was a nice house. Older, but tidy. There was a huge bass drum in the middle of the living room, decked out in leather décor so it seemed kind of medieval. A quick glance in the master bedroom revealed an odd assortment of clothing scattered around. A corset? A tricorn hat? Upstairs held two more bedrooms and a bathroom. The steady rush of water from inside the latter informed us that “Pee” was showering. As we approached the kitchen, I heard someone humming and caught a whiff of peppers and spices.