Chapter 5: The Earpiece

The next morning the crew was in Keith's kitchen before I had finished my coffee.

A man laid tape on the floor in the shape of an X.

A woman hung a microphone from a pole so close to the ceiling fan that I ducked.

Keith stood at the stove in a gray T-shirt with a spatula in his hand, and it was plain he had not slept either.

I had slept in his guest room with a chair under the doorknob, and I was embarrassed that I had done it.

"Morning," he said, without turning around.

"Morning."

"You take your eggs how you took them in Bellmore," he said, "or do I have to ask Pia?"

I stopped in the doorway.

It was the first time either of us had said the town's name.

"Soft," I said. "Not runny."

"I remember."

He cracked two eggs into the pan, and the room filled with the sound of them.

In my ear, the producer said, "Mara, go stand by the island. Ask him about the piano."

I went and stood by the island.

The piano in the next room was a black baby grand, closed, with a dust cover pulled halfway up.

"Do you still play?" I asked.

"No."

"You used to."

"I used to do a lot of things." He slid the eggs onto a plate. "Like make you laugh at breakfast."

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