Lament

by Stewart, Lynsey M.

  Alex

  I didn’t normally suffer from nerves before a performance. They were always there in the background, but over the years I’d learnt to control them, keep myself steady. Tonight’s nerves were heightened, and I knew the reason why.

  Because of her.

  There would be a large audience tonight, critics and colleagues, fans and music lovers, but I’d be playing only for the woman with the potential to break through the strings of my cello, the ones I’d wrapped a million times around my heart. Tying them with a loop, securing them with a lock.

  ‘What time is it?’ I asked Nadia who was fiddling around with some documents. Contracts for new music. Excitement on every page for the notes that Nat had inspired me to write.

  ‘Just after seven,’ she replied, her head lifting. ‘You seem distracted tonight. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I shot back, the inability to restrain my bark was high and that comforted yet frustrated me in equal measures. ‘Do I need to do anything before I make my way to the stage?’ My eyes flicked to the cello in the corner. Warm-up and practice were futile when I was feeling this way, but would I come to regret it when the reviews were in tomorrow?

  ‘Maybe calm down a little?’ Nadia suggested, a smile breaking the gloss she’d just applied to her lips. ‘I can get you a drink if that will help?’

  ‘No, not necessary,’ I replied, stretching out my fingers. ‘I need a clear head.’

  Nadia sat down at the coffee table in front of me, clasping her hands together as she cleared her throat.

  ‘If you’re worrying about how the new music will be received, don’t. The parts I’ve heard are breathtaking. Honestly. Relax.’

  I blew out a breath and closed my eyes. The image of Nat behind them. Dancing her way through the scattered pieces of glass in my brain, ignoring the sharp edges that threatened to scratch, leave a scar, frighten her away. Her soul was like a searchlight trying to reach the better parts of me that had been hidden behind the grief. I should be on my knees before her, worshipping, not fantasising about decorating her in knots.

  ‘There is something you can do to help.’

  ‘Anything,’ she replied, holding onto my knee to steady it.

  ‘Go down to the box office and confirm that Natasha Bevan has collected her ticket.’ Her hand left my knee immediately.

  ‘Of course. Give me a minute.’ I watched as she slowly made her way across the dressing room, stopping as she reached the door. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve just remembered. I spoke to Natasha yesterday when I collected Elise from class. Unfortunately, she isn’t able to make it tonight. She said something about preparing for a dance competition?’

  I stood up, a vein of cortisol popped open in my chest, a rush so deep and weakening that I held onto the chair to keep my body upright. ‘What? No, she definitely said she could come,’ I replied, panic settling in. ‘I’m expecting her.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know why I forgot to tell you.’ She folded her arms. ‘You’re disappointed, I can tell. I’m sure she’ll make it next time.’

  ‘Call On Pointe!’ I demanded as Nadia pursed her lips. ‘See if she’s there. Tell her she’s needed and delay the concert until she arrives!’

  She shook her head. ‘She can’t come,’ she replied firmly. ‘Why are you getting so upset?’

  ‘Nadia. Don’t forget you work for me. If I ask you to do something, I expect you to do it.’

  ‘Fine. I’ll call On Pointe,’ she sighed. ‘That’s the best I can do.’

  ‘Finally!’ I roared as she left the dressing room.

  I took my phone from my pocket and played a piece of music I’d recorded the night Nat and I shared our first kiss. Afterwards, inspiration was like a kite lifting up in the air, caught by the wind and soaring. She’d already started to unfurl my creativity long before my lips touched hers, but after, a bomb detonating in my hands wouldn’t have been as strong. Watching the woman dance out her fears, her truths and her passion caused an awakening in me. Creatively, I was on fire. The light that was once dull and lifeless was shining bright like a beacon. I’d locked down the doors, cut myself off from normality and played out her music until my fingers bled.

  The ringing of the phone on the dressing table made my body jump. I reached over, picking it up with trembling fingers.

  ‘Alexander Blayren speaking.’

  ‘Mr Blayren, I’m so sorry to disturb you so close to curtain call.’

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, glancing to the clock. ‘Is this really necessary?’

  ‘We have a young lady here at the box office by the name of Natasha Bevan.’

  How could just hearing her name cause a reaction so strong?

  ‘Yes,’ I replied, immediately standing. ‘Is she OK?’

  ‘She’s insisting she was invited to your performance this evening, but the ticket was placed on hold earlier today.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Should we take it off hold, sir?’

  ‘Who am I speaking to?’ I asked.

  ‘I’m the manager of the box office, sir.’

  ‘I’m not sure why you’re so inept at your job or what’s happened to cause this confusion.’ I caught my reflection in the mirror and was shocked at the intensity of my face. I thought of her. Took a breath. Calmed myself. ‘It’s very important that Miss Bevan is here. She should be treated as a VIP guest. Give her a glass of champagne, the best seat available, anything she needs. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’m very sorry. I hope your performance goes well this evening.’

  I ended the call, felt her light surround me. I needed to get to her, see her face, touch her hands. Feel her inside me so that I could let her out as I played the notes.

  The door opened, and Nadia appeared.

  ‘They’re ready for you.’

  ‘Have you seen Nat?’ I asked.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘She’s here,’ I said, grabbing my jacket. ‘The idiots at the box office messed up. I don’t know, don’t care. She’s here.’

  Nadia pushed her arms against the doorframe, stopping me from going through. ‘She must have changed her mind,’ she replied. ‘We should get ready. You start in ten minutes.’

  ‘I need to see her,’ I snapped.

  ‘Alexander, there isn’t time,’ she replied, holding my arm. ‘This is huge for you tonight. You can’t afford to fuck it up.’ Her soft tone didn’t match the harsh words. I wanted to cast her aside, tell her to move out of my way but I knew she was right, there wasn’t enough time, there never was. It was a familiar phrase that documented pieces of my life. ‘They’re waiting for you.’

  No, Nat was waiting for me.

  * * *

  ‘Take this back to my dressing room,’ I said, thrusting my cello to Nadia who was waiting at the side of the stage. She trailed behind me, the cello aching and straining along with her.

  ‘Where are you going?’

  ‘Drinks. The after-party.’ Lord, help me. I usually hated these affairs, couldn’t wait to get away fast enough. Small talk had never been my strong point, especially after Lisa died. Questions about how I was coping soon squashed my insides sharp left with the force of their words. I pushed the double doors open, made my way down to the function room, careful to lift my fingers in a wave that said I’ll speak to you in a minute as the crowd started filing out of the main auditorium.

  ‘Alexander! That was wonderful, my old friend.’ My professor from the Royal College of Music stopped me in my stride.

  ‘Professor Havers, so wonderful to see you.’ He gripped my hand in a familiar vice, the one I always questioned the strength of when he was essentially squeezing my fingers, the same fingers he described as creating poetry. ‘Did you enjoy my performance?’

  ‘I did,’ he replied, pulling in his mouth and nodding in agreement with his thoughts. ‘There was something…more…I can’t quite put my finger on it.’ I knew. I knew exactly. The finger he could
n’t place should be put on Nat’s breastbone, the one sheltering her heart.

  I was surprised at his flattery. My hazy memories of the evening involved searching for Nat in the audience and dropping my head to get lost in the music when I couldn’t find her. I hardly made a connection with the listeners, one of the biggest lessons Professor Havers had taught me during our classes. Engage, engage, engage.

  ‘Alex, that was simply splendid.’ I turned to find Ingrid, the wife of a friend who played violin for the London Symphony Orchestra. ‘The new piece was beautiful. So delicate yet stirring.’

  ‘Thank you, Ingrid, that means so much.’

  The murmuring in the room faded, a quietness slipped over the crowd, capturing my attention despite the lull in noise. I turned to the door, where a stunning goddess emerged like a phoenix, parting the crowds like Moses and the Red Sea. Nat. She called to me. I felt weak yet strong, delirious yet focused. Our eyes met and that smile – fuck, that smile. She was heavenly, an angel walking on earth. I couldn’t tear myself away. She was infectious. Glorious and sublime.

  My gaze travelled across her body to the dress that was clinging to her defined curves. My God, she was extraordinary. A package of wonderful held together with a silver dress of knots. Plaited ropes of grey framed her shoulders, meeting across her chest, forming a decorative clasp that ran down to her cinched-in waist. Perfect bundles of rope formed the band around her hips where more braids ran down silvery strips of fabric that were billowing in the light breeze from the open windows. Her shoulders were bare aside from rope, her breasts covered with a light, silvery fabric, framing the curve perfectly, hinting ever so slightly at what was underneath. I wanted to get underneath. I wanted to tear those silvery strips away from her, leaving her naked and panting with the knots still in place.

  And her hair. What craftsman studied her, deciding that the beauty of her neck should be on show forever more? That to cover it with long tendrils of hair was a travesty, to know that I would always be taunted by the need to graze my teeth along the sweep of skin? Something sparkled in her ear, a diamanté cuff creeping around the shell. She held her lip under her teeth as she walked closer, went to push her hair behind her ear but stopped and smiled when it wasn’t there.

  ‘Alexander.’

  ‘Natasha.’

  Full first names. Not Alex or Nat. We needed the professionalism of full names. We weren’t the only people in this room, and I needed something to remind me of that before I fucked out my need for her on the champagne table.

  ‘I didn’t think they were going to let me in,’ she said, smiling shyly.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘Will heads roll?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ I replied as she laughed lightly.

  ‘That was wonderful. I enjoyed watching you so much.’

  Jesus, I enjoyed watching her more.

  The dress had a split running along her leg and the breeze was lifting it, exposing the legs that I’d dreamt of licking and sucking as I made my way to her cunt. My cock was aching, my body threatening to combust. What were these feelings? I didn’t recognise them, hadn’t felt them in so long.

  There were moments in my life that had been so intense I could barely handle them. This was one of them, no doubt at all. Different to the tortuous, a world away from the despair. Glorious. Wonderful. A welcome relief, an opening of my mind. A reprieve. This moment would be written in gold leaf on my epitaph.

  The air shifted around us until it was thick and palatable. Heavy and refusing to be ignored. This was bigger than stolen glances or heat-seeking eyes in dance school corridors. This was more than conversations about loss and how grief bore down on our shoulders. This was us, opening up and bursting into life.

  I took a step forward, my fingers finding her waist. I traced the ropes, all while steadying my eyes to hers. I couldn’t decide if the need to view her body graced in knots was higher than my need to connect with her eyes, watch that lip bite…fall for her.

  ‘You’ve worn this dress for me,’ I said, my breath dancing against her ear.

  ‘Yes.’ I didn’t need an answer, didn’t want a response. ‘You look like you want to do bad things to me,’ she whispered, and my cock ached.

  ‘Not bad things,’ I growled, fucking growled in front of a room full of my peers. Stuffy gentlemen and their demanding wives were looking, all eyes on us and I’d never wanted to strip a woman as quickly as I did now. ‘Good things. Great fucking things.’

  ‘Like?’ Her eyes were open, her face upturned. She was brave and bold and beautiful.

  ‘Nat, I need out of here.’

  She looked around the room, eyed the exits, smiled when she realised we were being watched, knowing we were creating a scene to be gossiped about. ‘I don’t know where to go. It’s like a maze of corridors,’ she laughed before pulling back.

  ‘I’ll show you.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you stay with your honourable peers? They’re here for you, aren’t they?’

  ‘But I’m here for you.’ She gasped as I took her hand, nodding politely as I passed a classical music journalist, praying I wouldn’t be stopped to chat about my commitments to the Symphony, or to give a quick interview on my inspiration for the new piece. Where would I start? My inspiration? Take a picture of the goddess in the Shibari-inspired dress.

  We burst into the back corridors of the Royal Albert Hall, away from the guests, away from the party. She tottered behind me in her heels, laughing as I dragged her with me. I was a man on a mission. Find a space. Any space. The voices were disappearing behind us, getting quieter as I pushed her against the wall.

  ‘Where did you find this?’ I asked, squeezing the fabric in my hands, pulling up the skirt.

  ‘I had it made,’ she panted, watching me cautiously but with parted lips.

  ‘For me?’

  ‘Just you,’ she whispered. ‘It’s a message. A declaration. Bind me with knots,’ she gasped before pushing her lips to mine. I reciprocated; I wanted those lips on me all night long and her confession only deepened the need. She tasted like champagne and chocolate, my lips breaking into a shallow smile as I remembered instructing the box office manager to give her what she wanted, treat her like a VIP. Just like I was going to do now.

  ‘Tell me you’re sure about this,’ I said. ‘I can be grumpy and sad. I need time alone. I say the first thing that comes into my head and I have a heap of baggage I haven’t even begun to unpack yet.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Nat asked, and I wasn’t even sure myself. How had this gone from a need to fuck, a desire to bind, to making declarations of how unsuitable I would be as a life partner?

  ‘Don’t listen to me. Your dress is making me incomprehensible.’

  She laughed lightly, pulling back and really looking at me. Like it was the first time we were meeting, and she wanted to memorise every line on my face.

  ‘If the words on your lips were warning me away, I wouldn’t listen.’

  ‘You’re so fucking beautiful,’ I replied, the energy of her words piercing me. My body shook, a vibration caused by her, and I wanted more. I felt behind for a door, smoothing my hand across the paintwork before finding a handle. Opening it, we were met with a storage room, gilded chairs with red velvet seats were stacked in the corners. A small light illuminated the space with our movement.

  Our kisses deepened, our bodies pushing together as we hit the wall. Finally, my hands grabbed her spectacular arse, the ropes providing a direct link to my cock on first touch. The slit at her leg gave me easy access. I was waiting for a barrier, more than willing to push her panties to one side, but the more I felt, the more her skin melted into my fingers.

  ‘Are you bare under here?’ I rasped against her.

  Her eyes widened. ‘No room for panties in this dress. There’s barely room for me.’

  ‘Jesus, fuck.’ I slid my fingers along her seam, closed my eyes as I felt her slick arousal.

  ‘I’m
not sure this dress will hide that well,’ she said, her breaths short and shallow as she looked down at my hands. ‘This silver is unforgiving.’ She watched me as I got down on my knees. My eyes flicked to hers. We connected again.

  ‘You’re my confessional. An altar. A place to worship and rid me of my sins.’ Keeping that connection as I leant into her, I licked her arousal from the tops of her thighs and finally along her cunt.

  ‘You look pretty sinful down there,’ she said, her head hitting the wall as she fell back in pleasure. ‘I’m not sure that will rid you of your sins.’

  ‘You’re right,’ I laughed, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘But at least now your dress won’t show my guests how wet you are for me.’

  ‘I don’t care about the dress,’ she replied, her fingers fisting my hair. She was arching her back, pushing herself into my mouth. My fingers gripped her waist, marking her skin with pink circles. I traced them with my fingers, kissed them one by one before I let the sleeping beast out of the cage.

  ‘You had this dress made for me?’ She nodded heavily. ‘Because you wanted my cock hard and pulsing when I was playing your music?’

  ‘Your music,’ she replied, breathless.

  ‘Not mine,’ I scolded, pulling free the silver fabric barely containing her breasts. The rip caused her eyes to widen, and she looked down at her body, watched as I placed both thumbs against her nipples and drew circles. ‘Yours.’

  ‘Oh…God…’ she gasped, pushing herself into my hands.

  ‘Did you enjoy my music tonight?’

  A kiss. A lick. A moan.

  ‘You were wonderful, but…distracted,’ she gasped.

  ‘Distracted?’

  ‘Searching.’

  ‘For you,’ I replied, taking her nipple in my mouth and releasing it with a pop. ‘I wanted you to hear your music, the notes you encouraged when you crawled under my skin.’

  ‘It’s all you.’ She smiled as I reached her mouth. Her kiss was needy but soft.

  ‘I’m just a vessel,’ I rasped, her fingers pulling down my bottom lip. I trapped her index finger between my teeth, sucked on her skin as her eyes sparked with lust. My hands covered her breasts, my fingers closed around the braids, and in an act of animalistic unrestraint, I balled the soft, feather-light fabric into my fists and tore it away from her body.