Concerto in Chroma Major

by Naomi Tajedler

  “Not only did I tell her to fuck off, but I’m glad I did it, too.”

  “What do you mean, you’re glad you did it?” she shouts as Leo turns the LEDs on and off.

  Their innovation at the Philharmonie has been the talk of the art world, in Paris and beyond. Since then, they’ve received many commissions asking for similar installations. Their latest contract takes them to the Place des Vosges, across the square from Halina’s hotel, and their client is none other than one of the last Ashkenazi synagogues in Paris, which brings back a lot of unnecessary memories for Alexandra.

  As if I needed more layers of emotion and complication.

  Right now, the empty frame that will hold the mekhitsa, a folding screen that will separate men and women during prayers, stands in the middle of the studio, a welcome physical boundary between her and Leo. Alexandra needs to remember it’s a blowtorch she’s holding before she throws it at Leo’s stubborn head.

  He raises his eyebrows, all casual nonchalance and not a regret in sight. She could smack that expression off his face if she didn’t want to get some answers first.

  “I repeat and I’ll repeat it as many times as needed.” He moves on to test another display, and the flickers of light make Alexandra lose her grip. “I’m glad I told your precious ivory tickler that she didn’t deserve you and that you were destined to come back to me.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” she says, crossing the studio to pull on his shirt and force him to face her. “One, I, and I alone, decide who deserves to be with me. Get that into your pea brain.”

  Leo twists his mouth, his jaw tight.

  “Two, and I think this needs to be the most important thing: you and I? It’s over. We’re friends now.” She pauses, letting him go as she takes a shaky breath. “Or so I thought.”

  This seems to rattle some sense into him. Leo stops playing with the LED’s commands. “Of course we’re friends,” he replies, his hand outstretched, but Alexandra can’t help taking a step back, away from his touch. “But we’re more than that. Always will be.”

  “No, we’re not! Sure, while we were both single, it was fun to… mess around—”

  “We do have fantastic chemistry in bed.”

  “Not the point,” Alexandra says in her firmest voice. “As compatible as we may have been, it’s nothing compared to how happy Halina makes me; you have to see it. Can you tell me that you could give me that? A commitment, a relationship, something I could build a future on?”

  Various emotions pass in Leo’s eyes, ending with pain and bitterness. “What future? She will leave at the end of the season, or did you neatly put that away from your mind?” Leo’s snarled words are a knife in Alexandra’s heart; she doesn’t need to be reminded of the rapidly approaching expiration date stamped on their relationship. “Did you convince yourself that she would leave a world of spotlights and fame to stay here with you and ride into the sunset, happy endings for everybody?”

  “No matter how short-lived it will be, it’s still a future. Would you rather have me throw away months of possible happiness on the off-chance that you convinced yourself we belong together? After what you did? After, in case you need the reminder, you slept with someone else because you didn’t think we were dating because, and I quote, relationships are a scam?”

  Leo opens and closes his mouth before bowing his head, eyes closed. “I could not promise you anything,” he finally replies, voice cracking in ways Alexandra never imagined from him; dark shadows appear in his usual russet tone. “But I can’t lose you.”

  “You’re not,” Alexandra replies instinctively before remembering that Leo did try to make her break up with her girlfriend. “Well, it will take me a while to forgive you, but the studio and our friendship mean too much to me to lose them over your stupidity.”

  Leo smiles sadly at her. He offers his hand as an olive branch of sorts and covers his heart with his other hand, and she slides the tips of her fingers twice against his palm, signaling.

  Apology accepted.

  “What are you going to do now?” Leo asks timidly, as he returns to work.

  Alexandra sighs, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes as she returns to her workstation. “Halina wants to talk to me once the rehearsal is over today, and I really, really want to make it all better,” she adds in a slightly whiny tone. “She understands where she went wrong, and I admit I have my own faults in this mess too, and—” She pauses with a sigh. “It shouldn’t be so complicated, should it?”

  Leo snorts before giving her a pointed look. “Would it truly be love if it wasn’t complicated?” Sadness lingers on his face until he shakes it off. “We were always easy, you and me. That’s why it didn’t last.”

  “But our friendship is complicated.”

  “Because it’s true.”

  Alexandra mulls over his words and raises her eyebrows. “Why, Mister Neri, when did you become so wise?”

  “It’s the beard,” Leo replies immediately, petting his precious goatee. “It must have given my brain a boost.”

  Alexandra rolls her eyes at him. “Su-ure,” she comments, elongating the vowel. “Let’s go with that.”

  “Seriously, though,” Leo tells her, “as much as I don’t want to admit it, you two deserve to work it out.” He sighs, loudly, keeping his eyes firmly on his work as he adds foam to a joint to secure it. “She—Halina, she’s good for your art. For you.”

  Alexandra looks down as her cheeks heat up. “You think so?”

  Leo picks up the iPad they use to take all their professional pictures. “Lexie,” he calls. On the screen is the Philharmonie’s central window, inspired by Halina, by her talent shown at the very first encounter between them.

  “I know so,” Leo says, and Alexandra smiles at him and at the window. “Look at that: Your work is always good, but it never found that balance between movement and stillness before.”

  Alexandra observes her own work. She conceptualized it, but the physical result, once each panel is sealed and bolted, always differs from her sketches. The truth in Leo’s words becomes clearer when she is face to face with a picture.

  “She will always be the one who stole you from me, but I can’t deny that she’s una vera e propria musa.”

  The colors, muted in places and vibrant in others, seem to be alive. The LED highlights it, but it shows more than how Alexandra infused the glass with some of her soul. The fragile material translated the vibration of the place, while also giving the onlooker a sense of peace.

  “All right, then,” she says, voice hoarse as tears gather at the corner of her eyes.

  * * *

  The orchestra plays until the maestro leaves them to their own devices, and Halina turns to her fellow musicians.

  “Hey, guys,” she says, forcing the words out. “Can you please teach me how not to strangle him when he gets that—eurgh?”

  The warmth extended to her when she asks for help is something that’s been lacking for a good portion of the past months. Maybe all it takes for the other musicians to warm up to her is her showing that she has flaws and fragilities too. That she is human after all.

  Some laugh and shrug, some give her tips about dealing with ego-hungry maestros. Halina stays at the piano to embrace her new appreciation for instinctive playing. She always knew that jazz worked for her, after all.

  Ari comes by to check on her and they seem surprised by how drastically her mood has changed.

  “I’m sorry,” Halina says, stopping her improvisations to face them.

  Ari raises one eyebrow and sits next to her. “It’s not the first time I’ve turned into your human stress-relief ball,” they finally say, “and I don’t mind. If that’s my contribution to your greatness…”

  “Oh, Ari,” Halina whispers as she pulls them into a quick hug, “you’re not my emotional punching bag. You’re my friend, and
I shouldn’t have treated you that way.”

  Ari tentatively returns the hug before they face the other way to avoid her gaze; their ears turn bright pink. “As long as you don’t do it too often. Um… anyway, are you—are you ready to go?”

  Halina looks back at the keys. “I’m waiting for Alexandra.”

  Ari starts to roll their eyes, but they quickly cover it when she frowns. “Will you stay at her place tonight?” they ask, and the unspoken “again” is not lost on Halina.

  “We need to talk,” she replies slowly, “figure things out. But no, I don’t believe I’ll spend the evening with her. Consider me as free as a bird.”

  Ari brightens up instantly, and Halina lets a new wave of guilt sweep through her. She has been a bad friend, in addition to a poor excuse for a boss, because of her inability to focus on two things at once. After all, it must have been difficult for them, too, this move to a new country, finding their own bearings, making new friends, and handling all the difficulties that go hand in hand with their responsibilities as Halina’s assistant.

  “What about dinner tonight, just the two of us?” she offers, spinning around on the bench to sit on it cross-legged. “That is, if you’re not too busy with Mr. Green Eyes and Hard Muscles…”

  Ari blushes and focuses on putting a strand of hair behind their ear. “Oh. So you noticed him, uh?”

  “Pretty hard to miss.”

  “Pretty, period. But no,” they add with a knowing air, “I am not constantly kept busy by a new beau.”

  “All right. What about the place near the Louvre?”

  “The sushi with the conveyor belt?” Ari supplies with a beaming smile and clapping hands. “I loved it, yes, that’s awesome!”

  Halina gently pats their cheek. “Deal.”

  “Deal.”

  “You’re more excited about sushi than by your own sexcapades.”

  “It’s sex; it’s good, nothing to write home about, though, can you imagine?” they snicker. “Sex is fleeting. Food, on the other hand …” Ari sighs happily, leaning against on the piano as if the ellipsis contains all the answers. “And what will you do about Alexandra?”

  “Fix things,” Halina replies, with more confidence in her voice than she feels deep down.

  Ari hums, their fingers on a couple of keys. “Playing devil’s advocate here,” they say carefully, “but why do you want to fix that relationship? It’s not as if you can’t find someone else to be your playmate.”

  “I could, but I don’t—I don’t want that,” she says, voice shaking a little with the strength of her emotions. “I tried, but I am sure of what I want—I… I want Alexandra. I want a relationship, a girlfriend, for better or for worse and all that jazz, and Alexandra is the right one for me.”

  Ari laughs. “All right, all right, boss,” they reply, “I just pointed out that you have options.”

  “Of course I have them,” Halina says, shaking her head to free her hair from the messy bun she’s kept it in all day, “but I don’t want them, I want—”

  “I got it, you want Alexandra,” Ari cuts her off, this time openly rolling their eyes at her. “Never thought I’d see you lovesick.”

  “First time for everything.”

  “Please tell me you’re not about to try dicks too.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “One thing at a time?” Ari teases as they stand up. “First love, and maybe…”

  “Hmm, it doesn’t seem very plausible.”

  “You didn’t say impossible.”

  Halina can’t help but laugh. “Last time I checked, bisexuality is not some transmittable disease.”

  “No, it isn’t.”

  They both startle, surprised by Alexandra’s arrival through the backstage door. She walks in, her head tipped toward Ari. “Mx. Fowler,” she greets them, and Ari’s eyes widen at the title, their whole attitude softened.

  “Miss Graff,” they reply, mirroring. “I’ll leave you two alone. See you later, boss.”

  “See you later, Ari,” Halina replies, then focuses on Alexandra. “Hey.”

  Ch 17

  E-flat Major

  Gold, Cranberry, and Glaucous

  Alexandra’s outfit is nothing spectacular—skinny jeans and a long, soft sweater—but Halina can tell Alexandra made an effort for her. It reminds Halina of the outfit she wore when she decided to apologize and give her relationship with Alexandra a chance, back in November. Things have come full circle, perhaps? That would be all the more reason to make sure this conversation goes the right way.

  “Hey.” Alexandra puts her bag on the concertmaster’s chair. “How was your day?”

  “Trying,” Halina replies, “but good, eventually. Yours?”

  “Same: lots of work, between the synagogue and the backlog of online orders, lights tests, and a fight with Leo,” Alexandra replies in one breath with a tired smile. “We can talk about it all later—if you want, that is.”

  “I will—I do,” Halina says softly, her hands on her lap to calm her nerves.

  “I’m sorry.”

  That tears her eyes from her hands and the shimmer of her dress. “Pardon?”

  Alexandra sits on the chair closest to Halina’s bench. “I owe you an apology.” She adjusts a curl behind her ear. She lets her fingers linger on her neck, then starts again. “I want this,” she continues, gesturing between them, “to work, and for that, we need to communicate.”

  “Yes,” Halina says, stunned by this turn of events. She is more than happy, she’s ecstatic, to hear that Alexandra wants to keep their relationship going, especially because the little voice of doubt in the back of her head hadn’t believed that would happen.

  “And for that, I need to let you find your words and express what you mean,” Alexandra says with a sad frown. “And I didn’t, when—”

  “When,” Halina cuts her off; she doesn’t need the reminder. “But I owe you an apology too.”

  Alexandra simply sits back in her chair to give Halina the floor.

  Halina takes a deep breath and scoots the bench closer until their knees brush. “I let my fears and prejudice blind me, and in the process, I hurt you. And I’m sorry,” she says slowly, to give the words she painstakingly put together the impact she aims for. “It was never my intention to hurt you or what we have. But I did. I never want to cause you pain and I can’t promise it won’t happen again, just like you can’t promise me you won’t ever say something unintentionally unkind either. But,” she adds, holding one hand out, hoping Alexandra will take it, “I promise to try. For us.”

  Slowly, Alexandra’s face lightens, and she quickly, unexpectedly, brushes her fingertips along Halina’s palm, twice, before she wraps her hand around it. The gesture must have a deeper meaning, one Halina doesn’t get. She doesn’t need an exact translation, though: she can read the emotions in Alexandra’s eyes. For now, she’s relieved to feel Alexandra’s warmth around her hand, to bask in Alexandra’s happiness, to have Alexandra by her side.

  “I wanted—” she starts, her cheeks heating up in, in all likelihood, a blotchy shade of pink, “I want to play you something that reminds me of you, of us, and has for a while. I still, I mean, I still have trouble finding the proper words, but music—music always conveys what I mean more efficiently.”

  “What if I had said I wanted to stay friends?” Alexandra asks as she lets go of Halina’s hand to stand by the piano.

  Halina glances at her sideways and shrugs dejectedly. “It would still have been my parting gift,” she replies softly. “Just because you wouldn’t return my affections, wouldn’t make them disappear.”

  Alexandra rests her chin on the nest of her arms as she leans on the lid of the piano. “Play me your… affections, then,” she replies, her tone matching Halina’s.

  The notes are delicate under her fingers,
the way she would translate her mended relationship with Alexandra. She plays around with the original score; the melody is her familiar guilty pleasure. Alexandra might not recognize it, but that’s okay. Besides, she has learned never to assume anything when it comes to her girlfriend.

  It takes her a moment, but Alexandra can’t shake the impression that she should recognize the music Halina plays. It’s familiar enough, something half-heard on the radio while she does something else. She listens intently, knowing her synesthesia will help, and that’s how she recognizes it; the colors are slightly different than they are for the original song. It takes a lot of control not to launch herself at Halina and kiss the daylights out of her.

  “I never thought you would enjoy that musical genre.”

  Halina sniffs haughtily as she keeps playing the melody, with more variations and harmonies added as she goes. “Just because I’m a world-renowned, classically-trained pianist doesn’t mean that I can’t appreciate pop music.”

  Alexandra laughs and leans over the piano, arching her back to showcase her butt. “I didn’t say a word, just… One Direction, really?”

  A blush spreads on Halina’s cheeks and, once again, Alexandra is reminded of her grandmother’s porcelain doll, in her white dress, with the two pink spots painted on her flawless face. “I confess,” Halina says, taking her eyes from the keys to focus on her, “I find boy bands quite enjoyable.”

  “All boy bands?”

  “Boże, no, just the ones with pretty songs.”

  “Pretty songs, huh?”

  Halina stops playing and frowns at Alexandra, though her affected anger is quickly belied by her smile and the kiss she blows at Alexandra. “Xandra, are you mocking me?”

  “Maybe just a bit.” Alexandra giggles. “But keep playing; it is pretty.”