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Drama in the elevator

(direct quot from the short story)

A young woman rushes out of her office and rushes to the elevator. Very late to make the inauguration of a nightclub for stuck-up single women and men, she presses several times on the button of call, to accelerate the arrival of the cabin. Nervous, she consults her watch. She straightens the golden bracelet in her wrist. A nearby office colleague of fifty-year-old by looking ten more arrives at the same moment as the elevator. He tells her Hello.

-  Good evening.

She answers him of a half wrinkled smile, then, enters the cabin without worrying about him. She verifies on the mirror of the wall, that her frizzy ash-blond hair is not muddled and fire curtly at the jacket and the skirt of her leading tailor. Finding her a little bit flat smile, she plunges the white and delicate hand with the varnished nails of a blazing red, in her handbag and takes out her lipstick. She recovers from it a layer on her fine lips. She pursues her inspection by removing her rectangular glasses to see if the mascara which she put on her lashes protecting the eyes emerald, did not flow and looks if her grey blouse matched with her tailor, is enough, but reasonably, opened on her generous breast.

Too much occupied with observing her person from every angle, the young woman does not notice that the man who stands by her side, puts suddenly the hand on his breast and begins to vacillate by uttering a groan…

Funeral in B flat

(direct quot from the short story)

I had rowed during years to arrive at the level of CARL D. He was for me the biggest saxophonist of his time. At the age of fifty five, he decided to leave this big family that is the show business, to create finally his own music school. Good idea.

When I had ten years old and always my walk-man on ears, I listened constantly the same pieces of his music, when I went to school and when I returned there. I hurried to do homework and switched on my hi-fi system, to listen to the best compositions of my idol. I began to dream that I too, maybe, later, shall be adulated all over the world, for my music. But I had no intention to copy CARL, simply because he was unique.

The next year, I decided to ask my parents to join the music school D. It would be enough expensive for them, but given that my school notes stayed in the limit that parents can accept, they were ready to make some sacrifices.

Five years later, I went out of it “filled up” with treble keys, with chromatic ranges, with major, minor ranges, with ranges by tones … But also with the best place which can be: the first one! My parents cried in the graduation ceremony – as much as me moreover – Then, I fast raised myself to the rank of the best in the profession. I got contract on contract with the best record companies. Once it was to play with the biggest stars of the middle, once, for sessions of recording in studio, or make concerts.

I also worked with CARL. I had this honor, this privilege. He liked to have me near him. He did not have a family anymore for a long time and having never had a child, he considered me as his own daughter.

One evening, we phoned me at home, at about eleven, to warn me that CARL had just been knocked down by a car, while he went to his studio, one hour earlier. It was very serious…