by Ian O Lewis
“Suzi?” I held my hand out for her to shake. She gave a shy smile and placed her smaller hand in mine. “Come with me. We’re going to use the room next door to practice in.” I noticed her sighing, a look of relief washing over her features.
“Did you think I was going to make you perform in front of all these strangers?” I chuckled, then she laughed too. “This way.” I pointed toward the side door and started walking in that direction.
Shit.
I felt his intense stare before I actually met his gaze. Damn, I was hoping to stay under his radar, but the young woman following behind me lugging a cello was giving away my game. He might be the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on, but he was also the most intimidating. When we were next to his table, and I was opening the side door, I couldn’t help but glance one last time at him. Serge leaned back in the booth and sipped his espresso, then he lifted it in my direction. It took three attempts to get my key in the lock, and though I couldn’t see him as I walked through the door, I swore I could feel his gaze on my back.
It burned.
“Make sure you have the cello positioned correctly. Move the neck a little to the left, so it rests right there.”
Suzi hadn’t said much, and what she did say came out in little breathy spurts. She was hard to understand since she wouldn’t look me in the eye.
“It wasn’t until I got a private teacher that I was told the correct way to position the instrument. Your music instructor at school has a lot of students and probably doesn’t catch little details like that. I know mine didn’t.” I tried to put her at ease. When she pulled out the sheet music she wanted to play, I was impressed, and hopeful that she wasn’t overestimating her ability.
“Pachelbel, Canon in D. That’s one of my favorite pieces. What made you choose that?”
“I heard it in church at my cousin’s wedding. I know I’m not really good, but I love it so much.” Her gaze finally met mine. Suzi had huge doe eyes ringed with long lashes. Her cheekbones were sharp, her face a perfect oval. She had braids with gold and silver beads that hit her shoulders and made tiny clicking noises when she walked.
“You are probably better than you think.” I moved a chair in front of her, then decided it would be best if I sat to her side where she wouldn’t be able to see me. “Go ahead, whenever you are ready.”
She took a deep breath and started. At first her bowing was a little stilted, then I realized I should have had her warm up with some scales or an exercise. Despite her initial hesitation, I could see her entering the flow, that state of mind where your fingers and mind take over. Her body swayed in time to the beat, and soon I was lost in her playing. She was very good, but needed to work on her technique. Her fingering needed a little help, and she need to improve her posture in order to reach some notes her smaller fingers had trouble with. When she finished, she swivelled her head in my direction and said nothing, her eyes cast to the floor.
“You did well, especially for someone your age.” I was gratified to see her head lift from its downward position and her cheeks spread as she smiled. Then she stood from her seat and gestured toward it.
“I want to hear you play.” She breathed. “You play in a real orchestra. I’ve never heard anyone professional play before.”
From her mouth to God’s ear, if only I felt like a professional.
“I’d love to.”
I got myself set up and placed the sheet music on the stand. After making sure my instrument was in tune, I turned to her.
“This is Beethoven, his Sonata for Cello and Piano #3. Just pretend there’s a piano playing, okay?” I winked.
She giggled, then I drew my bow back and started to play. This was my audition piece, the one I used at every failed attempt to get a job. I’d almost given up on it, often wondering if I wasn’t good enough to play it the way it deserved to be played. When I tried out for the Richmond Symphony, I’d almost performed a Bach solo, but at the last minute my gut told me to try the Beethoven one last time. It finally paid off.
When I played I typically lost myself in the music, and as usual I did. This time, though, my mind strayed, and I felt my tempo pick up slightly as I thought of Serge sitting on the other side of the door. I wondered what the Sonata would sound like if he was playing it with me on the piano. The cello part was relatively easy compared to the piano, and I imagined his strong hands flying over the keyboard. I closed my eyes, knowing the piece by heart, and heard the piano in my head, leading me to that place where my fingers knew every note without thought, only feeling.
When I finished and looked up into Suzi’s eyes I was surprised to see a tear streaming down her cheek.
“You play so beautifully. I wish I could play like you.” She whispered. Without thinking about it I touched her shoulder with the bow and stated, “You will. I’ll teach you, at least enough to get you ready for an audition with the Youth Orchestra.”
Then the side door leading to the coffee shop flew open.
“I hate doing this to you guys but we have a huge line of people. Josh can you help us out?” Sneaky shouted then the door slammed shut as she raced back to help Luke. I turned to Suzi.
“I’ve got to go. Can you wait a bit so we can discuss what we will do about your lessons?”
She nodded, and I leaned my cello against the bar and hurried into the coffee shop. When I opened the door, I turned my head to see if Serge was still there. He was gone.
“We can’t let Luke go through that without one of us here, and we both have other shi... oops, sorry Suzi.” Sneaky blushed and glanced at the girl who was leaning against the counter, then she continued. “What I’m trying to say is we need to hire someone, at least for weekends and evenings.”
I nodded and looked to Luke, who was shaking his head in agreement.
“I’ll place an ad in the paper, maybe put one on Craigslist.” Sneaky glanced down at her watch. “I need to open the bar.”
“Our instruments are still over there. C’mon Suzi, let’s go…” I started to say, when the girl interrupted me.
“I’d like to work here.”
Sneaky bit her lip and looked in my direction, then shrugged her shoulders. Suzi pushed herself off the wall and stood in front of me.
“I don’t have any experience, but, well I need to pay you for the lessons. I’ll work for free.”
I bit back a smile. She wanted this so bad, and I recalled how badly I wanted the same thing when I was her age.
“Me, Sneaky and Luke need to discuss it first, but,” I bent my knee slightly, so we were eye to eye, “maybe we can work something out.”
Business slowed at Percolate, but next door at Sneaky’s it was crazy. Sneaky asked if Luke could help her behind the bar. I had nothing on my plate until later that night when I was going to meet Bradley for dinner, so I’d take care of the coffee shop until closing.
We were giving Suzi a chance, though we were definitely paying her. It was her first job, and the fact that she was willing to work for free in order to learn her instrument really impressed me.
At seven pm I locked the doors and started cleaning. I only had an hour before my date so I hurried as fast as I could. Since it was slow most of the afternoon, there wasn’t much to do except mop the floors. When I finished, I leaned against the counter for a moment to stare at the purplish light of the sunset streaming through the window. It had been a long day, and as much as I wanted to enjoy a night out, my body had different thoughts on the matter.
“Bradley’s the first nice guy I’ve met in months. C’mon, let’s get ready.” I muttered to myself. I walked into the tiny kitchen and shut off the lights, then did the same in the dining room. By now it was almost dark, the glare of the streetlights as they switched on for the night the only illumination I needed as I made my way to the stairs. I was on the third step when I suddenly felt the need to turn around. There he was, his hand on his brow staring into the coffee shop, trying to see in the dim light.
Mr. Mouthful.
4
Serge- 18 Years Ago
“My happy boy, it’s always so good to see you.”
Aunt Svetta wrapped her tiny arms around my waist and then led me inside the apartment she shared with my mother. I loved being back in New York City, but I hated the cramped rooms they lived in. It was on the sixth floor, and the elevator only worked sporadically. I hoped to talk them into moving to Philadelphia while I was here.
“Give me your coat, and then go to the kitchen. I’ve made your favorite dessert, chocolate salami.” She took my coat and draped it over the back of a chair.
“Aunt Svetta, when I told my boyfriend Grant about chocolate salami he thought it was really a salami, that we crazy Russians were mixing meat with chocolate. He didn’t want to try the log you sent home with me last time.” It was my favorite dessert, made with milk biscuits and cocoa. My Aunt would roll the concoction up in plastic wrap and freeze it overnight. It literally melted in your mouth.
“Well, don’t give him any then! Silly boy.” She clucked her tongue, then took my hand and dragged me into the small kitchen.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked. She knew I was coming home today, and it surprised me that she hadn’t greeted me at the door. It had been almost six months since my last visit. When I looked at my aunt’s face, I noticed the crease in between her brows had grown deeper, and the lines around her eyes were more pronounced. She was concerned over something, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t me.
“She’s at the cathedral, St. Nicholas on 97th Street. She’s helping to set up the Nativity Reception. It’s in three days. You know Natalya and I would love it if you could stay long enough to go with us.” She knew I had no interest in churches, outside of performing in them. I was only here for two days, so I wouldn’t have to make up excuses not to go.
“I wish I could,” I lied, “but I have a class that day. I have to catch the train back tomorrow night. How has Mom been?” She’d been avoiding my calls, and I’d resorted to writing letters instead.
Aunt Svetta slid a small plate of blinis in front of me, then sat on the other side of the table. Her fingers drummed on the wood for a moment, then she answered my question.
“I’m worried, but she told me not to talk to you about it.” She put her face in her hands for a moment and sighed. “Do you know how our Father died?”
“I never met him, but I think one of you told me it was Parkinson’s?”
She lifted her face from her hands and grimaced. “Yes, we think it was, but he never saw a doctor about it. Refused to go, even though it was free back in those days.” She was referring to when Russia was the Soviet Union. I didn’t remember much of those times, being too young to understand the political changes happening around me.
“I will talk to you about this, but you must swear to say nothing to Natalya.”
I nodded my head slowly, then said nothing, waiting for her to say what she needed to say. Her fingers twisted the tiny pearl ring on her finger, and when she opened her mouth nothing came out at first. Finally, she took a deep breath and began.
“She swore me to secrecy, told me to spare you this, but I don’t think it’s right. She’s been having problems, her hands trembling for no reason, and sometimes she loses her balance. We think it’s Parkinson’s disease, but she refuses to go to the doctor.”
“That’s insane. Why? I mean, if she’s sick she should…”
“You know how stubborn your mother is. She feels like since there is no cure why bother? Or at least that’s her excuse. I’ve tried talking sense into her, but she won’t listen to me.” She reached a hand out across the table so I took it in mine.
“Don’t mention this to her. She needs to tell you herself. Plus,” she released my hand and stood up from the table, “she’d never forgive me for telling you.”
Mom came home an hour later insisting I tell her all about school. I was at The Curtis Institute, one of the premier music schools in the world on a full scholarship, and so far it was everything I had hoped for and more. Originally, I enrolled to work on the piano but I’d changed my focus to conducting.
“Remember in my last letter I told you they might let me conduct a performance for the alumni? They decided I could! Oh Mom, this is so exciting. Many of the world’s best conductors got their big break doing the exact thing I’m going to do. Oh, and I’ll be conducting a piece by a famous composer who graduated from there, Samuel Barber, his Adagio For Strings.”
The entire time we spoke I kept my eyes open for any signs of illness. On purpose, I had asked Aunt Svetta if we could have hot tea. The cup and saucer in Mom’s hands would be a good indicator if she was having tremors.
“Oh, no thank you Svetta, I’m feeling tired, and I’m afraid the tea would keep me awake.” Mom pushed herself up from her chair and crossed the room. “Happy boy, that’s what you will always be to me. Tell me more of your good news in the morning.” She had spoken in Russian, which I barely understood. I’d been in the states much longer than I’d been in Russia, and when we first arrived back in the 90s Mom insisted we not speak it so I’d learn English faster. It had been years since I’d heard her speak her mother tongue.
“Give me a hug Mom.” I stood and opened my arms. “I love you.”
“I love you too, happy boy.” She said, and when she wrapped her arms around my waist I felt her hands shaking. My shoulders sagged, and I hugged her tight to my chest. Then her body stiffened and I heard a choking sound in my ear, almost like a cat with a fur ball.
“Mom, what, what is it?”
When I stepped back her rigid body slammed against mine and we both fell to the floor. White foam covered her lips, and her body was twitching. I scrambled to my feet and called out for my Aunt who was in the kitchen.
“Svetta!”
“Oh my God…” She stood at the door to the kitchen, frozen in place.
“911, please, Jesus, call it now!”
5
Josh
“I got an email from Angela telling me to meet with her about my schedule. Is she available?” I asked the petite blonde woman sitting at the desk I’d sat in last week to fill out my paperwork. They must have hired a new secretary.
“She’s…” The woman started, then a deep voice boomed from the office in front of us, causing us both to jump.
“Just do your damned job already. Why the fuck am I giving you a percentage of my earnings? Please explain it to me, because you aren’t living up to my expectations at all.” It had to be Serge. I looked at the woman in front of me and noticed a twitch in her left eye.
“Um, about meeting Angela?” I prodded. Poor woman looked like she was going to have a heart attack.
“Angela is in meetings until this afternoon.” She shook her head then pulled up a bright orange sticky note from the side of the desk. “Is your name Josh?”
I nodded.
“She asked if you could meet with her after rehearsal today. She’ll be back by then.”
At that moment Serge’s raspy baritone, which was sexy as fuck despite the anger behind it snarled. “What part of what I said is unclear? Don’t call me until you have a deal I can sign off on.”
I decided I’d be better off elsewhere.
“Is he always like this?” I whispered to the poor woman. She gave a jerky nod, eyes like saucers. I shook my head in sympathy and took off down the hallway.
People like Serge intrigued me. Yes, he had an amazing talent, and couple that with his out of this world good looks, he could have just about anything he wanted. But people like him believed they owned the world, because they’d been blessed by genetics, or given opportunities most of us never had. When he wasn’t terrorizing the people who worked for him I’d bet he spent most of his days indulging in luxurious selfishness. Pricey Martinis, eating at high-end restaurants, fancy clothes and loveless sex were probably daily habits.
I bet he was a selfish lover too, not that I’d ever be capable of turning a night of loveless fucking do
wn with Serge. I’d never been with a powerful man like him. The only guys I’d dated were starving artists and tree huggers. Actually, despite being 32 I hadn’t had that much sexual experience. Still, despite his apparent anger issues I felt an attraction for him, and I wondered what he’d be like between the sheets.
There was a fly in the ointment though; the likelihood of my being Serge’s type was slim to none. This was a man who’d been on the cover of magazines, even had a PBS special made about his work. I didn’t know if he was gay or not, but if he was, he was probably into guys like himself. I pictured him with tall, muscular, wealthy men, not freckle-faced red-headed dudes who lived above a coffee shop. I wasn’t remotely on Serge’s radar, though I wondered why he came back Saturday night after the coffee shop closed and peered into the window. I’d frozen on the steps, watching him, then when his gaze shifted in my direction I ran the rest of the way upstairs, hoping he hadn’t caught me. Something about him made my blood boil, and not just because of his anger management issues.
“Keep dreaming, Josh. Keep dreaming.” I murmured to myself, then jogged to the rehearsal I was almost late for.
“You ready for Mr. Mouthful sweet pea?”
Shiny black chopsticks kept Onnie Belle’s burgundy hair in place on top of her head. The last week of rehearsals she’d kept me in stitches with her tales of growing up in Tifton, Georgia. Oh, and her constant talk of men.
“To tell you the truth, he makes me nervous. Have you been around his office yet?” I whispered.
“I might have come up with an excuse or three to wander by there. Each time I did the cocky bastard wasn’t in, only that she-devil Angela.” She winked, then changed the subject. “So, how did your date go? Was he a gentleman, or was he fun?”