Forbidden Melody

by Magnolia Robbins

  Those eyes disappeared from sight, and in moments, she was sleeping again. My thumb stroked against the skin of her hand, still watching her. Finally, in an effort not to disturb her, I pulled from the bed. I found my robe on a hook in the bathroom and wrapped it around me. After, I slipped from the bedroom and down the hall.

  It was quiet in the house and there was just enough light from the windows to light my way. At the very end of the hall was my rarely-used office, an oak desk stretched across one side of the wall. I thumbed through a stack of assignments from the undergraduate class. Assignments I’d planned on asking Emma to grade.

  I was wide awake, and it was doubtful I’d sleep any time soon. After I shut the door behind me, I made my way to the desk. As I settled in the chair, I opened my laptop, fishing for something to listen to while I worked. Arabesque by Claude Debussy sat at the top of the list. I hadn’t listened to it in years. When the soft piano music filled the quietness of the room, I closed my eyes.

  The light upper register trickled in a sweet call to the darkness around me. This song was known for its gentle rolling chords that moved up and down the length of the piano. As I listened, I imagined the keys beneath my fingers. The feel of each note as I played. It was never something I thought about really— the feeling of the vibrations of the piano. How each key would feel slightly different as they were played. How could I notice such simple things, yet somehow, take them for granted so easily?

  Arabesque took its quick shift into a more up-tempo portion, and my attention turned back towards the room again and to the assignments in front of me. I lost myself in grading for so long that by the time I’d looked at the clock, it was just after five in the morning. I’d managed to stay up nearly the entire night.

  There was a click of the door. My attention remained on the papers in front of me, despite knowing Emma was behind me. Her arms wrapped around my neck, leaning her face against mine. We remained like that for a while. When she broke from me, I turned to look up at her.

  How long have you been up? I could make out her signing in the dim light of the room.

  A while, I admitted. Emma looked briefly past me at my computer. She must have noticed the music player and the song playing. A smile tugged at her lips.

  Debussy? Emma asked, and I nodded. Do you know Rêverie?

  I couldn’t help but return the smile, getting to my feet. Once I had, I wrapped my hand into hers and led her down the hallway. We walked quietly to the living room, to my favorite corner in the entire house. I pulled the old, black, cushioned bench out from underneath the Steinway. As soon as I sat, Emma joined me on the left, towards the lower register.

  Before I played, I looked to her. What is it like? When you play?

  What do you mean? Emma signed in reply, raising a brow.

  When you feel the music. I felt silly asking. To her it must have been innate at this point. To me, it felt like the strangest thing in the world.

  “You know when you tell me to accentuate the notes?” Emma asked, filling the room with the sweet timbre of her voice. When I nodded, she smiled. “It changes the melody. You have to think of it like that. The melody will be different. You’re focused on the feeling, not the sound.”

  The idea sounded funny the way she said it. Like she was arguing with me about the emotional connection with the song verses technicalities. I wondered when she said it, if that was why she was often so unusual about her interpretations of the songs. If it had to do with how she ‘felt’ the songs.

  “Close your eyes,” Emma said, once I’d readied my fingers at the keys. As soon as I had, I took a long deep breath in. I played a few notes, testing where I was on the piano. Once I’d felt confident, the first few notes of the song drew out across the keys.

  I had never paid attention to it before until now. I felt it. Every tremble of note that vibrated against the tips of my fingers. The way the notes caressed the bottom of my feet as they shook through the floor. The realization changed the soft song completely. I felt it rolling through me. It enlightened my senses. Every connection I thought I had to the song before changed in the span of a few measures.

  Emma joined in with me shortly after I’d started playing, adding in the harmony with the lower register. It felt natural and perfect exactly the way it was, and I could feel her too, with all her intricate flourishes and tiny details I overlooked. Those pulses of the keys blended with mine. It made sense. The music had turned into something that was more than just hearing it. Every part of it had become wrapped around us, enveloping us.

  When the song drew to a close, I turned my attention towards Emma. I didn’t have to speak. She would know just by the look on my face how that simple moment had changed me. Where I had thought there was nothing that would challenge me any longer, believing I’d reached my prime and music, its pinnacle, this moment proved otherwise. It proved I really hadn’t understood it at all. That a young woman, who had barely scratched the surface of her career, knew it far better than I likely ever would.

  “Will you play for me?” Emma asked me, her eyes drifting for a moment towards my Vuillaume case in the corner. I smiled, leaving her on the bench to retrieve it. She watched me the entire time. Played notes for me to tune. Admired the way I took such careful care of every detail before I began. As soon as I began Corelli’s Concerto Grosso, my eyes closed and the song became something it never had been. It had been changed forever by a woman who was teaching me more than I could ever possibly teach her.

  THE IDEA OF OUR HIDDEN romance had been daunting at first, but it surprisingly hadn’t been as difficult as either of us had imagined. Instead, we spent far more time apart than we did together. Emma had a month left of her classes at the Bard for the semester, and I was becoming more preoccupied with the Philharmonic. Emerson had taken over most of my classes during the week and lessons with Emma, and instead of coming to Annandale-on-Hudson, Emma would travel the two hours to New York to visit me on the weekends.

  Those few days I still taught classes at the Bard were every bit as difficult as I imagined them being. How I had fathomed going another month without her had been beyond me. It was all I could do to keep my thoughts away from her as I lectured. During Harmony and Counterpoint, we’d spend the lessons as far apart as we could manage. Whatever words we did speak to one another were cryptic and brief. I’d dismissed Jenny entirely. I feared anything said to Emma, Jenny would understand, and only add another nail into our dangerous coffin we were burying ourselves in.

  With two weeks left before the semester drew to a close, Emma and I found ourselves locked away at my apartment in New York. When I hadn’t been performing, we’d spent our time out in the city, enjoying places where we’d be far less likely to be caught. Both of us relieved to be able to share moments that weren’t just in secrecy.

  One of my favorite places to eat was a steakhouse in a high-rise in Brooklyn looking out towards the Lower Bay. The last time I’d eaten there in person, without ordering takeout, had been with Miranda and Timothy, years ago. It was after the Saturday night show, late into the evening.

  As soon as we were alone in the confines of the elevator, Emma drew into me, wrapping her arms around my neck. The intoxicating smell of lilies filled my nostrils as she pulled our lips together. When she did, my hands fell at her waist, pulling her tightly against me. I felt her exquisite fingers wrap into my hair. Tonight it laid in a fashionable bun on top of my head.

  “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night,” Emma whispered when our mouths broke. She pulled away just enough so she could see my mouth.

  “We have a minute,” I replied, looking up at the top of the elevator where the floors were being counted. Fifty floors more at least. Emma sighed softly, drawing into me again. Her nostrils flared and air breathed against the skin above my upper lip as she dragged her mouth against my own. They were soft, simple kisses. Over and over. Finally, I couldn’t take the torture, twisting her around until her back was against the wall of the elevator.
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  My mouth fell against her neck. I kissed her down the length of it. Once. Twice. Three times. Then I pulled away so she could watch me sign to her. Patience, Ms. Harvey.

  It was never my strong suit. Emma smirked at me, but didn’t continue her advances. I wrapped my hand in her own, just as we neared the top of the building. As I led her into the restaurant, I could tell by the look on her face how happy she was that I hadn’t let go of her. She squeezed me softly as the host brought us to our reserved table. One that looked over the bay and out into the city across the bridge.

  The restaurant was still full with a mix of people. Emma and I were quickly lost in conversation, so I hadn’t minded either way. It wasn’t until I felt a tapping on my shoulder that I was brought back to reality.

  “Excuse me,” a young woman stood beside me. She must have been around the same age as Emma, if not a few years younger. The look on her face was one of awe. My stomach did a nervous flip. “Are you Juliet Hamilton?”

  Briefly, I thought to lie. Perhaps, it would have been the best thing to do. But I knew I wouldn’t. I’d never cared much for adoring fans, but the way she looked at me was hard to ignore. Finally, I nodded, and her smile brightened.

  “We just saw you play earlier tonight. You were fantastic. Can I get a photo with you?” she asked, twiddling her phone in her hands. I looked to Emma, who shrugged at me. The girl handed Emma her phone and she came to stand beside me. Carefully, I wrapped my arm around her, a steady gaze on my face.

  “You can do better than that.” Emma laughed, and I couldn’t help but smile. She handed the phone back to the girl, who looked pleased.

  “Oh, the girls in orchestra are going to be so jealous!” My eyes went from the phone up to the girl. “Thanks so much, Ms. Hamilton. You’re fantastic.”

  The smile that had stretched on my face, lingered. I heard Emma clear her throat across the table. “Do you play?”

  “I play viola,” the girl admitted, looking from Emma back to me. “I want to play in the Philharmonic one day.”

  “Keep practicing,” I managed to say. She nodded, bowing her head slightly in thanks again before she made her way swiftly back across the room. Once she’d left, an uncomfortable stirring filled my stomach.

  “Are you all right?” Emma asked me, likely sensing the abrupt change in my mood.

  “Would you mind eating this at the apartment?” I replied, looking to wave down the waiter. Emma looked briefly confused, but finally nodded. A few minutes later, we were back in the elevator. This time the air was different.

  It took a half hour to return to the apartment. Once we’d made it, Emma finally questioned me about what had happened at the restaurant. As much as I didn’t want to admit what had been the matter, I decided to anyway. “Those types of things have a habit of spreading all over the internet,” I said, after we’d plated our food and sat at the dining table.

  “What? The photo with the girl?” Emma asked, raising an eyebrow at me. When I nodded, she shook her head in reply. “Juliet, you’re so paranoid you can’t even enjoy yourself. That girl adored you. She probably came to the show just to see you. I don’t know how you can spin something like that into something negative.”

  “If that photo got out...” I trailed off. Emma and I had been looking straight at one another. “It might lead to other questions. Which might lead to you.”

  “You’re worried about your father,” Emma said. I couldn’t judge by the expression on her face what she was feeling, but I doubted she was happy about the realization. “You have to stop worrying about your father.”

  “I can’t stop, Emma,” I argued, somewhat annoyed. “For both of our sakes.”

  Emma twiddled her fork in her fingers. I watched mesmerized for a moment, imagining them playing along the length of a grand piano. They were beautiful and perfect in every way. I heard her sigh and looked up to her. “Why do you think he would care so much?”

  That was a question I didn’t quite know the answer to. I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that your career stays safe.”

  “Your career, you mean.” Emma shot me a defiant look. Her accusation sent a wave of anger through me.

  “Both of us,” I corrected her. “He could ruin us both. Between your education, my tenure at the Bard, the fact that the Hamilton’s make sizable donations to the Philharmonic every year...”

  “What?” Emma’s eyes grew. “Your father donates to the orchestra?” When I nodded, she sat pondering, trying to process what I’d said. I’d wondered if she’d question if I got my seat in the orchestra because of him, but she didn’t ask. She’d instead gone on an entirely different line of thought. “When you say he could take away everything, you weren’t joking.”

  “No. I wasn’t,” I said flatly. My tone had grown serious.

  “Maybe this is a mistake.” Emma looked away. I could tell by the expression on her face she’d grown suddenly worried. Sad even. It was still hard to read. There was no way I could bear the look for long. I trailed over to the opposite side of the table, kneeling in front of her. My hands wrapped around hers, and I waited until she’d focused her attention on me.

  “Emma,” I said, smiling softly at her. “If I thought this was a mistake, I wouldn’t have done it. No matter how tempting you were. How tempting you are.” When I said it, Emma smiled back at me. “We just have to be careful. That’s all I’m asking.”

  Her hand released from my own, her fingers running in long gentle strokes along the side of my head. She carefully unfastened the clip that held my hair up, letting it fall around me. Once she had, I laid my head against her chest, enjoying the soft caress of her fingers through my hair, combing it. The simple act had such a hold on me, I could feel my entire body calming. My eyes remained closed, and my breath steadied.

  “We’ll be fine,” Emma whispered into the room. She had said it with such confidence. I had my reservations, but none of them mattered in that moment. I’d been far too gone, lost in her loving affections. Perhaps we would be.

  IT HAD BEEN NEARLY a month since I’d seen Kira. Between rehearsals, obligations at the Bard, and the recent developments with Emma, there was hardly any time. Every Thanksgiving, Kira would come with me to Miranda and Timothy’s for dinner. When I’d picked her up from her house that afternoon, she was more excited than anything.

  We made the short trek across town to Miranda and Timothy’s, who hadn’t seen her since the previous year. Kira was wound up to say the least, bounding from the car the instant I’d parked in the driveway.

  Miranda, who had always loved the holidays, had already decorated the outside of the house with blue-white string lights from the windows and front porch. Kira basked in the beauty of it for a minute, staring around in a circle. I couldn’t help but watch her curious face. Finally, she ran to the door, ringing the doorbell several times over.

  I reached her, pulling her back against me. She looked up at me smiling. The moment my attention returned back to the door, I nearly fell over in surprise. Emma Harvey was staring back at me. It appeared as if she’d already been clued in on the situation, one that I hadn’t been aware of. That somehow, against all odds, we’d be spending Thanksgiving together.

  Kira squeaked in surprise. After she’d realized who she was, she wrapped herself around Emma, squeezing her waist tightly. Emma rested a hand on top of her head, running her fingers through her hair.

  Once Kira had hugged Emma sufficiently, she darted through the doorway. Miranda was close behind, lifting her off the ground, and I watched for a brief moment before my attention turned on Emma.

  “Ms. Harvey,” I said, as calmly as I could manage. “It’s a surprise to see you here.”

  “You too, Professor Hamilton,” Emma replied, a curious expression on her face. “Miranda was just telling me a few minutes ago how you come every year.”

  My attention darted between Emma and Kira, both who were equally as distracting. I couldn’t tell what Kira was signing t
o Miranda, which was making me nervous. “Ah, well. It’s nice to see you could come.” My voice was stiff and awkward. Emma moved out of the way so I could come inside. Timothy helped me out of my coat.

  “I hope it’s okay we invited Emma,” he said, as I turned to face him. “She had nowhere else to be, and we didn’t want her to be alone.”

  In our discussion earlier that week, I’d been under the assumption that Emma would be going to New Jersey to have Thanksgiving with Lydia Beckham's family. I hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, but with Lydia’s graduation looming, it would be one of the last times they’d see one another before she moved elsewhere.

  Before I spoke, I pondered on my words carefully. “I thought I heard you were spending the holiday with Ms. Beckham?” I raised a curious eyebrow at Emma, who was staring at me.

  “Change of plans,” Emma responded, but she didn’t elaborate. “I thought you spent your Thanksgiving with your parents?” There was a strange look to Timothy’s eyes when she asked the question.

  Timothy responded before I had an opportunity to. “Jules spends a lot of Thanksgivings with us. Ever since Kira came around.”

  I was so close to correcting him about that atrocious nickname, until I heard Miranda speak behind me, “You’ve met Kira before?” When I turned to look, Miranda was staring at Emma. Emma exchanged a short, panicked glance at me.

  “At the ice cream parlor, a few months ago,” I replied, swiftly. Walking over to take Kira from Miranda’s arms. “Emma happened to run into us on an outing.” My voice trailed off for a moment, sniffing the air. I could smell the turkey all the way on the other side of the house. “Your turkey smells delicious.” It was the first thing that popped in my head to say.

  The comment seemed to do the trick. Miranda and Timothy led us all into the other room, distracted with talk about preparing food. Emma and I exchanged a look as I sat Kira down on the ground. Are you hungry? I asked Kira, when she looked up at me. She nodded, grinning. Let’s go eat.