Noah heard the sound of organ music the minute he opened the side door of the Church of the Good Shepherd. He walked quietly through the narthex and stood for a moment at the beginning of the center aisle, listening to the music. Not wanting to disturb the organist, he walked slowly and quietly down the aisle. It was no mean feat given that the floor was tiled.
He hadn't been entirely enthusiastic about joining the choir at an Episcopal church, having been raised in a small town Southern Baptist church. On the other hand, he hated the hellfire and brimstone oratory at his home church, and had stopped attending services as soon as he was old enough to get away with it.
Cindy his co-worker, and the reason for joining the choir had kept insisting - and he would consider anything to get away from his roommate for one or two more nights a week. He shared a small apartment with a fellow community college student, and their relationship was at best, strained.
As he reached the steps leading to the choir area, the music started again. This time, the piece was light and airy, and the notes rose and fell in pitch at a fast and furious rate. Reaching the altar area, he sat down in a large wooden chair (he was later to learn that it was the chair reserved for the Bishop's use when he made an official visit) and watched the organist.
The young man playing the organ was wearing cutoffs and a tank top. He was sweating profusely, as it was late June and the air conditioning was not running. Noah watched in total fascination, as the man's hands flew over the keys, as did his feet on the pedals. The player was clearly having trouble with his music, in that the thin paper bound book of music from which he was playing was not cooperating. Every time he turned a page, the page did not want to stay put and kept flapping back.
Finally, the player flipped a page too violently, and the book began to slip off the music rack.
Without thinking, Noah leapt out of the chair, crossed the few feet of space that lay between him and the organ bench, grabbed the book, and settled it firmly on the music rack.
The player had not missed a beat, which made it clear to Noah, himself an amateur musician, that the music had been, at least partially, committed to memory. He started to step back, but with a curt nod of his head, the organist said, "Stay."
He remained standing and scanned the music hurriedly, until he was confident that he knew where the player was on the page. When the player neared the last two measures on the page, he nodded his head at Noah.
Noah quickly turned the page and was rewarded with a bright smile. He continued turning pages as instructed until the piece had ended. When the last note had finished reverberating around the stone sanctuary, the organist looked at Noah, and said, "You're hired."
"Excuse me?" Noah said.
"Are you free Saturday evening?" the organist said.
"Yes."
"Do you own a tuxedo, or a black, or navy blue suit?"
"Yes."
"Then you're hired."
"Hired to do what?" Noah said.
"I'm performing in recital at Jacoby Hall Saturday evening," the man said, "and my page turner pooped out on me yesterday. The job is yours."
"What do I have to do?" Noah said.
"Stand beside the organ console looking pretty, and doing what you've been doing for the past five minutes," the man said, "except you'll be doing it in front of a thousand people. By the way, the honorarium for the service is fifty bucks."
"Just for doing that?"
"Well, that includes one practice session, and the recital, and will probably take up five hours of your time, tops."
"Okay," Noah said.
"That aside," the man said, "how can I help you?"
"I came to audition for the choir," Noah said.
"You must be Cindy's friend."
"Friend is a bit strong," Noah said, "she and I are co-workers. I'm Noah Webster."
"Now there's a famous name," the man said.
"I think my mother thought it was cute at the time," Noah said. "You don't want to know what I think."
"Well, Noah Webster," the man said, "I'm Tom Foster."
He held out his hand, and Noah shook it. He noted that the man's eyes were as dark as his curly black hair, and positively radiated intelligence and good humor.
"Pleased to meet you," Noah said.
"We have to go up to the choir room for the audition," Tom said, "but first I need to clean up. As you might have noticed, I'm sweating like a Mexican whore. Follow me."
He turned off the organ and removed the key, then he grabbed a gym bag from beside the organ bench. Slipping off the bench, he led Noah through a series of corridors that ended in a small locker room.
"This church, as you may know has an indoor pool that people use for a fee, and this locker room serves the pool," Tom said as he began pulling off his clothes. He pulled a towel out of his bag, said, "I'll be back in a jiff," and disappeared through a nearby door.
Noah heard the sound of water splashing on a floor. A few minutes later, it stopped, and Tom emerged from the door, dripping wet, toweling his hair dry as he walked. Noah stared at his body. He saw broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist. Tom's upper body was well developed, clearly from regular workouts. It also appeared to be hairless, except for a small patch of black public hair which framed an impressive set of genitals. Noah suddenly realized he was staring and quickly averted his eyes, somewhat taken aback by the unfamiliar sensations he was experiencing.
Tom didn't seem to notice, as he finished drying his body and deftly retrieved underwear, shorts and a polo shirt from his gym bag. He pulled them on quickly, and slipped into a pair of deck shoes. He stowed the shoes he had been wearing in a little cloth bag, and put it in the gym bag along with his towel, sweat-soaked cutoffs, and tank top.
"Okay," Tom said, as he stood up and grabbed the bag, "let's go up to the choir room and have a go at it."
Noah followed him down another corridor and up two flights of stairs to the third floor. A door off of the landing at the head of the stairs opened into a generous sized room which contained a baby grand piano surrounded by rows of chairs on a series of risers.
Tom sat down at the piano and instructed Noah to stand at his left.
"Okay," he said, "let's hear a scale."
He struck middle C and Noah followed the music, singing, "do, re, mi, fa, so, la, ti, do."
"Good," Tom said, "now do the same thing using la la la."
Noah followed Tom's instructions, and was put through a series of vocal exercises, at the end of which, Tom handed him a copy of the Episcopal Hymnbook and asked him to sing from page 305.
As instructed, Noah sang the line. It consisted of nine words.
"Good, but not quite what I want," Tom said. "The whole line shouldn't be legato. The last three words need to stand alone. They should be neither legato, nor staccato. Simply touch them and let them go. Think of it as a lover giving his beloved a brief caress and quickly, but not too quickly, lifting his hand away. Like this:" He played, and with a rich tenor voice sang the line and then said, "Now try again."
Noah obediently sang the line again, as instructed.
"Well, Noah Webster," Tom said. "You've just grasped in one simple lesson, a concept that has eluded at least half of the choir for the past month."
"Thank you," Noah said.
"You might not thank me when I ask you to demonstrate what you just did to the rest of the choir," Tom said. "You've had more than a little bit of training, I think."
"Some," Noah said. "I play piano and I used to play French horn in the band. Somewhere along the line, I had a few voice lessons, but I didn't keep up with them."
"Ever done any solo work?"
"No sir," Noah said.
"I assure you that will change, once you join my little band of angels. Tell me about yourself."
"As you already know," Noah said, "I work with Cindy, but it becomes part time during the school year. I just finished my first year at FCCJ and will start back in the fall."
"Where will you go from FCCJ?"
"UNF."
"Good," Tom said, "that means you'll be around and available for a few more years. I think you'll like UNF. I hope to finish my Doctorate there by the end of next year."
"You don't look old enough for that," Noah said.
"Actually, I'm not. The thing is I graduated from High School when I was sixteen, so I'm probably only a couple of years older than you. Listen, I hear the thunder of footsteps on the stairs. How about having a glass of wine somewhere after the rehearsal. I like to get better acquainted with all of my singers."
"Sure," Noah said, "I'd like that, except I'm only nineteen, and I'll have to settle for coffee."
"Not a problem," Tom said.
People began to enter the room. Noah noticed that each choir member went to a set of built-in bookcases along the wall and removed a maroon folder of music. The folders appeared to have labels on their spines, but were too far from where he was sitting for him to read them.
A fat lady came through the door and located her folder.
"Ah," Tom said, "here's our librarian. Marilyn, got a minute?"
"Sure," she said, and she sort of waddled over to the piano.
"Marilyn," Tom said, "this is Noah Webster. He'll be joining us as of this evening. See if you can find a folder for him now, and you can get him outfitted with robes when you have time."
"Sure thing, Tom," the woman said. "Pleased to meet you, Noah."
She went to the shelves, selected a folder, examined its contents, and wrote something on the label.
"Okay, Noah," she said, "this one appears to be up to date with the music we're currently using. It will be yours. We pretty much keep the folders in alphabetical order on these shelves."
"Thanks," Noah said.
"Follow me," she said, "I'll assign you a robe now, before everyone gets here."
She led him over to, and through, a door he hadn't previously noticed, which opened into a fair sized room. Along both walls of the room were rows of purple robes and white surplices on hangers. Each hanger contained a large white tag marked with a name. She moved to the end of the row of hangers and produced one with no name on the label.
"These are pretty much one size fits all," she said, "but give it a quick test why don't you?"
"Thanks," Noah said. He set his folder on a shelf above the hangers and slipped into the robe.
"Perfect fit," she said, "I thought it would be." She wrote his name on the tag. "Okay, this one's yours from now on."
He removed the robe and hung it among the names ending with ‘W' near the end of the row. Back in the choir room proper, he noted that the chairs on the risers were now occupied by twenty or more adults of various ages.
As they reached the piano, Tom stood up, and said, "Okay kids, let's get to work, but first, I want to introduce you to Noah who has just joined our little group. Noah is a co-worker of Cindy's, and it is she whom we have to thank for his being here. He is a bass/baritone, and I fully expect him to start doing some of the solo work that Steve used to do before he moved away. Where is Cindy, by the way?"
"She had to work overtime," Noah said, "and sends her regrets."
Tom directed Noah to an empty seat between two men on the top riser, and the rehearsal began. He put the choir through a group of vocal warm-up exercises before the rehearsal started in earnest.
When it was time to run through the communion hymn, Tom let them have at it without comment. When they had finished, he said, "We've been fooling around with this one for a month and some of you still don't quite get it. On the other hand, during his audition, our newest member got it perfectly on his second attempt. I told you I was going to embarrass you, Noah.... now show them how it's meant to be done."
He sounded the beginning chord, and Noah sang the first line of the hymn exactly as he had done earlier. When he had finished, Tom said, "Okay, guys and gals, I want all of you to do precisely what Noah just did."
They ran through the piece two or three times before Tom was satisfied.
"By George," Tom said, "I think you've got it. And it's a good thing, too, because it's on the program for Sunday morning. Thank you Noah for setting such a good example."
By the end of the rehearsal, Noah really felt as though he was a part of the group.
When he was finished with the choir, Tom stood up and said, "Stay put for just a minute," and walked over to the bookcases. He returned, carrying two fat books and said, "Will you please come down here, Noah."
Noah did as he was asked and Tom handed him one of the books, which he had opened to a page containing the title of the piece and the legend ‘Solo for Bass/baritone Voice.'
"I want you to sing this for us, Noah," Tom said. "Stand over there, facing the group, and give it all you've got. I'll play the first few bars for you." He played a few bars, stopped, looked at Noah, and nodded his head.
They ran through the solo with Noah doing his best to ‘give it all he had.' When he finished, there was a sort of stunned silence in the room, followed by a generous amount of applause.
Tom stood up, patted Noah on the back, and congratulated him. "Okay, kids," he said, "who can tell me what this means?"
An attractive middle-aged woman in the front row raised her hand, and said, "The Elijah is back on."
"Good looking, and smart, too," Tom said. "You bet your Episcopal tush it's back on - with a little bit of coaching, Noah will be even better than the late, and now unlamented, Steve ever thought of being before he ran off and deserted us."
"Steve who?" somebody said, and the whole group had a good laugh.
"What are you talking about?" Noah said when the room was quiet.
"We had planned a major concert for next spring," Tom said. "We were going to perform Mendelssohn's oratorio Elijah, with a small orchestra, an expanded chorus, and four soloists. Steve was going to sing the title role, but when he moved away, we had to cancel our plans."
"Aren't there other soloists in town?" Noah said.
"There are," Tom said, "but we don't have the budget to pay the soloists. It's all we can do to pay the orchestra members."
"I'm not sure I'm up to something like that," Noah said.
"Don't worry about it, Noah," Marilyn said, as she walked up to the piano during this exchange, "there isn't a person in this room who doesn't think you have what it takes."
"Especially after what we just heard," one of the men said.
Other members of the group gathered around Noah, alternately welcoming him to the choir and praising his singing. Finally, only Tom and Noah remained in the choir room, and Tom asked Noah to join him in his little office. Tom sat down at his desk, and obtained all of Noah's contact information. Then he handed Noah a sheet of paper.
"Here's everything you need to know about Saturday's performance," Tom said, "including where to be, and what time to be there."
"Thanks," Noah said.
Before Tom could say anything else, his stomach rumbled very loudly.
"Oops," he said, "I guess I need something a little more substantial than a glass of wine. Have you eaten?"
"I was too nervous to eat a full meal," Noah said, "so I had a Coke and half a sandwich."
"That settles it," Tom said, "we'll have a late night snack while we get acquainted."
He shut down his computer, and they left the choir room, which Tom carefully locked.
"Do you have to lock up the church before we leave?"
"No," Tom said, "the Sexton will secure the building as soon as the pool has closed for the day, which is just about now."
In the parking lot, Noah said, "Shall I follow you?"
"If you like, or you can leave your car here, and I'll bring you back after we eat."
"Will it be safe?"
"Yeah."
"Then I'll ride with you," Noah said.
The Church of the Good Shepherd is a real church in Jacksonville, Florida, and it does have an indoor pool: