by Karis Walsh
Brooke blushed, and Andy hurried them past the awkward moment like she did whenever her meetings with brides encountered an emotional trigger. These were usually due to backfiring plans or meddling family members, and Andy was always the one to soothe the bride, not cause the stress in the first place. “Do you have any particular music in mind for the ceremony?”
Brooke shrugged. “You played at my cousin’s wedding, and I remember liking your quartet. I guess you could play the same music. Her name was Lisa Stanton.”
The name meant nothing to Andy, of course. Unless the bride or groom was a personal friend, or someone threw up or fainted during the ceremony, the quartet’s past wedding gigs all blended into a sea of white dresses, tuxedoes, and faceless audiences. This didn’t seem like an appropriate image to share with Brooke, so Andy simply pulled out the standard repertoire.
“Lisa Stanton, of course,” she said smoothly. “I believe we played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” during the seating of the families and Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” for the wedding party processional. Then it’s Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus” from Lohengrin when you walk down the aisle. That’s the ‘Here Comes the Bride’ song,” Andy added.
“Big, fat and wide,” Brooke finished with a wince. “Great. And I’m still hoping to lose a few pounds before the wedding.”
“Why would you want to do that?” Andy asked without thinking, never understanding why women who looked as healthy and beautiful as this one felt the need to diet. Brooke blinked at her in surprise, her eyes darkening slightly to a beautiful sky blue. “I mean, I think you look fine just as you are,” Andy stammered, gesturing vaguely in Brooke’s direction. She decided it was time to wrap up this meeting before she said anything else that could be misinterpreted as a pick-up line. “We played “Ave Maria” during the candle lighting and Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy” for the recessional.”
Brooke laughed suddenly, her distant expression transformed. “Do you really remember Lisa’s wedding, or are those the songs you want me to choose?”
“They’re pretty common choices,” Andy admitted evasively, captivated by Brooke’s smile and giving her one in return. “We’ll be glad to make any changes you want or add music that has personal meaning for the two of you.”
Brooke waved her hand in dismissal, a small smile still playing over her features. “What you said sounds just fine. I don’t remember her wedding either. Can you write this down for me so I can take it to the printer’s?”
Andy carefully copied the playlist, complete with composers and the full names of the quartet members, onto the form that Brooke removed from her massive binder. She added her nickname and phone numbers to the bottom of the page and handed it to Brooke.
“Call me if you want to add or change any of the songs,” she said, pointing to her numbers. “We usually rehearse on Thursdays, so it’d be easiest if you let me know before that. Otherwise we’ll see you next Friday.”
“All right,” Brooke said as she handed Andy a check that was double their normal fee for a wedding. Andy knew the other quartet members would want her to accept it without argument, but she felt uncomfortable taking advantage of Brooke.
“We usually play only at the ceremony and not the rehearsal,” she said. “We’ve been in your church before, and we know where to set up, so you really don’t need to book us for both days.”
Brooke waved her hand at the check Andy tried to return. “Keep it. My mom wants to do a full run-through of the ceremony so she can be sure of timing and can coordinate it with the caterer.”
Andy shrugged and tucked the check in her notebook. It wasn’t her place to argue with the bride’s wedding plans or to wonder why Brooke’s voice sounded so resigned and weary. She resisted the urge to continue their conversation, maybe to coax another smile from her. Instead, she gave Brooke a receipt, and they stood and shook hands. With her heels on, Brooke met Andy’s five-foot-nine height. Andy did her best to keep her gaze from sliding down Brooke’s long legs before she turned away, but as she left she was conscious of Brooke’s gaze following her across the room.
*
Brooke caught her lower lip between her teeth, forcing herself not to call Andy back to the table. She had barely registered her presence at first, seeing her as just another in a long line of faceless vendors connected to this wedding. She had been startled when her casual questioning had led her to find out that Andy was a lesbian, as if their simple conversation would reveal her own past.
She shook her head slightly. For a moment she had been tempted to try to flirt, maybe even to proposition, just for one last chance at the kind of sex she had only dreamed about. But that moment had passed, and Brooke knew she couldn’t risk opening herself up to another woman and facing the pain that would follow. She was confident that after years of practice at hiding her true feelings, she hadn’t let even one slip of dialogue or expression hint at them.
Her only moment of weakness had come when she refused Andy’s offer to have the quartet play just at the ceremony. It had been her mother’s idea to book them for the rehearsal as well, but Brooke knew she could have easily changed her mom’s mind. She allowed herself the selfish desire to see Andy again on Friday, maybe to have one more chance to talk to her before their worlds inevitably separated.
What a shame too, she thought with a sigh as she opened her garish binder and added the quartet’s program to the section marked “Music, Ceremony.” Andy definitely looked like she could give Brooke a night that could fuel her fantasies for the next few decades of marriage. She was gorgeous with her short dark hair and those gold-flecked hazel eyes that had gazed at her with all of the seriousness of an anthropologist studying a bride-to-be in her native habitat. And her full lips looked so soft Brooke had nearly reached across the table to touch them when Andy smiled. But it was her hands that had most captivated Brooke’s imagination. Slender and expressive, with short but neat nails, they had moved with such grace and strength that Brooke would have guessed her to be some sort of artist even if she hadn’t known that she was a musician. Hands that she could imagine moving over her…
Brooke shut her binder with a snap and stood up. Hands that would never touch her that way. Because they belonged to a woman, and she belonged to Jake.
Chapter Three
Andy slammed the phone down and started to pace back and forth in her apartment. What had she expected from Lyssa, anyway, she asked herself as she stalked from room to room, picking up random objects and banging them back in place. She ended up in the spare room that was filled with shelves of music and her instruments, hoping for that sense of peace and belonging that usually found her there, but feeling only anger, betrayal, and resignation. She was unaccustomed to being the one asking for support or help in any relationship, and now it was clear why she was so hesitant to do so. The rejection hurt more than she wanted to admit.
The sheet music for Rebecca Clarke’s “Passacaglia” was still open on her stand from this morning’s practice. It was one of her favorite short pieces, one she usually played as a warm-up in her practice sessions and one she had performed when she auditioned for the Seattle Symphony. The conductor and executive director had remembered, and today, when they learned that the symphony’s first-chair violist had injured her wrist, they had called her to the office and offered her the chance to sub for the position for the rest of the year, until a formal audition could be scheduled. The promotion included a rare chance at a viola solo. The symphony was scheduled to give a performance devoted to women composers, and Clarke’s sonata for viola and piano had been chosen to open the concert. Since they were bringing in a guest conductor for the evening, the management wanted to showcase local female talent for the solo parts.
Andy knew this was the opportunity of her career, but she had doubts about her ability not only to lead the section as principal viola but to play a solo part in front of a huge audience. Much of the reason she had chosen to play this particular instrument was because
she mainly played harmony, background to other instruments, filling out and adding depth to the sound of the orchestra. She had been content in that role for so many years, but the thought of taking on a new challenge appealed to her. Her quartet had been excited when she told them the news at tonight’s rehearsal, so she had called Lyssa, hoping that after all of her time spent encouraging the violinist she might be prepared to offer something to Andy in return. What had she been expecting? Support, congratulations, words of advice? Certainly not what she had been given. She wasn’t surprised by Lyssa’s claim that she was too busy to meet for drinks, but her response to Andy’s news about the sonata had caught her off guard.
“They asked you to play the solo? I’m surprised you want to step out of the background and risk making a fool of yourself with that piece,” Lyssa had said. “There’s an alternative cello part for that sonata, so Diane could play it instead. Or maybe they could change the program and let you do one or two of Clarke’s shorter songs.”
Maybe she was right. Andy had spent most of her career playing beyond the limelight, so was she really ready to make her solo debut on this scale? She considered calling Tina for some moral support, but she knew she would end up confessing how Lyssa’s words had hurt. She wasn’t prepared to deal with an “I told you so” followed by the inevitable reference to the loyal dog who’s been kicked by its uncaring master.
The phone rang and Andy jumped for it, hating the tiny thrill of hope that Lyssa was calling back to apologize.
“Hello?” she repeated when the line remained quiet.
“Is this Andy? It’s Brooke Stanton.”
“Brooke?” Andy’s mind raced, and then the name clicked. October Fifth. Beautiful blonde. Long legs. “Is there a problem about tomorrow?”
“Yes. No, not really. I just wanted to talk about the music we picked.”
Christ, thought Andy, running her hand through her hair in exasperation. She knew she had told Brooke that the quartet practiced on Thursdays. There was no way they’d have time to learn something new before tomorrow’s rehearsal
“Would it be possible to get together tonight?” Brooke continued.
“Of course,” Andy said. The perfect way to end this day, she thought with a frown. Why couldn’t Brooke have played the Bridezilla card just two days earlier? “Where should we meet?”
“Oh, I’m not sure,” Brooke hesitated. “Do you have a bar you like to go to?”
“I sometimes hang out at Mickey’s in Pioneer Square, but it’s a—”
“That’s fine,” Brooke cut in quickly. “Say in an hour?”
“Sounds good,” Andy answered, but Brooke had already hung up. She stared at the receiver for a moment before replacing it. Andy had been about to tell her Mickey’s was big on the local gay scene, but if Brooke wanted to be rude then she could just deal with it. Maybe she’d panic when she found out and cut their meeting short. The thought of a few drinks and the possibility of finding some female company was suddenly very appealing to Andy. Just get through those few uncomfortable minutes with October Fifth, and the night might hold some promise.
*
“Problems with the wedding plans?” Jake asked as he bent to kiss the top of Brooke’s head.
“Not really. I just need to meet with someone from the quartet to finalize the program of music at the church.” Brooke hastily closed her binder but not before Jake caught a glimpse of the paper inside.
“Andy? Should I be jealous of him?” Jake teased as he loosened his tie and started unbuttoning his dress shirt.
“He’s a she,” Brooke said, not really answering his question and turning away so he couldn’t read her expression.
“I was hoping you might go out with friends tonight. I hate to be having all the fun while you do more work for the wedding.” He replaced his work clothes with a more casual shirt and slacks. “You’re sure you don’t mind this bachelor party?”
“Not at all,” Brooke assured him honestly. “And don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
Jake kissed her again and then disappeared into their bathroom. Brooke slumped onto the bed, still not convinced she could go through with this. She had been determined to forget about women, especially the dark-haired musician who had been haunting her fantasies for the past week, but this afternoon had broken her resolve. It was such a simple thing, really, but it had shaken her to the core.
She ran through the afternoon’s conversation again, hoping it wouldn’t affect her the same way upon reflection so she could just call Andy and cancel their meeting. She and Jake had gone to lunch with her father, stealing away from his law firm for a leisurely two-hour break. She had picked at her food, barely listening to most of the talk as her dad discussed her parents’ plans to retire to the Olympic Peninsula in the next few years. Jake had innocently turned to her and said they should start looking for a retirement condo to buy while the real estate market was in a slump. Her dad agreed that it was never too soon to make plans, and they had spent the rest of lunch discussing the pros and cons of the various small towns along Highway 101. Brooke had sat, quiet and stunned, with the phrase “What the fuck?” running through her head like an unsuccessful mantra. She could barely wrap her mind around the fact that she was getting married, and they already had her retiring with this man? She had been so focused on the wedding itself, she had been able to ignore the years of marriage to follow. It had seemed easiest to go along with her parents’ wishes and marry Jake, just like she had accepted him as their choice in prom dates. But instead of being left with a photo and a dried-up corsage, she’d be stuck with the man himself for the rest of her life.
Yes, the memory of the conversation still could trigger hyperventilation. Brooke didn’t call Andy back and cancel their appointment. She numbly kissed Jake good-bye, half hoping he might fall in love with a stripper and call off the wedding. Then she carefully got ready to meet Andy, determined to have at least one good night before she settled into the life that Jake and her parents had planned for her. She only had one night, she had to make it count.
Chapter Four
Mickey’s was packed with the usual after-work crowd, but the moment Andy walked through the door she spotted Brooke sitting at the bar. Her blond hair was out of its ponytail, just brushing her shoulders, and she had on jeans and a black tank top in place of business clothes. Much better, Andy thought with appreciation as she pushed through the crowd. Andy kept an emotional distance from the brides she met, even the sexier ones, but October Fifth had forced her way into Andy’s dreams a time or two this week. She wasn’t supposed to feel glad to see this woman who had dragged her out of the house on a bad night. Brooke’s attention seemed focused on a lesbian couple across the bar from her, and she jumped when Andy tapped her on the shoulder.
“Hey,” Andy said, smiling in spite of her irritation as Brooke’s face lit up when she turned around.
“You recognized me without the bridal notebook,” Brooke said with a grin.
“You’re not easy to forget,” Andy admitted. She gestured at the large diamond solitaire on Brooke’s left hand. “And that kind of gave you away in this place.”
Brooke twisted the ring as if she wanted to pull it off her finger, but she dropped her hands back to cup her drink. “You look nice,” she said to Andy, letting her gaze move down the entire length of her. Khaki cargo pants and a clean white T-shirt were as formal as Andy had been willing to go tonight, business meeting or not.
“You, too,” Andy said. “This suits you much better than that business outfit did.” She reached out without thinking and ran a finger over the strap of Brooke’s tank top. Jesus, she berated herself when she realized what she was doing. Stop flirting with the client! She casually moved her hand away and leaned across Brooke to order a drink when the bartender stopped by.
“Mac and Jack’s,” she said, ordering her favorite local microbrew. “And another”—she pointed at Brooke’s drink—“gin and tonic?”
Brooke nodded,
her eyes darkening to the color of faded denim as she watched Andy.
Both seats next to her were taken, so Andy scanned the room looking for a table while they waited for their drinks. She felt Brooke’s gaze, but she tried to ignore it and compose herself. She just had to get rid of the bride, and then she would be free to flirt with someone else. Someone who was unattached.
“Careful,” Brooke warned as she hooked a finger in the waistband of Andy’s pants and pulled her closer. Andy narrowly missed being struck by the man on the stool next to them as he swung his arm around while he was talking.
“Oops, sorry babe,” he said over his shoulder.
“No problem,” Andy answered without looking at him. Her eyes were locked with Brooke’s as she found herself standing inches away from her, nestled between her parted legs. “Thanks,” she mumbled, trying to figure out what was going on here. Brooke just watched her, her fingers still tucked in the top of Andy’s pants. Move away, Andy told herself sternly, for God’s sake move away from her!
The bartender returned with their drinks, and Andy took that opportunity to extricate herself. She tossed some bills on the counter and picked up her beer and Brooke’s cocktail.
“There’s a table over there,” she nodded toward the wall farthest from the dance floor. She walked off without a backward glance. She sat in a chair with her back against the wall, and Brooke took the seat across from her. Back to business, Andy told herself firmly, trying to ignore the sad expression that had come over Brooke’s face. “You wanted to talk about the music for your wedding?” she asked, taking a sip of her cold beer.
“I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?” Brooke asked, ignoring Andy’s question.
“Honey, I don’t know what the hell you’re doing,” Andy admitted in exasperation, wincing as she heard herself use that endearment. She had come here tonight expecting to deal with a bitch of a client, and instead she had been nearly pulled into said client’s lap. And now Brooke looked ready to cry. She had had enough crap to deal with herself today, she didn’t need a ride on some overwrought woman’s emotional rollercoaster.