A TURQUOISE NOISE

Untitled Part 3

CHAPTER  

THREE

 Karen the secretary was bending before a row of file cabinets when Duane and Otis entered the outer room adjoining the warden's office. The Swede couldn't help take advantage of the opportunity to gawk at the perfect symmetry of her legs and posterior. Her wavy, chestnut hair was done up in a French-bun. An unruly lock of it had escaped the woven configuration and the defiant wisp hung loosely across one of her eyes. She pushed it back and attempted to hold it down by placing her eye-glasses atop her head. As Karen turned to face the arrivals, Otis became aware of how the outline of her brazier thrust pointedly against the tightly fitting fabric of her soft pink sweater and a primal urge of lust engulfed him. The secretary held uneasy beneath the gaze of the fantasizing prisoner, so when the door opened and Otis was summoned in by the warden she was relieved. She had always felt uncomfortable in the presence of the sex starved inmates and preferred to keep her distance.

The warden seemed to be in better spirits than the first time they met. "Hello Otis. Duane tells me, to my pleasant surprise, that indeed you are an accomplished pianist. I must say you are the most unlikely looking piano player Mr. Sandstrom... although you don't appear to be your typical cop killer either." The Warden Hackman motioned for Otis to sit down as he produced an old trumpet case and opened it on his desk. "Tell me what you think."

Otis surveyed the instrument, "I don't know anything about brass Warden. But I'm sure from the look of it... that it's a fine horn."

"I want to play again... am I nuts? Tell me... am I off my rocker? I want to let it out. I want to let out every miserable torment that's gnawing away at my guts!" The poor warden carried on as if he had come undone, "you said you knew what I was going through! I need help! Can you help me?"

Otis, discerning that the warden was near his wits end offered, "I don't know exactly what you're getting at sir... but I'd be honored to assist you in any manner I can. What do you suppose I can do for you?"

"I'm not really certain... maybe I haven't thought this through. I haven't been thinking straight. This divorce business has been devastating... anyway... I was wondering if you might... work with me. Do you think a man my age has a chance at getting his chops back?"

The unlikely piano player had found an angle he could run with and took advantage of the opportunity, "of course... heck... I can work up some charts... look around for a bass player. You can start getting your lips in shape and when you get your chops up we'll jam. How's that sound to you?" 

The warden was hesitant, "if word of our fraternization should get out... well I've always maintained a professional distance."

Otis assured him that if they started playing in the auditorium word was going to get around. Then he courageously requested permission for access to the auditorium so that he could practice and work up music charts.

The answer unexpectedly was, "that shouldn't be a problem." The warden in his beleaguered state of mind was being surprisingly amiable. "I'll let Duane in on our plans. You know... he's quite taken with you. Whatever you do... don't let him down. I'm fond of that boy."

"Duane's aces in my deck Warden... this is going to be fun."

The warden beamed, "god I've got to say it... thinking about playing music again is already lifting me out of despair. You know I'm actually feeling a tinge of excitement. I haven't felt excited over anything like this in a long time. I just hope I'm doing the right thing... Christ... right thing... right thing... who really gives a shit? Where does it get you?"

Concerned that the warden was coming off his tracks, Otis steered the subject back to the root of the problem. "Maybe you should give your wife one more chance sir?"