Impossible Duet

by Barbra Campbell

  Unsettled, I took my violin out and let song after song find its way through my fingers by memory. The usual peace I felt when I played eluded me. Another option, have a beer.

  I grabbed one and settled on the couch letting Fiona float through my mind. Given our limited number of interactions, I replayed every conversation blow by blow. Every glance, every touch, every connection.

  The couch wasn’t comfortable. My clothes annoyed me. The beer didn’t taste good.

  I’d barely made it through half of the bottle and poured it down the sink. Scanning the fridge, nothing appealed to me. Finally, I stripped and dropped onto my bed unable to rationalize how she’d cast a spell on me, and why? Shouldn’t spells be used on people you desire?

  I flopped an arm to the nightstand and grabbed the 8-Ball I kept there, gave it a shake, then waited for the answer. In the second before the words floated to the top, I tossed the ball beside me on the bed, and closed my eyes. I had to convince Fiona I wasn’t just after her for the sex.

  Rolling onto my erection and the discarded 8-Ball ensured I woke up grumpy some time later. The dim lamp beside my bed reminded me I hadn’t intended to crash. The emotional turmoil had taken its toll and exhaustion had gotten the best of me. Checking the clock, I’d only been out about an hour.

  My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I sat up and checked it. Damn friends having fun at the restaurant. At least they noticed I hadn’t shown up. Unfortunately, they’d noticed Fiona hadn’t shown up either. One of them texted: Get a better offer?

  Me: tired

  I’d experienced heaven with Fiona. What was I going to do about the tour? Everyone else in the cello section either couldn’t get away from work for two weeks or didn’t have the repertoire ready. All of the venues were booked, tickets sold, and my pianist was all set. After performing with Fiona, I didn’t want to cut the cello pieces, I needed her by my side.

  My stomach sank at the thought of performing without her. I didn’t want to play with the fucking amazing pianist or anyone else. There was only one partner in my future.

  I grabbed the 8-Ball to return it to the nightstand but couldn’t resist the currently visible answer: AS I SEE IT YES

  Ha! Only one partner in my future. It hadn’t been a question. It also wasn’t going to happen. We weren’t compatible. Then I remembered the question I’d asked before drifting off. Shouldn’t spells be used on people you desire? Could the answer have been for that question?

  Get a grip, I cautioned myself. My phone buzzed, my friends again. I switched the phone to Do Not Disturb mode. The screen changed to black and the time and date appeared: 11:57, FEB 29 SAT

  Damn it. In less than three measly minutes, Leap Day would be over and I’d have to live out the rest of the fanciful Leap Year like every other year. My single feeble attempt at embracing whimsy was almost over. And probably without the New York Phil position if the concert wasn’t enough to convince their Music Director I wasn’t a pompous solo act.

  And I didn’t care.

  11:58

  In the blinding chaos of denial, a damn epiphany hit me. Fiona was what I’d been looking for. The perfect partner, the type of duo where we didn’t have to explain things to each other because we had a sixth sense about our musical intentions. They type of relationship that resulted from a deep connection. It was beyond preferences for hair color, shoe types, and performance venues. It’s what made everything mesh. Her emotion balanced my control. She didn’t question how someone caught up in logic could rely on a Magic 8-Ball.

  I harnessed my thoughts.

  11:59

  I didn’t have her phone number. Brainstorming, I opened her Facebook profile and sent a message: I’m cancelling the tour. We need to talk.

  Snagging my 8-Ball, I flipped it over: OUTLOOK GOOD

  The buzz of anticipation and elation had me checking my phone every two seconds even though I’d turned the Do Not Disturb function off.

  The short handful of seconds before midnight passed without a response. In all fairness she would have barely had time to read the message much less type a response. And why would she need to talk to me if I cancelled the tour. Would the message make sense?

  The memory of her stunning beauty as she’d walked onstage for the performance made me curious how she’d remained single. One of many questions. Would they ever be answered?

  A glance at my phone let me know the month of March had begun. Had the magic of Leap Day passed? Was there even such a thing? Funny coming from a guy who put stock in the mystical 8-Ball. At least planetary alignment had a rational possibility of supporting supernatural powers. Then again, the extra day was a simple human correction, and we could have put it anywhere in the year. It was nearly as fictional as the ball.

  Chapter 9

  Oliver

  A week had passed with no word from Fiona. Not even a word from her about the review of our performance entitled: Sex, Duets, and Classical Music. All of the reviews were glowing, but I’d thought that one would get her. Based on what the reviewer said, our attraction had enriched our musical connection. A bold statement since our short-lived relationship hadn’t gone public, but my heart had prayed it would cause her to reach out.

  I’d watched the green dot on her Messenger profile appear and disappear time after time. Once when she was online, I sent a simple hello like I’d seen some of the younger musicians do. It always struck me as odd that they wouldn’t just say something with the hello, but I’d already sent one message. A few minutes later I added: Nice reviews.

  No response.

  I was failing to find peace, beauty, or even reason in anything.

  Meeting with Suzie in the symphony office, I asked for some time off. “Can you get a sub for me for the next concert?”

  “Oliver, we scheduled a sub for when you were supposed to go on tour and you cancelled. Unless it’s an emergency you’re supposed to give more than a week’s notice. We can’t piss off the subs. Why do you need one anyway?”

  “I can’t get into the music.”

  “Does this have anything to do with Fiona?” Her wording was matter-of-fact.

  “That’s rhetorical right?”

  “I don’t get it. You’ve acted weird ever since the concert. You skipped out of the personnel meeting the other day. Did you even read the email to know what we were discussing?”

  Fuck. It hit me. I hadn’t read the email, just wallowed in my self-pity and opted to stay home. A personnel meeting when there was an unexpected vacancy in the cello section… Fuck. They had to have brainstormed temporary replacements. Fiona had to be on the list.

  Suzie rolled her eyes. “Really? Based on the crazed look that crossed your face, I’m guessing you figured it out.”

  “You want Fiona to fill in. Give me her number, I’ll make the offer.” Two birds with one stone. Or maybe three, I’d get her number, I’d get to sit across from her at rehearsals and concerts, and I’d have my chance to ask her on a date.

  Suzie shook her head.

  Would they really consider someone else after her performance? “You heard her play. She deserves the position.”

  “She doesn’t want it.”

  “What? You’ve talked to her?” It was over. My body grew heavy. Fiona had chosen not to talk to me.

  “Briefly.”

  She’d said no to another opportunity to work with me again. “Did she say why?”

  “She’s happy with her club gigs and street performances. Doesn’t entirely surprise me. That’s why she turned us down. You, on the other hand have a different problem. Have you told her how you feel?”

  “That I want her to be the long-term sub?”

  “No.” Suzie pursed her lips and slumped exaggeratedly.

  “We didn’t exactly have a lot of time together.”

  Suzie giggled.

  I glared. Having anyone, even Fiona’s friend, think of her with anything less than the utmost respect rattled me. “Forget it.”

  I pushed my cha
ir away from her desk. I had to find Fiona. “Give me her address.”

  Suzie’s eyes lit up then she slumped. “She didn’t fill out the personnel form that gives permission to add her to the shared Contact Info document.”

  “Come on,” I raised my voice and immediately regretted it.

  “Here’s the deal, Romeo. I don’t know what went on between the two of you but settle it.”

  “It would be easier if you gave me her address.”

  “It would also be illegal, and we want her to work with us again. Where there’s a will there’s a way.”

  I shook my head and started to leave, but she added, “And don’t be a dick. Fiona’s a pretty stellar package deal.”

  “I know,” I muttered. Walking to my car, I replayed every conversation. Had she given me any tidbits? Had she befriended anyone in the orchestra aside from Suzie? A friend might give her phone number up, or better yet, tell me where she lived. I came up dry.

  Baybrook! She’d mentioned the street-type performances in the courtyard of the mall. Like most malls, it had struggled to retain stores but the property managers tried innovative marketing like allowing performers. The mall was trying other stuff too, but as a performer that’s what had stuck. I’d seen a news story about it.

  And my pompousness hit me. I’d snubbed the idea of using wannabe performers to save a failing nationwide chain. I had no idea the performers would be the likes of Fiona.

  Turning the key in the ignition, I questioned my sanity. Once again, Fiona and I were different. If I got on the highway and headed to the mall to sit and wait for her, was I truly ready to accept her as she was? She’d probably be chewing her damn gum while performing in flip-flops and a tank top.

  A surge of possessiveness consumed me while I imagined how many men opted to sit and watch Fiona while their wives shopped. Would it be any different than my female fans who idolized me for something other than my playing abilities?

  Don’t be a dick. Suzie’s repeated caution stuck with me. Was I ready to accept all of Fiona?

  I was already backing out of the parking space. Merely asking the question filled me with life and possibility. I’d performed with her and none of her frivolities had taken away from her abilities. She’d changed me, for the better, less dick-ish, I suspected Suzie might say.

  I was ready to accept Fiona. The question was if she could accept me?

  When I stopped for gas, I opened Maps to search for the mall since I only knew the town but not where to go once I got there.

  I spent the rest of my trip deciding how to approach her. Despite telling myself I was prepared for rejection, I wasn’t. The more I thought about it, the more I worried that would be her reaction, that I’d dreamed up the entire ‘meant to be’ thing and she had been nothing more than another fangirl like Suzie had said.

  Arriving at the mall, I circled around to find the Target store, jumped out, limited myself to a brisk walking pace, and went straight to the toy section. I breathed a sigh of relief when they had Magic 8-Balls on the shelf, my back-up plan in case she was hesitant to say yes.

  Navigating the mall, weaving my way in and out of teenage groups until closing time had zero appeal so I decided to sit in the courtyard and wait. If I had to, I would stay in town overnight and stalk the mall the following days until she showed up. A smidge of advanced planning would have told me to bring my violin so I could practice for the upcoming concert when the mall was closed and I had to retreat to a BnB.

  That would have been rational and logical, but I’d gotten in my car and started driving. Fiona was going to unravel every carefully tied piece of netting I used to keep the world in check.

  I grabbed a water on the way to the courtyard then opened my phone to help distract me from the percussion guy who was currently banging on several items that never expected to be musical instruments: a kitchen colander, a five-gallon bucket, some car parts… but I had to admit it wasn’t terrible.

  Vying to establish any actual connection between Fiona and the mall, I found the mall’s website and scrolled through the Activities tab. Sure enough, there were pictures of various jugglers, mimes, musicians… Fiona. They had a video clip of her and I kept playing the ten seconds of her snippet over and over again, my own version of a loop.

  The sparkle in her eyes, her huge smile, and the life she radiated even through the lens of the camera added layers of fortification to my obsession. And more importantly, I immediately understood her love of improv performance. No one could shine that brightly unless they were doing what they were meant to do.

  The chair to my side scooted noisily away from the table and I started to ask the person to find somewhere else to sit.

  It was Fiona.

  I’m certain she saw what I had on the screen of my phone but I didn’t care. All I wanted to do was fill my life with everything related to her.

  She studied me with caution. “Looking for new tour venues?”

  “Looking for you.” I wanted to bare my soul. Probably a better idea to start the conversation first.

  Setting her cello case to the side, she joined me and nodded to the current entertainment. “I’m on when he finishes.”

  The desire to touch her welled in my stomach but I had to earn her trust. “Fiona, I’m sorry if I came on too strong. No point hiding behind my callous reputation. I’m demanding and controlling, but it’s different when I’m around you. It’s messy, illogical… I don’t know how to think. That scares me.”

  Her expression softened. “I don’t take you as the type to be scared.”

  “I’m not, usually.” I twisted the end of the Target bag and her gaze shifted to my hands.

  I continued, “I don’t want you to have the wrong impression of me.”

  She gave a weak smile. “Never fear, I have the utmost respect for your playing ability and I’ll always cherish the opportunity to perform with you. I should probably set up now.”

  The percussionist had stopped playing and was talking to a small group of shoppers.

  “That’s not what I mean.” I had to set the record straight whether she made it easy or not. “The dressing room.”

  “Which time?” Her voice took on a lightness but it did little to settle my nerves.

  “Either, both, mostly when you were involved.”

  She rubbed a hand over her chest. “Hmm… are you worried about my impression of how you didn’t want things to get weird so we didn’t do the nasty? Instead you ate me out and shot your hot load all over me an hour or two after I walked in on you fisting your dick?” Her smile widened. “What kind of impression do you think I have?”

  “I lost control. Refraining from sex was my feeble effort to get a grip.”

  “You do realize what we did is considered sex to a lot of people? I’m not sure what your point is.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m not a sex crazed, egotistical asshole who thinks he can have his way with every woman who crosses his path.”

  A laugh burst out of her. “You might be on the right track, but we’re over, no harm done. I really have to get ready.”

  But she didn’t move. Her action, or lack thereof, betrayed her words. I had a chance. My heart raced and my brain scrambled for the right words. “Fiona, when you left without saying goodbye, it hurt. Then you didn’t respond to my messages…”

  “I was contracted to perform the duet. I never agreed to more.”

  “Can’t we at least be friends? Talk? Hang out? Let me take you to dinner?” I had to stop rambling.

  She motioned to the table. “Here we are hanging out, talking…”

  Had she chosen those two items and left the friends and dinner out on purpose? Did she care? I wasn’t her responsibility. We were adults who had our own lives, although I wanted that to change. I wanted our lives to become one.

  Like everything in my life, I would have to fight for what I wanted. Even the idea of resorting to the 8-Ball scared me. Half the answers were positive and the other half would destr
oy me.

  She nodded at the bag.

  My hand was inside.

  “What ya got? Not trying to snoop, but the package is kind of see-through. A new 8-Ball?”

  I dropped my head back then gathered myself and handed her the box. “I get how stupid this is. My big plan was for you to put your trust in the 8-Ball because I feared you wouldn’t put it in me, but you don’t need that kind of crutch, I do.”

  “Wait, you take these answers seriously?”

  Everyone knew about my 8-Ball fascination, but no one knew why. It was easier to let people laugh at it and think I wasn’t completely serious and demanding. Somehow it felt right to tell Fiona what I’d hidden from everyone else. A long breath solidified my courage. “I’ve used it since I was a kid. My parents weren’t there for me, I needed something. Being told DON’T COUNT ON IT was better than being ignored.”

  Pity crossed her face, frustrating me. I didn’t want her sympathy. I wanted her love. Fuck! Nothing made sense. Love was too much to ask. I couldn’t even rationalize my own feelings much less ask her to accept them, and return them.

  She opened the box and the ball taunted me as she rolled it in her hands. “What should I ask it?”

  “Anything.” In my mind, this was our lives beginning to mesh. Acceptance. Was I deluding myself?

  “What would you ask it?”

  “Should Fiona give Oliver a chance?” The question sounded immature the second it became irretrievable.

  She shook the ball. “Really? That’s the kind of thing you ask?”

  The sincere nature of her words revealed curiosity, and I was grateful for it, but my chest tightened as she turned the ball over to read the answer.

  She bit her lip. “How long should I wait?”

  I forced my jaw to relax. “Tell me.”