Nocturne

by Andrea Randall

  “Savannah?” Nathan interrupted my internal ramble.

  “Yeah?”

  “I said, are you okay? Your voice seems … off.”

  “I don’t know if I want to do this.” My heartbeat nearly tripled, as I was about to admit what had been swirling in my brain for over a year.

  “Do what? What are you talking about?”

  I took a huge breath, nearly sighing my answer. “I don’t know if I want to play professionally. I don’t … I don’t think it’s for me.”

  “Savannah …” His voice was agitated, anxious as he spoke my name, but he clipped off the rest of the sentence and let out a frustrated breath. “Is this about your—”

  “Yes,” I cut him off, “it is. It’s about my mom. It’s about her and the fact that she and my dad had to live an ocean apart because she couldn’t have the kind of life with the opera here that she could over there. It’s about the last few weeks here at the Institute. I’ve loved teaching. I’ve loved nurturing young talent; preparing them for a life of their choosing. Should they have a choice …” My throat closed as I considered the implications of what I was saying.

  Nathan was quiet for a few seconds and then started speaking in an uncharacteristically even tone. “You have a choice.”

  “Do I? At the end of last week I played that Assobio piece with Gregory—”

  “It’s Gregory now?” Nathan sounded annoyed.

  “They’ve all insisted I call them by their first names, since I’m technically a colleague. Anyway, we played that piece together during the instructor ensemble time, and …”

  “And what?”

  My words came out as a whisper. “It was the single most moving experience while playing that I’ve ever had in my entire life. It swallowed me. We’ve never played together, and it was … perfect. We didn’t stop or stall or trip up. Not once.”

  “I’m … confused. What does that have to do with you not wanting to be a performing musician?”

  “It took only a second and I got it. I was consumed by the song, the notes, the scene. It was like a drug that was instantly addicting. I’ve always loved performing and playing, you know that. But, in that moment, playing with a world-class musician and playing a song I’ve spent months working on … I wanted that and absolutely nothing else. And, it scared me.”

  “Look, Savannah,” Nathan sighed again, and I could picture him raking his long fingers through his disorganized curls, “I know that you’ve struggled off and on with performing as a career. You’ve never said it, but we’ve talked enough about your family life for me to … get it. But, I don’t think what happened with Gregory scared you about playing professionally.”

  “What was it then?”

  Nathan’s tone turned dark, and I could tell he was speaking through clenched teeth, though he didn’t sound angry. He repeated the same words from our earlier argument. His words that made no sense, but made too much sense. “You’re in love with him, Savannah.”

  I thought back to standing next to Gregory as we played, and one by one the faculty disappeared from my view until all I saw was him and the notes. And all I heard was the beating of my heart.

  “I know,” I whispered, covering my mouth to silence the clamor of my tears.

  I knew.

  I was in love with him.

  And it was a horrible mistake.

  Savannah

  Take a deep breath, Savannah. It’s just a bar.

  Smoothing down the front of my favorite red dress, I knew damn well it wasn’t just a bar. I’d made it through the second week of orchestra camp at the Tanglewood Institute, and the staff was gathering at Magnolia’s for end of the summer drinks and dancing. He was going to be there.

  Overwhelmed by the time we played together during the instructors’ ensemble, and my admission to Nathan on the phone several days later, I’d done my best to avoid Gregory Fitzgerald.

  I loved him.

  Not only had I kissed him, but I was falling in love with him, and I didn’t know what to do about it.

  If anything.

  I hadn’t spoken to Nathan since that phone call. He seemed tense over the fact that I admitted my feelings for Gregory. He said while he saw I was in love with him, he didn’t understand why. We never spoke to each other outside of the classroom, he said. And, when we did speak, he was certain to remind me, our interactions were less than cordial. No hearts. No flowers.

  I never did tell him about the kiss.

  There wasn’t anything tangible about Gregory Fitzgerald that screamed for me to be in love with him. It was all beneath the surface. I felt a pull toward him since the first time he played for us on our first day of music theory. My first perceptions of him—since the day he offhandedly dismissed me from the stage at my audition—was all wrong. At least, I hoped it was wrong.

  The passion and intensity behind our kiss shattered that first impression.

  I’d told Madeline I needed to walk to the bar alone to gather my thoughts. And steel my nerves. It was absurd, really. I wasn’t his student anymore, and I’ll be damned if he didn’t feel something when we played that piece together, too. I know he felt something. I intended to figure out exactly what that was.

  I was here. Magnolia’s.

  One more deep breath.

  Clearing my throat and rolling my shoulders back, I opened the door and was greeted by nerve-calming dance music. Heavy beats graciously drowned out the sound of my heart.

  “Savannah, over here!” Madeline flagged me down the second I walked in. She and James were sitting next to each other, but turned in so their knees were touching.

  A second later, I spotted Gregory sitting on the other side of James. Always in black. It looked different this time, though. I knew how his arms looked as they drew music from his cello. How his muscles flexed. He had a suit coat on over what I was certain was a t-shirt, and I rolled my eyes as I smiled and walked toward the trio.

  “You okay, sweetie? You seemed stressed earlier.” Madeline playfully tugged the skirt of my dress and I noticed Gregory’s eyes flicker to my legs.

  “I’m fine. I just needed some fresh air, so I walked.”

  He was still looking at my legs. I softly bit a grin away from my lips.

  James leaned his back against the bar. “Well, Savannah, I must say, you’ve thoroughly impressed not only the staff here this summer, but the parents and students, too.”

  “Thank you, James. I had a great time.”

  Gregory broke his standard pensive silence. And his study of my calves. “Can I get you something to drink, Savannah?”

  I let out a surprised giggle, and James and Madeline looked askance at both of us. His face twisted up a bit as we all stared at him.

  “What?” He held out his hands. “She’s been here for two minutes and no one’s offered her a drink. I figured one of us should be polite.”

  Something behind his eyes looked less than polite and innocent. Rather than make me nervous, confidence took over.

  I arched an eyebrow as I answered. “Tequila.”

  “Tequila?” He questioned with a sour look on his face.

  “Yes. A shot. Please.” I grinned and watched his eyes land on my mouth. It made my heart tick up a few beats.

  “Make it four!” James playfully slapped the bar and raised his eyebrows as Madeline giggled.

  “Four?” Gregory questioned.

  “One for all of us, Gregory. Come on.” Madeline batted her eyelashes mockingly. I loved watching the three of them in action, as if no time had passed from their days as students at the conservatory.

  The bartender leaned into Gregory, who held up three fingers while making a displeased face.

  “Spoil sport,” Madeline snorted as three shot glasses were set on the bar in front of us.

  “Drink that bathwater, if you must. I’ll stick to my gin, thank you.”

  Despite myself, I let out a loud laugh.

  “Something funny?” Gregory lifted an eyebrow at me. />
  “You’re just …” I trailed off as the tequila was poured and I clinked glasses with Madeline and James as Gregory rolled his eyes. As the tequila warmed my throat, my resolve followed suit.

  “You were saying, Savannah?” Gregory challenged as Madeline and James ordered another shot for themselves. “I’m just?”

  “Dance with me.” I ignored the pointed stares from James and Madeline.

  “Dance with you?”

  I’d think he was blowing me off had I not caught him swallow hard.

  “Yes,” I said with all the confidence I could muster. “Dance with me. Hear the music? See the people? Take off that God-awful, stuffy coat and dance with me.” I held out my hand, praying that it wasn’t shaking as noticeably as my nerves were.

  Jesus, I just asked my professor to dance with me. I had no plan beyond that. That was all I’d managed to come up with on my walk to the bar—that I wanted him to dance with me. People usually loosen up while they dance, and I was hoping he’d be no exception. Though, standing there with my hand suspended in air while he stared skeptically at me, I had my doubts. Maybe our kiss had ruined any chance I might have. In a second his coat was on the back of his chair and his hand was in mine. His eyes challenging.

  Maybe not.

  “Let’s go.” He shrugged as his voice turned husky.

  Just then, a new song started. It was fast, which was all my nerves and my pulse could handle, anyway. His hands were firm, tight, just like I remembered. My knees were a little weak, and I regretted not taking one more shot of tequila before heading onto the dance floor.

  Suck it up, Savannah. This is what you wanted. Just. Dance.

  I spun around with a smile on my face and found Gregory assessing my legs.

  “That is a lovely dress.” His eyes volleyed around the space between our bodies, struggling to find a place to settle.

  “Thank you.” I knew he liked it. He looked at me the same way when he saw me in this dress in that club in Boston.

  Though we’d been on the dance floor for five seconds, he’d made no move to take the lead. He seemed stuck. Thankfully, a waitress weaved through the crowd with a tray full of shots.

  “Thank God,” I sighed as I took one, placed some cash on the waitress’s tray, and poured it quickly down my throat. “Want one?”

  He shook his head. “What was that?”

  I looked up at the ceiling, giving myself a second to taste it. “Rum? Yes. Rum.” I nodded, licking my lips.

  He opened his mouth to say something, but I silenced him by grabbing his hands and anchoring them on my hips. Before I could assess how much I loved the way his hands felt on my body, I gripped his shoulders. His lips parted slightly as I refused to move my eyes from his gaze.

  “I know you can dance, Gregory. I saw you that night in Boston …” I felt his fingers press into my hips for a second as he seemed to consider whether he’d lighten up or not.

  “I know you can dance, too, Savannah.” His face didn’t change as I realized we were both standing static on the dance floor.

  I closed my eyes, and a breath later, started moving my hips in slow circles. I left my eyes closed for another second, letting the music pour through me and out my hips and feet as I moved, faster now. Tossing my hair over one shoulder, I opened my eyes to find Gregory’s face more relaxed, but his eyes were still focused on my face. I wanted to look away, to take a break from their intensity, but I couldn’t.

  As the song headed toward the chorus, I realized Gregory was keeping a measured distance from me. Our bodies were too far apart to be dancing to a song like this. Too far apart to be dancing at all. As the rhythm picked up, I moved in a step closer, sliding my hands from his shoulders to the back of his neck.

  He sucked in a breath I know I wasn’t meant to hear. A breath that made me want to run my fingers through the back of his hair. I knew if I lifted my chin just a fraction of an inch, I’d be well within kissing distance of his lips. Goosebumps sprouted down my back, and my lips felt like they were pulsing just at the thought of his mouth on mine. I wanted to kiss him. I wanted him to kiss me. He wanted it too. Any insecurities I had about kissing him vanished as he licked his lips. This summer had changed things for me, and judging by the way his eyes were moving across my collarbone, they’d changed things for him, too.

  No.

  Not here.

  My head was clouded with the music, the nerves buzzing through my brain, and how his hands felt as they tightly held my hips.

  “You can really dance.” I bit my lip to prevent myself from kissing him right there on the dance floor. I chuckled, realizing that he was now leading us in the dance. Only Gregory Fitzgerald could change who was leading without the other person noticing.

  He simply grinned, half his mouth turning up in a way that would make the Cheshire cat jealous. Seeming to relax into the music, and our dance, he lifted his arm and spun me out away from his body, his ice-blue eyes watching me the entire time.

  Gregory

  My heart raced as she spun in a circle at the end of my arm, the bottom of her dress flaring out, my eyes once again falling to her calves, her knees, the swell of her breasts. Then I pulled her back, and her body came back into contact with mine, leaning back against my arm just as the song came to an end.

  Savannah’s cheeks were flushed red, and for just a second our eyes met again, as they had over our instruments just a few short days before. I steadied her back to her feet, careful to not touch her anywhere inappropriate in front of all of these people.

  But I ached to touch her. I was out of control, my body aching with unchecked lust. The lights lowered as the next song began, a slow song, a ballad. Instinctively I started to let go, my hands loosening.

  Why not?

  The thought was … unnecessary, wrong. But without transition my hands slipped from her arms down to her waist. I pulled her to me as her hands rose to my shoulders. The touch of her skin, shifting just beneath that insubstantial dress, was intoxicating.

  “You dance remarkably well.” As I spoke I tried to keep my breathing under control. I tried to keep my thoughts and emotions under control. She was a student. No matter that she’d spent the summer on the faculty at Tanglewood, in a matter of two weeks we would be back at the conservatory, back to our normal roles.

  Struggling to get my thoughts under control, I said, “Where did you take lessons?”

  She raised one eyebrow, as she leaned back just slightly to look in my eyes. “Lessons? You don’t need lessons to dance, Gregory, you just move with the music.”

  With her in my arms, my hands just touching her waist, I wasn’t even conscious of any music playing. I took a breath as we moved slightly closer to each other. Too close, really. Her dress was a light fabric, smooth and barely there. The muscles at the base of her back seemed to tense where my hands rested. “Chaotic as always, Miss Marshall.”

  She grinned. “We’re back to Miss Marshall now?”

  “Savannah. I was commenting on your resistance to structure.”

  She shook her head slightly. “What’s your deal, Gregory? I don’t get it.”

  I turned us in a gentle circle and said, “My deal? Please explain, I don’t understand.”

  Her eyebrows worked. I’d seen them before, moving independently of each other sometimes, as if they had minds of their own. I was certain it was completely unconscious. Fascinating, and somehow insanely attractive.

  “You’re always so … structured. But broody. Dark. Sometimes I think there’s something inside of you just ready to explode.”

  I swallowed. “I assure you, Savannah, I am what you see. A musician.”

  My fingertips touched at the small of her back as we moved closer to each other. An intense urge to run my hands over the refined curve of her backside flashed through me. The thought made me suck in a quick breath.

  “I don’t think so, Gregory. I think there’s a lot more inside than you show.”

  I wanted to tell her mor
e. I wanted to tell her how it felt the first time I heard the cello. The first time my hands brought a note, alive and amazing, from that instrument. Sometimes I felt there was nothing more important than music ... that when the writing and words and pretensions people used as barriers were all stripped away, in the end it was only music that could truly be shared as a universal language.

  I didn’t know how to say any of that. And, no one had ever asked me to. But looking in her eyes, swimming in those eyes, I thought she understood. For the first time in my life I felt a gaping empty wound in myself, a wound I’d stuffed with nothing more than melody for all those years and suddenly that wasn’t enough.

  “Perhaps,” I replied. “But all music has depths that don’t show on the surface.”

  She gave me a quirky grin at that, and against my better judgment, I pulled her a little bit closer. Our bodies touched down their entire length, and my breath was coming in short, fractured moments. In my arms she felt right … real, and our faces were almost touching. We swayed slightly with the music, and her full, shiny lips grinned a little wider as our eyes met. Against my will, I found my own mouth curving up into a smile.

  That made her eyes widen. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile. Does that hurt?”

  Good god. I felt myself laugh a little. “You are one smart-mouthed young woman.”

  That made her smile even wider. “You are an ill-tempered old man, which makes no sense considering how young you are. I don’t get it. Most musicians would kill for what you have.”

  I stumbled over her statement. What I had? Did she mean her in my arms right now? It was true. But then I realized she was talking about something else entirely when she continued.

  “You’re probably the most talented cellist the BSO has fielded in years, and it’s not enough?”

  I was oddly disappointed. Because the experience of having her in my arms, dancing, was … unique. Fascinating. It had a music all its own. But I kept my thoughts to myself and kept the conversation away from that.