Paradigm City - Fan Fiction

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Player Piano

Chapter 8

Roger, Dorothy and Norman got out of the elevator at the eighth floor. Norman gathered their overcoats and left to hang them up.

Dorothy said coolly, "Come into the kitchen, Roger, and I'll treat that eye." Meekly, he followed her. She pulled out antiseptic and a dressing from the first-aid kit in the cupboard. Gently, she dabbed the liquid on the cuts.

"Ow! That stings, Dorothy!"

"Sit still and I'll be done sooner." The antiseptic must have had a painkiller as well, because the cuts soon stopped smarting. Dorothy applied the dressing below his eye. "That's done. Now, what about the hand?"

Reluctantly, he laid it on the counter. Dorothy unwrapped the handkerchief gently, shaking her head over the broken skin. "You should avoid hitting the bony areas," she commented dryly, as she applied antiseptic and an adhesive bandage to the knuckles. "Wiggle your fingers," she ordered, and said, "That will do," when he demonstrated they moved normally. She turned to dispose of the remaining antiseptic and the waste paper, then rinsed the bloody handkerchief in cold water in the sink.

"Dorothy," he said, and stopped. She looked up at him.

"Dorothy," he tried again, "I'm sorry I spoiled your evening." He cast around for something positive to say. "I enjoyed the concert, except for the men complaining behind me."

Dorothy's face relaxed. "You looked angry. I didn't know why." She looked at his battered hand. "And that's why you had to fight that man in the bar."

Roger blushed. "You heard that, of course." She nodded. He said, "I'm sorry you had to hear such bigotry."

"You aren't responsible for it," she replied tartly.

"I am responsible for the evening ending the way it did," he repeated.

She looked at him, considering. "Then come with me." She walked to the spiral staircase, picking up a chair on the way, and climbed the stairs to the penthouse floor. He followed. At the piano, she placed his seat to her right, sat, and waited for him to do the same.

"I want you to play this with me," she said. She opened the score to "Ragtime Four Hands" and pointed out his part. They played it through, slowly, one time. Then she picked up the tempo to almost normal speed and they played it again. It was a struggle for Roger to maintain the treble line with Dorothy's syncopation, but he played on, gamely.

"Roger, you have never played the piano since I came here," said Dorothy, when they'd finished.

"You are so much better, there's no point," he defended himself.

"It doesn't have to be a competition."

They sat companionably together for a minute. Then Dorothy picked out the tune for "Paper Doll" on the piano and looked at Roger. "Was there another verse?"

He gave her a sidelong smile and sang:

When I come home at night she will be waiting
She'll be the truest doll in all this world
I'd rather have a Paper Doll to call my own
Than have a fickle-minded real live girl

She looked steadily at him. He reddened and said, "I guess it might be a little embarrassing...."

"I'd like to hear it again."

He raised an eyebrow, then smiled and played it from the top.

- We have come to terms -

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