Impossible Duet

by Barbra Campbell

  He wasn’t only judging me, he was testing me, pushing past any rational tempos. I wouldn’t break. In the last few measures of the piece, he held the beat of rest exceptionally long, challenging me not to step in the precious, suspenseful silence.

  The moment he released the final chord, I dramatically whipped my bow off the string and stood, striving for equality, standing, and facing him.

  Heavy breaths and the impassioned gaze lingering between us weren’t accompanied by smiles, happiness, or joy of accomplishment. Instead, his eyes were dark, hungry, and filled with desire. The indication of a path ahead that would be carnal and satisfying.

  My pussy throbbed with the need to rush him back to the dressing room, give all I had left to him.

  Loud clapping echoed from the back of the auditorium, surprising both of us. Suzie’s voice called through the darkness. “Wow. I need a cold shower.”

  Had she been there the entire time or had I been so lost in the performance I hadn’t noticed her wandering past? With only a portion of the stage lights on, it was hard to make much out in the dimly lit theater.

  After a moment of hesitation, Ollie lowered his gaze then looked to where her voice had come from. His mouth opened to speak but she said more as she scurried down the aisle.

  Suzie continued, “Well, you’re clearly ready for the duet. The audience is going to go crazy.”

  “Wait.” Ollie blurted.

  Was he going to object? On what grounds, I was too good?

  Suzie stopped a few rows back. “For what?”

  Oliver cleared his throat and shot a brief sideways glance at me. “I’m not sure this is the best idea.”

  My heart sank. Had his reputation been an understatement? I wasn’t going to beg and feed his ego. I wasn’t going to throw a fit. I’d lived out my dream to perform with him, albeit without much of an audience, and it would be his loss if he rejected me. I had a great, if not simple, life I could go back to. After the performance I was returning to it anyways, not like the New York Phil was going to see this performance and sign me too.

  “Give me one reason,” Suzie demanded.

  He stared at wooden planks of the stage floor.

  Say it already. I willed him to get it over with. Fiona’s not good enough. Too young. Too female. Too whatever his pompous ass could come up with. I cursed my pussy for feeling anxious that I might walk away. This isn’t about sex.

  “She has pink hair.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

  What! The stunned silence kept me from telling if Suzie was more shocked or if I was. What the fuck did a stripe of pink hair have to do with anything?

  Suzie busted out laughing. After calming herself, she addressed me, “Fiona, can we hide the pink or put temporary dye over it?”

  Buying myself a second to respond, I sat in my chair, rested my cello across my lap, and slid the endpin in, ready to pack up. Firm in my decision, I smiled at Oliver and said. “No.”

  Suzie butted in. “Okay Oliver, she’s perfect, are you willing to admit it?”

  The poor guy appeared to be in agony. When he reached up to run a hand through his hair, his bicep flexed sending a zing of misplaced excitement through me. His jaw clenched and I could only think of one reason he would turn me away… and it wasn’t pink hair. He must know about my terrible reviews.

  More hesitation.

  Cracks formed in my idol’s pedestal. He wasn’t perfect. And even if he hadn’t asked to be put there, he’d enjoyed it. I understood the enigma of wanting to excel but being completely incapable of controlling the success. And I knew the pain of falling. Whether Ollie chose me or not, he’d have a successful career. The only repercussion of him falling from the pedestal I’d put him on would be the façade I’d created tumbling with him.

  In reality, I was no more than an opportunity. The same way I’d viewed him. My delusion of being anything more was ill-fated at best since he would most likely get the New York position. I didn’t want to suffer through his excuses so I said, “I’ll save you the pain of appearing rude since you’re working on your image. I’ll leave. Thanks for the show.”

  His head whipped my direction, eyes big.

  Did he think I’d blurt his secret? Geez. I stood, grabbed my endpin strap from the floor, and headed for the green room where I’d left my case.

  It would have been nice if either of them said something. Nice wasn’t part of the cutthroat musical world. The only sound was the slap of my flip-flops on the hardwood flooring. I’d say my polite goodbyes after I packed up. I respected that Suzie didn’t tell him what to do, but doubted he would have listened anyway.

  “Wait.” This time his command came out slow and reluctant. Was it really that tortuous to commit to me?

  I stopped walking but kept my back to them. My chest was too full from everything I thought the day held, everything I thought we had, and everything being ripped out from under me. “Why? I gave you everything I had. Pink hair and all.”

  “And it was brilliant.” His words came from only a foot behind me, sending a shiver up my spine.

  I’d been lost in my head and hadn’t heard him approach.

  The electricity between us sparked again, at least for me. How could I be sure I would stay for the right reasons? Brilliant, but…? He hadn’t asked me to stay. “Is my hair color really the issue?”

  His hand grazed my bare arm and I prayed my flinch was imperceptible. Warmth radiated from the stroke of his fingers throughout my entire body. His voice came in a whisper. “Because you, I mean, it, challenges my beliefs.”

  “What are you saying?” I asked, surprising myself by the sultry tone of my words. I resisted falling into him. Did his words come from a professional or personal dilemma? Could he separate the passion from the partnership? I wasn’t sure I could.

  “I want you… to stay.” His pause filled me with a swirl of emotions. Had he slipped? Had he chosen his words and phrasing as carefully as a composer chose where to put notes and rests?

  “Fine. I will.” I had to downplay my answer for fear of revealing too much too soon.

  Clapping and the sound of Suzie jumping up and down shattered the tiny world we’d existed in. “You guys had me worried for a solid minute. If you could see the way you two gawk at each other… oh my god, I was ready to throw my panties on stage when you did the duet.” She laughed at herself. “Just kidding, but crap, that was intense. So, I hope you don’t mind, but I texted the photographer to show up in about an hour so we can get some promo photos, and a few of those minutes passed while we had our… whatever this was. Get yourselves cleaned up and meet back here. I’m going to capitalize on this spark.” She stood at the edge of the stage and I could see her eyebrows raise.

  Were my feelings obvious? Were his the same? With the performance secured, I shoved my ulterior motives to the back of my brain and made myself relax, a handy skill for performances. Unfortunately, Ollie challenged my skills and I was only able to keep my feelings at a low simmer at best.

  “Ollie’s put his mark on the dressing room, are you sure there isn’t anywhere else for me to use?”

  Suzie responded. “I love the nickname, adorable. You two are something else. But no, we’re down to one dressing room right now and he’s aware he has to share.”

  Oliver shot me a glance that was somewhere between I won’t do it alone next time and how naughty are you.

  I shrugged, using everything I had to appear calm, but my insides were spiraling out of control. What was the correct next move? Get Ollie in the dressing room or get away from him?

  He resumed the conversation, “I wasn’t planning on photos tonight, I’ll have to go home to get my tux.”

  Suzie made her way onto the stage. “Perfect, that’ll get you out of the way so Fiona doesn’t have to fight you for mirror space.” She turned to me. “I assume you have your belongings in the car?”

  ***

  Inside the dressing room, silence cloaked everything that had happened in the last
thirty minutes. Passion, demand, and acceptance into Ollie’s world.

  The faint scent of his cologne lingered. I was in his space. A sense of belonging overwhelmed me. Was it for him, or was it that I belonged on the stage, under the lights, my name on the marquee? I was fairly certain it wasn’t the latter.

  I smiled at myself in the mirror. “You did it, Fiona. You’re living a dream come true.” Something so grand I hadn’t even put it on my bucket list.

  The gravity of the opportunity set in. “Don’t fuck this up, lady. First priority is getting through the performance. Second priority is bedding the guy who currently has my panties very wet.” All I could do was focus on myself because the sad reality was I might be a tool for him to appear more appealing for the Philharmonic. At least I was along for the ride.

  Dragging my fingers over the slick countertop where he’d spilled himself, tension welled low in my belly. If I revealed my attraction, could he ever take me seriously? Would he be able to believe I showed up because of my love of music or would he assume I just wanted to tame the great Oliver Cranston?

  The ridiculous conundrum gave me the answer. Definitely let him make the first move. Or had he? My arm still prickled from where his fingers had caressed down then back up, stopping on my shoulder. Was I due to make the next advance? The photo op would be the perfect outlet.

  I washed my face and couldn’t get over my giddiness. Getting ready would take about twenty minutes. I had thirty.

  Checking the door to make sure I’d locked it, I sat on the infamous counter, propped my feet in a chair, and leaned against the mirror. Had he gotten himself off while thinking of me?

  Warmth flooded my body as I recalled his head dropping back while he worked his thick cock. The vivid memory of his cum shooting onto the counter sent a shudder through my body. I bowed my head and imagined the sticky mass landing on my cleavage.

  Tucking my hand into my leggings, I fantasized he’d suffered from the same urgency I did, ignoring the way everything about me irritated him. I’d already swallowed my gum when he’d jumped in to play with me. I kicked off my flip-flops and shifted one leg onto the counter securing myself in the small mirrored dressing space.

  Time was wasting. I dipped my fingers between my folds, covering them in wetness, then pulled them out, using my own slickness to stimulate my clit. I was so ready it was almost scary. Guess that’s what making a dream come true can do.

  My eyes flickered shut and the intense memory of him was almost real. As my own pressure built, I could see the look of abandon on his face, I could hear his hand pumping. And when I pushed myself over the edge, warmth covered my tits in my wild hallucination that he was climaxing on me.

  Alternating pressure and release on my cunt, my eyes still closed, I hung on to every shred of the fantasy. Awareness of the hard counter and awkward position tried to force me back to reality, but I trailed my free hand between my breasts, prolonging my delusion.

  Knock, knock, knock.

  The shock of the sharp raps on the door were worse than the ice bucket challenge I’d been talked into a couple of years before and I kicked the chair over.

  More than a sliver of me wished it was Ollie and that he had barged in, catching me spread eagle. Would his controlled, stubborn self be able to resist, or would his man instinct take over and fuck me. Wishful thinking.

  Having righted the chair, I said. “Just a second.”

  I washed my hands and rushed to open the door.

  Suzie surveyed the room and I followed her gaze, noticing my shoes flicked haphazardly. She asked, “What was the ruckus?”

  “I tripped.” I busied myself with getting my gown out of my travel bag and setting my make-up case on the masturbation counter.

  She brushed past me and plopped onto the couch. “I’m sorry I didn’t mention him wanting to audition you, but I knew you’d be fine. I didn’t want you to worry. But Jesus, what was going on between you two? The Duet’s intense, but I’ve never seen it played with such give and take, so much emotion. I’d swear it had been written for the two of you if you were alive in the 1800’s.”

  “Thanks for giving me a kick in the ass to jump back in.” Acting nonchalant was only possible because the bliss of my Ollie-assisted orgasm continued to flow through my body. The jolt of adrenaline hadn’t been enough to cast it from me.

  “You’re going to act like it’s no big deal? You got to perform with your ten-year crush. Plus, you know how picky he is. You nailed it. If we were back at Eastman you would have given me all the details. And you have the same glimmer in your eyes that lets me know there are details. What the hell did he whisper to you before you left the stage?”

  “He just asked me to stay. Don’t you have someone else to harass? I need to get ready.” My reputation had been tarnished once, and deep-down I wanted people to take me seriously again. Suzie’s fascination with what might be happening between Ollie and me challenged that. How many people would have the same questions?

  I didn’t mean to come across as rude but I had to sort out how I was responding to Ollie. And how to stop my ill-fated attraction. The world was full of enough operas and other stories of unrequited love.

  Chapter 4

  Fiona

  We struck all of the required poses, solo and together, with and without our instruments, sitting and standing.

  Suzie’s disapproving expression made me wonder if I’d kicked her out of my dressing room too harshly. Or was she jealous of my performance with Ollie, or the way he touched me? No, she wasn’t like that.

  And even if she was, Ollie’s cologne had cast its magical resistance-melting spell on me making it hard to keep a millimeter of distance between us. We were two professionals performing together, not lovers, despite the way my heart swelled when I was near him.

  “Something’s off.” Suzie huffed and approached us.

  Great. She could sense how hard I was working to control myself, the strain of not giving in to my whims, not being myself. I forced a bigger smile and she burst out laughing.

  Fail.

  She waved her hands in front of her face and gathered herself. “The tension’s palpable. It’s making both of you stiff. The camera can see it. Relax.”

  The photographer mumbled agreement, but Suzie had broken my focus.

  Stiff. Like his cock. Damn. That memory was the last thing I needed flashing through my brain. I tried to stifle a laugh but a snicker popped out.

  Ollie had been silent during the photos, had barely acknowledged me, but he side-eyed me for my immature gesture.

  I’d be more than happy to help him relax. I placed both hands firmly on my cello.

  Suzie furrowed her brow at us, then focused on me. “It’s on you Suzie. Our audience knows Oliver’s old-school, traditional. Show them what you bring to the performance. Where’s your charisma? Be impulsive, spontaneous. Give the audience a hint of what’s in store, let’s pack the house.”

  Oliver took a step to the side, away from me.

  Did the thought of impulsivity scare him?

  We suffered through several more minutes of Suzie trying to create the energy we’d had on stage before she sat me in the chair, had Ollie stand behind me, and said. “Put your violin in your right hand, and rest your wrist on her shoulder, letting the violin dangle in front of her.”

  Contact. Deep breath. It was the one thing I feared would break my resolve to behave because I craved that brush of his hand again, the gentle caress he’d made when he asked me to stay. I wanted him whispering in my ear.

  He opened his mouth in what I’d decided was a protest, but Suzie had already perfected The Look even though she didn’t have a husband or kids. Ollie dutifully stepped behind me.

  My spaghetti strap gown left me bare, my shoulders anticipating his touch.

  The heat of his body radiated around me even though he’d left a solid foot between us. I wished I could lean my head against his broad chest, have his arms wrapped around me, no instruments, ju
st us. Definitely more of a lover’s pose.

  Then he stepped forward, moved his violin forward, and brought it close to my body as he rested his arm on my shoulder. The smooth fabric of his tux sleeve brushed over my skin making the room spin.

  My cello situated between my legs wasn’t a sexual pose, it was my job, even though plenty of people joked about cellists spreading their legs to accommodate big wood. But I had to take a deep breath and ground myself since Ollie definitely had big wood. My legs ached to wrap around his waist and hold him close while he pounded into me.

  Breathing wasn’t easy which made smiling even harder.

  His hand was so close to where I’d fantasized his cum spraying on me. His cock had to be touching the chair, an inch or so from my skin, and my legs were spread more than ready to accept him as the next one to give me an orgasm.

  I was buzzing with the electricity zinging through my body. No holding back. Not that I was going to toss our instruments off the stage and jump him, but the secret idea made my smile broaden. Instead, I put my hand on his.

  With a seventy-five-thousand-dollar violin in his hands, he wouldn’t pull away too fast.

  He relaxed the violin slightly and his pinky finger grazed my collarbone, stroked it. Subtle but earth-shattering.

  Nothing was fantasy anymore. He wanted me. I wanted him.

  Suzie’s eyes lit up but she didn’t say anything.

  I turned my face toward his hand and parted my lips to let my heavy breaths fall on his skin.

  A low groan rumbled through his chest. Could Suzie and the photographer hear it? Could they sense my insides melting?

  The clicks of the shutter sped up as an answer to my reaction.

  He cleared his throat, drawing my attention. His face was downturned, his dark stare boring into me, perforating the illusion we could ever simply be duet partners.

  Tunnel vision drew me into the depths of his desire and I squeezed his hand, craving more.

  Suzie must have gotten what she wanted from the prolonged pose. “That’s what I’m talking about. Let’s do more standing shots.”