It Had Been Years

by Malflic, Michael

  A Few Passing Moments of Truth

  Pulling up to the side walk Nadrea offered, “You coming in?”

  “Sure” Vincent responded, “but if the street lights even go out”

  Nadrea smiled playfully “Don’t worry I’ll protect you.”

  So as Vincent passed through the doorway into her house for the first time he was greeted with a high end English Country home and American revolutionary period style, a decor that he didn’t expect. A formal parlor graced with a cherry baby grand Piano.

  “Ice?” She asked.

  “Yes on the rocks would be fine. Do you have Dewars?” Vincent replied.

  “I meant for your hand but drinks are just fine too. The Bar’s on the second floor.”

  So Nadrea headed up the long dark staircase that ran along the left side of the house. “Help yourself” she offered pointing him towards the bar “I’ll be right back.” Nadrea headed off to a room at the far end of the hall while Vincent settled in behind a mahogany bar with a green granite counter top. Seemingly out of nowhere music began to pulsate from the walls and the hallway. So as the electronic dance club beat of the moment continued Vincent placed his Dewars over ice in a rocks glass and chilled a shaker full of ice while submerging a martini glass into the receptacle of the ice machine to chill it.

  Nadrea’s silhouette preceded her down the hall she moved yet once again with an almost sinister grace and ease. She entered the room right as Vincent finished putting a Smirnoff Martini into the oversized chilled glass. Gone was her seductive leather pants, matching suede blouse and shoes, in their place was a crushed velvet night gown, gathered and tight in all the right places hanging precariously from two thin spaghetti straps. Entering like the room was devoid of another living soul other than her own she headed for the lights putting them out completely from their already lowered state. Nadrea began to light an assortment of small and large, square and round and rectangular candles arranged on shelves of varying heights throughout the room. She would look at each determining which to light next like it was a wolrd altering choice. As soon the room was lifted from the darkness one flickering well selected flame at a time. Soon it was filled with hints of vanilla and ocean mist as they danced with aromas of musk and lavender.

  The varying shelf heights and menagerie of candle sizes and shapes cast odd shadows at different angles as Nadrea destroyed the remainder of her drink. Vincent hadn’t know her long, but he had watched her closely that first night at the bar and gatherings since then. He knew that she would go through the first few quickly with each change of venue. Drifting out from behind the bar Nadrea had taken her glass and the shakers filled with two more refills with her as she settled in the shadow laden oversized sectional couch, soon after Vincent joined her.

  “So, Vin, what makes the world go round?” Not certain what she was looking for and a large part of him not caring.

  “Centrifugal force” he replied, not certain whether or not that was even accurate, but for some reason or another that’s the thing that jumped into his head. It was obviously not the thing she was looking for based on the lack of amusement and general disdain on her face.

  “Fine” she said “if the earth is spinning in general then what is it that trips your trigger? And Oh I have a nice pair of flannel Pajama’s I can go put on.” She was of course kidding, owning such a common and practical item was far from anything she had or had ever wanted. Nadrea hadn’t possessed anything so normal since she had out grown her batgirl footie PJ’s when she was nine.

  Vincent stood to remove his blazer folding it in half aligning the shoulders and the discarding it with a toss to an overstuffed club chair. It was the kind of chair you would expect to find a withered wealthy old Brit sitting in, squinting to see the paper while sipping his brandy. Sitting back down, this time he was near the arm rest facing toward Nadrea at an odd angle. She moved in closer, kneeling on the couch facing him. Her knees nearly touching his thighs, but not quite.

  “You haven’t said anything all night.”

  Vincent just sipped his drink before, “I didn’t say I was going to be good company.” Nadrea couldn’t let it drop. “But if you didn’t want to go out then why did you?”

  “Who knows?” Sarcasm filled his tone. “Maybe just to get out of the office…” Nadrea’s mind raced, was the entire evening just a change of pace for him? Vincent continued…”too much work, besides I thought it might be nice to spend a little time with you.”

  Nadrea thought she heard Vincent’s first admission of interest in her, or at least in seeing her again. Vincent continued, “Besides it was about time you fucking called me and asked me out.” Was it that he had placed the ball soundly and firmly in her court in his mind without telling her, she wondered.

  “So you wouldn’t have called me?”

  With a dead serious face he replied “Nope.”

  “Ever?” Nadrea asked concerned about not only his answer, but more so about what she was actually feeling inside.

  His face grew stern “No, I had called you enough, if you hadn’t called me…” Nadrea the fear was welling up inside of her. She didn’t know why. A week before she couldn’t stand the annoying ever present thought of him, a day after that he had turned the tables on her and somehow she simply couldn’t stop thinking about him. Her defenses, a sense of self preservation kicked in as she started to lie to herself about caring if he would have ever called. Nadrea broke the silence with “Fucking liar” purely a self defending response. Vincent laughed for only the second time that night adding “I always have been!” She now realized that he had been playing the entire time. Putting on her best young lover persona “but I’ve been thinking about you every second since last time we were together.” Delivered in a breathy southern school girl meets whore tone, a statement made in jest that was not all together that far from the truth.

  “Really? That’s too bad” Vincent said following his words with his first genuine kiss of the evening. After Nadrea had kissed him back she settled in next to him, her body leaning against his. They looked more like an established couple watching TV than two very experienced people who filled their otherwise charmed lives with seemingly meaningless and indiscriminate acts of pleasure. Both were in truth in their own twisted little ways searching for an ideal that they could never obtain, in part because neither of them had ever defined it.

  Placing her shoulder in front of him, her head squarely centered on his chest asked. “So what really makes your world go round?” Vincent paused and Nadrea pleaded “Tell me who you really are, what you really like and want.” Now it was Vincent who had fear welling up inside of him, yes he had an interest in her, and yes she had intrigued him in a way that no one ever had, but for a man who spoke his mind, trusted his instincts and could for the most part read people like a book, he rarely discussed what he felt with anyone in any depth. His silence speaking volumes Nadrea asked again “Vin, I’m trying. Please say something.” With a breath and a heavy pause his words began, spoken aloud not to Nadrea in particular but to the room with her sitting next to him. The soft skin of her exposed shoulders against his clothed chest he began if no one else was there. His soliloquy rang out. “I would love to answer but I don’t know. If a man has everything he has ever wanted then why is it he still wants more? Is the fulfillment of his dreams paramount with the depths of his sorrows, for I don’t believe it is possible for one to exist without the other. Not in the universe but not even without existing in the same man. A lust for more things, more power, more influence.” Vincent’s voice tensing, his eyes focused on a candle right in front of him, the shadows and scents part of who he had become for that moment. Nadrea asked. “Have you ever been in love?” “Of course.” Vincent replied, adeptly offering no detail, no insight, returned the question to Nadrea. Her reply, “Once. I was young, too young. Things just didn’t work out.” Vincent didn’t press or prod instead he asked. “So in the still of the night who are you?” As she gathered her response, word
s intended to be trivial and shallow yet accurate he added. “Not who you pretend to be to others or yourself but who you really are.” Nadrea didn’t speak, they both just sat there in the flickering candle light, music still filling the house. Nadrea wasn’t intending to be evasive. She in truth didn’t know and as she pondered the question she didn’t like what she saw, the truth behind the answer. Nadrea remained silent, Vincent knew if he spoke first he would lose and the question might never be answered.

  After a long silence she moved to kiss him. “I’d better go” Vincent offered. They stood passing down the long dark hall and as they passed the parlor Vincent commented on what a beautiful decoration the piano was. “ It’s not just a decoration” Nadrea stated almost indignantly. How could it be that Vincent hadn’t seen her as talented, creative, and gifted?

  “So play me something”

  “It’s late and you were leaving.” She continued down the hall toward the front door. “One song, I implore you.” Vincent said mockingly.

  Nadrea moved back toward the piano, sitting in front of it raising the key cover before stretching her fingers.

  Vincent stood in the entrance to the parlor, leaning on the woodwork in along the opening in the wall. “What would you like to hear?” Nadrea hated playing for others, not because of a lack of proficiency but because when she played it was always for herself no matter who was listening. She began at first playing along perfectly with the melody of the song coming from the wall.

  “Turn it off. I want to hear you play.”

  Nadrea stood in disgust walked into the next room as Vincent lurked in the door way as silence fell over the house. The only sound that could be heard was her foot steps back to the piano bench, repositioning herself again back in front of the keys. The first notes fell ringing through the rarely silent when inhabited abode. As her fingers danced across the keys as magically the room was bursting with note after note each chord changed resolving seamlessly into the next melody. As Nadrea’s mouth opened her voice escaped, every word in the perfect place and with immaculate pitch. A melody of pop songs flowed from her fingers as Vincent found his way to a chair in the parlor facing Nadrea. He watched the passion that flowed from her face that would result in the beautiful but melancholy notes her fingers created. Unlike many classically trained pianists she played solely from memory, not a scrap of paper or a fake book to be found. The seconds passed into minutes and minutes into hours, each song flowing without pause into the next. Vincent eyed the cello and a violin on the stands by the window. She moved with deft and ease as her selection worked its way from modern alternative, pop her mood lightening with the songs as she worked into fifties rock then to twenties jazz. Culminating in a series of piano concertos the last one was particularly haunting. Each note lovingly played with world class perfection. No words had been spoken in nearly three hours except for the ones she sang. Nadrea’s voice was angelic expressing the joy or pain of each song with a raw unshielded emotion, she was living the words. She stopped after having not pausing for hours, she looked across the room at Vincent. While she had been very much lost in her own world she had all but forgotten that he was there.

  “That was amazing, you play beautifully.” She looked at him staring deeply into his dark eyes.

  “In the still of the night I’m an ugly whore, alone with her own demons waiting to feel beautiful.” Tears welling up in her eyes at the honest conclusion of what she had chosen to become.

  “Now Vincent. What are you in the middle of the night? And like me not who you pretend to be but who are you really?” Vincent stood, she thought he might be taking his leave of her rather than answer but instead he walked to the window peering out onto the dark lonely street. He reached for the violin shouldering it, slowly drawing the bow across it, adjusting the tuning to a concert violinist’s perfection before playing his first series of notes. They were notes of musical legend playing each note and phrasing with skill and purpose, driving and haunting those who heard it. At the close of the movement he looked up and spoke. “I am the devil.” A clear reference to the fact that legend has it that Paganini had sold his soul for his skills. As he stood over Nadrea who was still seated at the piano, violin still shouldered, bow still at the ready.

  “In the still of the night I am my own devil, and somehow I lost myself and soul to be there.” He began again this time Nadrea joined in on the piano as if pre-rehearsed. As they concluded Vincent said softly “I really need to go.”

  “It’s almost three. Just stay here” Nadrea offered, wondering no sooner than the words left her lips why she would have tendered such a thing.

  “Not to night” he said taking her hands as she stood “but you can walk me to the door.” As he got to the door he turned and leaned down to kiss her goodnight after which he stepped through the open door out onto the old stone landing. Nadrea peering out slowly closing the door behind him Vincent turned “You truly are beautiful” as the words faded from her ears he added “It’s a shame you need someone else to see it so that you feel that way. Instead you should show people how amazing you are, it is truly far more alluring than your body and sexual persona alone.” As always seemed to be the case Vincent then disappeared into the night, this time concealed by the darkness of his car and then by the distance mixed with the darkness of the night.

  A Cherry Bench

  After Vincent’s departure Nadrea tended to the routinely mundane but all too necessary task of locking the door and setting the alarm. She opened the piano bench and placed the felt key cover neatly in position closing the lid gently like she was tucking in a precious possession for the night. She sat on the end of the bench long ways still adorned in her whores clothing reclined her torso along its length, the cool hard wood supporting her torso along its length, arms limp to the side draping to the floor. Her hair and head dangling downward off the far end her hair fanned across the hardwood floor. Her legs limply askew for once there was nothing overly promiscuous about her lack of modesty, instead there was a childlike innocence. Her thoughts betraying her posture and garments. “He thinks I’m beautiful” she repeated softly over and over again. Her breath easy, her body limp. Perhaps there was nothing more child like in the world than simply feeling pretty without all the other things and complications that comes with age.

  Two nights in Reston

  Donna had agreed earlier in the week to as the Husker put it “disappear for the weekend.” At the time she was not entirely certain what that entailed, but after all he was a wholesome guy who had agreed to follow her into her lifestyle the past few weekends so it was only more than fair that she tried to do some of the things he wanted. Donna packed two large suitcases filling them with everything from chic casual to shorts and jeans. Of course there were running shoes and workout clothes along with a few selections of lingerie from Victoria’s Secret Pink Collection. The garments were only slightly more functional than the corset, stockings and heels she could be most often found in. It was no small matter how one looked at it a trip to the suburbs for the weekend. The Husker on the other hand had packed everything he needed in an oversized gym bag. A pair of gabardine khaki’s, a pair of jeans, three shirts, sandals, running shoes and the all too typical assortment of common boring and purely functional undergarments. The trademark of which was his traditional cotton blue boxers. He was steady, reliable and functional, more of a Volvo station wagon than a high performance sports car.

  So as the overly practical man who had grown moderately more daring recently with each passing day rolled up in front of Donna’s to pick her up he popped the trunk and loaded the modern equivalent of steamer trunks into the car. Off the pair went into the misery and insanity that constitutes Friday afternoon traffic in DC. When the wheels of bureaucracy where in full motion 28 miles takes 90 minutes due to gridlock and traffic. Finally, the couple arrived at the Hyatt in Reston, and for a place so close to the city it had a distinctly different feel. The hotel bellman unloaded the suitcases and the valet ch
eerfully whisked away the old man mobile they had arrived in.

  Standing at the front desk Donna said quietly, “I’ll be at the bar.”

  Robert not at all a controlling man responded “OK but why?” as he was handed the key to their suite.

  “What if somebody sees us?”

  “So what? After last weekend at brunch people know we’re dating.”

  As Donna considered his point added “You usually watch the shadows just in case”. “Yes, just in case Christy was lurking around the corner.” They began to follow the bellman towing a luggage cart toward the elevators. “Now she knows, she may not like it but she knows. Besides she is in Nebraska for a series of meetings for elected officials support staff.”

  As the pair settled into the suite, he immediately found the coffee maker and dug through his bag to find his precious pre-ground coffee hidden at the bottom, not because he was hiding it, but because it was the first thing he had packed. Donna stood in front of the closet and dresser unpacking. The Husker watched in amazement sipping his thick black brew as Donna placed outfit after outfit into the closet and dresser.

  “That’s a lot of stuff” Robert stated sitting on the bench at the foot of the bed clutching his mug.

  “I didn’t know what you had planned” Donna replied.

  “Well none of it involves a lot of clothes” he said playfully.

  Had they really escaped merely for carnal purposes, a change of venue, it would have been something more likely if she had planned the weekend.

  “Since you’re dressed lets go to dinner.”