Halina resumes playing, and the notes turn softer: fewer reds and purples and sharp angles and rounder, more comforting greens with soft lilac and magenta interlaced in the background.
“You switched, didn’t you?”
“Mm hmm.”
“Which composer is it?” she asks, mumbling against her forearm, but Halina hears her well enough.
“Moritz Moszkowski.”
“Hmm?”
Halina takes her eyes off the keys, and Alexandra doesn’t look away. She doesn’t want to break the moment, surrounded as she is by the echo of Halina’s music—of Halina’s affections, as she put it so succinctly.
Halina’s eyes have a focus that wasn’t there before, and she suddenly stops playing. She slides from the bench to the floor, with her hand wrapped around Alexandra’s, until she kneels beside her.
“Follow me,” she says, letting go to gently put her hands on Alexandra’s shoulders and push her under the piano.
“Now who is a potential serial killer?”
Alexandra’s eyes adapt to the darkness, but all she sees is Halina on her side under the piano. “What are we doing here?”
“Listening to the music.”
Alexandra frowns and scoots closer to Halina until the faint glow from the exit sign outlines her features in the darkness. “What music?”
Halina lightly puts her fingers over Alexandra’s mouth. “Just listen.”
Alexandra kisses the tips of Halina’s fingers, the very fingers she fell in love with in the first place. For once in her life, she tries to stay quiet and still. It’s harder than it seems, though—under the piano, every breath makes as much noise as the entire brass section.
“You think too loudly, słoneczna,” Halina whispers with laughter in her voice: a deep, vibrant purple on the margins and Halina’s usual peach in its center. “Come here.”
Halina’s hands cup the back of Alexandra’s head and pull her closer so her head is nestled against Halina’s chest.
The velvet of Halina’s black dress makes dull little noises under Alexandra’s ear: golden ochre crossing black. She closes her eyes, keeping her hand on the groove of Halina’s waist, letting Halina’s heartbeat calm her. That sound is the background: strong, deep-blue pulsing in the middle. As the noises from the velvet create lines, the earthy tones fade into the blue.
Alexandra smiles against Halina’s chest. Her fingers are tight around the curve of Halina’s hip.
“Do you hear it now?”
Halina’s voice echoes against Alexandra’s face. “I can see it now,” she replies, and Halina’s fingers plunge deeper into her hair.
She makes an inquisitive noise, and Alexandra tilts her head to rub the tip of her nose against Halina’s. “If only I could show you the colors you have brought into my life,” she says softly. Her face feels warm. She fears she said too much too soon, but unlike other occasions, when Alexandra expressed her feelings and Halina froze, there is no sudden tension or awkwardness, only comfort and tenderness.
“You’ve brought new music to my life too,” Halina whispers before she gives her a kiss that leaves Alexandra breathless and dizzy with happiness.
* * *
The moment Halina pulls out a chair next to Ari, they give her a long, sweeping glance and tsk.
“What?”
“It’s spooky.”
“What?”
“The look on your face,” they reply with their chopsticks pointed at her. A piece of pickled ginger dangles from the chopsticks, and Halina bats at it before it can land on her. “It’s as if you had plastic surgery, and it’s etched there forever.”
“Don’t I ever smile?”
Ari returns their attention to their plate of spicy calamari salad, and Halina can’t resist stealing a piece of it.
“You do,” they reply finally, “but not usually so brightly—are you high?”
“No!”
“Sure?”
“Ari!”
“Okay, okay,” they say, lifting their hands in surrender—and this time a piece of seaweed does fly. “Good for you; I assume the conversation went in the right direction?”
“It’s not perfect yet,” Halina replies as she removes the vegetables from her maki roll. “But it’s… on track.” Her cheeks are tight with the width of her smile.
“It’s too much happiness for just one person,” Ari comments, trying to appear superior and failing miserably while they pick at the vegetables on Halina’s plate.
“You’re one to talk,” Halina replies, knocking Ari’s elbow with her own. “Kettle, the pot called to get its black back. Don’t think I haven’t caught you strutting around the hotel lobby every other early morning when Mr. Green Eyes drops you off after a night of whatever it is you do with him.”
Ari has the decency to blush, and keep from denying this. “It’s simply postcoital ecstasy,” they reply, sneering, “and I’m not limiting myself to one partner, thank you very much. And please tell me you didn’t fuck her on the stage, the idea is just… ugh.”
“First of all, I was serious. I need all the PG details of your adventures; it’s been too long. Second of all, don’t you dare pretend to be so disgusted, Mx. Permanently Banned from La Scala. And third of all, no, but it was even better.”
“If you follow that up with ‘we didn’t fuck, we made love,’ I’ll throw this very expensive glass of sake at your head, job be damned.”
“Wouldn’t it be a waste,” Halina says with a snort, pouring herself some of the sake from the amber bottle. “No, I’m not so bad just yet; can’t wait to fuck her, though, now that you mention it…”
“Ugh.”
“What?”
“I want to say ‘TMI’,” Ari says with a smirk, “but it would be a bit hypocritical of me.”
“Just a bit.”
“Anyway—the infamous L word did come up, didn’t it. You know what, don’t answer, save your dignity.”
“My dignity is very much intact. And so is my relationship; look at me go.”
Ari dramatically shivers. “I’d rather not. And can you not use that word?”
“Re-la-tion-ship,” Halina singsongs as she picks plates from the conveyor belt for them both.
“Ew.”
“Commit-ment!”
“Gross.”
“Monogamy.”
“Oh, come on, Miss Piotrowski, this is not the place for such profanities.”
A few patrons turn to glare at them while they laugh and giggle. Though she notices them, Halina can’t bring herself to care.
* * *
The hotel where Saral set up their long-awaited appointment exudes luxury and invites her to just relax and enjoy the Parisian way of life, if only for a moment; Halina only sees her manager and the potential in their meeting.
“I got you a white tea,” Saral says before she sits. “I remember how much you favor it.”
“Thanks,” Halina replies, playing with the end of her braid. “Have you spoken with Loupan yet?”
Saral raises his eyebrows and sits back in his chair to consider her. “Straight to business, as usual,” he comments, before he pulls a handful of papers from his leather briefcase and slides them on the table toward her. “I did—along with the directors of several other orchestras in Europe and the Middle East.”
Halina hums noncommittally as she peruses the different offers.
“They are all very good proposals, Lina,” Saral says in a neutral tone. “Both for your reputation and for the environments they would provide.”
“Paris isn’t in here.”
“Do me a favor,” Saral insists. “Read them carefully, as objectively as you can.”
“Saral, do me a favor and give me all the proposals and offers, and I promise to consider their merits before making a decision.”
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Saral sighs and pulls a sheet from his jacket’s breast pocket. “All right.”
“Any personal favorite?”
He lets out a deep laugh. “As if I’d tell you before you make your own decision.”
“Fair enough.”
* * *
Two days later, Halina is at Alexandra’s door again. She hopes they’ve resolved the issues that led them to the bitterness of their last date night.
Her knock on the door is answered by the sounds of Punshki’s nails against the floor and his owner’s footsteps. Halina’s smile widens when Alexandra opens the door.
“Where did you find such an apron?” Halina asks once she’s out of her coat and had a welcoming peck on the lips.
Alexandra examines herself as if discovering her attire; Halina finds her expression adorable. “What, this?” Alexandra lifts the hem of a vintage red apron, complete with frills and lacy details. “One of my friends gave it to me as a joke, but it’s great to keep clean while I’m cooking. Why, don’t you like it?”
Halina wants to pull her into a passionate kiss just to show her how much she does like it, but the apron is covered in speckles of sauce she’d rather keep off of her own outfit.
“I adore it.” Her fingers brush the ruffles on the sides. “Takes me back to one of those family shows from the fifties.”
Alexandra strikes a pinup pose. “Make yourself comfortable, babe,” she says, batting her eyelashes at Halina. “Dinner will be on the table in just a jiffy.”
Halina follows Alexandra into the kitchen. Spices permeate the air and make her simultaneously hungry and sneezy.
“What did you cook?” she asks, standing behind Alexandra with one hand on her hip.
Alexandra shakes a pan filled with shiny carrots, thin asparagus, and cherry tomatoes, all roasted and caramelized. “I did say I would eventually cook you my famous rack of lamb,” she replies with a wink thrown over her shoulder.
Halina opens her mouth to comment—
“Don’t you dare mention another type of rack.” Alexandra raises her wooden spoon in warning.
“Me? I wouldn’t dare. Do you need any help?”
“Not really. But you can open the wine and pour two glasses of it to let it breathe.”
Halina makes a jaunty salute before grabbing the bottle, along with the corkscrew that hangs on the wall with all Alexandra’s culinary tools.
In the living room, Punshki is in his basket, his own, toy wine bottle between his front paws as he lazily bats his tail. His wag quickens when he sees Halina.
“Hey, kumpel,” she says softly as she searches for two glasses in the cabinet with pictures stuck all over its doors. The sound of claws behind her doesn’t give her sufficient warning, and she’s surprised to find him smiling at her from between her feet while his tail hits her calves. “Yeah, I missed you too,” she whispers, and puts down the glasses to cup his head and scratch his jaw. Punshki rewards her petting with a faster wag of his tail and a lolling tongue. “You’re one of a kind, that’s certain,” she tells him, then straightens her posture and rolls her shoulders. The movement draws her attention to the dog hair on her hands. “Jesus.”
“What?”
“Does Punshki always shed so much?”
“Ah, yeah, sorry about the invasion. Spring arrives, and he starts a fur factory.”
Halina freezes at the reminder and tries to keep her conversation with her manager from her mind, to no avail.
“C’est prêt!”
Halina blinks, quickly opens the bottle, and pours the Pinot Gris as Alexandra comes into the living room with a large ceramic dish. The spicy aroma seems to expand, filling the room, and Halina focuses on the present.
“Rack of lamb, rubbed with harissa spice and pistachio,” Alexandra explains, putting the dish on her coffee table with a flourish, “with roasted tomatoes, carrots, and wild asparagus.”
“Oh, wow,” Halina whispers. “You’re spoiling me.”
“Yep.”
“Not a complaint, mind you.”
“Good—and look,” Alexandra points out as she picks up a chop. “You can eat it all with your fingers.”
“Hot.”
Alexandra waggles her eyebrows. “I know, right.”
Halina leans closer, her mouth pressed to the corner of Alexandra’s. “Very hot.”
“Wait ’til you’ve tried the harissa.”
Halina copies Alexandra and takes a lamb chop by the bone. The meat is covered with a layer of crushed pistachios, and there are red speckles in the crust. The first bite is truly decadent; the meat juice explodes in her mouth, along with the fatty taste of the pistachios. The heat of the spices kicks in, as Alexandra predicted, but slowly.
“Wow,” she says, mouth still full.
Alexandra finds a cherry tomato, almost burnt in its caramelization. “Here,” she tells Halina, offering it to her.
Halina chews on it. The juice of the fruit, along with the herbs it was cooked in, soothes the burn of the harissa, and she’s left with just the kick.
“Delicious,” she says once she’s swallowed.
“Told you it was special,” Alexandra replies proudly. “Here, take some more, and some of that…”
The plates are empty but for the bones and one lone tomato, and Halina has never been so full. Her belly is bloated, as if she’s been impregnated by aliens. “I’m dead.”
“Drama queen.”
“I ate too much; roll me out of here.”
Alexandra giggles as she finishes her glass of wine. “As if,” she replies. “No, I’ll keep you right here and fatten you up.”
Halina gives her a lazy thumb-up. “Sign me the fuck up,” she says, before burping loudly. “Oops, sorry.”
“It’s considered a compliment in the Middle East, so thank you.”
Halina straightens up, wincing when her belt digs into her stomach. “I keep forgetting you’re not one hundred percent Californian.”
Alexandra shrugs. “It’s not as if I grew up there, either,” she says. “My Middle Eastern-ness is made of habits created during my childhood.”
“What a weird mix, though,” Halina muses, rubbing her belly contentedly. “American, of Polish decent on your father’s side, I got that, and where are you from on your mother’s side?”
“Morocco, with a dash of Israel,” Alexandra supplies. “Hence the hair, the skin, and the temper.”
“Ah.”
“The height, too.”
Halina scoots closer to Alexandra on the couch. “I like your pocket size.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Alexandra replies with a laugh and goes into Halina’s arms. They get into a more comfortable position on the couch: Alexandra on her back and Halina on top of her. “What else do you like?” Alexandra asks, her arms around Halina’s neck.
“Hmm, fishing for compliments, słoneczna? Fine, let’s count the ways, shall we,” she replies thoughtfully. “I for one have a very deep appreciation for your boobs.”
“Wow, shocker. I’m totally surprised, didn’t see it coming.”
“Can you blame me?” Halina asks, at Alexandra’s dry tone. “They’re so soft and squishy.” Her hand slides over to cup and squeeze one in her hand. “My squishy,” she murmurs, bowing her head to kiss the space between Alexandra’s breasts.
Alexandra laughs, and it makes her breast jiggle in Halina’s hand. “I should have been careful. Watching Finding Nemo with you was a bad idea,” she says when Halina rubs the tip of her nose around the swell of her left breast.
Halina wiggles until she can rest her head on Alexandra’s chest, right under her breasts. “How did you manage to turn me into this… possessive, grabby idiot,” she whispers softly.
Alexandra stops laughing with a deep sigh, puts her hands on the back of Halina’s head, and caresses her
hair soothingly.
“I don’t mind it,” she replies softly, her lips to Halina’s ear “You have the same effect on me.”
“I do?”
“You have no idea,” Alexandra says with one hand around the back of Halina’s neck. “Sometimes, I just want to leave hickeys right here, for everyone to understand that you’re mine.”
The word sends a thrill down her spine, raising goosebumps in its wake. Her reaction is more visible than she thought. Alexandra’s eyes darken as she cups Halina’s face with both hands. “My babe,” she whispers. Halina presses her cheek into Alexandra’s touch and tilts her head to extend the caress.
“Hmm, it’s nice,” Halina says, voice husky. She summons strength to slide back up Alexandra’s body to kiss her. The kiss is slow and lazy and languorous and tastes of spices and wine.
“Oh,” she sighs, dropping her face to Alexandra’s neck and shoulder to kiss it and nibble the skin. “I want…”
Alexandra stretches her neck to offer more of it to Halina’s mouth. “Tell me, tell me, Lina…”
As she tries to find the right way to phrase her desire, the memory of a recent conversation with Ari pops up. “I want you to make love to me.”
Taking to heart her epiphany about spontaneity, Halina stops resisting, allows her emotions to participate in the moment, and lets Alexandra break down the last remnants of her walls. Every caress goes deeper than her skin. Every kiss pressed to her cheeks, to her neck, to her breasts, reaches through her entire body and is balm on her emotional wounds. Every touch on her skin, every thrust of the silicon dildo inside of her, becomes the softest of declarations, building a harbor to shelter her.
This embrace is more than another roll in the hay. In many ways completely separate from biology or experience, it feels like a first time.
When she comes, her orgasm doesn’t have the urgency Halina usually seeks. The low, building pressure melts away what remained of her fears and doubts, which are pushed out in the form of tears rolling from her closed eyes as her body arches toward Alexandra to get more of what is already too much.
“Babe—” Alexandra starts, voice filled with concern and love, but Halina reaches for Alexandra’s neck to tug her into a soft, closed-lipped kiss that’s somehow more sensual than the Frenchiest of them.
Concerto in Chroma Major Page 20