by Lee Winter
Natalya found the scrutiny presumptuous. “I’ll have my usual,” she said, interrupting his reverie, “with extra vodka.” She glanced over to Alison, silently asking.
“Ah, coffee, please. Just plain.”
“Would you care to see the menu? Or the sweets tray? Chef has a delicious fruit of the forest tart tonight. Perfect for an after-show nibble. You could share, perhaps,” he added boldly.
Alison was growing pink, and Natalya was nearing her wit’s end. This was not a date. This would never be a date. She did not date. Ever. This was a mistake; that’s what it was.
“No,” Natalya said curtly. If looks could kill, she was damn sure Anton would be a smouldering ash pile right now.
The waiter got a clue and scurried away, and she exhaled, then realised her oversight. “You didn’t want dessert, did you?”
Alison fiddled with a napkin. “I shouldn’t. Have to be careful.” She patted her stomach regretfully.
Natalya studied her with curiosity. “Careful of what? You are in proportion, aren’t you? Not a diabetic? Or is this one of those things where women say they shouldn’t and mustn’t and so on and then sneak some anyway? I’d rather you just have what you really want than worry about what I’d think. Life’s too short. Trust me.”
Alison studied her pensively. “I wasn’t worried about what you’d think. I was more concerned with what my mother would think if I porked out.” She laughed sheepishly. “She really worries about image. I’d never hear the end of it.”
Natalya wasn’t fooled by the lightness of her tone.
“What do you care what she thinks you should eat?” she asked, baffled. “You’re an adult.”
“She’s my mother! Of course what she thinks matters.”
Natalya shook her head. “That’s ludicrous. A parent’s job is to raise you to fend for yourself in adulthood. Not to make you too traumatised to have a treat on a night out.”
Alison’s jaw clamped shut.
Natalya regarded her stormy expression and wondered what she’d said now. Women were the most frustrating, maddening creatures on earth to deal with. She rubbed her forehead. Why had she ever thought tonight was a good idea? Give her an assassin any day over whatever was happening here.
Anton returned and put down their drinks. He gave them both a friendly wink. “Enjoy, ladies.”
“What did you think of the concert?” Natalya asked when he left, unimpressed by the innuendo dripping from his voice.
“Oh,” Alison said, her eyes brightening. “It was like a religious experience.” She looked at her nervously. “I know that probably sounds so silly.”
“Not at all,” Natalya said, firmly. “It’s like being transported to the heavens.”
“Yes!” Alison said. “I cried at the end. I always do.”
Natalya considered her next words carefully. She’d never admitted this to a soul.
“So do I. Every time. Pathétique is the embodiment of human pain. It picks mankind apart. And it articulates death. Tchaikovsky touches on everything—sorrow, pleading, love, longing, despair, and hope. If you don’t hear his ache, then you’re not alive. By the time I finish the 6th Symphony, I’m always feeling raw, and I can never stop the prick of tears.”
“Why would you even try?”
Natalya pursed her lips. “It’s not good to have distractions. Even so, I leave a part of myself on stage every time I play that. It reminds me of what we really are. Fallen. Flawed. Tchaikovsky points to our conceit and how meaningless it all is. It’s the most honest work I’ve ever played.”
Alison fiddled with her coffee. “That’s a bleak outlook. I see the 6th more as a cry for what we lose when we die. Not a mockery of dreams that can’t be.”
“Please. He was a tortured Russian gay man forced to hide who he really was his whole life. Trust me; he was doing plenty of mocking of humanity’s unfulfilled dreams and losses. It’s almost entirely pathos; little else.”
“Well, that’s depressing. He could have just been imaginative.”
“And that’s insanely optimistic. Besides, I’m being kind. Some historians called the piece a portentous suicide note—even if he did die of cholera. It was a requiem of sorts.”
“A requiem?” Alison repeated.
Natalya studied her cautiously. “Yes. Why?”
“It’s just…It’s not a common word.”
“You need to associate with more musicians.”
Alison sighed. “I need to associate with anyone more.”
“Oh?”
“I don’t get out much. Well not for the past fifteen years.” She shot her an embarrassed grin. “It’s currently kind of sad. My life.”
“Why don’t you get out?”
“I have to look after Mum. She’s not mobile. She likes having me nearby.”
“They do have nursing services. Carers who do this sort of thing professionally. Even part-time.”
“She doesn’t want to use one. My sister and I offered to pool our resources and get her someone, and help find her a better house, too. But it would mean using our inheritance from Dad and his late second wife.
“Problem is, Mum would rather stew in her juices and be enraged at him long after he’s dead, cursing his ‘whore money,’ than have a good life. Why be happy when you can wallow in your own bitterness?”
“Yet, she’s fine with you having no life? Are you fine with that, too?” Natalya kept her tone deceptively polite. Inside she was roiling at the old woman’s selfishness.
Alison folded her arms. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Judging me for choices that are out of my hands. You don’t know what it’s like to be me.”
“Nothing is ever out of our hands. Women, especially, too often believe it to be so, because that’s what the world wants us to believe.”
Alison shook her head. “What about people in really hard situations, who might be trapped by circumstance?”
“If someone wants something more than anything else, they will inevitably achieve it,” Natalya said flatly. “People say they can’t do things far too often. It’s weak. More often than not, they haven’t even tested their limits.”
“That’s too simplistic. You strip all the emotion out of how difficult these things are for some people. How wrenching it can be.”
“Then they should look at the larger picture and do what needs to be done. If that means putting aside the emotional consequences until they can deal with them later—so be it.”
“But they’re emotions! You can’t just park them till later. They’re unavoidable. You’re a musician who gets moved to tears you can’t control. So how can you even believe that?”
Natalya regarded her seriously. “A momentary loss of control is not the same as allowing myself to be controlled. There is a reason I had played at every major concert hall with all the world’s leading orchestras before I was twenty-eight. Do you think that just happened? Yet I began with nothing and had to fight for it with just my wits and skill. I was prepared to do what it took to get what I wanted.”
She paused and remembered the men in expensive suits at Ken Lee’s warehouse who had first laughed when she’d made her proposal as an earnest seventeen-year-old.
The only one who hadn’t laughed had been Dimitri’s ambitious new wife, Lola, who’d seen her potential. The mob wife had her own reputation to prove.
She’d taken Natalya aside, looked her over and done a deal so breathtakingly far-reaching and diabolical that two and a half decades later Melbourne’s crime families were still paying the price for it.
Natalya had to grow up fast in those early days because several patrons felt their sponsorship of her should include certain entitlements in return. The first man to make that mistake bled out within minutes, his manhood stapled to his office door.
The others had taken careful note of that rebuttal. Natalya’s reputation had been cemented. No one laid so much as a fingernail on her after that.
Alison looked at her incredulously. “That’s just…that’s…so sad. Emotions aren’t a weakness! How can you think like that? I feel everything and it’s just who I am. It doesn’t make me weak.
“I get weepy over sappy TV commercials. I cry when an old couple falls in love. I turn to mush when my niece sends me silly home-made birthday cards. I cling to the dog I adopted in Sydney like I’m losing a child every time I say goodbye to her because I can’t stand not being with her, but Mum’s allergies mean she lives with my sister instead.
“I still hurt over what I left behind in Sydney. It was more than just a scholarship and a musical career. I left Melissa. She was funny and kind. She played flute and sang bad falsettos out car windows and she had my heart. I had to give her up to come home. I still get this pain, this deep ache, when I think of what could have been.
“But I wouldn’t swap all that emotional turmoil for feeling nothing. It’s living, Natalya. It’s being human. You can’t just shove that aside. That’s like me telling you that you should stop feeling anything during Tchaikovsky’s 6th.
“God, what will happen if you ever face an emotional storm you can’t handle, that’s too big for you to suppress through sheer force of will?”
“Well, that will never happen. It’s all about discipline.” Natalya finished her drink and placed the glass neatly on the table. She found it interesting that Alison preferred the company of women. But the rest—well, she could barely relate. Who embraces chaos? Why would anyone willingly do that? It made little sense. Natalya rotated her glass 15 degrees to straighten it, before flicking her gaze up. “You really are like no one I have ever met before.”
“Is that a good thing?”
Natalya gave her a sideways look. “I’m not sure. Probably good. I have met some appalling people. Classical musicians can be the worst. They all think they’re gods. Me included.”
Alison grinned. “Well, you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met, either.”
“No,” Natalya agreed with complete certainty. “I’m not.”
“Why are you?” Alison asked, seemingly unaware she hadn’t even uttered a complete sentence.
“Why am I what?”
“Sitting here? With me? In your gorgeous black evening gown, with posh jewellery, all regal and perfect. Like some European countess. And here’s me: Unimportant, with my best Target necklace on. A no one.”
Natalya wished she knew the answer. This evening had crossed every line. Every rule drilled into her. Instead she replied lightly: “You’re here because I wished to hear your views on the 6th Symphony.”
“Why do you care what I think?” Alison peered at her and waited.
“I suppose you have an earnest, if backward, view about what constitutes music.” Natalya offered her a hint of a smile. “It’s unusual. And you cry at puppies and sunshine or some such thing, and are both modest and amusing, so that makes you about as unique as a unicorn in my world.”
“Oh, I get it,” Alison laughed. “I’m like some weird circus bearded lady. And, hello? ‘Backward view’? Did you just insult me?”
“Quite possibly,” Natalya said agreeably. “Don’t expect an apology.”
“Let me guess: it’s a sign of weakness?”
“Something like that. Or I may be out of practice. Who would I ever have to apologise to? Everyone else is always the one in the wrong.”
“God,” Alison muttered. “How do you even exist? I mean, seriously. You’re so high maintenance. I’d need an instruction manual to understand you.”
“Yet you’re the one who insists on the entire world processing its emotions without filters. That’s how wars get started.”
“Or ended. Love is an emotion, too.”
Natalya noted the triumphant gleam. She arched an eyebrow. “I swear if you break into Age of Aquarius, we are done.”
“We? What, um…” Alison faded out.
Natalya’s expression faltered. She had not meant to say that. She began to pray for her mythical assassin to appear. That she could deal with.
“It’s not a…” Natalya tried to order her thoughts. “I didn’t mean to imply that we…” she waggled her fingers between herself and Alison. “I don’t…” She stopped again, frowning.
Alison leaned over and patted her hand. “Hey, don’t worry. Don’t overthink it.”
Natalya felt the pulse in the other woman’s wrist. The warmth under her skin. She resisted the urge to curl her fingers into Alison’s and retracted her hand swiftly.
“Well, I think it’s time you tell me: how are you coming along with your cacophony of experimental music you claim that I’ll like?”
“It’s coming. Just keep your phone handy this week while I narrow down the field. What about you? How goes the hunt for a pure piece of perfection?”
Natalya leaned back in her chair. “Purity is actually easy to find in music. It’s narrowing it down to perfection that’s difficult. It’s an impossible task you’ve set.”
“I thought you said people gave up too easily? Although, you know there is such a thing as being too perfect.”
“Heresy,” Natalya said sharply. “Next you’ll say musicians aren’t at the top of the social food chain.”
“I wouldn’t dare.” Alison laughed.
“Glad that’s settled. Now, dessert.” She eyed her expectantly and offered an encouraging smile. “Yes?”
Alison twisted her napkin into a knot. Then untwisted it and folded it, patting it flat as Natalya waited. She suddenly looked up and smiled and it was like sun breaking through clouds. It was unsettling.
“You know, I think that’s a great idea,” Alison said.
Natalya nodded once, feeling a mix of triumph and approval, and summoned Anton.
* * *
They walked together back to the VPO’s open-air parking lot. It was an incongruous sight, Natalya thought, with her formidable height, and Alison’s tiny features. Like an oak tree swaying next to a daffodil.
The heavens opened up and a fine rain began. It was too light to worry about. Alison suddenly stopped and smiled up at the skies, startling Natalya. She then opened her arms as she gazed up at the blackness.
A streetlight a block away illuminated the fine drops in its halo. It was too far away to see the details, so from where she stood it looked like a sphere of mist engulfing the light.
Alison turned full circle, her face up, and grinned even wider.
“God,” she whispered. “How amazing is this?” She glanced over to Natalya, who had remained stock still, feeling vaguely astonished.
“Don’t you love rain?” Alison asked her. “It’s so renewing.”
“Apparently so,” she said dryly and Alison laughed. She stopped twirling. “Sorry. I just realised that probably looks cooler if you’re an Austrian nun.”
Alison slicked back her hair with her hand, wrenching out the elastic band corralling her ponytail and shoving it in her pocket. She combed her fingers through her wet hair.
“Never apologise for being who you are,” Natalya said, quietly. “If you have the urge to dance in the rain, dance in the rain.”
“And have you stand there and laugh at me? Please, I know your game now,” Alison joked. “I’m your cheap entertainment. Like some weird interactive art installation: Insane Woman In Rain.”
Natalya fell silent, her gaze dropping to Alison’s chest. The rain had now rendered her pale cotton shirt translucent. Her white bra was clearly outlined. The sight was…pleasing.
Alison followed her gaze and flushed.
“I’m not laughing,” Natalya replied softly and, after a beat, her gaze drifted back up again. She lifted her eyebrow, wondering what Alison’s next unorthodox move would be.
Alison cleared her th
roat and looked embarrassed. She waved towards a Datsun 120Y in the parking lot. Mustard yellow, about 500 years old. Rust was creeping up its undercarriage. It took everything in Natalya’s arsenal not to show her distaste.
“Well, this is me,” Alison said. “Where are you?”
Natalya inclined her head towards her silver Jaguar. “Not far. Although I still have to pick up my cello.”
“Oh,” Alison said, sounding interested. “A Jag?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I think I half expected you to ride a motorcycle. Something fast and high-powered. That’d be cool.”
“Impractical for a cellist, don’t you think?” she countered. “And my evening gown would get caught in the spokes. That’d be quite a statement.”
“You don’t ride even recreationally?” Alison asked. “Off road or something?”
“Off road? You mean in the bush? Why would anyone do that? One fall and a glorious musical career would be over, and I’m rather fond of my glorious musical career.”
“Lots of musicians ride bikes. They’re like chefs,” Alison said. “Or so I hear. I guess they like to blow off steam. High-powered job and all that.”
Natalya kept her face a mask. “If you say so.”
Alison leaned back against her car. “How do you then? Blow off steam, I mean? Come down from the heavens as you call it. What do you do?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”
Alison blinked at her, startled.
“It’s a saying,” Natalya said, laughing at her expression. She rolled her eyes. “You’re right: you really need to get out more.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. I forgot to thank you, by the way. I appreciate you leaving me a ticket at the door. This was fun.” She straightened and leaned closer to Natalya. Her eyes slid to Natalya’s lips.
To her complete surprise, Natalya’s own body betrayed her, swaying closer. That apparently was all the invitation Alison needed as she tilted her head up. Natalya’s hands immediately shot out, catching Alison by the biceps, holding her within breath-sipping distance from her.
“No,” Natalya said, but realised she hadn’t exactly pulled back.