Eric gave an exaggerated sigh, then spoke with exaggerated slowness—everything overemphasized, as if to a child, or to someone deaf, or to someone profoundly stupid. “I told you, it can’t be fixed.”
Ray stood very tall. “It can’t be fixed, or you won’t fix it?”
“What did you say? What did you just say to me?”
Ray took a deep breath. “I need to have this violin repaired. This is a repair shop. I need you to fix it.”
“Is that piece of shit even yours?”
Ray straightened. “Sir, I would like to have my violin repaired. I need a new bridge and tailpiece, a bow re-hairing, and the strings and the sound post adjusted. Can you do the work?”
Eric went back to his computer, typed in some keys, but in a way that made Ray think he was tallying up numbers for the repair. “Three hundred thirty-seven dollars.”
“Okay. How long will it take?”
“A week. Maybe two.”
Ray recoiled. “A week? This isn’t a long job. Do you have a lot of repairs ahead of it?”
“Do you want this piece of shit repaired, or don’t you?”
“Could you do it today? While I wait?”
Eric thought about it. “It’ll cost you an extra hundred bucks.”
If only there were other music stores close by. If only Ray had a car. If only he were someone else. “Okay,” he said. “You’ll do it while I wait?”
“You have $437?”
“Yes I do.”
“I want to see the money.”
“Here’s my debit card,” Ray said. “You can take two hundred dollars out now. The rest when the repairs are done.”
“Two hours.” Eric slammed shut the case and took it to the back. When he returned, Ray was still waiting. “You need something else?”
“A receipt.”
Eric wrote out a yellow check-in slip, smacked it on the counter, disappeared into the back room. Hopefully to work on the violin’s repairs. It was 10:18 a.m. Two hours to go.
Ray retreated outside, took a seat on a bench twenty feet from the music shop, between a Sbarro and a Gymboree. He pulled out his phone and played video games, his eye on the shop, as if he expected Eric to slip out with the violin and disappear forever.
Aunt Rochelle found him there, still waiting. “Did you get it fixed?” she settled herself with a sigh next to him on the bench, with two bulky department-store bags at her feet. She was younger than his mother, with short-cropped hair and heavier features. She tended to keep to herself and didn’t engage with the family as much as the others, so he hadn’t spent a great deal of time with her.
“I had to drop it off, but he said he’d have it ready by twelve thirty.”
“You want to get some lunch?”
“It’s only eleven thirty.”
“Why don’t we get some lunch while he’s fixing it,” she repeated. “There’s a Bob Evans across the parking lot and they serve a mean sausage biscuit.”
“I’m not real hungry,” he said, eyes on the music store.
“You can leave it for a minute,” she said. “It ain’t going anywhere.”
He shrugged. She patted his leg, sat with him for a few more minutes, watching him as he watched the music store. Finally, she stood. “Okay, I’ll be back.” She went to buy a dress she’d tried on earlier.
At exactly 12:20, Ray went back inside. An older woman with gray hair and a faded, tired face was examining the electric keyboards against one wall but turned to stare at him. He smiled at her, but she didn’t smile back.
Eric was at his post at the counter. “Yeah?”
“I’m here to pick up my violin.”
“Right. Your violin. That thing is hardly a violin.” Eric disappeared and soon returned with the violin case. While he processed Ray’s debit card, Ray opened the case. The new pegs didn’t match. The tailpiece was plastic. The strings had cheap red labels and cost twenty-six dollars—Ray knew the price since that’s what he’d bought for the school instrument. He was no expert on repairs, but he knew he wasn’t getting what he’d paid for. “Excuse me. Do you carry Dominant-brand strings?”
“Why?”
“I was expecting a set of Dominant strings for $437.”
Ray could feel the woman watching both of them. Eric just stared for a moment and said, “Get the hell out of my store.”
“Why?” Ray said.
“Because I don’t like you. I don’t like any of you. You come in here, never buy anything, and steal half my shit. You’re always walking around like you own the world with your pants around your ass, but do you buy anything? No fucking way. You probably stole that piece of shit anyway. Get the fuck out before I call the cops.”