SOUND

Chapter 2 of Senses

Down a long, dark corridor to a locked door. Through the door and down some stairs to a second locked door. Through the door and past the engineer's booth. Into the big room with the instruments. Welcome to Jim Christopher's recording studio.

There was already someone there, putting an upright bass through its motions when Jim arrived. It was Jim's younger brother, A.J.

"Let yourself in, did you?" Jim said.

A.J. looked up. "Hey, big bro'!" A.J. always greeted his older brother this way even though he was 15 inches taller. He had hands that made the bass look puny, and platinum blonde hair that hung well below his shoulders.

"You certainly look chip this morning," A.J. continued as Jim sat at the piano. "I expected you to be late, as is your usual wont after going to that bar on Montana Avenue you hang out in."

Jim tapped his forehead. "Follow it, smart guy."

A.J. looked at his brother. "You only had...five Bushmill's," he said, surprised. "You played darts. You got laid!" A.J. bellowed with laughter, then calmed down wide-eyed as he continued. "You lost control?"

Jim nodded.

"Holy shit! How could you..." A.J. sat down as the last thought hit him. "An empath! You scored a fucking empath?"

Jim nodded again, rubbing his neck. "Very good," he said, "very good. I've never understood how you could see the equations so quickly."

"Chemistry helps. You were always obsessed with physics. Besides, I pay attention when Larry speaks."

This was nothing new to Jim. He and A.J. had often discussed A.J.'s faster thought processes, and his ability to see the equations and interpret them from other people. He had the same abilities as Jim, to be sure, but reading the equations of others was a plus. A.J. could only pick out one equation in 500, but experience had taught his how to interpret what he could see quite well. He saw it as trying to crack an unknown language. To Jim it was almost an alien concept.

"What happened when you lost it?" A.J. asked.

"Can't see it?" Jim returned.

"Foreign territory. I need it for my notes."

"Oh, all right, if you must know. We floated up, about eight feet off the bed, I'd say."

"On a one to ten scale that's pretty good."

"Oh do shut up. We did it again later with the same results. A wave of emotion hits me, and I'm gone."

"Emotion?"

"Apparently I'm very receptive."

"Interesting," A.J. stood and paced. "I wonder if there's any math in empathy. I'd like to meet her."

"She's only five feet tall," Jim said.

"You are a filthy minded swine. That's not what I mean and you know it."

Jim smiled and ran his hands over the keys of the piano. "I know. Look, kiddo, we got an album to do."

"Ah yes," A.J. replied. "The R & R Project!" He sat the bass down, and pulled up a guitar to begin tuning it.

"You know," A.J. continued, "I never thought this would take so long. Imagine, there's you, only five years in the business and 13 albums out..."

"Five with my band, remember," Jim said. "Plus one charity album."

"Ah yes, let's keep our accounting straight. You and your chordal abilities and pop sensibilities and the ability to compose a hit song in under 45 seconds."

"Go on! I like this."

"And then there's me."

"Yes, there's you."

A.J. ignored the sarcasm and stood, guitar tuned. "Me!" he yelled, launching into a riff that would have made Jimi Hendrix proud. "The meanest, baddest, honriest, fastest mother-fucking guitarist who ever lived! Hah!" He played one of his patented faster-than-sound licks. Then he stopped abruptly.

"Do the people buy it?" he innocently asked.

"I hope so," Jim responded, "because this will be a hard album to sell. And keep the attitude up. We have that party in Malibu tonight."

"Oh, god," A.J. groaned. "Any party either of us goes to in Malibu turns into a press conference for one of us."

"Probably both of us. That's the idea, after all."

"Oh, god! It'll go on even longer. 'What were you like as kids' and 'can you explain the difference in your heights' and 'who are you fucking this week' and..."

"The party starts at seven, and it's now eleven a.m. Let's get to work."

A.J. sat down. "Oh, all right. Bring her to the party."

"I'd planned on it."

A.J. strummed a chord. "Same song as we closed with last time?"

"Yes," Jim answered. He played a few chords, and A.J. joined in. Jim hit a switch with his foot and added a drum machine. A.J. manipulated bass pedals. Jim added vocals:

I'm looking out your back door

The edge of the world, it seems so far away

A.J. added harmony vocals:

There isn't that much more to say

A.J. stopped, and so did Jim.

"The A Chord doesn't work there, does it?" A.J. asked.

"No, it doesn't," Jim admitted. "Neither do the sixths for vocals."

Both men sat and thought for a minute. Jim brightened a bit after that and said, "Let's leave convention. Instead of A, how about C major seventh?"

A.J. frowned and played the chords: G, E minor, C-sharp diminished, C major seventh. "It's pretty," he said, "but you only have one chord to resolve it back to G, and a D seems rather silly after that move. What do you do now?"

A.J. answered his own question without missing a beat. "How about E-flat?"

Jim stared and thought. "Walk the bass line up to it?" he asked. "then follow it up to the G?" He was a bit more excited about the tune now. "That will work."

"And" A.J. went on, "I can sing thirds at the harmonies." He was obviously pleased with himself as the two brothers exchanged their secret handshake.

"Let's roll," Jim said.

They ran a new take of the song flawlessly, having long grown used to each other's quirks in performing. When they finished the take Jim said, "Much better."

"One big problem though," A.J. said.

Jim looked puzzled. "What's that?" he asked.

"The lyrics fucking stink."

Jim shook his head and began to laugh. "You just may be right," he replied.

"Two things before we go in," Jim was saying.

"Yes?" Karen asked.

"When you meet my brother don't say your name. He knows you're an empath..."

Karen shot him a startled look.

"Sorry," Jim said, "but he is my brother, and one of the very few people who knows about me. At any rate, I never told him your name. Let him guess. I'll tell you why later.

"Second," he continued, "do you like to have your picture taken?"

"I don't mind," Karen responded. "Why?"

"Because it will happen." With that Jim opened the door to the house.

The first thing Karen saw were countless flashing lights, as the press photographers recorded all who arrived. The second thing she noticed was that the room was filled with celebrities, most of whom she could name at a glance, and all of whom were trying to monopolize at least one reporter. Jim smiled and waved and nodded a few times as they were followed by a few reporters themselves.

"Why so many reporters?" Karen asked. "And why no television?" There were no video crews present.

"This is one of Irving Azoff's houses," Jim replied. "He orchestrates parties like this all the time, but they're really press conferences."

"I don't see Irving Azoff here."

"Would you recognize him? Don't worry. You won't see him. He doesn't attend." Jim smiled his now familiar ironic smile. "I like it myself. Irving has style. As far as television goes, I can't stand it myself, so that's one of the rules."

"Rules?

"Yeah. My brother and I are the honorees here. Otherwise, neither of us would be here either." Jim saw A.J.'s immense figure by the bar in the far corner of the room. "Speak of the devil," he said, and the two of them wound their way to the bar.

When they got there, A.J. stood and pointed directly behind them.

"Go away!" he shouted at the reporters behind Jim and Karen. They went. A.J. smiled at the couple. "My size does at times have its advantages. We won't be bothered for at least three minutes."

A bartender came up. A.J. ordered a vodka and soda, while Jim and Karen ordered a Bushmill's apiece. A.J. raised an eyebrow.

"I see why you like her," he said. He faced Karen. "And you are, no wait! Let me guess." A.J. concentrated. After about ten seconds he said, "C'mon, think the truth."

Karen looked bewildered.

"Lies have certain equations in front of them," A.J. continued. "Easy to pick up."

Karen stared in disbelief. She looked to Jim who simply nodded. All thought of trying to hide her name left her mind at once.

"That's better," A.J. said. "Karen..." He thought for about five seconds. "Can't see your last name.

"Price," Karen volunteered.

"Ah! I got the k, r, and n in the first name, but too many intangibles in the last."

"It's changed recently."

"That makes sense."

"What does the A.J. stand for?"

"Alan Joseph."

Karen frowned. "That's also a lie." When A.J. raised an eyebrow, she continued, "No equations, just emotions. Easy to pick up."

A.J. saluted and downed his drink. Karen turned to Jim and said, "You've got a lot of explaining to do." It was a threat, but it was said with a smile.

A.J nudged Jim. "Down your drink," he said. "Here comes the press."

Jim turned to Karen. "You'd best stay here. These get punchy sometimes, and you're new here. It's not just the free press, but the full court press that can get to you."

Karen smiled and took his advice as Jim and A.J. found a couch and occupied it, letting the reporters crowd around.

"Attention goadies and relentlessmen of the press," Jim intoned. "We are ready to begin."

"Is it true that the two of you are working together on an album?" one asked.

"Yes, it's true," Jim answered.

"A double album," A.J. added.

Karen raised an eyebrow. A.J.'s admission was a lie. She decided to play a game to herself about what Jim and A.J. were going to reveal.

"When will it be ready?"

"Not sure," A.J. said. "At least three months." Truth.

"That's a long wait considering your respective track records. Why so long?"

"There have been some creative differences," Jim said. A lie. "We're also looking to take our varied styles in new directions." Truth.

"What were you like as kids?"

A.J. groaned. "My older brother was an oppressive tyrant and a bully." Lie.

"My little brother," Jim returned, "was a timid little bastard." Lie.

"What changed you?" another reporter asked.

A.J. and Jim answered simultaneously. "Vulcan mind meld."

Karen stopped trying at this point.

"Will there be a tour?"

"Yes," Jim said, "although the details haven't been ironed out. We'll probably hire some multi-instrumentalists and we'll all switch instruments during the show."

"After all," A.J. continued, "the two of us can play any instrument we choose, and we're making all the noises on this album."

"Who's writing the material?"

"We are," Jim answered, "together. And we're writing as we go."

"We wanted this album to be fresh," A.J. noted.

"Care to play any of it for us?"

"No, we don't," A.J. said.

"Wait for it," Jim added.

"Jim, you're known as something of a ladies man. You were seen walking in with someone new. Care to comment?"

"Not really," Jim replied. "What about you Karen?"

Karen reached behind the bar and pulled up a bottle of Bushmill's. She threw it at Jim's head, and Jim caught it. Jim smiled and Karen winked back. Jim poured himself a drink, and slammed it down.

"We communicate," Jim said with a smile. "That," he continued while pouring another drink, "is all the comment you get."

"A.J., what about you? You're rarely seen in the company of a woman. Care to comment?"

A.J. stood up, towering over the reporters. "No!" he bellowed. "I think this interview is over, don't you?"

Jim stood to join him. "Good day loadies and rented men."

A.J. walked to a stereo and put on one of his own CDs - Rock it, Roll it, Bend it, Smoke it. Several of the more sensitive persons in the room decided to pack up and leave.

Jim picked up the bottle of Bushmill's and walked over to Karen. "Go for a walk on the beach?" he asked.

"You bringing that bottle?" Karen asked back.

"Yes."

"Then I'd love to."

Jim and Karen walked north on the sandy beach of Malibu: Jim's feet barely in the water and his right arm draped around Karen's shoulder. Karen had her left arm around Jim's waist, and was holding the bottle of Bushmill's in her right hand. She took a drink and passed the bottle to Jim.

"You told a number of lies at the press conference," Karen said, kissing Jim on the chest. "Wanna talk about it?"

"Sure," Jim answered. "What do you want to know?"

"Let me see, where's my list?" Karen laughed. "Well, to start with, why did A.J. say you were doing a double album?"

Jim laughed. "To ease the shock to our record company when we turn in a triple."

"You're doing a triple album?"

"Over 190 minutes of music. We're having fun."

"Is that why the album is taking so long?"

"No. We always end up having discussions about physics. A.J. has this fascination with grand unification theory. He's trying to prove it does exist, and he'll often bounce ideas and radical formulae off of me. We'll even experiment a bit."

"What is it that A.J. does? He completely shocked me at first," Karen said, taking the bottle back for a drink, "although with you two being brothers it shouldn't surprise me. What does he mean he sees equations?"

"Exactly that. He sees the equations for every physical reaction that happens. He's learned to interpret some of them."

"How did he know I lied?"

"The equation was a physical-chemical reaction in your brain. He was looking for it."

"How can he concentrate on the world in general?"

"I'm not sure," Jim replied, taking the bottle from Karen and taking a few swallows. "He described it to me once. Have you ever seen some of the later paintings of Van Gogh?"

"Yes. Lots of thick brushstrokes."

"And somewhat distorted. The way A.J. describes it to me, it's a lot like that. It wasn't until he was twelve and I was eighteen that we realized that what he sees isn't the norm. A.J. has no common frame of reference."

Karen took the bottle back. "You two compliment each other well," she said, taking another swig.

"Not really," Jim replied. "He can do everything I can. He uses me for observation."

"Like a lab rat."

"I don't mind. Although I don't believe there is a grand unified theory, I'd love A.J. to prove me wrong."

"Why?"

"Well think about it." Jim took the bottle and drained it. "My brother and I have to be at least subliminally aware of hundreds of formulae so that we can even go out in public. So many things to keep constant."

"I don't understand how you do it. Can you think of more than one thing at a time?"

"Yes. It's part of the talent. I never do it consciously though, because I'll lose track of the formulae. I don't even want to think about what will happen if I lose control of temperature."

"Has that ever happened?"

"No, fortunately."

Karen took the bottle back and looked at it, disappointed. A jogger came by and she handed it to him. The jogger tossed into a trash can.

"It occurs to me," she said, "that there must be a minimum field of range. Otherwise you'd go nuts from all the data."

"You misunderstand how it works," Jim replied. "Everything has a set of equations that are constant under various conditions. What my brother and I do is change the norm to suit our needs. If we unintentionally alter the steady state is when the problems begin."

"I see. And what about unification theory?"

"If A.J. is right, everything we do could be explained by one formula or variations of the same formula simultaneously. It would make our lives so much easier."

"What about..."

"Wait a moment," Jim interrupted. "All you do is ask about me. Can I ask about you?"

Karen put on a playful-yet-hurt look. "Okay," she said, "but I want to ask one more."

Jim sighed in resignation. "Oh, all right."

Karen brightened. "Oh, good. Why doesn't A.J. have a girlfriend?"

Jim laughed. "You'll have to ask him," he said. "I will, however, give you a hint. It has to do with his size."

Karen raised an eyebrow, and was about to comment, but she stopped herself. "I promised, I promised. Your turn."

"Well, to start with," Jim said, "What do you do?"

Karen laughed. "I'd been wondering when you would ask. I'm a child psychologist."

Jim stopped and raised his eyebrow. "Really? I'd never have guessed."

"I know. Some of my patients are bigger than I am."

"You good at it?"

"I like to think so. I'm certainly paid like I am."

"The empathy help?"

"Yes. It gives me an edge in solving the problems that some of the kids have."

Jim thought about the next question for a moment. "How long were you married?"

Karen looked at Jim for a moment. "How are you so sure I was married?" she asked.

"Recall when we met, Ms. Price?"

"Okay, I'll grant you that one." Karen bent down and picked up a small stone.

"When I was nineteen," she began, "I thought I was in love with a guy I had met as a freshman. He was quick and bright and proposed after three months. We got our degrees, got married, and bought a nice house in the suburbs.

"He wanted children, but we put it off so I could pursue my Master's degree, then my PhD. By the time 'Doctor' became part of my name I realized that I didn't want to be married, and that I wasn't in love after all. The divorce," Karen threw the stone into the Pacific Ocean, "was messy."

"And recent," Jim ventured.

"Yes. Jeff fought it every step of the way. Probably thinks he's still in love and that the marriage can be saved. He's wrong though."

Jim laughed a bit. "Was that last statement for my benefit?"

Karen stood in front of Jim, threw her arms around him and kissed him hard. "I'll never tell," she said.

Jim smiled his smile. "All that talk gets in the way of serious sex anyway." He grabbed Karen's left breast and kissed her passionately. Karen recovered from the shock of the grab to grab Jim's ass with both hands.

When they separated a bit Karen returned the smile Jim was famous for. "Out here?" she asked.

"No," Jim replied. "I don't think I'm ready to try this outdoors."

Karen kissed him again, grabbing his crotch, rubbing his cock until hard. When she let go, Jim said dryly, "Tide's coming in."

Karen looked at the water swelling around their legs. "All right then," she said. "Take me home for a good fuck."

Jim shook his head. "No way. I'm only interested in a mind-blowing fuck."

"It can be arranged."

Continued...