Forbidden Melody

by Magnolia Robbins

  “You were sulking the entire time,” Juliet noted, taking a step towards me. I got to my feet, reaching down to fetch my backpack. You can talk to me if you need to.

  “I wish you’d stop getting into my business,” I said, exasperated. Even though I was arguing with her, a small part of me was flattered she was worried. Wondered why she was.

  I care about you. Juliet signed. My breath got caught in my throat when she did. Those green eyes were locked onto mine, her face relaxed and calm. What did she mean by that? For a small moment, I thought to ask her, but I changed my mind at last minute.

  I need to go, I replied, my hands shaking as they moved. I remained locked on her for a long moment more before I turned away and scurried out the door, hardly able to breathe.

  9

  Juliet

  Pierre Boulez’ Structures I & II

  Perdido by Duke Ellington

  WHAT THE HELL HAD I been thinking?

  Emma darted out of the classroom, looking startled by my words. I didn’t blame her. They’d shocked me too. I stayed at the desk for a few minutes, fumbling through the notes on my desk. Eventually I got to my feet. Maybe I could catch Emma before she met with Lydia. Explain the words that had made the air between us so awkward. If I could figure out what I wanted to say in my defense.

  At the other end of the building, the alcove led out to the Bito building that held the practice rooms. I wandered inside, adjusting the strap of my satchel on my shoulder. A frantic mess of piano keys filled the hallway as I walked. The melody seemed painful and angry and violent all at once. Chaos. I didn’t need to see to know it was Emma’s hands on the keyboard. Just the subtle inflections in the notes gave it away. She played at the end of the hall; the door propped open. As I drew into the doorframe, Emma sat buried into the piano, turned from me.

  Shamefully, I was breaking a coveted rule. Watching another practice without their consent. What made it worse, was that I had no idea the emotions she felt towards me at the moment. I’d scared her off without having the chance to find out. My curiosity got the best of me and I found my body unmoving. The piece Emma played was something I’d never heard before. It wasn’t a classical piece. It sounded almost contemporary. Experimental. Much of it made little sense, and it had no real structure to it. Everything about it was complicated but even still, Emma played it like it was nothing.

  I wondered what she was thinking while she played. The song was such a mess of emotions. Unreadable, like she had been in class earlier. The fact she wouldn’t talk about what had been going on bothered me more than it should have. I almost found myself stepping into the room after her, but instead I stood captivated, Emma disappearing into the music.

  Before I knew it, I was interrupted by a loud clearing of a throat beside me. When I turned, Lydia Beckham was staring up at me with her curious blue eyes. “Professor Hamilton. I thought it was discouraged to watch others while they’re practicing.” The way she said it was almost smart in a way. As if she was testing me. I repressed a scowl.

  “I was just leaving,” I replied. Just as I began to turn away, I noticed that the piano had stopped. From inside the practice room, Emma was staring me down. A lump formed in my throat. My body froze in place. When I was able to catch my breath, I turned, heading back down the hall without another word. As I neared the door, I heard Lydia and Emma’s soft laughter fill the space and it sent an uncomfortable emotion through me. My ribs squeezed into my chest, my stomach tugging. My breath rolled through my clenched teeth. The entire walk to the outskirts of campus was spent stewing over Lydia Beckham. Unkind thoughts I shouldn’t have been having. Angry thoughts that should have been the last thing on my mind.

  As I rounded the far end of campus, onto my street, my phone vibrated in my pocket. I fished for it for a moment and saw Miranda’s name stretched across the screen. When I pulled it to my ear, I couldn’t help but smile. “You’re not rehearsing,” I noted, heading up the sidewalk towards the condo building.

  “Unlike you, I have a life outside my music,” Miranda said, in a playful way.

  “Music is my life,” I argued, shoving into the door and onto the stairwell.

  “I would have never imagined,” Miranda was smiling on the other end. “How are things? How was lessons with Emma?”

  My voice caught in my throat. I wasn’t sure how to answer that question. There was no Earthly way I would admit to Miranda the strange feelings I’d been having towards Emma Harvey. No way would I start rumors. “Fairly well,” I admitted, which was the truth. I didn’t elaborate further, and Miranda shifted subjects.

  Once I’d hung up from my phone call, I stretched across the plush leather couch in my living room. It was rarely used, mostly for decoration, though I’d had a total of four or five visitors in the seven years I’d lived here. I had forgotten how comfortable it was. I found myself in my normal corner of the room, where my music stand and chair sat tucked away. I pulled the Vuillaume from its case, looking it over.

  Before I’d even begun to tune, I ran a polishing cloth underneath the neck and strings, removing the fine trail of rosin that had been left from earlier. My fingers tugged at the bridge of the instrument. Where more casual musicians would have spent only a minute or two if any adjusting such trivial things, I found even the smallest changes influenced the entire instrument.

  In the evenings, I’d use a small upright Steinway to tune. After years and years of playing, I could do it without any aid but my need for precision kept me from trying. The entire night was ahead of me, so I took my time. Fussing over every string until it was as close to perfect as I was able to muster.

  Often, I had an idea of what I wanted to practice. I should have been preparing for the fall concert series. The weekends were the only time I was able to make it to New York, and even though I knew I’d perform well, the lack of face time with my New York Philharmonic colleagues made me anxious.

  I practiced over the collection of pieces for the orchestra shows for a few hours. Many we had played dozens of times before, most of which I wasn’t interested in, but I hadn’t argued. One year I’d gotten into a rather heated debate with the director and had almost found myself without a job. Since then, I’d been careful to hold my tongue. Instead, I tried to enjoy playing them. Most were challenging enough though it felt as if nothing was that challenging anymore. I’d played the pieces over so many times during the years I could perform them without thinking.

  It was after ten when I fetched a bite to eat and a glass of water. The muscles in my arms, legs and hands were shaky from the time I’d spent standing with the violin. While I had the stamina to play for long lengths, I wasn’t as energetic as I’d been years prior, so I noticed the fatigue quicker. It never stopped me from practicing, even for long stretches of time. But I had found over the years that stretching helped.

  As I wandered back into the living room, a folded piece of paper fell from the pocket of my cardigan. I leaned down to pluck it from the floor. It was Emma’s assignment she’d left on my desk the previous day. The bright-red D glared back at me. My eyes scanned over the flurry of notes that stretched over the page and a half of work. It was a mess. I should have failed her, just to teach her a lesson.

  Once I’d settled back into my chair in the corner, I pressed out the pages onto the stand in front of me. When it was sitting upright well enough, I studied over the notes. It was as if the melody was playing in my mind. Quick and energetic and fiery, just like Emma Harvey herself. After I’d read over it a few times, I leaned back, pulling the Vuillaume to my shoulder and steadying the bow across the strings, already coated with a hint of rosin.

  It was cacophonous etude of measures crammed with a flurry of notes that hardly made sense. While I thought I’d struggle to play it, the song came naturally. It was far more emotive than it appeared on paper. Loud to soft. Quick to slow. Then back again. By the time I’d finished playing the sixteen measures she’d written, I’d already begun playing it over again. Ex
perimenting with changing the tempo. Crescendo and decrescendo. Forte and mezzo piano. Legato and staccato.

  An hour had passed, and I played with harmonizing with the melody, adding a few flourishes of my own. When I realized it was close to midnight, I laughed at myself. Somehow, I managed to put the instrument away for the evening and find my bed. The room spun above me as I stared at the ceiling for a long while, contemplating my absurd behavior. Finding myself questioning if I should change Emma’s grade after all.

  THERE WAS ONLY ONE reason Andrew Baker and I were ever seen out in public together without the company of our usual gathering of friends. It always involved The Red Door, a premiere jazz club of the area. The venue hosted a slew of fantastic musicians from all over New York and the surrounding states. I’d never been disappointed by the music or the food. Andrew and I didn’t care much for the food, however, much more interested in the dancing. The Red Door was made for dancing.

  The club was housed in a large historic building right outside Annandale-on-Hudson. Made of brick, it had been well maintained over the years. A large neon sign out front sported the name. The establishment, which was as old as the Irish pub that Timothy adored so much, was well-kept and had a classic and rustic air to it. The open rafters and large ceilings allowed the sound to carry throughout. It wasn’t as acoustically friendly as some other performance venues I’d been to, I enjoyed it regardless.

  Andrew and I sat at a small table on the far end of the restaurant side of the club, a flickering candle between us. Neither of us had touched our menus. We’d been here enough times to know what we wanted. Instead, we admired the ambiance and made small talk with one another. I was closer to Timothy, Miranda and Emerson, but Andrew had always been pleasant. Just a bit on the shy side. And we bonded over our tastes in music.

  After the two of us had placed our orders, we grew lost in a conversation about work. Andrew was talking about some of his students. I’d been paying attention until the moment my eyes wandered to the front door, and she walked inside.

  Emma was with a group of friends. Classmates, from the conservatory. Most of whom were in my composition class that semester. Wrapped around her arm was the cheeky brunette Lydia, who seemed to follow her everywhere. I would have been more annoyed with the sight of them together if I hadn’t been so distracted by Emma herself. She’d dressed casual tonight, in a fitted sweater that accentuated her small curves and the length of her arms. Her blonde hair was in its usual crazed state down the length of her back.

  “Juliet, did you hear me?” Andrew drew my attention back to our table. I nodded, unsure of what he’d been saying. Before I could respond, I heard a sweet airy voice call out my name.

  When I turned towards her, there was a hint of a curious smile on her lips. She was standing in rather close proximity, the rest of her group having moved down a few tables. “It’s nice to see you aren’t the recluse everyone says you are.”

  Ah, if she had been any other student, I would have taken more offense to that comment. Somehow I managed to brush it aside, pulling my scotch glass from the table and nodding at her. Ensuring my face was towards her before I spoke. “Occasionally,” I admitted, taking a sip of my drink. “Have a good evening, Ms. Harvey.”

  “You too, Professor Hamilton,” Emma replied, offering a small wave before she turned away from me. I watched until she sat down with her friends, sitting on the far end of the table, her body turned so she was facing out towards me. Those eyes able to linger whenever she wished. As soon as I saw her turn towards my direction, I focused on Andrew.

  “Was that Emma Harvey?” Andrew inquired. I nodded, swallowing the remainder of the scotch that was in my glass. Something told me that would not be my last drink for the evening. He looked as though he was about to ask another question, but he hesitated. “How are lessons going? I hear she’s been keeping you on your toes.” I wasn’t sure what he’d meant by it, so I hesitated to reply. Andrew continued, “She is quite an exceptional piano player.”

  Exceptional was hardly the word to describe her. I nodded, clearing my throat and turning my full attention back towards him. I changed the subject to the Philharmonic.

  As we were finishing up our meal, the band for the evening began to play. The song that reverberated through the room perked me up. It was a familiar tune. Perdido, a song that had been recorded by Duke Ellington. When I heard it, my eyes drifted towards the dance floor and the stage behind it. Andrew noticed my interest.

  “Ready to dance?” He smiled at me and got to his feet. For the first time in all my years of coming with Andrew, I hesitated. My eyes drifted over to Emma’s table. She was still wrapped up in Lydia, her head now leaning on her shoulder, giggling. A sharp feeling hit me and I turned my attention back to Andrew. I was three drinks in at that point, my inhibitions much lower than I was used to. When I smiled at him, he offered me his arm.

  Perdido was a classic swing song, made for the winds and piano. A song I’d danced to on many occasions. My favorite part was the long solo by the saxophone towards the middle of the song. It offered a perfect place to improvise across the floor. I was pleased they were playing it. It had been a while since I’d heard the piece.

  When we reached the floor, we settled amongst a small crowd of people that had already gathered. Andrew intertwined our fingers with one hand, clasping them together. His other hand wrapped onto my waist while my own found his shoulder. Andrew was a fantastic dancer. We dashed along the floor, lost in the music and the movements. I’d forgotten where I was for those few minutes.

  A slower song played after Perdido faded. I leaned into Andrew, following his lead as my eyes drifted out into the room. I saw Emma in my peripheral. Her attention was completely focused on me. I hated myself in that moment for wishing I was dancing with her. My mind wandered, wondering when the last time Emma had danced. If she’d only ever had at the wedding she attended years ago. I longed to teach her. Before I had long to ponder over it, that obnoxious friend of hers pulled her attention back towards their table.

  Andrew and I danced for over an hour. Every once in a while, when my attention would wander, my eyes would find Emma’s. It was hard to read the expression on her face, my own emotions too clouded to understand it. The way her eyes followed Andrew and me as we trailed across the dance floor had me wishing I had the courage to cast all of my insecurities aside and approach her. Each time, I convinced myself otherwise. I couldn’t.

  When the band paused for an intermission, I rushed to the restroom, unable to catch my breath. I locked the door of the stall, leaning against the wall. A few moments later, I heard the door creak open again, and another woman entered the room. She moved to the other stall, locking it behind her. I noticed that there was no noise coming from the wall that divided us. The thought crossed my mind that perhaps it was Emma standing beside me, but I was too unsure to call to her. Instead, I collected myself and wandered out. After I rinsed my hands in the sink, I returned to Andrew who was waiting for me right outside.

  “Let’s get out of here,” Andrew said, offering me his arm. I looped my hand around it and we trailed through the building. As we passed Emma’s table, she was still wrapped up in conversation with Lydia. Her attention had turned on me the moment she’d seen me again and it didn’t waiver until I’d gotten out of eyesight from her.

  The wind outside was chilly for the time of year. We stood at the edge of the curb together, waiting for the valet. Andrew made nervous small-talk, and I did my best to focus. My mind was still too wrapped up in Emma. It must have been apparent I was distracted because Andrew tugged at my arm, his face having grown serious.

  “She seems quite smitten with you,” he noted. I wasn’t sure what he had been referring to, I had a good guess. I struggled to maintain a stoic facial expression. “I saw the way you were looking at her.” Before I was able to help it, my shoulders dropped. Andrew picked up on it almost instantly. “That can’t happen, Juliet. You know the school policy.”

&
nbsp; “Nothing is happening,” I argued, surprised he’d even fathomed that Emma might have been interested in me. It was doubtful she’d be as careless as I had been since I’d met her, with all of my irrational emotions.

  “You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her,” Andrew argued. Before I had a chance to reply, his silver Porsche skirted around the corner. Once the valet got out, I moved into the passenger seat, wanting to avoid any further conversation about Emma Harvey.

  When Andrew joined me, it seemed as if I would get my wish. As a familiar concerto filled the car, we pulled out onto the street. It distracted me, briefly. In the side mirror, I saw a flash of purple. My attention turned long enough to catch a small glimpse of Emma, standing on the sidewalk. She was watching the car pull away, an unreadable expression on her face. I wrapped my arms around my body, my stomach sinking downward. I closed my eyes until we turned the corner and drew myself into the melody on the radio. Drowning my untamable desires in the sweet caress of the strings as their song filled the surrounding space. Reminding myself that, even in my moments of weakness, music was the thing that kept me stable.

  The only problem was, Emma herself was music. A beautiful nocturne, calling out in the night. Begging to be heard. And she was overwhelming everything around me.

  10

  Emma

  Perdido by Duke Ellington

  THE RED DOOR WAS THE premiere jazz club in the area. My father and his band had played there so many times I’d lost count. It was a cozy place. A good place to relax after a long week at school. At least I’d assumed it would be. Until I saw Juliet Hamilton. On a date. With a man.

  “Oh God, she’s here,” Lydia rolled her eyes when she saw where I was looking. We were turned for a moment towards each other. “Isn’t that one of the employees at the Bard?”