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KIM BALDWIN. Erin glanced up from what she was doing
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Erin glanced up from what she was doing. “Mmm-hmm. Most of them have been donated over the years.” Her face suddenly lit up. “Say!
I know what would be fun.” She joined Gable and scanned the shelves of instruments. “There it is.” She pulled down a black case shaped like a hatbox and unlatched the top. Inside was a snare drum. “As I recall, you said you always wanted to play drums in school, right?”
Gable smiled. “I did indeed.”
Erin took the drum out of the case and set it on a stand, then searched among the shelves for a pair of drumsticks. “Ah! 2Bs. Perfect.
You’ll get a good bounce with these, and they’re a good weight for beginners. Okay, hold out your hands. Right one F rst.”
She stepped to Gable’s side and took Gable’s hand in hers, placing one of the drumsticks in her palm, cradled in the crook of her thumb.
“Hold it loosely, like this,” she demonstrated, but Gable was F nding it hard to concentrate with Erin holding her hand and standing so close.
“Now there are two ways to hold the left stick,” Erin continued, gesturing for Gable’s other hand. “There’s the traditional grip, like this…” She laid the drumstick in Gable’s upturned palm and showed her how to cradle it with her thumb and F ngers. “Or the newer one is like this.” She demonstrated the second type. “Frankly, I prefer the traditional grip.” Her small hands enfolded Gable’s larger one, and she looked up into Gable’s eyes. “But you should go with whatever feels right to you.”
Whatever feels right? Gable’s mind repeated blankly, as her body registered how much it liked being this close to Erin—shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand. A f ush of warmth spread through her, and she froze, unwilling to break the contact.
When she didn’t respond immediately, Erin released her and stepped back a step, a playful grin on her face. “Gable? Something the matter?”
“Uh, no! Nope, everything’s F ne,” Gable stuttered, as her attention snapped back to the sticks in her hands.
“Go ahead, give it a try,” Erin encouraged, and Gable hit the snare a few times, tentatively.
“You can do better than that,” Erin challenged.
Gable relaxed into it, then, and happily whaled away at the drum for a minute or two, getting a feel for the grip and trying to control how the sticks bounced off the drumhead.
• 148 •
FORCE OF NATURE
“Very nice,” Erin said, watching her. “Want me to teach you a couple of basic strokes?”
Strokes? Gable’s mind repeated. Why does everything you saysound sexual? “Uh, sure. That’d be great.” She held out the sticks for Erin to take, but Erin shook her head.
“No, you hold them.” She stepped behind Gable and wrapped her arms around her waist, resting her hands lightly over Gable’s. “Ready?”
she asked.
Gable nodded her head, not trusting her voice. She tried to keep her hands from shaking, but a shudder ran through her as Erin’s body pressed closer still. She stopped breathing for a moment.
“Now, when you’re learning how to do rolls,” Erin explained, “you want to try to control the sticks so that the bead at the end bounces off the drumhead twice. First one stick, then the other. If you go back and forth F ve times, that’s a F ve-stroke roll. Like this.” Erin lightly gripped Gable’s hands in hers and slowly tapped out the rhythm on the drum.
“And this is a seven-stroke roll.” She demonstrated the difference.
Gable could feel her heart pounding in her chest. Their nearness was excruciatingly delightful.
“And a nine-stroke roll.” Erin demonstrated, her F ngers cradling Gable’s hands with a gentle warmth. “Get the picture?”
Gable nodded again. Her mouth was dry. She felt a sudden twitch in her lower abdomen when Erin pressed slightly harder against her.
“Here’s a long roll.” Erin tapped it out. “You have good hands to play drums,” she added in a soft voice as she withdrew her hands and stepped away. “Nice strong hands, good dexterity, nice f exibility in the wrists.”
Gable felt herself blushing, so she pounded away at the drums to hide her embarrassment, practicing the rolls.
Erin stepped over to the shelves of instruments and pulled out a long case and laid it on the f oor near the drum. Gable stopped playing to watch her.
It was a trombone, and Erin had it put together in under a minute.
With a twinkle in her eyes, she held the instrument up and asked,
“Ready?” then put the mouthpiece to her lips.
“Ready for what?” Gable asked, puzzled, and Erin launched into a driving riff that she recognized immediately. “Wipeout.” Like every other wannabe drummer in the world, she had played along with it on
• 149 •
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