Half a Story

A lot of guys try to impress women by demeaning cab drivers but this was the worst case I've seen.

He actually wasn't bad looking. I figured him for 15 years away from being his high school's star quarterback. Except for a pot belly, he was still in decent shape.

Of course he didn't say hello or greet me in any civil manner. Instead he barked out a command in a tone of voice that told me that I'd already displeased him and had better watch my step. Then, he immediately started talking to his date. Or, rather at his date. She didn't say a word. He interrupted his monologue every block to give me new directions. I'm not lying - every block. And we went straight most of the way.

I decided to have fun. I accentuated his absurdity by parroting an order every time he gave me one.

"Go straight!"

"Going straight!"

"Go right!"

"Going right!"

He keep glaring at me but I think to actually comment on my commentary would've been uncool. It would've meant acknowledging his lack of absolute control.

"Stop here!"

"Stopping here!" I said, hitting the brakes and bouncing him off the back of my seat.

"No!" he snapped angrily, "in front of the store."

"Stopping in front of the store," I said, slowing down gradually this time.

He got out, gave me a fierce stare and went inside.

"What piece is this?" the woman asked about the music playing over my radio.

I turned half around. She had moved from behind me and was leaning on the middle of my front seat with her chin on her forearms. She was long and slim, open and lovely.

"Brahms isn't it?

"Yes, but I can't place the symphony."

"I think it's the third."

"Of course," she said, slightly snapping her fingers. "Hi, I'm a cello."

"Hi, I'm a base."

"I thought so."

If I was doing satire I'd write something like "small world isn't it" or "it must be fate" but the truth is that there was a click, an instant connection. I can't tell you how rare it is to meet a customer who can tell the difference between Brahms' symphonies.

"I'm not with that asshole," she said. "He's a partner at my sister's law firm. I gotta make nice."

"Too bad ... Maybe you can help me? I'm looking for a good recording of that little solo mediation by Hindemith - do you know it?"

Why such an obscure piece? I was looking for a good recording of it but the sad truth is that I'm a music snob. I wanted a woman who could go beyond Brahms.

"You mean the Op 25 #3?"

"Yeah - that's the one."

"I've played it."

It was fate.

"I'd love to hear you play it."

"Is he bothering you?" The all star had returned with a stern, school master's expression.

He'd been gone less than two minutes and I'd forgotten he'd existed.

"Not at all," she said, sliding back behind me.

He gave instruction for the next six blocks but I no longer felt a need to comment. When we stopped, he gave her a command,

"I don't like his attitude - don't tip him!"

She gave me $7 for a $6.70 ride. They climbed out. I heard her say, "Oh, I forgot something." She came back and slipped me a twenty folded around a business card. On the back she'd written:

"Hindemith."