Lovely Flawed

by Brian Barton

  When he did see me and pick me up, he cradled me first. He tucked me underneath his strong arm and brought me to his chest. Cradled in his arm, he carried me across the room and held me close. Occasionally, his other hand reached up and caressed the length of my body. At one point, he shifted me, moving me to his hip, then tucked me back underneath his arm. Another time, he held me like a mother with child, clutching me to his breast. We were together as creative thoughts filled his mind.

  Next, he picked up a music stand. He carried us both to the bathroom, then placed the stand and put a pen in his mouth. That’s when he held me with just the tips of his fingers. He flipped a few pages of music, lost in thought, then moved me to his chest. There, I felt warm. He considered the music as I came to rest, next to his heart. I felt safe, knowing we were close.

  He held me against his breast a little longer and took a pen in his hand. He scribbled something on the sheet music then looked down at me. He rubbed me up and down his chest and I felt chills. Again, he cradled me. Finally, he tilted his head back and grasped me underneath his chin. His left hand reached up and took my neck in his hands. He reached over to the music stand and removed the bow, then touched me. My body went electric as I imagined his hands now on my naked body.

  The strings he frets are my strands of hair and the neck he touches is my neck. He alternates his grasp on me from gentle to firm, but I know he’s in control. He glides his fingers up and down my neck, warming me. Every touch on the fret board is a caress. He tickles me as he moves his fingers, raising goosebumps on my skin. My head and neck are exposed to him. I’ve given myself completely.

  I’m no longer taut and wooden. Each note he plays reverberates inside me, echoing like a prickly touch on my bare skin. As his right hand bows the strings, each note becomes more meaningful. The music breathes into me, carrying my soul along.

  I snap out of my reverie.

  Most people would recognize the beautiful melody that opens Meditation. But what few people realize is that the ending is more beautiful. The ending follows the dissonance in the middle of the piece, which sets it apart. It’s this counterpoint that makes it even more satisfying.

  I listen carefully to Tony as he plays the middle of the arrangement. It’s during the dissonance and darkness in the middle of the piece that he grabs me. He pours his soul into it and I suddenly feel like we’re the closest of friends. With each note he plays, our friendship becomes stronger, our connection deeper. At one point, he gets down to the G-string, and goosebumps run down my arms. I can’t believe how intimate the music is. He’s sharing everything with me and I can feel his thoughts, his vulnerabilities. The music opens a window to his own story of personal sorrow that is impossibly deep. I’m breathless as I stand in the hallway. I can’t believe he’s sharing himself so openly.

  A lot of violinists lose the audience in the middle of Meditation because of the dissonance. Some people call the middle jarring because of the abrupt change from the main theme. But in Tony’s hands, the middle speaks. The music carries him along and me along with it. It’s this very darkness and sorrow that sets up the ending so beautifully. Here comes the sweetness.

  Tony returns to the main melody as he reaches the end, emerging just after his personal narrative in the middle. It’s this contrast that sets my heart alight. He plays the final bars and bows the last note. He reaches for the high A octave and finishes on the sweetest harmonic I’ve ever heard. The sound warms my soul in a deep embrace.

  I can’t speak.

  I won’t speak.

  To speak now would be to ruin everything I just heard. I don’t want to come back to earth. Words mean nothing. Everything is now nothing.

  A few seconds pass and Tony looks up, noticing me in the hallway. “Massenet is a lot like Metallica,” he says. He plucks the smoldering cigarette from the ashtray, then takes a drag. “Both are talented motherfuckers.”

  He emerges from the bathroom, violin in hand, and plops on his couch. “Here, have a seat,” he says pointing to a chair across from him. I sit and notice his handsome face more closely. Aging hasn’t treated him too badly. He’s wise, not wrinkly. I sense a youthful spirit and casual vibe about him.

  “You play beautifully,” I gush. That’s an understatement..

  “Thank you. It’s one of my favorites. Let me hear you play,” he says.

  “No, no. I didn’t bring my violin.” He rolls up his sleeve and hands me his Stradivarius.

  I look at the instrument cautiously, then reach for it gently with both hands. “Oh my god. I’ve never held one of these,” I say, cradling it in my hands like a baby.

  “Relax. It’s a violin, not a newborn. Calm yourself. Just don’t put a bow on the strings or you’ll snap the neck.”

  “Oh my god. Here!” I hand it back to him.

  “Kidding!” he says laughing. “Relax.” He hands it back to me. I put the violin in position, ready to play, and notice his gaze moving to my cleavage.

  “Go on,” he says, putting a hand on my knee. “Would you like something to drink?” He stands up and walks across the room to his kitchen. I look over and see him grab a half-full bottle of red wine off the counter, then throw open a cabinet searching for glasses. I hear the glasses clink in his fingers as I examine the antique in my hands.

  “So, Jeff tells me you got fired and you’re a drunk,” he says, returning to me with the drinks. “Is that right?”

  He pours us both some wine as I stare at him blankly. He takes his violin from my hands and puts it next to him.

  “I’m waiting.”

  “I uh... I got fired. I’m not a drunk,” I say.

  “Good. Cheers then!” He hands me a glass.

  His line of questioning catches me off guard and I’m momentarily lost for words. “And, uh thanks for approaching my personal life so gingerly.”

  “That’s me, ginger,” he says, smiling. “Now drink up.” I take the glass in my hand and bring it to my lips, then look at him. I extend my arm and clink his glass.

  “Cheers.” I take a sip.

  “So, what are you gonna do about it?”

  Tony stands again and heads back to the kitchen, futzing with a cake box on his counter. The pink box is tied with white string and is stamped with a blue logo on the side. He takes a knife from his pocket and saws at the string.

  “Well, um, I’m fired. What do you mean, ‘What am I gonna do about it?’” I look over at him as the string breaks. The bakery box opens like a flower.

  “Zanter’s coffee cake is the best on the East Side. Just the right amount of frosting and never too sweet. I hate it when the frosting overpowers the cake. The cake is super moist, too. Just the right amount of nuts on top,” Tony says excitedly. He cuts a slice and puts it on a napkin, then walks over to me. He hands me a slice.

  “Wait. Is this vegan?” I ask.

  “It’s not vegan.” He pauses. “It’s good.”

  He frowns and takes the cake back from me. “I see. So, you’re one of those people.” He takes a bite from the corner and chews.

  “Mrs. Notrabi and the rest of them fired me.”

  “Did you have a union representative there?”

  “Well, no. I didn’t know I was entitled to one.”

  “Did you get a warning before you were terminated? A chance to address their concerns?”

  “No.”

  “That’s not the way it works, Li Hua. That sounds unusual.”

  “They weren’t friendly at all. Zheng really gave it to me and started talking about all of the things I’d done wrong. They really hate me.”

  “So? No one has a true friend in an orchestra.” Tony takes a sip of his wine and gnaws off another chunk of cake. “It seems like you may have some more options. Do you want your job back?” he says, mouth half-full.

  “I do, but Zheng and De La Gottari won’t have it.”

  “You didn’t have a union rep and you didn’t get a probationary period. It seems pretty cut and dry that they went
out of process. You should talk to them and see if you can get your case adjudicated.”

  “They hate me because I have, um...” I pause. “Problems.”

  “You can’t dwell on your problems,” Tony says. “We all have problems. Accept yourself for who you are. Time has a way of softening the past and putting things in a different light.”

  “I’ve heard a bit about your past. Your problems,” I say with a grin. “I got warned about you, I’ll have you know.”

  Tony laughs. “What’d you hear? That I’ve cheated on every woman I’ve ever been with? Or that I drink the tears of children?”

  I laugh, then take a sip of wine.

  “Look, Li Hua. You’re a young woman. Maybe you’ve got problems and maybe you don’t. Jeff says you’ve got talent but too much attitude. You had a great job. You may want to try and get it back. If you want it.”

  I take a look around the room and notice Tony’s stuff. I see music stands, sheet music, video cassettes, records, cables, cords, and other musical accessories. The detritus dots every space of Tony’s living room. I subconsciously roll my shoulders and shift in my chair.

  “What?” he says. “I can see the wheels turning in your head.”

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Bullshit, it’s nothing.”

  “It’s going to sound weird, but maybe I deserved it. Getting fired. Maybe I don’t deserve another shot. Shouldn’t I have to pay for what I did wrong? I’ve been a bad person.”

  “Like serve hard time for debauchery?”

  I laugh and start playing with my hair. I like that he calls me on what he sees.

  “No one’s bad, except murderers and rapists. If anything, you’re seriously fucked up.” He looks me over and pauses. “Welcome to the club.” Snarky and perceptive.

  We both laugh.

  “Look at me. You’ve heard the stories. I’ve had my indiscretions. A lot of them. I made some bad judgments. I cheated. I lied. No one’s lived a perfect life. But I learned a lot. Isn’t that what matters?”

  “I’m not sure I’ve learned. I keep repeating the same mistakes over and over.”

  “Talk to Notrabi. Maybe you can get your job back. At the very least, maybe they’ll put you on probation. No one’s life was ever ruined by a paycheck.”

  “It’ll never work. They hate me.”

  “You mean Zheng?”

  “Zheng for sure. And maybe De Le Gottari.”

  “Fuck ’em. So you won’t get invited to the go-go boy disco pool party or the summer fling. Go in and do your job. Play the hell out of the pieces. Then go home. You don’t have to love them. They don’t own you. Get yourself some rhino skin and get back out there. You think anyone wanted me to succeed when I was on top? No one did. When I won awards and accolades, my friends abandoned me. Everyone hated me. When I fell from grace, I got my friends back. The better you do, the more they hate you. Especially musicians.”

  “I still love what I do. I don’t like the politics, but the music speaks to me.”

  “Exactly.” He pauses and looks at my face carefully. I see his pupils dilate in the dim light of the living room and a small smile form on his lips. “God, you’re beautiful. You know that?” Maybe I like you, too.

  “You’re not adding me to your harem!” I say.

  “Who said you’d be a permanent member?”

  I laugh. I do like you.

  “Now let me see that cheap-ass violin,” I say, reaching for his Strad.

  “Easy there, Chief,” he says, picking it up and moving it out of my reach. He extends his arm, holding the violin away from my grasp. I lean closer to him and fumble, trying to reach it. Finally, he hands it over.

  I take the bow from the couch and play some scales. Tony stops me. He reaches over and puts his hands on mine. “Try it this way,” he says, putting his face close to mine. He moves the violin up and closer to my cheek, then reaches down and makes a few adjustments to my posture. He takes my waist in his hands and moves me a little to the left. His warm hands feel good.

  “Is this part of the lesson or are you groping me?” I ask.

  “I’m a professional, Li Hua. The lesson price always includes groping.” He smiles at me, then leans back and folds his arms across his chest. “Okay. Try it again.”

  I play the same scales and am amazed at how much easier it is.

  “There you go. See? Good, good,” he says.

  I play for a bit and try my hand at the opening of Meditation. I play a half-dozen bars, then play a wrong note. I bow the first string instead of the fourth.

  “Easy there, Captain. Let the music guide you. Listen to it. Only do something if you’re feeling it,” he says. Tony stabs out his cigarette and I catch his eyes lingering on my lips, tracing a line down to my cleavage and on to my legs. I start playing again.

  “Wait a second. Stop. Look here,” he says. He reaches over and puts his right palm on my chest. “Feel that?”

  “What? You groping me again?”

  “No. Your heart. Listen to your heart. It’s always right.” His hand feels good against me. Nice. His aftershave smells like musk. Not so nice.

  I play the opening again and try listening to my inner voice. I close my eyes for a moment and get lost in the music, the bow arching gracefully over the strings. “I think I got it, Tony.”

  “That’s not it, Li Hua. Please stop. You’re still stabbing the strings like a serial killer. Let the piece breathe more.”

  Tony comes closer and puts his face near mine. I notice his gray stubble and his hazel eyes. I have no rhyme or reason. I’m ready for whatever happens next. He looks at me warmly, our lips inches from each other. He whispers to me, “Repeat after me. I am Li Hua, your humble violinist and slave girl.”

  I laugh hysterically, then push him away. “You’re sick, you know that?”

  He laughs, then looks at his watch. “I’m afraid we have to stop. Cash or check, but leave the Strad.” He takes the violin from my hands, but he has me 100% convinced. I’m going to get my job back.

  But not tonight. Tonight I have plans. Tonight, I’m not going to go off the deep end. I’m not going to fall off the wagon. I’m going to plummet to earth.

  EQUILA BOY’S HANDS ARE ON MY ASS. AND THE THROBBING BASS IS SO LOUD, I CAN barely hear myself think. I throw my hands in the air as we gyrate our hips to the music. Spotlights and strobes pulse around us, painting us in hues of magenta and yellow. The music pumps from the club’s speakers and I can’t wipe the smile off my face. The melody’s my muse and her hold on me is hypnotic. In her hands, I’ve given every cell of my being. She owns me.

  Tequila Boy’s hands are roaming my body now and his touch is electric. Every time his skin touches mine, endorphins explode from my brain stem, flooding my body with pleasure. He pulls me closer and grips my hips as he grinds into me. When the chorus comes, we both shout the lyrics at the top of our lungs.

  He turns me around to face him, then leans closer and pulls on my hair to expose my neck. He buries his face in my neck and kisses me as we rotate our hips together in small circles. He slaps my ass as we grind and I can’t stop laughing. I wrap my arms around his neck and get lost in his liquid brown eyes. We make out a little more and I feel freer than I’ve ever felt. I’m gone. I love his muscles and how he dances. The way he handles my body. His beautiful brown skin is so taut and smooth. I think Tequila Boy is Mexican. Maybe he’s Puerto Rican or Indian or Black. Or Caucasian—with a really good tan. Whatever. If only I could remember his name.

  “Do you want some milk of amnesia?” he yells in my ear.

  “Propofol? No, no,” I say. Tequila is my drug tonight. But I’m definitely tempted. There’s no need for a needle in my arm and that much happiness. When milky poppy rushes into your vein, it can overwhelm. It’s a little too good. Milky poppy is like eating chocolate cake, while having sex with Hercules on a cloud, while listening to a chorus of angels sing. And that’s an understatement.

  I feel like someone pushed
me off a cliff. Instead of screaming as I fall, I give in to my sweet death. I turn my body toward the blue sky as I hurtle to earth, the deafening wind whistling past my ears. I don’t panic because I’m clear. I have music. I have drinks. I have nakedness. My bliss cup is full. The ground is rushing up to me, closer now. My desire is singular. Impact.

  “I’m going to fuck you so good,” Tequila Boy says in my ear.

  “I love you, too.” I double over laughing.

  “I hate condoms. Come to the bathroom with me. I want to give you something,” he says.

  “I’m not having sex with you!” I tell him, slurring my words.

  “You need another shot, baby,” he says, grinning. He spanks my ass, then guides me to the bar.

  He pins me to the bar, his face at my back, crotch in my ass. He grinds his pelvis into me as he orders, then lets his hands roam my body. The shots arrive and we clink glasses. I’ve lost count of the shots I’ve had. I down the liquid and then turn around to kiss him. He grinds into me and I can feel his hardness pressing against me.

  Someone is pulling my arm. “Sister!” Mingmei shouts, grabbing me. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine! Fine! You go have fun!” I tell her, moving my hips in sync to the music.

  “Li Hua, are you sure you’re okay?” she says. I note the concerned look on her face as a friend of Tequila Boy’s taps her on the shoulder. Mingmei turns around to talk to the new guy.

  “I’ve never been happier, baby gurrrrll,” I slur in her direction, as the two of them turn to walk away.

  “Cockblock disabled, bro!” the guy yells back to Tequila Boy, a little too loudly. The two men high five as the man walks away with Mingmei. I give Tequila Boy a disapproving arm slap.

  “I want you all to myself,” he says to me with a grin.

  We finish our shots and Tequila Boy takes me by the hand. He leads me to the men’s bathroom and we stand outside the door. I’m nervous and afraid, but I can’t stop myself. I’m on autopilot, my inhibitions on holiday. Tequila Boy looks around, then pokes his head inside the men’s room. He quickly pulls me inside and shoves me into a stall.