Joanna gave it the old college try for another few beats before she stood and relinquished the sticks to Macon.
“You show me how it’s done.” She pulled off the headphones and held them out.
“That’s it?” Macon asked.
“I’m no musician, and I am in the company of a good one. So, teach me.”
“Okay.” Macon sat on the stool, selected a rock song, left off the headphones, and played the song perfectly.
Joanna’s jaw nearly dropped at the freedom expressed in Macon’s face as she hit the black drum pads sometimes gently and, more times, with the force appropriate for a rock song. Macon’s hair shook as she gave in and played, and played, until the last note reverberated.
“Jesus,” Joanna said, and Macon turned to face her, setting the drumsticks into their holder. “How many instruments can you play?” Joanna asked.
“What?” She laughed. “There’s a line. We–”
“You’re not getting out of this room until you answer my question.” Joanna stood back in front of the door.
“Oh, really?” Macon laughed and took a step toward her, testing her.
“Yes, really.”
“I moved you the other day. I can move you again.” Macon laughed more.
“Try me.” Joanna lifted an eyebrow in challenging response.
Macon took the two more steps until she was standing right in front of her. Joanna could feel her breath. She could smell her scent, and she could sense something palpable she couldn’t define. Macon stared at her before placing her hands on Joanna’s hips as she’d done the other day in her kitchen. Joanna prepared for her to slide her over in the same manner, and she smiled at Macon to indicate that it would be okay. But Macon turned her head to look through the clear plastic wall. Joanna’s eyes followed and noticed Keira and Emma standing just outside the room. Keira’s eyes were on Macon’s, and then on Joanna’s. They seemed to say two things at once: this was interesting and, also, this shouldn’t be happening. Macon took a step back and looked at Joanna. Her hands were no longer on her hips, and her mood had instantly changed.
“A lot.”
“What?” Joanna asked, trying to figure out again what had just happened.
“I can play a lot of instruments, like a lot of professional musicians. I can leave the room now, right?”
“Oh, sure.” Joanna took a step sideways and allowed her to pass.
Macon pulled open the door to the room, allowing four twenty-somethings to have their turn on the skins. Joanna followed her out, turning in time to see Keira’s eyes on her and scowling at the woman while following Macon, who seemed to be on a mission.
CHAPTER 9
Greene moved briskly through the crowd without caring if anyone followed or even knew where she was. She ended up in the bathroom, where she leaned over the sink, gripping the countertop. She thought about splashing cold water over her face, but she knew that wouldn’t help her calm down. She had two very specific emotions, and both needed to lower in intensity before she could go back out to the museum. She was angry. That one was clear and definable. She was angry at Keira for that face she’d just made, and for making her realize her feelings for Joanna. She was also angry with herself for having those feelings. She should know better.
Her other emotion wasn’t so much an actual emotion; she would call it a physical reaction. She hadn’t intended on teaching Joanna how to hold drumsticks or challenging her at the door like that, but she had. Her body had reacted in a normally welcomed way. But, in Joanna’s case, she wanted the pulsing between her legs to cease and the pounding in her chest to stop. She stared at herself in the mirror, straightened her already straightened shirt, and headed back out to the museum.
“Hey,” Keira greeted her the second she appeared.
“What, Keira?” she asked and put her head on a swivel to look for Joanna.
“I asked her if I could talk to you.” Keira obviously knew what she was doing. “Greene, I’m sorry. It’s your life. You can do what you want with it. I didn’t want to see you get hurt. I’ve never seen you like this with anyone you’ve been with, and those women were gay. Joanna–”
“Yeah, I know,” she interrupted. “I get it, Keira. I don’t need a reminder from you about how she likes guys. I am fully aware of the fact that I have feelings for a straight woman, and that I’m going to have to get over them. I get it,” she repeated. “What I don’t need, though, is my friend constantly reminding me of that, or staring at me like I’m on exhibit at this place every time I’m around her.”
“No, Greene, that wasn’t what–”
“You okay?” Joanna had walked up behind Keira and held out a bottle of water to Greene.
“I’m good.” She took it from her. “Thanks.”
“Sure. So, I actually found something I want to show you,” Joanna replied. “And I have about a million questions about it.”
“What?” Greene asked.
Joanna moved up next to Keira.
“Can I borrow her?” she asked of Greene.
“Sure,” Keira said, turning without another word; probably going off to find her girlfriend.
“What’s up?” Greene turned to Joanna.
“Question one,” she began. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”
“I’m sorry?” Greene shook her head, attempting to keep her reaction tampered, in fear she’d reveal her real worry that Joanna had figured out how she felt about her.
“You planned this exhibit,” Joanna exclaimed and motioned around the hall with her hand.
“Oh, not really,” Greene replied. “Wait, how did–”
“There’s a sign thanking the people who were involved in developing these exhibits. It thanks the orchestra and, in particular, a few key members of it, including one Macon Greene.”
“I told them I didn’t–”
“Macon, stop.” Joanna approached her. “Stop hiding, please.” She took both of Greene’s hands and held onto them, forcing Greene to move the bottle of water to under her arm. “You helped them put this together, didn’t you?”
Greene swallowed. Once again, Joanna was so close; their hands were linked. And even though Keira appearing right outside the bathroom had turned Greene completely off, she was now, unfortunately, turned completely back on.
“I helped with some of the music. That’s all. They have scientists that put together the actual exhibits.”
“Show me,” she implored with a squeeze of Greene’s hands.
“They just asked a few of us to play something or tell them about how the instruments work. They recorded some stuff and incorporated it into the exhibits. I didn’t even know what they used.”
“Can I ask you a question?”
“You told me you had a million,” Greene reminded and dropped Joanna’s hands.
“You might not like it.”
“Jo, what?” She pulled the bottle out from under her arm, opened it, and took a drink before offering it to Joanna, who declined.
“What made you hide yourself like this?”
“What?”
“Macon, you invited me here tonight but didn’t tell me you were an actual part of the exhibit. Your friends have no idea. You don’t want to solo, or tour, or-”
“So, because I don’t like showing off, something must be wrong with me?”
“I didn’t say that,” she returned. “Macon, I–”
“I’m probably going on tour soon anyway, since you’re so curious about me playing violin on my own in front of a crowd.”
“What? You’re going on tour?”
“Maybe.” She looked away from Joanna’s concerned eyes and toward the rest of the exhibit. “Do you want to see the part I worked on?”
“No, I want you to tell me about this tour,” Joanna replied.
“I might not do it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t know if I want to.”
“Why not?” Joanna persisted.
; “Why do you care so much? God, Jo,” she exclaimed and started to walk off, then stopped and turned back around. “It’s my damn life. If I want to be a touring violinist, then I will. If I don’t, I won’t. Either way, these are my choices to make. If I don’t want people knowing about things I do or how well I might do them, that’s up to me.” She turned back and didn’t wait for a response.
◆◆◆
Joanna was pissed. She rarely got pissed. She stood in that museum, after getting yelled at, for five full minutes before Emma approached her to check that she was okay. Macon had, apparently, fled the museum, leaving her there. Joanna refused to go after her. She hadn’t deserved that kind of reaction from Macon. More importantly, she’d been hurt by it, and that was the worst part. She’d never been hurt by Macon before, and she did not like how it felt. She walked with Emma, Keira, and Hillary for about another thirty minutes, taking in the exhibits and wondering how they had no idea Macon had been a part of this.
There were listening stations around where people could listen to a tune and then attempt to play it back on a rudimentary form of the same instrument used. There were examples of instruments from all over the world, and the science behind how they were made was provided. But Joanna hadn’t been distracted enough by any of it to forget how it felt to be there without Macon sharing it with her, or how it had felt being hurt by her words earlier. She made her way to the last of the exhibits and noticed the violin on a stand, with headphones in front of it. There was also a small video screen beside the violin. When she picked up the headphones to put them on, she pressed the play button and was immediately surrounded by the sound. The video showed someone playing the instrument. It was a close-up shot of the hand on the bow, but Joanna recognized that hand: she’d been holding it an hour ago. She watched and listened as it played the slow song, sliding the bow back and forth over the strings. Her anger subsided with every movement. She discovered she couldn’t be upset with Macon anymore if the woman could do that with the most beautiful instrument she’d ever seen.
◆◆◆
“Jo?” Macon greeted when Joanna entered her apartment with her key.
“Yeah, it’s me.” Joanna closed the door behind her and made her way into the living room, where she found Macon applying rosin to her bow. She’d just learned at the museum that players of bowed string instruments rubbed blocks of rosin on their bow hair so it could grip the strings and make them vibrate clearly. She focused on watching Macon’s hand rubbing the block of yellow rosin over the part of the bow that touched the instrument. “Sorry, did I interrupt you rehearsing?”
“No, I was just about to play,” Macon replied and lowered the rosin to the table.
“Can I hear you?” Joanna sat down next to her on the sofa.
“You still want to hear me play even after I treated you like that?”
“You can make it up to me by playing me something.” She smiled at her.
“You’re trying to bribe me because I feel bad,” Macon replied.
“Yes,” she stated confidently.
“What do you want to hear?” Macon asked and lifted her violin while standing.
“Whatever you want to play.”
“No, if I pick something, you’ll just pick something else and make me play that after. I know how your mind works there, Jo-Jo.”
“God, don’t call me that.” Joanna laughed. “And honestly, I don’t even know where to start. I know nothing of violin. That’s your fault, by the way,” she pointed. “I’ve known you for this long, and you’ve taught me nothing.”
Macon laughed and put the violin to her shoulder, pressing down on the chinrest. She moved the bow to hover over the strings.
“I teach lessons, if you’re interested, but you will have to put in the time. At least an hour a day of practice is required. Since you’d be playing catch up, you’d owe me three.” She paused, and her green eyes lit up. “I’ll play you something you’ll recognize then.”
Joanna nodded and waited for the song to begin. A few moments later, she saw Macon’s eyes close, and she began to play. Within a few slides of the bow to the strings, Joanna knew what she was playing. They’d gone to see West Side Story as a group last year. Keira had gotten the tickets through a friend, and they’d had great seats. She’d seen the movie as a kid but hadn’t ever seen the live production. She’d loved it. And later, on her way out, she’d bought the soundtrack of the performance. She’d uploaded the music to her computer, and then phone, and listened to it repeatedly. Macon knew this. She was playing her favorite song from the performance that night. She was playing Somewhere. That particular song was the quintessential song for star-crossed lovers like Tony and Maria. The lyrics were heartbreaking and hopeful at the same time.
Joanna listened as Macon played, and she sang along in her head, hearing the voice of the performer that night. Macon’s eyes remained closed during the entire song. She held onto the last, perfect note before she lowered the bow and the violin, opening her eyes.
“That was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Joanna whispered after a long moment.
“You mean heard,” Macon stated and bent down to place her violin on its stand.
“No, I don’t,” Joanna corrected.
Macon’s eyes met hers; they were intensely green. They maintained their usual brightness but also included a darkness to them she hadn’t noticed before this moment. Macon stood upright. Her hands went into the pockets of her jeans. Joanna stood and slowly approached her; her heart was beating wildly in her chest. Macon cleared her throat.
Joanna detected a bit of nerves from her. She couldn’t understand why, but she smiled shyly at her as she leaned in and kissed Macon on the cheek. Macon turned her head a little so that her ear was now next to Joanna’s still present lips. It felt like she wanted to pull away more but was trying to be polite. Joanna pulled back a little and tried to gauge her expression, but Macon’s face was turned entirely to the side now. She reached her hand up to Macon’s chin and turned it back to her. It was then that she knew for sure.
Macon’s eyes showed desire. They showed a fire Joanna hadn’t seen in them before – she’d born witness to the myriad of women that had hit on Macon in the bars, the clubs, the stores, the museums, on the streets – and damn it was hot. Macon was hot. Her olive skin, with those green eyes, was a dangerous combination. And when those eyes were dark like they were now, it was even more dangerous.
Joanna’s hand moved to Macon’s neck and stayed there for a second as her eyes followed the thumb she used to glide across Macon’s soft skin. She could feel the pulse beneath. It was running almost as quickly as her own heart. She leaned forward again and pressed her lips to the corner of Macon’s mouth. She pulled back slowly, not wanting to disconnect but needing to meet Macon’s eyes again.
“Jo?”
It was a question, and Joanna wasn’t sure how to answer it with words, so she didn’t. She leaned forward again and pressed her lips entirely to Macon’s for only a few seconds before she pulled her mouth away. She watched Macon’s eyes open; her face registered something Joanna hadn’t seen in it before. It was something like contentment. She leaned forward again to test not only her own reaction but Macon’s as well. Her lips held onto Macon’s for a second longer this time before pulling back again. To most, it was a simple, chaste kiss. But, to Joanna, it was more. She guessed by Macon’s reaction that the woman felt the same. She wasn’t sure if she should lean back in again, since Macon hadn’t exactly responded to her kisses physically. Macon’s hands were on her hips, and she pulled. Joanna wasn’t ready. Macon’s thumbs were under her shirt, on her stomach, while she leaned forward and captured Joanna’s lips with her own.
Joanna couldn’t breathe. Her lips were still; her hands were at her sides; she was completely frozen. Macon’s lips were pressed hard to hers. They were attempting to move against Joanna’s, but Joanna was still frozen. She was kissing Macon. Their lips were attached. She was kissing her. No
, she wasn’t. She wasn’t technically doing the kissing; she was standing still. Macon was pulling away.
Macon’s stare was worried. Joanna knew she was afraid she’d done something Joanna hadn’t wanted. Her hands started to slide off, but Joanna took Macon’s hands and held them in place before she leaned forward and captured Macon’s lips this time. Macon responded instantly; her lips were soft but insistent; her hands were wrapping around Joanna and pulling her in closer. Joanna’s went around Macon’s neck and did the same. She’d never kissed a woman before. She hadn’t even thought about kissing a woman before this moment; before Macon Greene.
Macon’s hands were sliding up and down her back; but over her shirt, not under it. While her hands innocently explored, her mouth was hot, open, and her tongue sought more. Joanna opened her mouth to allow her inside. As she did, she pulled them backward toward the sofa, because it suddenly felt hard to stand. Her legs were jelly as she bumped them into the table before recovering enough to move around it. Macon wasn’t stopping. Her tongue was toying with Joanna’s, and Joanna heard her moan a low throaty and, damn it, sexy moan.
Joanna relinquished the contact for a moment while she flopped back onto the sofa into a seated position. Macon stared down at her, as if silently asking for permission to continue. When Joanna didn’t protest, that was enough for Macon to move on top of her, straddling Joanna’s legs. Macon looked down at her as she licked her lips and moved those lips to Joanna’s again. Joanna’s hands went to Macon’s back this time, while Macon’s pressed into the back of the sofa on either side of Joanna’s head. Joanna had never been straddled before on a sofa like this. After taking a moment to appreciate her position, she found she liked it. Macon’s lips continued at their fast pace. It felt to Joanna that they couldn’t get enough of her own lips, or maybe it was that Macon was trying to get as much as she could because this might end soon.
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