payment. He hoped tonight’s haul would help keep them in the black.
For Thomas, walking through the front doors of the Tremont Plaza Hotel felt a lot like stopping by the home of his childhood best friend. He never needed to knock. He knew he was always welcome. And he could always count on someone to appreciate him. Tonight was no different.
His friend, Bill, the concierge, made a beeline in his direction when he noticed Thomas setting up at the piano.
“It’s a good thing you got here early tonight,” he whispered conspiratorially, perching his elbow atop the Baby Grand. “All these foreign doctors are coming in from China and Europe and all over for this obesity conference. The hotel is totally booked for the week. Every room. And I’m betting they have tons of money to throw your way.”
Thomas set his tip jar beside Bill’s elbow. “That’d be great,” he said. “Money’s tight right now.”
“I hear ya,” Bill agreed, frowning. “I wish they’d let me set up a ‘gratuity welcome’ sign over at my desk. You entertainment guys get all the luck.”
Thomas laughed. In his experience, there was very little luck to be had as a pianist. Pure talent put bread in his jar.
A large group of wayward travelers rolled their luggage through the front doors. Bill scooted off across the lobby to man his station, lest they find themselves in need of dinner reservations. Alone now, with his back to the chaos at the check-in, Thomas began to play.
One of the things he loved most about the piano was it forced his mind to focus. He found he was only able to concentrate on one other thought while he was playing, unlike most other times when his attentions ricocheted all over the place, like a pinball in a machine. Tonight, as he sank into a familiar concerto he’d known since childhood, he allowed his thoughts to settle on Mia’s prophecy.
After careful consideration, he still didn’t completely buy it. Much like his mother Mildred’s fervent Christianity - which he wanted to embrace but held at arm’s length with a modicum of skepticism - he was having trouble fully accepting the possibility that supernatural powers were controlling the fate of the world. Reconciling the more well-known biblical ‘end-of-days’ predictions with the Sevens Prophecy was proving rather difficult. Why hadn’t he heard of it before? Why weren’t more people concerned about these seven dark psychics getting together? Surely, if other theologians knew, he and Mia wouldn’t be alone in their search.
And yet, why couldn’t it be true? If it was, then knowing what he knew, he was obligated to be proactive and do what he could to protect the fate of the world. And if it wasn’t true, would pursuing some leads cause any real harm? Maybe a little time wasted, but besides that, there were no real negatives to following the path they were on.
While hammers continued to strike the piano’s strings at the bequest of his nimble fingers on the keyboard, he decided once and for all that he would help Mia in her search for the other members of the prophecy. He would use the resources available to him at the university to begin tracking down the names of people born on his birthday. He would work with her in the evenings, comparing notes and leads.
Whatever it took, he would see the process through until Mia was satisfied with the outcome.
Pleased with his decision, his mind returned to the present and he scanned the lobby which was now teeming with guests. A few bills and a handful of loose change lay in the bottom of his jar, and he ramped up his song selection in the hopes of eliciting some larger donations. As he transitioned seamlessly into Song of Newsboy by Nie Er, a petite Chinese woman with soulful eyes and a friendly smile approached the piano.
“Of all the songs you could be playing, this is one of my favorites,” she told him. “My grandfather used to play
For Thomas, walking through the front doors of the Tremont Plaza Hotel felt a lot like stopping by the home of his childhood best friend. He never needed to knock. He knew he was always welcome. And he could always count on someone to appreciate him. Tonight was no different.
His friend, Bill, the concierge, made a beeline in his direction when he noticed Thomas setting up at the piano.
“It’s a good thing you got here early tonight,” he whispered conspiratorially, perching his elbow atop the Baby Grand. “All these foreign doctors are coming in from China and Europe and all over for this obesity conference. The hotel is totally booked for the week. Every room. And I’m betting they have tons of money to throw your way.”
Thomas set his tip jar beside Bill’s elbow. “That’d be great,” he said. “Money’s tight right now.”
“I hear ya,” Bill agreed, frowning. “I wish they’d let me set up a ‘gratuity welcome’ sign over at my desk. You entertainment guys get all the luck.”
Thomas laughed. In his experience, there was very little luck to be had as a pianist. Pure talent put bread in his jar.
A large group of wayward travelers rolled their luggage through the front doors. Bill scooted off across the lobby to man his station, lest they find themselves in need of dinner reservations. Alone now, with his back to the chaos at the check-in, Thomas began to play.
One of the things he loved most about the piano was it forced his mind to focus. He found he was only able to concentrate on one other thought while he was playing, unlike most other times when his attentions ricocheted all over the place, like a pinball in a machine. Tonight, as he sank into a familiar concerto he’d known since childhood, he allowed his thoughts to settle on Mia’s prophecy.
After careful consideration, he still didn’t completely buy it. Much like his mother Mildred’s fervent Christianity - which he wanted to embrace but held at arm’s length with a modicum of skepticism - he was having trouble fully accepting the possibility that supernatural powers were controlling the fate of the world. Reconciling the more well-known biblical ‘end-of-days’ predictions with the Sevens Prophecy was proving rather difficult. Why hadn’t he heard of it before? Why weren’t more people concerned about these seven dark psychics getting together? Surely, if other theologians knew, he and Mia wouldn’t be alone in their search.
And yet, why couldn’t it be true? If it was, then knowing what he knew, he was obligated to be proactive and do what he could to protect the fate of the world. And if it wasn’t true, would pursuing some leads cause any real harm? Maybe a little time wasted, but besides that, there were no real negatives to following the path they were on.
While hammers continued to strike the piano’s strings at the bequest of his nimble fingers on the keyboard, he decided once and for all that he would help Mia in her search for the other members of the prophecy. He would use the resources available to him at the university to begin tracking down the names of people born on his birthday. He would work with her in the evenings, comparing notes and leads.
Whatever it took, he would see the process through until Mia was satisfied with the outcome.
Pleased with his decision, his mind returned to the present and he scanned the lobby which was now teeming with guests. A few bills and a handful of loose change lay in the bottom of his jar, and he ramped up his song selection in the hopes of eliciting some larger donations. As he transitioned seamlessly into Song of Newsboy by Nie Er, a petite Chinese woman with soulful eyes and a friendly smile approached the piano.
“Of all the songs you could be playing, this is one of my favorites,” she told him. “My grandfather used to play
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