by May, Linnea
I want to make her look that way while she’s pinned down beneath my rock-hard body.
My cock needs to knock it the fuck off.
I shift around on my chair, changing my seating position to hide the growing bulge in my crotch.
This is new. You’d think I’m suffering from blue balls, but my encounter with that sexy brunette from the club was not that long ago.
That’s not it.
Yet, I’ve never reacted like this to the mere sight of a woman before. What the hell is happening here?
She doesn’t even look that sexy in a traditional sense. Nothing about her screams sex like it does with the vixen from the club. Her dress looks worn out and I know that neither Gloria nor our mothers would ever want to be seen in something like that. There are even a few threads hanging out at the side right below her arm. I bet she didn’t notice when she put it on before she came here. Her shoes look equally used and are just as much a telltale sign of her poverty as is the dress.
Her makeup is subtle and I’m sure she stepped it up a notch for today. I’m sure her lips are naked and I’m looking at her natural color, as I imagine them wrapped around my hard cock.
Her play intensifies, and she’s long forgotten about our presence in the room. She’s lost in the music, her upper body swaying along with the melody and her eyes are still closed, even at the sections I’d imagine are the hardest to play.
Her fingers remain on the last keys as she ends the song and freezes in a bent-over position, while the last note echoes through the room.
Even when my mother starts the applause and we chime in, the girl doesn’t look up from the piano. Her eyes remain closed for a few more moments, before she finally opens them, casting a dreamy gaze across the piano lid. She almost looks as if she cannot believe that she was the one who just played that melody.
“Beautiful!” my mother praises, while Gloria barely lifts her eyes from her phone.
Finally, Miss Hill looks at us, a shy smile appearing on her face.
“A very common song, though,” Gloria’s father interjects. “Do you have anything more out of the ordinary? More complex?”
She looks at him, quiet for a few moments, as she ponders her reply. Just as she opens her mouth to say something, she’s interrupted by Gloria’s mother.
“Nothing too special, though,” she says. “There’s no need to get too esoteric, we still want people to recognize the music as their own. We’d like to play a few of their favorites.”
She casts her husband a warning look and he shrugs.
“Yes, absolutely,” Miss Hill says. “I have a few pieces in mind that are perfect for a romantic musical accompaniment, such as the 2nd movement of Beethoven’s Pathetique or some of Chopin’s more docile salon pieces.”
“Chopin!” my mother sighs. “Oh, he is one of my favorites!”
The girl’s face lights up.
“Mine, too,” she says. “Personally, I’d suggest some of the Nocturnes - Opus 9 in e-flat major for example - or his preludes in F sharp major, Ab major and maybe even the Db major. Next to his waltzes, which could also be played to-”
“I think we get the idea, Miss Hill,” my father interrupts her. “There’s no need to get too much into the detail. I think Kingston and Gloria should have a say in this, as well.”
He throws expectant looks first at me, then at Gloria, who manages just in time to fake interest in the whole conversation.
“What do you think?” my father asks. “Is there anything in particular you wish to hear?”
I gesture toward Gloria, implying that she should be the first to speak, but she just shrugs her shoulders.
“Classical sounds good, I guess,” she says.
“I could also play John Williams variations or Phillip Glass,” Miss Hill says, trying to catch Gloria’s attention. “To add a modern touch to the repertoire.”
Gloria furls her eyebrows. “Who?”
“Movie composers,” I enlighten her. “Especially Glass, who has written a lot of piano pieces.”
From the corner of my eyes, I can see Miss Hill nodding.
“I don’t think we want to go in that direction,” my mother interjects, speaking as if we just suggested turning the engagement party into an alternative rock concert. “Just show us a few more of your classical pieces.”
Miss Hill nods quietly and closes her eyes to devote herself to another song.
Chapter V
Elodie
It’s like they’re not even here. While I play on this beautiful piano - a freaking Steinway Model D concert grand piano - I forget everything and everyone else around me. I forget where I am, who’s watching me, and what this whole performance is about.
It doesn’t feel like a performance, or like I have to prove myself right now. Once I start playing, nothing else matters. It’s just me and one of the greatest pianos I have every played on. The sound is out of this world, and I feel as if I’m bathing in the music.
The only thing I cannot block out are his eyes on me. A normal person would let their gaze travel, maybe even close their eyes to suspend the one sense that is utterly redundant, to enjoy a good piece of music.
But he doesn’t.
He’s staring at me nonstop, and it’s the only thing that makes it hard for me to get completely lost in the music, as I usually would.
Yet, I can barely hide my disappointment when Mr. Abrams announces that they have heard enough for today. The family decides that I should create a playlist for the evening that is long enough to fill about three hours. Mrs. Abrams is the only one who adds suggestions to the list, which leaves me pretty much on my own.
“So, you want me to play?” I ask, as everybody is getting ready to leave the room and escort me outside.
Mrs. Abrams turns to me, tilting her head to the side and smiling, as if I’d just asked a very stupid question.
“But of course, dear,” she says. “Why would we not?”
I feel a wave of relief traveling down my spine. Even though I had the bliss of getting lost in the music for the few minutes while I was playing, I sort of took this meeting to be an audition. But Mrs. Abrams is making it sound as if they’d been sure of hiring me even before I showed up today.
“I… er, I just wanted to make sure,” I stutter.
She smiles and places her hand on my shoulder.
“Your play was wonderful,” she says. “And we’re looking forward to having you perform at the engagement party in two months.”
Two months. That’s still so far away. On one hand, it leaves me with a lot of time to prepare, but it also means that I won’t be seeing any money until shortly before my graduation.
Everybody but Mrs. Abrams and her sinfully handsome son has already excused themselves and left the room. As Mrs. Abrams escorts me down the stairs, her son walks closely behind us, looming over us with his tall stature as she raves about her time at Juilliard. It’s obvious that she still feels very connected to our school, even though her time as a student was such a long time ago.
“If you don’t mind,” she says, as we reach the entrance door, “we will have to meet again at least twice before the actual event. Once in about a week to go over the play list for the evening, and another time to further discuss the evening’s schedule. We might have little addresses and such, and the music should be planned accordingly.”
She stops speaking and turns toward her son, who - for whatever reason - is standing right next to us, locking me down with his intense stare and making my insides vibrate with a dangerous desire due to his proximity. I can even breathe in his intoxicating smell.
How can he not be aware of his effect on women? Why is he still here? Shouldn’t he have left with his fiancée?
“Also, Gloria and Kingston might wish to add a little dance,” she says, tilting her head again. “A newly engaged waltz maybe?”
He finally takes his eyes off of me and regards his mother with a polite but distant smile.
“We’
ll see,” he says to her, before turning back to me. “How are you getting home, Miss Hill?”
“Oh, I’ll just take the subway, it’s not far,” I hurry to say.
“Nonsense,” he says. “Let me give you a ride home. You live on campus, I assume?”
I hastily shake my head.
“It’s really not far, I can just-”
“Oh, don’t be shy,” his mother says. “Let my son be a gentleman and make sure you get home safely. A young lady shouldn’t be out by herself in the dark in Manhattan.”
What?!
I’m inclined to tell her how ridiculous that sounds to me. She and I live in completely different worlds, and mine certainly doesn’t provide personal drivers or even the possibility to call for a cab whenever needed.
“I was about to drive downtown anyway,” he says. “I can make a little detour to Juilliard.”
Oh, please God no. The thought of being alone with him kills me.
“Really, it’s not-”
But my protest is silenced once again by Mrs. Abrams, who thanks her son for making the offer and opens the door to let us out. We say our goodbyes and I follow him outside, my legs shaking.
It’s become cold outside, and I just now realize that I forgot to bring a cardigan with me to wear over my thin dress. If it wasn’t for him looking and acting the way he does, I would actually be thankful for the ride.
“This is really not necessary,” I repeat, while following him around the house where he heads toward a black sports car.
“If you say that one more time, I’m going to drop you off in the middle of the Bronx,” he says, as he opens the door for me.
I flush as I squeeze past him and my crummy dress skims the expensive fabric of his attire. The contrast between us is so vast, it makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable.
He closes the door behind me and runs around the car to take his seat on the driver‘s side. The awkward flutter I felt while just standing next to him is nothing compared to the way I feel now that we‘re sitting right next to each other, alone, in a confined space. He starts the engine and drives out on to the street, and I realize that I cannot even remember the last time I’ve sat in a car, let alone a car that was driving through Manhattan.
“You really liked that piano, didn’t you,” he says, casting me a quick look from the side.
“It’s a beautiful instrument,” I say. “I barely get to play on a grand piano like that. Even for performance, they barely provide a Model D. They are expensive and rare!”
He chuckles. “I guess so. I have to agree I’ve never spent much thought on it.”
Of course, he hasn’t, and I feel like an idiot for getting so excited about something that means nothing to him. He must think I’m such a nerd.
“You will probably play on the same model during our engagement party,” he says. “Don’t you think it would make sense for you to practice on ours once in a while until then?”
I look at him, my eyes wide with surprise and confusion. “What?”
“I’m sure it could be arranged,” he says, glancing over at me so that our eyes meet for a second.
Damn, he’s handsome. How can a man be so beautiful? Is it the money, his wealth? Am I really that superficial?
No, he’s just that good looking, and he would be even if he was wearing a garbage bag.
“That’s not necessary,” I repeat my mantra from earlier. “We have plenty of pianos at Juilliard and I-”
“I think it would be better if you practiced on ours, in our home,” he says. “You wouldn’t disturb anyone. It’s just my parents who are still living there, and they aren’t home that much. Besides, it’s a big house and the piano hardly gets used. My mother was kind of exaggerating when she said she’d play once in a while. She does it like twice a year, as far as I know.”
My heart sinks at the thought of that. Such a beautiful instrument, and no one playing on it. If I had a Model D in my home, I don’t think I could ever stop playing.
Also, if I had a home like that, I would make sure to spend as much time as possible there. Rich people really don’t appreciate what they have.
“I… really don’t want to impose,” I whisper, clutching my sheets.
The thought of being able to play on this beautiful piano on a regular basis for the next few weeks is almost too good to be true, even if it means having to step inside a world that makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable about myself. But I know none of that will matter once I start playing…
“You’re not imposing,” he insists. “I’m sure my mother agrees that this is a good idea, and my father really doesn’t get much say anyway. They’d be glad to let you practice in their home. I’ll speak to them.”
A heavy lump in my throat prevents me from speaking, or even reacting to what he said. The prospect is too alluring. It flatters and confuses me that he would make this generous suggestion.
“I will need your phone number,” he adds, and my heart jumps.
“Why?”
He laughs. “Because I need a way to contact you to let you know when you can use the piano. We might have to set up a schedule.”
“I’m sure your parents have it.”
“Just to be safe, give it to me, as well,” he insists, nodding toward the glove compartment. “There’s a pen and notebook in there. Write it down.”
My eyes wander back and forth between him and the glove compartment. This feels weird and wrong. Why do I feel like he’s hitting on me? He’s engaged! Am I really that dazed by how handsome he is?
Still, I do as he tells me and leave my phone number, just for him.
Chapter VI
Kingston
“And did you see her dress?” Gloria asks in that shrill and obnoxious voice of hers. “It was pretty much falling apart!”
She’s sitting across the table from me, as we’re enduring another family tea time during which we have to pretend to be a couple who cares enough for each other to not mind getting married.
Even our parents know that it’s not love that makes us take this big step, but they don’t care. It’s not what they need from us. They just need us to be content with the situation. Content, well-behaved and settled, ready to provide the much anticipated grandchildren. I still don’t know how we’ll pull off that part, considering we can barely stand to be in the same room, let alone touch each other. I guess we will cross that bridge when we get there.
“Oh, the dress,” Mrs. Waldorf chimes in. “How embarrassing! To show up at our house looking like a beggar. I could hardly look at it.”
I roll my eyes, and I’m glad to see that my parents have the decency not to join Gloria and her mother in their hateful gossip. However, they also shy away from putting these women in their place.
“She will have to find something more suitable to wear,” my father agrees. “But I have no issue with her performance. I think she’ll do a good job, and she’s very willing to go along with our wishes.”
“For a very cheap price,” my mother adds, as if anyone cared about the amount of money that’s thrown at this whole endeavor. “I think hiring a Juilliard student will set a great precedence to put eyes on our families’ efforts to support the performing arts. A prestigious school like Juilliard will always appreciate goodwill from an Upper East Side family and word of it will get around.”
“It will do our reputation good,” Mr. Waldorf agrees. “But only if this girl doesn’t embarrass us.”
“She won’t,” I say, surprised at my own voice.
All eyes are turning to me. Their surprise is more due to the fact that I speak at all, as I usually keep rather quiet during these bothersome get-togethers.
“However, I’d suggest that her play itself is more important than what dress she’s wearing,” I add.
“Yes,” my mother says, knowing where I‘m going with this, as I’ve already discussed the issue with her in private.
“Kingston suggested that she be allowed to use our grand piano for p
ractice, so she can get accustomed to the feel and sound of it,” she enlightens the others, and especially my father, who hasn’t heard the idea before.
“And I think that’s a great idea,” my mother continues. “Provided this is all right with you, dear?”
She turns to my father, who just shrugs.
“As long as she’s not doing it in the middle of the night and there’s someone here to supervise her while she’s here,” he says. He raises an eyebrow as he looks at my mother. “You know. In case she gets a little too curious or… too fond of our possessions.”
“Are you suggesting she’d steal from us?” I ask, disgusted.
My father shrugs. “You never know. Better to be safe than sorry.”
“That’s right,” Gloria says. “You never know with these kinds of girls. She looks desperately poor and like she could be someone to do such a thing.”
I take in a deep breath, trying to contain my anger at their disgusting assumptions, but before I can say anything to them, my mother speaks up instead.
“It’s not nice to make such assumptions about strangers,” she says. “But I agree that it wouldn’t be wise to leave her here by herself. I’ll try to be home, and if that’s not possible, we can still ask her to come when our maid, Wally is here.”
Or me, I think to myself.
I’m not suggesting it out loud, as I don’t want to draw too much attention on the idea of myself and Elodie alone in the house. I have to fake an utter disinterest in her, and also have to watch myself when it comes to defending her in front of my family. But of course, this is all I can think of. Me and her. Alone.
