The Pianoplayer: A lesbian love story

by Rosalie Sommer

  And so Adolé suddenly and unexpectedly found himself in an industrially influenced loft restaurant with Jewish cuisine near the port of Hamburg. The restaurant was innovative and new, its interior characterized by the cool industrial accessories. Despite the many raw-metal furnishings, it was at the same time cosy and soft in appearance. This was ensured by the sweeping carpets and the many cosy and tasteful cushions and couches. The graceful lighting did the rest. This very relaxed atmosphere was supported by soft jazz music.

  Adolé had no hopes of a reasonable contact or even a nice evening with the pianist and therefore limited herself to high expectations of what she knew to be excellent food. She loved Israeli cuisine and was happy even on bad days with a little good humus and fresh flat bread.

  A rich selection of starters already filled the large and somewhat remote table in the restaurant when Michelle Mimieux finally joined the group of musicians and the two managers. As usual, she hardly said a word of welcome, nodded briefly to the group and then sat down on the only free chair not far from Adolé. Even now she wore her opaque sunglasses and only with a skillful movement she smoothly got rid of her coat.

  When the waiter asked her what she wanted to drink, she answered as usual monosyllabically: "Chardonnay!" No "please", no complete sentence, just a clear instruction. Adolé was once again stunned by so much unkindness.

  She immediately turned to the bright side. "Well, she has a good taste in wine. After all. " thought Adolé, who hadn't expected to see the Frenchwoman so close and detailed for so long. Even now her facial expressions were impenetrable, her gaze lowered, but Adolé at least thought it was to her advantage that she took part in this reconciliation dinner.

  Adolé enjoyed the variety of the starters, the ingenuity of the arrangement and the excellent Argentinean Chardonnay, which she had also ordered. She liked the multidimensional taste of sun-ripened Chardonnays, preferably when it was not from France. Countries with more hours of sunshine, such as Australia, Chile or even South Africa, produced in her eyes meanwhile great, competitive wines, to which she was never averse.

  While she ate a bite here and there and listened to the atmospheric music, she let her gaze wander from time to time furtively in the direction of the bulky French woman. Under no circumstances did she want to look conspicuously over to her or even speak to her, since the fronts between them had apparently been settled to a certain extent satisfactorily for both sides. Moreover, she was of the opinion that the next step had to come from her - in her eyes Adolé had done everything for a peaceful and creative coexistence. Her patience and patience were not infinite. Should the arrogant pianist now enjoy this truce and the peace that went with it, and should she now perhaps even be able to imagine an approach, she would have to jump over her own shadow and venture a step forward on her part.

  More often than she was willing to admit, Adolé secretly risked a look out of the corner of her eye at the piano player sitting diagonally opposite her, while here and there she had an emphatically casual and informal conversation. To her own astonishment, she suddenly and unexpectedly noticed that the unsympathetic Frenchwoman exerted a certain attraction on her, even a strange attraction. Adolé was shocked by this realization that this unsympathetic, egocentric and immature woman had such an effect on her.

  She turned her gaze away in indignation and concentrated again fully on the conversation that she had started with the studio drummer some time ago - the focus was on the advantages and disadvantages of today's computer-aided composition possibilities. Basically, composing had become extremely easy thanks to a wide variety of programs and was therefore open to everyone. In the end, there was much more competition today, since it was not even necessary to master a "real" instrument.

  Adolé liked the musician and the relaxed course of the conversation with him. Usually men were suspicious to her from time to time, but at least she usually felt uncomfortable in their company. This drummer, however, whom she had known for several years, was a notable exception.

  She was about to answer a question he had asked her when she noticed a vibration in her trouser pocket. With a quick apology, she fiddled around in her pocket and immediately fished out her cell phone, which showed a Whats App message from an unknown number.

  She read the message, paused and held her breath: "Can we talk for a moment? I'm out on the terrace. Michelle".

  "How in the world did she get my secret mobile number???!!!", Adolé secretly rebelled. At the same moment, however, it was already clear to her that only Roswitha and Ella could have any real interest in her two protégés finally finding a reasonable basis for their joint work. After all, this project should be a step forward for each of them. Her astonishment at this unusual approach outweighed the fact that she hadn't noticed that the pianist had moved away from their shared table at all.

  Adolé slowly started to move. That she could not tolerate the disclosure of her confidential cell phone number even under these circumstances would be discussed with Roswitha personally at the appropriate time. She apologized to her interlocutor and asked to be able to continue the conversation in a few minutes. With a smile for the drummer, she left the table, turned around and walked along the corridor towards the terrace.

  On the way there, she feverishly thought about what the Frenchwoman could already have back now. After all, this is how she quoted her out of the dinner party and back to herself in this remote place. "Actually I am not her errand boy. Let her come to me if she wants something!" it flashed through her mind.

  Arriving on the terrace, she stopped for a moment, wondering whether she wanted to do so at all. She hesitated further because she was not sure whether she even wanted to have another crude conversation with her unconventional music colleague in this situation, which was originally intended to relax the entire team. What the hell was it that drove her to so abruptly divert this beautiful evening from its intended purpose? And what could she possibly want that she couldn't discuss with her the next day in the studio?

  But curiosity prevailed. Despite all doubt, Adolé took a deep breath of the dark night air and looked around searching, found a sign saying "Relaxation Area" and an arrow to that effect, and slowly continued in that direction.

  The roof terrace was deserted and only indirectly illuminated. A few scattered palms radiated a Mediterranean flair that she liked very much. They moved quietly in the light spring wind. After a few steps she saw Michelle Mimieux in the far back corner, who had turned her back and looked at the view. The nightly Hamburg lay at her feet.

  "That's typical again," thought Adolé resignedly, "instead of greeting me properly," but despite all the negative expectations, he went resolutely and prepared for everything in the direction of the pianist. When she reached Michelle, she also leaned wordlessly against the balustrade and silently looked out at the dark port city. The weak spring wind played around her, hardly noticeable but nevertheless pleasant. Sounds of the street came up to them, a soft honking in the distance, a hearty laugh, a few cars moving away, but all this was dominated by the soft rustling of the palm trees on the terrace.

  "Thank you for coming," Michelle opened the conversation quietly, without turning her eyes away from the view. "Not at all," replied Adolé, also in a subdued voice. "What can I do for you?"

  Michelle turned around, turned to her directly and looked deep into her eyes for a moment. Adolé became inexplicably hot and cold. She reached for the balustrade in order not to lose her balance. She felt her heart beating up to her neck. Adolé himself was astonished. She had not expected this violent reaction to the unsympathetic pianist - it could not be understood either.

  As if she had noticed Adolé's inner confusion, the Frenchwoman turned away and looked down at the ground with concern. In her inimitable manner, she then began to search for words. With her unmistakably typical French accent she began to stutter helplessly around. "I would like to apologize. Our start was not a good one, I never wanted this project. It doesn't make sense to m
e either."

  Again Adolé looked directly into Michelle's blue eyes, this time shorter and therefore less captious. Nevertheless, the attraction hit her so hard that she had to gasp for breath. What was that?! And what was that all about?! She got hot. After a few moments of reflection she answered in a calm voice, also looking down to the ground: "Yes, I feel the same. But my management does not tolerate any contradiction. And I trust Roswitha. She knows what she is doing. It was her idea. Maybe she is right and our strange interaction is a real chance - at least there has never been anything like it before..."

  Michelle remained silent, but was obviously impressed by such a reflected and reasonable answer. Adolé's rational way of dealing with things was not at all in keeping with her own approach, but made sense in every respect. After a short period of reflection, she turned around and left the terrace without a further remark.

  "Hello?! That's just typical!!!", thought Adolé, who was still flashing from those blue eyes and surprised at her own violent reaction to it. She tried to stop Michelle, but when she started to call after her, not a word came out. So she preferred to continue holding on to the terrace balustrade, struggling to keep her composure. The whole spectacle lasted only a few moments, then Michelle Mimieux had left the sun deck of the restaurant with a few hasty, roomy steps and was as inexistent and surreal as ever.

  What remained was Adolé, who, despite the questionable attraction to her opponent, was annoyed by the request to meet her, to have followed her at all.

  7.

  Adolé rolled in her bed from side to side. This strange appearance of the French stubborn man was still buzzing in her memory. She couldn't help but think of her constantly. She still appreciated her apology, to which she had had little opportunity to respond before she disappeared again like a mirage.

  Yet she did not understand them. "What was that all about?!". Adolé didn't understand the artificial, calculating behaviour.

  Their own behaviour was rather tangible - people said what did not suit them. And if you liked something very much, you said so. All in all, everyone had to behave honestly and authentically, or they did not need to be around them at all. This was a waste of time and a waste of precious life energy for them. She had no energy and no understanding for it.

  She simply had no love for people who pretended to be more than they were. Equally superfluous to her were people who lied and cheated, who could not be relied upon and trusted. She didn't want to accuse Michelle of all this, but her whole behaviour since they started this studio project together didn't seem to be on the level.­­

  At least their habitus was mysterious and opaque and Adolé just couldn't make sense of it. Michelle made it much harder than necessary for her and everyone else. Even under these unusual circumstances, working together could be good, creative and enriching. A lot of fresh blood met here. But none of this was the case here.

  Nevertheless, she caught herself looking at her mobile phone far too often that morning and somehow put it aside in disappointment when there was no message on the display.

  She had enjoyed last night. The location was great, as well as the food, the atmosphere and her studio band, which she appreciated beyond measure. Basically the confusing performance of Michelle Mimieux was easy to get over.

  With this thought she rose and went to the shower. A few moments later she was already sitting in the taxi to the studio again. A short stop at her favourite American coffee shop later she entered the rooms she knew so well and took two steps at once on her way up.

  "Good morning everyone", she greeted the already fully present troop cheerfully. "Shall we get started?".

  To her great surprise even the uncomfortable Frenchwoman was there, but in her own area across the hall and with her personal sound man.

  Adolé took note of it with resignation, threw herself into her own work, picked up a score indiscriminately and got going. By midday they had already had some pretty good discolic rhythmic excerpts on tape, with which they spent the afternoon working on the score.

  The day went by faster than expected. The next time she looked at her mobile phone to check the time, it was already half past eight in the evening. In addition, she surprisingly looked at a new text message from the same formerly unknown number from the previous evening - she had saved it under the keyword "MM" to be on the safe side.

  Adolé looked around in amazement and at the same time wiped furtively across the display to read the message. What was going on now?

  As casually as possible, she glanced at the two sentences of the WhatsApp message, which left her astonished: "Feel like taking a short break? I'm on the roof terrace - again. " The end of the message was a wink.

  "With all this love, who can cope with these contradictory signals," thought Adolé in amazement, and briefly considered whether she should again follow this call without complaint. When her curiosity finally prevailed, she grabbed her coffee mug without further ado, went purposefully into the kitchen, made herself and her secret date a fresh latte and turned back up the stairs in the studio stairwell.

  Nobody met her until she came to the glass sliding door, which, with two coffee cups full to the brim, she could only push open with her elbow.

  Again she looked around searching and discovered Michelle sitting on one of the couches not far from the pool. She walked moderately towards her and sat down beside her on one of the other free couches. Without further greeting, she held the freshly brewed coffee in front of her; Michelle accepted this gesture without further nagging and took a sip of the hot beverage. She even seemed to be happy about it.

  Acknowledgingly she nodded and said softly: "Thank you - just the way I like him. Not too hot, not too cold, lots of milk and no sugar."

  l"m trying. That"s exactly how I like him, by the way. So..."

  For a while they looked, without saying another word, at the quietly moving water of the pool, which the moonlight threw against the house wall with a soft splashing, often billowing and silvery shimmering.

  Adolé could not tell how long they sat next to each other in silence and darkness. She only noticed that she felt surprisingly comfortable around the pianist, which was astonishing, because actually they didn't get along very well. Even worse, they didn't really know each other at all. And after all, this French scratching brush did everything possible to make you dislike her. But why was Adolé so mysterious. Yet she noticed this pleasant feeling that spread through her in Michelle's company.

  Finally Adolé broke the silence. "They were here early this morning..." was the only thing she could think of that was still quite innocuous. Making small talk, she added, "Not that they owe me any answers. " after the fact.

  "Yeah, right. I just thought I'd give it a try, start this concept early. “

  Further embarrassed silence followed. Here and there they both sipped their coffee with milk. This time it was Adolé who ended their secret meeting by slowly getting up. "I must get back to the others - before they start wondering and report a missing person," she said almost whispering.

  "Yeah, sure. Me too." Again, she did not look at Adolé, but kept her gaze directed without any recognizable facial expression to the lightly sloshing water in the pool. Adolé noticed out of the corner of her eye that Michelle had a long scratch on her leg that was sticking out of her trouser leg. She immediately forgot the thought, however, when she noticed a short, restrained goodbye from Michelle.

  "Yes, then." Michelle said goodbye almost inaudibly and shortly afterwards she shoved a quiet "Thank you. That was nice." after that. But since Adolé didn't know if Michelle really said that or if this almost friendly goodbye was just a figment of her imagination, she disappeared without a reply. Without turning around again, she walked in the direction of the exit, slipped through the sliding door, which was still open a crack wide, back to her musicians. No one had missed her, no one noticed how she continued to follow this encounter for a long time and feverishly pondered what this again strange meeting had already
meant.

  8.

  A few days had passed. Adolé's phone was silent. That didn't make things better. She still found herself pondering over and over again as soon as her tight recording schedule offered her even the slightest chance to do so.

  On several occasions she thought about how to interpret this contradictory behaviour of the French colleague, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not reasonably explain it. What plausible solution could there be to this? In her eyes, this behaviour was childish and characterised by total uncertainty.

  Certainly this behaviour was not worthy of a world-famous, widely travelled world star who had already experienced a lot. Normally, she would bring whole halls to rapture on stage with self-confidence and would not let anything upset her. Even high celebrities in the auditorium were no cause for excessive excitement for her. So why were performances in front of thousands of people no problem, but simple sound recordings with her so difficult?

  Why didn't she just come up to them and say what was on her mind? After all, she was old enough to address and resolve conflicts. She wasn't 17 anymore! She was a grown woman in the middle of life! Adolé continued to ponder over this impenetrable being whenever the opportunity arose. The scratch on her leg in particular was a mystery to her. But surely there was an obvious explanation.