Un2talented (Book 3 of the Un2 Series)

Dorian’s overnight shift was typically uneventful. The motel was empty, except for Granny, who remained in her suite all evening, and the occupants of room one-seventeen, who exited just after Dorian settled in for his shift. The high number of vacant rooms was not uncommon mid-week, off-season. The leaves would be turning soon, which meant many busy weekends lay ahead. Dorian relished these slow periods since they provided him with so much extra time for creating music.

The night was a productive one, musically speaking. Dorian had combined some tracks he had recorded earlier in the week and was working on overdubbing some vocals and beatboxing. His singing was sub-par, but it worked well enough as a placeholder until Dorian could tweak the track. His beatboxing, however, was atrocious. He was shooting for a syncopated rhythm, but it was sounding like he was trying to spit out a hair that was stuck to his tongue. He was in mid-sputter when Cadence entered the office.

“If you’re chewing off your fingernails, you better be spitting them into a trash can!” she joked.

“Ughh! I can’t get this!” Dorian dropped his headphones from his ears to his collar. “I’m shooting for kind of an inverted paradiddle, but it is just sounding, well, wrong.”

“Let me hear it.”

Dorian yanked the headphones from the jack, turned up the volume and hit play. Cadence rocked from side to side along with the track until Dorian started sounding like he accidentally stepped on a roll of bubble wrap.

“Whoa! What the hell was that?” She waved at him to stop.

“Exactly! What am I doing wrong?”

“Let me hear it again, sans Dorian.”

Cadence listened to a few measures of the song and signaled for Dorian to restart the playback. She spoke over the tune as it started.

“I think you need to slip in some sextuplets.”

She bounced to the beat until just the right moment, and then spit out clusters of rapid-fire, six-note bursts while reinforcing a backbeat by tapping on the counter with her index fingers.

“My God, you are a friggin’ genius!” Dorian threw up his arms and rocked back in his chair. “Do that again so I can record it.”

Dorian tapped at the keyboard.

“No, no, no! You need to do it yourself!” Cadence objected.

“C’mon, Cady! You know you’re way better than I am at this kind of thing!” Dorian whined.

“True, but you’ll never get better at it if you don’t work at it. At least give it a shot.”

Dorian signed and made a heartfelt frowny face.

“I tell you what, give it your best shot, and I mean your best shot, and if it isn’t somewhat usable, I will record it for you,” Cadence conceded.

“Okay,” Dorian moaned, “run it past me one more time.

Cadence sputtered artfully through the rhythm as Dorian focused on her every move. She repeated it two more times for good measure.

“I think I’ve got it.”

Dorian adjusted the screen on his laptop and hit record.

“Parruppita, ruppita . . .”

Dorian sprayed forth flecks of spittle that turned into mini prisms as they hit the computer screen.

“Ughh!”

He hit the big red “Stop” icon, pulled his arm into his sleeve, and wiped away the spit glitter. He looked up at Cadence, dejected.

“You can do it! Have a little faith in yourself!”

Cadence crouched beside him and patted his arm. “Try again.”

Dorian inhaled deeply, blew it out slowly, and then hit “Record”. He had a promising start but quickly started to stammer. Cadence grabbed his hand for encouragement, and he began spitting out sextuplets with immaculate precision. She pulled back her hand to give him a “thumbs up” and he quickly unraveled.

“That was so close!” she squealed. “Try again.”

Dorian started over with a new enthusiasm but faltered a few measures into the beat.

“Keep going!”

Cadence squeezed his hand and he snapped right into perfect syncopation. She let go of his hand to applaud and he sputtered off like an untied balloon.

“That’s weird,” Cadence pouted.

“I’m doing my best!”

“I want to try something, okay?”

“Sure,” Dorian replied.

Cadence set aside Dorian’s computer and motioned for him to stand.

“Hold out your hand.”

Dorian obliged.

“Now, start doing the sextuplets. Keep going, even when it starts to suck.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Sorry.”

Dorian begrudgingly began beatboxing. He could have gotten a more consistent beat if he had thrown a gym shoe in a dryer. Cadence placed her hand on his and the sputtering became crisp staccato chirps. She removed her hand and Dorian resumed his impersonation of the gym shoe. Cadence grasped his hand and the precision returned. She let go and everything fell apart.

“That is beyond weird,” Cadence reiterated.

“I don’t get it!” Dorian groaned. “When you hold my hand, I know exactly what I’m doing, but the second you let go, my brain drains.”

“Drains?”

“Yeah, it feels like something is actually leaking out of my brain and then evaporating. It must be something psychological. My mom said that when I was learning to walk that I would topple over immediately if I didn’t have her big wooden spoon in my hand. I must have thought it was holding me up. That’s what you are.”

“Gee, I’ve always wanted to be a big wooden spoon!” Cadence laughed. “I tell you what, I will record the track if you promise to practice and replace it one day with your own recording. Is it a deal?” Cadence smiled.

“I promise.”

“Then let’s do this.”

“Cadence. . .”

“Yes. . .”

“You’re the best spoon a guy could ask for.”