Isolde" softly came through the speaker. "Well!" he said in amazement. "You're better than me … I never can get anything on there when I want something. Hillbilly stuff or one of those soap operas. Gosh … Isn't that lovely?"
"Divine," whispered Joy.
They sat on the divan, their heads resting on the soft back cushion while the vibrating strains of Wagner's masterpiece commanded the room.
After a second, Gaylord spoke softly. "Wonder who's playing that violin?"
"Isaac Stern, isn't it? Sounds like him."
"I think so … No one can play like he does … I love this part … it's so beautiful," he barely breathed.
Joy nestled back into the mohair pillow. She took a small sip from the bottle and looked around to each side.
"Gay," she whispered, "this room looks different than it used to. What did you do to it …"
"Like it?"
"Oh, yes, I think it's lovely. Did your mother have a decorator?"
"I'm the decorator. I've rearranged this furniture so many times, but I think this is about the best way. I didn't know what to do with the piano."
"You mean to tell me you arranged this room?"
"Uh … huh."
"Why Gay, I think that's wonderful. It's so homey and comfortable, and yet … so elegant. I like the piano where it is."
"Thank you." Gaylord felt his face growing warm … almost hot.
"You should be a decorator," she said. She noticed the red ears.
"Why Gay, you're blushing … Why?"
"I don't know. I seem to blush at the darnedest times … I'm sorry." He laughed in amused appreciation.
"I think it's cute." She smiled again, her eyes sparkling. She raised the bottle and took a long sip of the cool cola, sighed, "This is just what I needed," with contentment.
"Me too. I was famished for a drink but didn't want to take time out to stop for one. I wanted to finish the yard."
