The soft strains of the piano were somber counterpoints to the soaring mezzo-soprano. The girl was dressed in a simple white dress, her hands clasped before her breasts, her gaze focussed somewhere far away. I sat at the piano, wearing a borrowed jacket and a borrowed identity. For just that hour I wasn't Trowa Barton, the nobody. I was Trowa, Sylvia Noventa's beau. Sylvia's real beau had a broken collarbone from taking a fall from a horse. Sylvia can't disappoint her grandfather, who's been looking forward to hearing her sing. So I stepped in.
As the last notes of the song faded into the warm summer air, the small crowd gathered around the stage broke into subdued but sincere applause. I could hear their approving murmurs.
"Such talent!"
"What a lovely couple!"
I bask in their praises, even if they are not really meant for me. Even if I know they will be horrified to know who I really was. Not a Harvard grad. Not Sylvia's beau. Not one of them at all, but an imposter. A street rat.
Sylvia gives me a conspiratory wink, and says "Meet me across the street in fifteen minutes." I nodded. I wish this could last longer. I wish I could stay here with these people, and shake their hands, and make small talk, and pretend I am one of them.
An elderly couple approached me. A tall craggy man in a gray suit, pushing a delicate-looking woman in a wheelchair. The man smiles at me. It is the smile of the man who expects people to do as he says.
"I couldn't help but notice your jacket," he said. His deep voice boomed. "If you were at Harvard, you must have known my son, Heero. Heero Yuy."
I could have simply said no. I could have told him the truth. I don't know what compelled me to return his smile and say, "Heero? Yes, of course. How is he?"
We ended up talking for a while. Rather, he did most of the talking, and I listened, interjecting every now and then with a comment. He spoke of his son, this boy called Heero. He seemed very proud of him. He expected great things from his son. No one every expected anything from me.
Heero is in Italy, sailing his boat and living as he pleases. Yuy Sr. wants him to come home and take over the family business of shipping. I am mildly surprised to find that I am talking to THE Yuy of Yuy Shipping and Transport.
"I want you to go over to Italy, and persuade my son to come home. Could you do that for me? I would pay for all your expenses, of course."
"Well, I don't know if he'd listen to me."
"I know what you mean," said Yuy Sr. "He's never been one to do as he's told. But its about time he grew up and took on some real responsibility. And he should consider his mother."
We parted only when Yuy Sr. made me promise to visit him at the docks later that week. He was very insistent. People like him usually are. They are used to having things their way.
Sylvia was waiting for me in her real beau's car parked across the street. She gave me a quick kiss. "Thanks!" she said. I gave them back the jacket, and then went back to my life. Back to being a nobody.