Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78163 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“Um. Uh…thanks.” I covered my mouth and coughed to hide my embarrassment as I stood and looked around the studio. “So you have records?”
He pulled the strap over his head and set his guitar on a nearby stand. “It’s the library next door. I have to warn you, it’s a disaster zone. If you’re a type A neat-freak, you may find this disturbing.”
I snorted. “I’m not actually sure my socks match. Bring it on.”
“This way.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob to the adjacent room and then winked before slowly pushing the door open. He stepped into the cavernous room, his arms spread wide. “Welcome to the library.”
“Holy fuck.”
My notion of what an enormous record collection might look like didn’t jive with reality. I wasn’t sure why, but my mind conjured neatly stacked vinyls waiting to be alphabetized and stored on a shelf. My mom kept a few of her favorite albums from the eighties in a cabinet under the TV when I was a kid. Rory and I used to pore over them, checking out the covers and reading the lyrics while listening to them on her ancient turntable. This was that version on steroids. And Gray was right. It was a fucking mess.
The room itself looked like a recent addition. The ceilings were high and vaulted like a chapel. Light streamed through the skylights above and from the series of small windows located above the shelves that lined every inch of wall space. There might have been seating on the other side, but it was impossible to see much beyond the forest of boxes stacked high on every surface…floors, tables, chairs…everywhere. The sea of cardboard reminded me of a storage facility. If he’d told me UPS was using his home as an outpost, I would have believed him. Some of the boxes were ripped open, but most were taped shut, waiting to be shipped out or put away.
“Those are all filled with records?” I asked in an awestruck tone.
“Yeah. I just purchased this collection. Mine was decent-sized to begin with, but this takes it to a whole new realm.” Gray headed for the table and popped open the top of a box and pulled out an album. “Check this one out. It’s a rare jazz recording from the early thirties. Oh. And this is a bossa nova classic.”
“Mmm…cool,” I replied.
I took the albums he handed me and glanced unseeing at the faded artwork on the covers as he went on about the lush sound and how each record provided an incredible glimpse into history. Not just about the music but the people who bought the music as well.
“…music is a mirror into the soul. The words, the beat, and the arrangement provide clues about the human experience. But the physical vinyl record tells you about the owner too. You can’t get a more in-depth picture of who we are as a species. This is history!” he insisted excitedly. “You can get to know…”
I tuned him out when he detailed the impact of fashion, social commentary, and poetry through the vinyl disc medium. His enthusiasm was charming as hell, but I was more fascinated about his transformation from cool musician to history geek than the amount of records he owned. It was…cute. Weird adjective because Gray wasn’t cute. He was sexy and a little scary. Almost as scary as the sheer number of albums in this room. I tried to think of a formula to estimate how many might be in each box, but I didn’t have my brother’s mind for math. The direct approach worked best for me anyway.
“How many records do you have?” I interrupted.
“A few hundred thousand. There’s a bit of every—”
“A few hundred thousand?” I repeated incredulously.
“Yeah.” Gray shot a wry grin at me. “I need to organize them by genre and alphabetize them. It’s a daunting but necessary job. I’d love to do it myself, but I don’t have time.”
We stared at the sea of boxes together like a couple of sailors analyzing the impact of an iceberg in the distance.
“How long would you say a project this size would take?”
Gray put his hands on his hips and gave a cursory glance around the space before answering. “A few months. Are you interested?”
He seemed as surprised by his offer as I was. He narrowed his eyes and twitched his lips. I could practically hear him thinking of a way to unask the question.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Why not? I bet you could have it done by summer. It’s not a bad gig. You can stay in the bedroom I showed you, swim or use the hot tub when you feel like it, and I’ll even let you use my studio when I don’t need it if you want to practice.” When I didn’t immediately jump at the opportunity, he added, “Think about it. No hurry. This mess isn’t going anywhere.”