All Your Pretty Dreams Read Online Free PDF Page A

heavens, does it?
You need to be sure. Confident. That slays fear.”
    “ And dominant seventh
chords?”
    The old man chuckled. “Even
dominant sevenths.”
     
    Dinner on Saturday was
chaotic. Nora had been invited by Jonny, Lenny by Ozzie, and
Wendy’s current admirer— they changed too often to be called
boyfriends— a thick-necked thug named Zachary, had invited himself.
Stumpy and his wife brought a sad lentil casserole and a chocolate
cake. Ozzie heated a ham on the grill with his signature coating of
marshmallow fluff toasted golden brown except for where it caught
on fire. There were laughter and diet jokes; Stumpy took it all in
stride. Jonny obsessed about some left-hand chords giving him
grief. So much for pre-puberty genius.
    In the garage Jonny took
the accordion out of the case and held it gingerly. The scratches
across the pearly black case were almost like wrinkles. He felt
self-conscious with Stumpy looking on so asked him for some
pointers.
    “ The thing is,” the big
man whispered, “Wendy can’t blow that horn to save her life. She
doesn’t play much but when she does, you’ve got to crank the
accordion. Let ‘er rip.”
    Stumpy was as round and
bald as a cue ball, with hands like baseball mitts. How he was able
to hit single buttons with those fingers? Jonny was seized with an
urge to see Stumpy play the squeeze box.
    “ Could you show me that
chord progression at the beginning of ‘One Day at a Time?’” It was
a waltz, and slow, and Jonny had no trouble keeping up with the
chord progression, but just then Ozzie clacked his sticks to bring
the rehearsal to order.
    “ All yours, Jonny boy,”
Stumpy grinned, chocolate in his teeth.
    The rehearsal limped along
for an hour. Ozzie argued with himself about the order of the
songs. Wendy refused to take advice from drummers or anyone else.
Jonny tried to focus and bit his tongue to keep from adding to the
mayhem. Sitting up front, Lenny had ideas he had to share, about
picking up the tempo mostly. He crossed his eyes at Jonny and
slumped into his chair.
    Wendy announced she was
leaving and the rehearsal broke up. Lenny walked out into the
alley. “You’re my hero,” he said, clapping Jonny on the shoulder.
“How you can play those old croakers with a straight face, and
energy, I might add, is beyond me.”
    “ It’s not so
bad.”
    “ Just weirdly old school.
I mean, polka .
It’s so, shit, I don’t know what describes polka.”
    Jonny winced. “My dad loves
it.”
    “ Exactly. Remember when we
played all those Springsteen songs on the squeeze box? I mean, you
did.” Lenny wouldn’t be caught dead with anything as unhip as an
accordion. High in a dark tree an owl hooted. “And Wendy? Jesus H.
I hope the angel Gabriel isn’t listening up in heaven.”
    Jonny sagged against the
picket fence. He just had to get through the mass, that was all.
“How’s the campaign coming?”
    Lenny told him about a
fundraiser he was working up for next weekend. He found out some
state official would be in town. Supporters of moving the landfill
would come out, and hopefully open their wallets for the young
mayor-to-be.
    “ Can you play? Add a
little excitement to the putrid stinkwater debate.”
    “ The whole
band?”
    “ Do we have to use Little
Toot? I was hoping to leave her out of it.”
    “ That might cause
problems.”
    “ Okay, all the Notable
Knobels. Maybe your granny can play the tambourine like the old
days.”
    “ You know, she might like
that.”
    “ Okay, Jack,” Lenny said,
throwing up his hands in mock dismay. “Bring ‘em on. The numerous
and notable.” They walked around the corner of the garage as a
beat-up orange VW bug was pulling into the motel lot. Lenny pulled
Jonny back into the shadows.
    “ Take cover, it’s the
Queen Bee,” he whispered. The girl who had called the police on
Jonny stepped out of the car. From the other side a man got
out.
    “ Who’s that with her?”
Jonny whispered.
    “ One of the