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“Second-Hand Squeeze Box ” was a short-listed entry  in our recently concluded 66th Short Fiction Contest, and is published with the consent of the author.

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photo by The Joker/CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

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Second-Hand Squeeze Box

By Debbie Burke

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…..Forty-two years ago, the clerk of the circuit court of Kings County sent me the letter that would change my life forever. I was now (it said) officially divorced. As I embarked on my new journey, leaving the ex and his philandering ways behind, I decided to treat myself to something really special.

…..A clarinet.

…..I had wanted to noodle along with our Glenn Miller records since taking a sixth-grade class trip to the Brooklyn Museum. There was a small ensemble performing in the atrium, and from the very second I heard the clarinet’s mournful tone threading through the hallways of the adjoining Egyptian exhibit, I was hooked. Frankie Joya, my harried classmate and the school’s favorite soloist, played it like a dream, and I basked in my own dream of doing a personal duet together. If only I could learn it, maybe he’d notice me. Those days—and that music—imprinted on my soul.

…..I joined band in seventh grade (I was assigned the tuba, which was completely absurd because of my size), but by that time, the Joya family relocated to New Jersey. I never did get to play the clarinet but I sure loved all the Benny Goodmans and Artie Shaws of the world. Plus of course Buddy Rich and Sammy Davis Jr., but drums were not about to happen in the Goldman household.

…..And now, newly single, I had my full-time job that paid well enough to stay in the apartment without the second income. As long as the City of New York, County of Kings needed an expert recruiter who could understand the inscrutable civil service lists, I’d have a (rented) roof over my head and food in my (landlord’s) behemoth fridge. Landlord nosiness notwithstanding—they saw my ex move out and bluntly asked if I could still afford the apartment—I would remain there and breathe the air of a free woman. I started putting away a few shekels toward that clarinet. The plan was to hop on the D train to Music Row in Midtown Manhattan for a suitable starter instrument, but then Jessy, my best friend since junior high, suggested a pawn shop.

…..I was horrified. Only desperate people went into those places. After all, it was the gritty ’80s in NYC. I wasn’t gonna do that. But when I saw that Sam Ash’s “bargain basement” instruments started at $1200—and that was low, compared with the other music retailers that used to be abundant in the city—my clarinet dreams died on the vine.

…..Life got busy; I eventually met somebody new. That didn’t take either. It was time to make a change, so I broke out of Brooklyn and edged westward, settling in nearby Pennsylvania. I had also pivoted in my career and was now a corporate recruiter for a mega university, a soulless if not well-paid way to resent my life and occasionally wish for my own demise. I had not the time nor the energy to twaddle away on the clarinet.

…..Until Jessy—who’d moved to the next town over—shared her addiction to antiquing and thrifting and asked me to come with her on her next trip, which she did on Tuesdays for their weekly discounts.

…..“What do you buy?” I asked.

…..“Anything from Occupied Japan.”

…..I took a beat. “Like…what kinds of things?” I didn’t want to seem ignorant but apparently I was. Did she mean wartime stuff?

…..Dishes, she told me: glassware, housewares. Hand-painted, delicate, a story in every object.

…..“Maybe you’ll find that clarinet you’ve always dreamed about.” Jessy bribed me with a local dinner, her treat, and the latest gossip on her co-worker’s affair with her neighbor. I’m not above such discussions.

…..The former hunting shack I moved into in Stroudsburg had been weatherized for year-round living. Modest, yes, but big enough for me as well as one clarinet. I had been missing a creative outlet. Suddenly, that small flame burned a little brighter and I said okay.

…..I was tired but excited. Every evening after work was the same. For me, this counted as high adventure.

…..We walked into her favorite second-hand establishment. Floor to ceiling pre-owned objects from busted-up rattan chairs to massive midcentury dressers, mirrors that had turned black, countless albums of Robert Goulet, and a staggering wealth of well-worn objects (some called it junk) to fit every purpose and desire. We found the instrument section, and there was a clarinet, but in fact it was something else I spied that got my attention. How else to say it but that I got ambushed by an accordion.

…..I couldn’t resist. The mother of pearl buttons and deeply creased bellows called out to me from behind glass. It should have been the clarinet next to it that spoke the loudest, but I was smitten by this cute squeeze box.

…..I summoned the store manager and he came over with a jangling ring of keys that shimmered under the fluorescent lights. When he slid open the glass panel and took out the instrument, he said, “You better sit down.”

…..Why? It’s like 11 x 17. I can hold that in one hand.

…..Jessy quickly brought over a chair, which I started to scoff at, but she pushed me into it. Just in time, too. The manager hefted it over and nearly knocked me down.

…..“They call this a squeezebox?” Its weight shocked me. “This is a monolith. How does anybody hold this upright, let alone get any music out of it!”

…..Maybe it was a mistake. Certainly the svelter clarinet wouldn’t dent my thighs like this.

…..“Do you know how to play?” he asked. But I think he already knew the answer.

…..“No, but I have YouTube.”

…..The little tag dangling from one of the straps said it was $95. “I’ll give you $85.”

…..I’d never haggled in my life. I was trying to get a rise out of Jessy, who nearly choked, and honestly, I was half kidding. To my surprise, the guy grunted and said to bring it up front.

…..Drag it up front was more like it.

…..Jessy had found a few teacups and an ashtray to add to her glassware at home. She knew exactly what they were worth and told him what she was going to pay. He could tell she was an informed collector.

…..“There’s just one thing,” he told me as I struggled to place my new baby onto the counter to pay.

…..“What is it?”

…..“The owner, he wants me to call him if I sell it. Said he wants to be sure it’s going to a good home.”

…..I didn’t want to give out my name or info. Maybe I should stick with the clarinet. “Do you have to say exactly who’s buying it?”

…..“No, but…”

…..This was getting slightly weird. I waited, re-considering the other instrument I’d so callously ignored. Visions of the dark-eyed, thirteen-year-old Frankie Joya danced in my head. He was playing the hora. Why, I had no idea.

…..“Well…why not. Just tell him it’s going to a dumpy old lady whose life will finally be given meaning by its very existence.”

…..Jessy shook her head.

…..Dinner was great – tempura at a local Japanese staple and we shared sushi, which I’d just started to appreciate. The gossip was ridiculous and we laughed like we were so superior. But it was a weekday and I needed to be up early the next day for some new fun at the office.

…..When I got the accordion home to my tiny abode, I set it down on the dresser. After being wiped down, it glistened appreciatively. I admired every little valve, crease, and screw. “It’s just you and me, kid,” I said aloud, inexplicably in a Jimmy Cagney voice.

…..Workdays were so busy that after clocking in something like two hundred mostly unintelligible resumes from healthcare hopefuls, I decided to wait until the weekend to start in with my new little friend.

…..On Saturday, I fired up my laptop and watched a few videos on how to hold it and what the different buttons and keys did. It was a beauty. I had a good ear and was going to try something easy. Maybe “Amazing Grace.” By now, I’d certainly forgotten about the former owner whom I’d mentally dismissed to Jessy (I think the term I used was “needy little golem”). Then my phone buzzed.

…..“Hello?”

…..“Ms. Debbie? This is Ralph from A-Town Antiques in the Lehigh Valley.”

…..“Uh, hi.” I took a deep breath, bracing for whatever was coming next. “What’s up?”

…..He cleared his throat. “I’m calling about the accordion you purchased. The owner. He wants it back. He said he’ll pay you double for it.”

…..This was clarinet karma right here.

…..“What? Why?” I just needed a moment to process.

…..“He said it’s a family heirloom and he really meant to take it down. And he’s very sorry.”

…..Was I attached to it yet? Or just the idea of it? I let the silence force a further explanation.

…..“In fifty-five years, this has never happened,” he continued. “I’m sorry. But you have every right to say no. I only told him that I’d try, is all.”

…..“Is that clarinet still there?”

…..“Yeah. It’s $75. And with the owner paying you back double, you’ll make out. You can get the clarinet with change to spare. Should I put it aside for you?”

…..I told him I’d be there tomorrow.

…..At first, this was annoying. But maybe I should have been mad. Jessy was outraged and told me to tell the golem and the owner of the store where to stick it.

…..“That would hurt. It’s decidedly bulky.”

…..“Aviva, this is very unprofessional. I think you call him back and tell him you changed your mind. You’re gonna keep it.”

…..I didn’t need the trouble. The owner had my phone number and I had no idea if he would share it, even though I expressly told him not to. I wasn’t too deep in. To Jessy’s great disappointment, I told her I lost the feeling and just wanted to be done with it. She said she understood; whatever I wanted to do.

…..“You’ll come with me to bring it back?” I asked.

…..“But of course.”

…..The next day, we set out early. I wanted this behind me. I’d have my long-awaited clarinet after all.

…..The old man recognized me the moment I walked in. Well, that and the fact that I was shlepping a gleaming white accordion.

…..“You kept your word,” he said.

…..“What else is there in life,” I said, no question posed.

…..He came out from behind the counter, took the squeeze box, and headed for the instrument cabinet. Just then, a dreamy-looking man walked into the store.

…..“Gary!” he called out. “Hang on, I’ll take that off your hands.”

…..Jessy elbowed me in the ribs. “Guess who’s here! I think he wants to meet you.”

…..“Stop,” I whispered. “It’s still bizarre. Those eyes, though.”

…..Gary walked back to the counter and this very fit specimen of a man followed him. He smiled at me.

…..“You’re the one who bought this?”

…..I nodded. My face and neck started getting warm. I was mortified at my body for its betrayal.

…..So what if he’s a looker?

…..“Gary, so that’s your name,” I said to the owner, deftly ignoring the way the new guy’s shaggy salt-and-pepper hair framed his perfect face.

…..“Let me get you the clarinet and the rest of your refund,” Gary said.

…..We got settled up and Jessy and I turned to go out the door. She ignored a gilded Japanese plate that caught her eye as we neared the exit. She smiled at me and patted the clarinet case.

…..“Time to skedaddle.” She was a true friend.

…..Just then, a husky voice called after us. “Ladies, can I take you to lunch?”

…..I turned to see deep chocolate brown eyes looking at me quizzically. Before I could figure out what I wanted to do, Jessy decided for me. For us.

…..“You got us all the way out here to Allentown on a Sunday, so yeah, you can take us to lunch.” She beamed at him.

…..At this point, I didn’t know if she thought this guy was good for her or for me. I had no horse in this race. A free meal was a free meal. We walked three blocks east to a diner.

…..This was turning out to be one of the strangest Sundays ever.

…..We slid into the diner bench, Jessy and I facing off against Mr. Accordion.

…..“My name’s Mike Schrager, by the way. I just really wanted to thank both of you and I happened to be around when you returned the Hohner.”

…..“So did Gary tell you I was returning it today?” I grilled him. “Or were you basically stalking the store, waiting for us to appear?”

…..Mike gave a little mock frown. I instantly hated him. I hated the way something stirred inside me. I also wasn’t comfortable having this feeling with Jessy next to me and not knowing where she weighed in. She seemed at least amused; I couldn’t tell if she like-liked him or what. But I’d defer to her. I was happy enough without a man to complicate my life.

…..“Well, for that—again—I’m sorry. Can you ever forgive me?”

…..“I’m frankly not sure yet.” I smiled tightly. Jessy pushed her leg into mine. Be nice, it said.

…..After some highly charged banter, we finished lunch and Mike peeled off. “See you around sometime.”

…..I knew how cute we were, and the fact that he didn’t press us for our numbers was actually surprising…and refreshing. I’d lost an accordion but gained a clarinet and a free meal.

…..Two weeks later, I went back to Gary’s store. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but a vintage brass music stand caught my eye. I ambled over to it (after taking a quick look to see if its woeful owner was lurking anywhere). The tag read $55 and the name “Schrager” was scrawled underneath.

…..I found Gary in the baseball card section. I took a deep breath and let it out in a hiss.

…..“Will you take $50 for that music stand?”

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Debbie Burke  is an award-winning author of eleven books, including three jazz novels and the nonfiction interview series Tasty Jazz Jams for Our Times™.   She studied alto saxophone at the New School for Social Research in 1987 and has played in several community jazz bands in Pennsylvania. In 2016, she started her jazz and photography blog at debbieburkecreative.com. She is also a professional editor and author coach at Queen Esther Publishing LLC, which she founded in 2020. Brooklyn-born, she now resides in Virginia Beach, VA.

 

 

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