Sweet Harmony: An Older Man, Younger Woman Romance

by Arlo Arrow

  “I’d hardly call myself famous,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “I haven’t made a public appearance in years.”

  “You’ve played in every major concert hall in the world,” she said. “You’ve released three studio albums. I think you can call yourself famous.”

  “Well, fame is fleeting,” I said, lowering myself into my armchair. “I suppose I’m lucky that I never got too caught up in that stuff at the time, either. It would really make becoming a hermit especially rough on me.”

  She sat back down and looked across the room at me. For as upset as she was the previous day, she seemed to be in excellent spirits.

  “So,” I said, hoping to break the eye contact, “shall we play?”

  “I guess,” she said, picking up her violin to tune up. I listened as she made minuscule adjustments to her strings. She stood up, her body in perfect posture and touched the bow to the strings.

  She took a deep breath as if she was gearing up to begin, but then dropped her hands to her sides.

  “Honestly, I just don’t feel like playing right now,” she said. She didn’t look particularly bereft, just uninterested.

  “You know what?” I said. “I’m not feeling it either. It’s a lovely day. Would you like to go on a walk?”

  I held my breath waiting for her response. She came to my home for a lesson, not a walk through the park with me. I just hoped whatever excuse she used to turn me down would be believable enough to convince me that she wasn’t leaving on my behalf.

  “A walk sounds really lovely,” she said, tucking her violin back in its case. “We can always rehearse later.”

  I grabbed my jacket and followed her out the door into the sunlight. When I purchased the cabin, I believed that the change of scenery would inspire me to play. What I found was that the beauty of nature made me feel even more alone. There was no one to enjoy it with. Sure, I saw some women after my wife left, but they were few and far between. No one was quite right.

  But on this warm spring day, I finally had someone who could enjoy watching the ducks on the pond with me. As we walked in silence, I felt the urge to reach out and hold her hand. I reflexively pulled it in closer to me, holding it with my other hand where it could not accidentally brush hers.

  “If you don’t mind me asking,” she said, looking at me as we walked through the soft grass, “what happened between you and Grace? I always thought you were madly in love.”

  “Did you?” I asked, amused by her observation.

  “Weren’t you?”

  “For a time, yes,” I sighed. “Relationships are hard, Susan. To be perfectly frank, I’m not great at them.”

  “Oh?” she smiled.

  I could tell that she was interested in the juicy details so I decided to indulge her. Besides, if there were anything that could take her mind from her own problems for a little bit, this would be it.

  “We were very happy for a while. We had our two kids and things were great. We bought the big house in the country and our careers were never better. I was playing all around the world and Grace was working her way up the corporate ladder.”

  “So, what happened? It sounds like you had it all.”

  “I wasn’t there enough, both physically and emotionally. When I was at home, I’d spend so much of my time locked away in the studio. When I’d reemerge at one in the morning, she’d be fast asleep. She’d leave for work before I even woke up. We hardly spoke. There was just too much distance between us.”

  “So, you two just slowly grew apart?” she asked.

  I chuckled. “That’s the worst part. When she told me she was moving out and taking the kids with her, I was completely blindsided.”

  “Come on,” she said. “I’m only hearing the story and I could see it from a mile away.”

  “You’re much more observant than I. I was so deep into my work that I didn’t see the signs. Before I knew it, I was looking for a new place and she was taking the kids to her mother’s place while I packed my things.”

  “That’s terrible,” she gasped. “Do you still get to see them?”

  “Hardly. It was every other weekend for a while, but then her boss sent her to Germany for a work assignment. I haven’t seen them in person for about a year. That’s the hardest part. No kid should ever have to deal with that.”

  She nodded understandingly.

  “Maybe I did know things were going sour,” I said, after thinking for a moment. “Maybe I just didn’t care enough.”

  We walked in silence for a few minutes, not knowing what else to say on the subject. I had never really talked about this with anyone, let alone one of my former students. It was hard, but I did feel a little better to get it all out in the open.

  “I suppose we’re alike in some ways now,” I said, watching the wind float through her hair.

  “How do you figure?”

  “Our musical careers went from high to low in a very short amount of time. If you can believe it, I hadn’t even played until yesterday at your parents’ house. Once Grace left, I came out here to hide from the rest of the world. I haven’t felt a bit inspired since—” I trailed off.

  The thing was, I did suddenly feel inspired. Perhaps Susan was my muse, with her warmth and charm. Her hourglass figure made me want to compose a piece, just from the music I heard in my head when I felt infatuated with her.

  Maybe being around her a few times a week would be all I need to write another piece. One piece would turn into another, and another. Eventually, I’d have a whole new repertoire to take out on tour again. I could re-launch my career. Maybe she’d even be able to come with me.

  I was getting ahead of myself. First, I would have to convince her somehow to come back to my house. Then, I’d have to persuade her to take lessons with me.

  “Have you dated anyone since?” she asked, and my stomach did a flip. Why was she suddenly so interested in my love life? Was she just trying to make conversation, or did she really care to know who I had been dating?

  “A few women,” I admitted, “but nothing serious. As it turns out, not many women want to date a guy who is either rehearsing and recording non-stop or is so distant in his own thoughts that he isn’t emotionally available.”

  “Your ex really did a number on you. Or should I say you really messed her up? I don’t know who I feel worse for,” Susan joked, cracking a smile.

  I playfully rolled my eyes at her. “I’m forty-seven years old, you wouldn’t believe how narrow the playing field gets at that age. The only women who want to get with someone my age are old divorcees with children of their own. That makes things a little more challenging. Besides, what woman in her right mind would date me when there are so many young, handsome single men out there?”

  “Oh, come on,” she giggled. “You know you’re handsome.”

  “No way,” I laughed. “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “I’m serious,” she said, shoving my shoulder. “You’re handsome and one of the most talented violinists of your generation. You’re a catch.”

  “I have grey hairs,” I protested.

  “It suits you,” she said.

  I tried to hide my excitement from being told that I was attractive by Susan Harper, no less. It was definitely the boost to my self-esteem that I needed.

  “So, do you miss Grace?” Susan asked after a long pause.

  “Why are you so interested in my failures?” I chuckled.

  She shrugged. “I’ve never imagined that you could possibly fail at anything. Maybe that’s why I find it all so fascinating.”

  “I try not to think about Grace. There are still some loose ends there.”

  “Like?” she pressed.

  “Like the fact that I never got closure. One day we were husband and wife, and the next, she was handing me divorce papers and telling me to move out. I never got to share another dinner with her, another walk through the countryside with the kids, or another— “

  “You miss the sex,
” she said casually.

  “What?” I asked, shocked to hear those words come out of her mouth.

  “I’m not a child anymore,” she said. “You can tell me. Is that what you miss most about her?”

  “I miss the companionship. I like having someone to come home to occasionally. But, yes, I miss the sex too.”

  Susan giggled as I blushed. I wasn’t sure how I felt discussing these kinds of things with her quite yet. Everything still seemed so new to me.

  “Should we start to head back?” she asked, rubbing her bare forearms. “It’s starting to get a little chilly.”

  “Sure,” I replied, taking off my jacket and draping it over her shoulders. I was happy I was finally out in the fresh air enjoying my time with someone, but I was already sad that it would inevitably end.

  Chapter 5

  Susan

  “I think it’s my turn to ask the questions now,” he said as we rounded the corner and walked back toward his home. He scratched his scruffy beard as he thought of ways to get me back for bombarding him with a thousand personal questions.

  I couldn’t help it, though; he was always such a fascinating person. He was the most famous person I personally knew and there was always a story with him. I spent so much time with him in my younger years that it was exciting to see what he was up to. He was my most important mentor and the biggest influence on my music. I wanted to do nothing else but pick his brain.

  “It’s only fair,” I said, pulling his jacket closer to my body. It smelled the same way his study used to smell when I would spend the whole afternoon with him, listening to his critiques.

  I walked a few steps away; transfixed with the way my skirt was flowing around me. I wondered if he noticed that I had dressed up a little for the occasion. I didn’t want to seem too eager to impress, but I wanted to look good. I spent a good hour agonizing about what to wear. In the end, I picked a vintage-style dress with a sweetheart neckline that was tight around my slim waist and flared over my thighs. I loved the way I looked in it—I was not a little girl anymore.

  He caught up to me, the tiny creases on the outside of his eyes crinkling when he smiled. For someone who claimed to be a hermit, his skin was as tanned as someone who spent every day hiking through the mountains.

  “What have you been doing since graduation, for work, I mean,” he asked.

  “It wasn’t as smooth of a transition as I hoped it would be,” I replied. “For as much praise as I received during my schooling, the job opportunities didn’t quite match up.”

  “I can’t imagine you’d be turned down for anything you audition for.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. While I may be just as good as the others, I don’t have the experience. Without any jobs, I wasn’t getting the experience I needed to land a big job. Do you see what my problem was?”

  “You should have called me,” he said. “I would have found you a seat in an orchestra immediately.”

  “That’s what my parents told me to do. But I was fresh out of college with big dreams. I wanted to do everything on my own.”

  “That doesn’t surprise me one bit,” he said. “You’ve always been very independent.”

  “This time I was too independent for my own good,” I said. “I went a few years without having any real work. I applied for jobs for six months with no income. Eventually, I started to run out of money. I moved back home and took up a waitressing job.”

  “Seriously?”

  I nodded. “The only times I got paid to play were for the odd wedding or funeral. I even took my violin down to the square on Main Street, but you can’t really make a living busking.”

  “I’ve been there,” he said. “Did I ever tell you about when I got out of the conservatory?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I probably didn’t want to worry you. I had a short dry spell and I was worried that I would never be able to make a living.”

  “I find that hard to believe,” I said. “You’ve always been vocal about being an artist.”

  “Sure, because that’s what people want to hear about. I want people to know that I’ve dedicated my life to playing and composing. I’m not just going to share my deepest insecurities with just anyone.”

  I smiled. It was nice to know that he was familiar enough with me to open a little. It’s rare enough to meet your role models, but even more exceptional to have one as your mentor and friend.

  “When you read the articles about me online, they’ll tell you that I slept in my car for a while because the gigs I played weren’t enough for the high cost of living in New York City. What you won’t read was that I was terrified all the time. I didn’t have the greatest family life, so there wasn’t anyone to go to when I ran out of money. Fortunately, I got a job at the same time that I was thinking about panhandling. Not even busking, just begging strangers for enough money to buy lunch and put gas in my car so I could stay warm.”

  “I had no idea it was that bad for you,” I said, feeling like my problems paled in comparison to his. Though my parents and brother were gone, at least I had a little bit of money to get me through until I could find work.

  There was no way I’d be able to rejoin the orchestra now. Not only did the thought of playing made me feel queasy, but I couldn’t return to the concert hall. I wouldn’t be able to hear the music over the sounds of the police talking to me backstage after the performance.

  “It’s not glamorous, but it’s something a lot of musicians have to go through,” he said. “I know you’re always going to have people tell you that you shouldn’t worry about work because you’re talented and you’ll get a job in no time, but they’re right. Stick with the orchestra, and you’ll go far.”

  I pulled at a loose thread on his jacket. It was too hard to tell Jeffrey that I wanted to give up on music altogether. He believed in me too much. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was so wrong about me.

  “You’ll play again,” he said, seeing the apprehension on my face. “I know it doesn’t feel like you’ll be able to, but you will.”

  I looked at him, his kind smile giving me some comfort. I didn’t necessarily believe what he was telling me, but I was thankful for the effort.

  “You went through some hard times when your wife left,” I said, hoping I could elicit a response from him. “Did you find that you could play through the pain?”

  His smile faded. “It’s not easy,” he sighed. “But if you have your heart set on greatness, you can make it happen.”

  “I don’t think I’m great, though,” I interjected.

  “Of course, you don’t,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “It’s hard to see the good in yourself. Luckily, I have a knack for spotting potential in others. Eventually, you’ll find this out for yourself.”

  We continued in silence as the sun started to dip below the clouds. Parents began to gather their kids from the playground to bring them home. I remembered this time of the year fondly. As a child, I could spend a few hours outside before retreating indoors to practice until bedtime. My parents never made me hide away in my bedroom to play out of earshot.

  No, even before I was good, they’d sit in the living room and applaud after each one of my songs. They would sit on the couch together, sipping tea as I played Twinkle Twinkle Little Star repeatedly, begging for an encore. Now, I understood that they were probably so tired of hearing the same squeaky songs, but at the time, I genuinely believed that they loved it.

  Finally, we returned to Jeffrey’s house. I sat back down on the couch as he rummaged through the cupboards for something to eat with our coffee. I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of him moving around the kitchen, piling packaged cookies on a plate as the coffee machine dripped.

  On the outside, I was calm and composed. However, on the inside, my mind was running wild. I had lived most of my adult life wondering about where Jeffrey was and how he was doing. During lonely nights, I even fantasized about having candlelit dinners with
him after his concerts. Backstage, security would try to stop me from entering his dressing room, but I’d just tell them that I was his wife. They’d step away quickly, and I’d go into his room and—

  “Sorry I don’t have any dinner for you,” he said, interrupting my daydream. “I didn’t think you’d want to stay this long.”

  “This is fine,” I said, picking up a biscuit and dipping it into the coffee. “I’m sure Rachel has something waiting for me at her house.”

  “Do you need to go?” he asked quickly.

  “No, no,” I said, sliding back into the comfortable couch. “I can stay for a little longer.”

  “Great,” he said, his body relaxing. “Do you feel like playing a little now?”

  I bit my lip and looked toward my violin. “I’m not sure.”

  “No pressure,” he said, lifting his hands. “I don’t want to make you do something you don’t want to do. Maybe you can come back another day.”

  “No,” I said defiantly. “I’ll try.”

  I didn’t want him to be disappointed in me for accepting his lesson, just to go on a walk and go home. If he offered to help me, then I should at least try. Besides, the things that he said to me during our walk made me feel a splinter of hope that I might be able to play again one day. Maybe not professionally, but in my own time.

  I walked over to his sheet music collection and thumbed through my options. I didn’t feel focused enough to sight read something difficult and I didn’t want to play anything that we had rehearsed together.

  Then, I found the perfect thing. One of his original compositions, I had listened to it many times, but never played the full thing myself. I knew that he would be surprised to hear me play it.

  I placed the music on the stand and began to play. I heard his sharp inhale after a few notes and could see his surprised face out of the corner of my eye. I wanted to look at his full reaction, but I needed to focus so I could do his piece justice.

  Somewhere in the middle of the first page, I felt a strong pang of sadness. I loved the song, but it didn’t sound quite right coming from me. When Jeffrey played it, it was romantic, even sensual. There was so much rich emotion when he played. As I played, it just fell flat. The notes were there, but I was too emotionally drained to give it that special rhythm the song required.