Forbidden Melody

by Magnolia Robbins

  “I was thinking about it,” Lydia replied, running her hands through her hair and stretching her back. When she’d finished, her face grew more serious. “What are you going to perform?”

  There were still so many pieces I wanted to play, it was hard to choose. I still had a little time, but performances were rapidly approaching. “I’m not sure. I have some of them figured out, but not all of them yet.”

  “Are you doing any duets?” Lydia asked me. It was a question I wish she hadn’t asked, for the simple reason I didn’t want to admit it. I’d asked Juliet ages ago if she’d play a piece or two with me and she hadn’t hesitated. It wasn’t unusual for professors to play with students from time to time. There had been no harm in it, but my reasons had been selfish. There was no one I would have rather played with.

  I managed to nod. I knew Lydia could tell by my hesitation what that meant. “With Professor Hamilton?” I paused again. There was no need to answer. Lydia knew. Her face twitched before she drew in a breath and continued her thought. “What are you playing?”

  It hadn’t been what I expected. I stood surprised for a second, trying to catch up with my thoughts. “We haven’t decided yet. There are a couple of things we’ve been working on.”

  Lydia nodded, leaning against the piano. “Well, if the two of you are anything like the freshman class say you are, you’re going to steal the show.”

  “STRAIGHTEN YOUR BACK,” Juliet said, staring at me. I watched as she moved around behind me, her hands resting on my shoulders, pulling them backwards ever so slightly. I stretched upward, feeling the slight brush of her fingertips against the exposed skin around my neck. Her hands lingered, and as they did, a long shiver trickled down my spine.

  Once she resumed her position at the opposite side of the piano, she nodded for me to continue. Tonight, the third movement of Philip Glass’ Metamorphosis was my choice of song. As soon as I’d started to play, I could tell by the expression on Juliet’s face she’d known it had been something that Miranda had taught me. She’d been a fan of Philip Glass for years. The haunting, drumming melody pulsed through me. When I wasn’t looking at the music, or at my fingers as they danced across the keys, my eyes were on Juliet. The emerald-green sparkling with how she looked at me with so much adoration. This was the only time they did. Every class we’d had together, every spare moment alone, she’d brushed me off. There was no mention of our secret outing with Kira. It was as if I’d become just another annoying graduate student.

  That was until I played the piano. Only then would she come alive for me again, and I knew whatever it was between us hadn’t gone away.

  Once I’d finished the short movement, my fingers trailed along the keys. Juliet was looking rather pleased with me. “I hope you’ll consider performing that.” I watched her form the words on her lips and smile. “Don’t tell Miranda, but you play it far better than she does.”

  It was a compliment if there ever was one. Miranda was the best pianist I knew. I couldn’t help but return the smile when she said it. I was thinking about it, I signed.

  Juliet looked up at the clock and I wished she hadn’t. There were only a few more minutes until lessons were over for the evening. As usual, I hadn’t wanted it to end. When she started to walk to fetch her things, I called out to her.

  “Can we play one more song?” The way I said it almost came out pleadingly. “Please?” It was the secret weapon I knew I had against her. The word worked like no other. When I uttered it, I could tell by the subtle change in her facial expression that she’d conceded.

  I watched as she made her way to the Steinway I sat in front of. She slid on the bench beside me. I could feel her slow warm breaths beating against my face. Once my attention was on her, she spoke. “What would you like to play?” She was going to play piano with me? Outside of Hanon exercises, we’d never played piano together. I could barely breathe.

  Before I answered her, I leaned over the bench for my bag. I shuffled through it, searching for nothing in particular. Anything would do. The first thing I found was the songbook for Phantom of the Opera, the pages marked for Lydia. Once I’d pulled it out, I sat it against the stand, bending it backwards to a song that came to mind.

  Even without looking, I could tell Juliet was smirking in the judgy kind of way she always did when she didn’t fully approve of something. “What?” I asked.

  “I wouldn’t have picked you for liking something like this,” Juliet admitted.

  “Well there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me,” I retorted.

  “A lot of things I’d like to learn,” Juliet replied almost immediately. She froze, our eyes locked together. Then her attention shifted to the keys, drumming out a few notes. I watched her clear her throat and then turned back. “It’s a good song to practice your glissandos and octave jumps.” I nodded in response, a small smile gracing my lips. Juliet took the higher register while I situated myself at the lower end.

  It always surprised me how gentle and patient Juliet became when she was playing with me. I wondered sometimes if she behaved that way with other students, but something told me it was reserved especially for me. She let me begin the song, setting the backdrop before she came in with the melody. In my mind, I found the lyrics, remembering when I’d heard it on stage with Lydia a few years back.

  Juliet and I had played songs with lyrics before in practice. They were often forgotten about, the melody too consuming. Tonight however, I found myself more focused remembering the young woman and man who had sang the song at the show, and how passionately they’d serenaded one another. “All I Ask of You” was such a simple song in premise. Two lovers, asking to share a lifetime together, full of warmth, safety, freedom, and truth. Asking one another to step out of the darkness and admit their feelings, to shed their fears of sharing their love and commitment to one another. I wondered as we played, if Juliet knew the lyrics. If she was thinking about them the way I was.

  As we drifted into the last portion of the song, my attention turned to Juliet. By the expression on her face I could tell that she knew it. That it had been affecting her as profoundly as it had me. Our hands passed over one another’s in a small shift of notes, then again a few moments later. When they did, she turned to look back at me. Before we even finished the song, both of us had trailed off, our hands pausing. Juliet had left hers resting over top of mine.

  The world stood still. I’d lost my breath looking at her, so relaxed and peaceful. There was just a hint of a smile on her face. She didn’t look away from me, not even for a second. I felt the pull of her throughout my entire body. We drew together in a slow, elegant way. Before I could act, doing something we would both likely regret, I watched her turn away from me, sliding off the bench. Her hand braced along the edge of the piano and she hunched over.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, concerned. Juliet turned back around to face me, looking as if she was trying too hard to look composed and undistracted.

  “You never told me your father was Redford Harvey.” It came from nowhere. The last thing I was expecting her to say. It caught me so off guard that all I could do was sit with my mouth hanging open, unable to fathom words. “Miranda told me the other day. Slip of the tongue.”

  “I didn’t think it was relevant,” I admitted. It was a half-truth. My mind was still elsewhere, wondering what she had just been about to do only moments earlier.

  “But you didn’t say anything at your audition,” Juliet looked surprised.

  “Like I said before, I wanted to get in on my ability, not my connections or disability or anything else. I wanted to get in because I earned it.” I felt myself getting annoyed, shifting on the seat.

  “No one is questioning your ability, Emma.” Juliet said calmly. The world paused again. It was the first time I’d heard her call me by my first name. The movement of her lips when she’d said it burned a hole in my mind. Juliet must not have realized because she continued on. “I’m just surprised you wouldn’t have
mentioned you’re the daughter of a musical genius.”

  A musician like Juliet Hamilton hailing my father was high praise for certain. If my father had been coherent enough to know who she was, he would have been tickled. Instead, I had to enjoy the sentiment myself. “He’s retired now. I like to respect his privacy.”

  It must have been apparent that there was something off when I’d said it. That I’d been hiding a piece of the truth. Juliet didn’t like not knowing things. It was a fact I’d learned quickly about her. She was nosy, almost annoyingly so. I watched her fight to not question me further about it.

  “I’d love to meet him sometime,” she said. It was funny to see the somewhat enthusiastic expression she was trying to fight off on her face. As if she was embarrassed of herself to be so captivated by another musician.

  I didn’t argue with her about it. Instead, I tried to change the subject. “I should have known you were a jazz fan after seeing you at the Red Door.”

  “I’d seen your father play there on more than one occasion,” Juliet admitted. I wondered if we’d been there at the same time. In the same place, without knowing who each other were.

  “He would have been flattered to know that,” I replied without thinking. Again, I watched Juliet’s brain reeling from my response. Trying to figure out what I had meant. Before I gave her a significant amount of time to ponder about it, I got to my feet, sweeping my bag off the floor and stuffing the Phantom of the Opera songbook inside.

  I better go to the library, I signed. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on hers when she was staring at me the way she was. Juliet got to her feet and went to gather her things. When she met me in the aisle, we stood there a moment together.

  “Are you going to the mixer the department is throwing on Friday?” I don’t know why I asked her. It was the most random question, but I needed to change the subject quickly. I hadn’t wanted to go, but it would be worth it for the opportunity to see her dance again.

  “I don’t normally attend social events,” Juliet admitted, walking with me as we headed towards the door. I watched her lips as she spoke. “The fall shows are coming up for the Philharmonic, so I’ll be spending Friday practicing for rehearsals on Saturday.”

  I nodded, turning to face her once we’d made it out of the doorway. “Well, I hope you’ll change your mind.” My face broke into a soft smile before I turned and walked down the hallway without another word.

  13

  Juliet

  Dream a Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald

  A HORRENDOUS POP SONG blared from the speakers above me. Timothy was saying something to the group, but I could barely make it out over top of the young shrieking voice singing. If I had been tall enough, I would have reached up and ripped the thing right out of the wall. Instead, I wandered to the other side of the bar. I leaned back into the seat next to Charlotte, and she raised a curious brow, as I finished my first glass of scotch, and asked for a refill.

  “What?” My face was likely twisted into a scowl, feeling very uncomfortable and agitated. I would have given anything to be elsewhere tonight, but since Miranda had come back in town to visit Timothy, I’d decided to venture out. The annual Bard Conservatory fall mixer was meant more for the students to mingle with one another. Even still, every year I somehow found myself attending, brought along by Miranda or Timothy.

  “You’re already miserable and we’ve been here ten minutes.” Charlotte grinned and took a sip of her drink, her Southern accent becoming more prominent with every taste. “You need to relax a bit.”

  “I have rehearsals in New York in the morning,” I argued, feeling annoyed. Truthfully, I didn’t need to practice. I knew the material backwards and forwards, much of it we’d played in various years since I’d been a part of the orchestra. It was just an excuse to get out of outings, like this one. “I should be practicing. Not at this terrible excuse of a social event.”

  Emerson leaned in on my opposite side, nudging me with a smile. I fidgeted, grabbing my scotch as soon as it was back. Once I’d taken a large swallow, I looked towards the group, wrapped up in conversation. I tried my best to focus, having trouble with the terrible music filling my ears. If they would have at least played something tolerable, maybe it would have made this whole ordeal more appealing. Probably not, but perhaps.

  I wasn’t caught up in the conversation long, but even over the music, I heard the laughter. It was so distinct, it was hard to mistake. When I looked down the bar a short way, Miranda was talking with Emma. The moment my eyes landed on her, I couldn’t look away.

  The only other time I’d seen her in a dress was at her audition in the spring. Emma wore dresses well. Especially the dress she’d picked for this evening. A dark shade of green that shimmered in the light. The small flowy sleeves exposed her delicate, long, pale arms and the way it cut off mid-thigh showed off a significant portion of her long, slender legs. There hadn’t been a time in my entire life I’d looked at a woman so long, admiring her physical state. I would have stared a great deal longer if she hadn’t looked in my direction. As soon as she did, I turned my attention back to the bar and my drink.

  Emerson and Timothy had pulled me back into the conversation. I focused on them for all of a minute before I felt a soft tap on my shoulder.

  Professor Hamilton, Emma signed, smirking at me. Out and about again.

  I stared at her for a long moment, wondering what to say in response. My body leaned backwards against the bar, trying to create a small buffer of space between us. It didn’t work well, but it was something. Miranda asked me to come, I replied, moving my hands. Just as I was about to add about how I’d much rather be at home practicing, I realized I didn’t feel that way. Not after I’d seen her.

  It wasn’t me then? Emma raised a brow, and I couldn’t help but smile. My eyes darted down the bar, looking at my colleagues, none of whom were paying attention.

  Perhaps a little, I replied. Emma looked pleased. She moved around me to lean against the bar. Her eyes hadn’t left me since we first spoke.

  What are you drinking?

  My hand wrapped around my scotch glass, pulling it up off the counter. “Speyside single malt,” I explained. Emma still looked confused. I handed it to her. “Try it.”

  Emma hesitated for a moment before she wrapped her hands around the glass. Our hands touched briefly. I ignored it the best I could, watching as her small pink lips wrapped around its edge. There hadn’t been a time in my life I’d watched someone drink. At least not the way I watched Emma when she’d tasted the scotch. I half expected her to cough at the taste or look appalled, but she surprised me. She closed her eyes, letting the liquid come just up to her mouth so she could smell it. Her nostrils flared just the slightest bit. Once she’d taken a small sip, she tasted it for a moment before swallowing.

  When she handed it back, she was smiling. “It’s good,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Again, she was staring at me so deeply it had been difficult to focus. My lips fell onto the glass again, taking another swallow. As I sipped, my mind wandered to dangerous places, imagining the idea of Emma’s soft lips around the glass and what they must have felt like. The thought caused me to shiver after I’d returned the drink to the counter.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m glad you liked it.” Emma had drawn in, her arm resting along the bar. She turned to grab her own drink. It was something fruity and mixed. After she’d taken a sip and looked at me, I could smell a hint of some berry flavor on her breath. The fact I could smell her breath should have given me every indication to move away from her, but I didn’t.

  “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” Miranda said, interrupting our awkward silence. Emma was looking at her as she approached. As soon as she did, I scooted down the bar a good foot, breaking the proximity between my student and me. Miranda stood between us. “I’m hoping Juliet hasn’t been too full of complaints.”

  “She was as charming as ever,” Emma replied, with
out missing a beat, her lips twisted in a playful smirk. Miranda seemed to think she was joking and laughed. I, however, had a rather uncomfortable churning in my stomach from the way she was looking at me.

  “She’s charming alright,” Miranda replied, still smiling. I rolled my eyes, reaching for my scotch glass again. Before Miranda could speak further, Timothy had wrapped his hand around her arm and asked her to dance. The idea that anyone would dance to such atrocious music was beyond me.

  After they disappeared, Emma resumed her position alongside me. I backed away from her again just the slightest bit, but she trailed right behind me. Before I knew it, there was hot air against the side of my face. “Professor Hamilton,” Emma’s voice came out in a soft purr. Another shiver ripped down my spine.

  “Hm?” I replied as I turned to look at her. If she’d gotten any closer, I might have lost all control of myself. My hand gripped along the edge of the counter trying to keep steady.

  “You should dance with me.” Emma hadn’t phrased it as a question, but rather a statement. As usual, she was bold and outright with me. Likely, the alcohol was helping.

  “That would be highly inappropriate,” I replied, throwing back the remainder of my drink. Emma didn’t seem to pay me any mind, leaning into me even farther. Every fiber of me begged for her to stop where she was, lingering in dangerously close proximity.

  “No one will care,” Emma argued. “No one is even paying attention.”

  “Ms. Harvey, you are my student,” I noted, unable to tolerate her taunting. I jerked backwards, setting my glass on the bar and waving down the bartender for another. At this rate, Charlotte would be taking me home.

  “I think you want to dance with me,” Emma said when I was looking at her again. She wasn’t inaccurate in her assumption, but there was no way I would. No way would I be seen with my arms wrapped around a student.