Modern Heart: City Love 3

by Belinda Williams

  “Hated it! But how could you? It’s such a beautiful instrument.”

  “Not when you’re forced to play it for hours every morning and afternoon.” Wow. What was with my loose lips tonight?

  “Let me guess,” John said quietly, “you completed all the AMEB exams? My sister did a few, but never managed to do them all. ”

  He was referring to the Australian Music Examinations Board. Their exams were well regarded for piano in Australia.

  “By the time I was thirteen,” I admitted. And my mother had been so proud. The only reason I hadn’t resisted her insatiable need to push me through the eight piano levels was the misguided hope it would mean I could stop playing. Idiot. After that she’d pushed for me to continue on to the higher diploma levels.

  “Oh wow,” breathed Cate. “You must be really good.”

  “Hardly. I haven’t played in fifteen years.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  Cate nodded toward the piano again. “So if you sat down at that piano over there now, you wouldn’t be able to play anything?”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it again. The truth was, I had no idea. Was it like riding a bike? Or had I lost all the skills my mother had worked so hard to drum into me day and night for years on end? I looked over at the piano with an unexpected sense of longing. It was a beautiful grand piano, the polished glossy black casing shined to perfection. Just like the one I’d refused to play the night of my last recital, I realized.

  I lowered my eyes to my drink, ignoring the flutter of something deep in my belly. Not going to happen.

  “Play something for us,” Cate asked, a note of pleading in her tone. “I’d love to hear you play.”

  “No, you wouldn’t,” I said, keeping my eyes fixed on my drink. “Besides, I don’t play anymore.”

  I didn’t need to glance over at Cate to see her pouting. “Oh come on, Scarlett. Even you’ve got to admit playing piano in a bar in New York City holds some appeal.”

  When I looked up, Christa was reaching a hand across the table and laying it on Cate’s arm. “Cate,” she said softly. “Leave it.”

  Christa’s blue eyes met mine and she gave me a small smile. While I’d never gone into too much detail about my fractured relationship with my parents, Christa knew enough to understand this subject was making me uncomfortable.

  Cate frowned, but it was more out of disappointment than anything else. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to push.”

  “Why not play something you want to play?”

  We all turned to John. He was leaning against the back of the booth, his dark eyes watchful but hard to read.

  “Not you too,” I said. “Besides I don’t think they let random patrons just get up and play their piano.”

  “So you want to?”

  “No, I didn’t say—”

  “I’ll go and ask.” John stood up beside me in the booth, and the others started to shuffle around so he could get out.

  I grabbed his arm. “John,” I hissed. “Sit down.”

  He paused and raised one eyebrow. I hated the way a small movement from this man could make my stomach clench.

  “Tell me you don’t want to try out that piano and I’ll sit down.”

  “I—” I frowned. “I only know classical pieces. Not exactly New York bar appropriate.”

  “You’ll think of something.” He went to pull away from me again, but my fingers dug into his arm.

  “John. Sit the fuck down.”

  I could feel everyone’s eyes on us as John and I stared at each other, neither of us prepared to back down. I did my best to ignore them and stood up. The heels were good and bad, I discovered. The extra height made me more imposing than usual. The downside was that with us pushed together chest to chest in the booth, the boots meant I only had to tilt my head slightly for our mouths—

  Damn it. “John,” I ground out, annoyed not only at him but at my complete lack of control, “I’m not going to play piano so you might as well sit back down.”

  “It would be for you. No one else.”

  There was no way he could have known. I’d never told anyone. Not even Christa. But somehow this infuriating man seemed to know exactly what I needed. Damn it to hell, it was almost like he understood. “What if I don’t want to?”

  I heard Max clear his throat and saw Christa push his drink toward him, trying to act like everything was normal. Cate followed the cue and took a sip of her wine.

  John ignored them. “The way you stared at that piano before tells me that you want to.”

  I looked away. Since when had I become so easy to read? Or was it just this man who had the uncanny ability to read me? “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

  I felt his hand on my shoulder and I closed my eyes. The room was spinning a little, but I couldn’t tell if it was from the alcohol or the proximity to John. He squeezed my shoulder gently until I opened my eyes and met his gaze.

  “Do you want to?”

  “Yes.” The answer was a revelation. I’d spent so many years hating it, I couldn’t imagine actually wanting to. Yet, here I was.

  “I’ll be back in a minute.”

  Everyone shuffled seats to let John out of the booth. We sat down again and watched in silence as John had a conversation with the bartender.

  “Bummer if they say no,” said Max, and Christa swatted him.

  I smiled into my drink.

  A minute later, another staff member – the manager, no doubt – came to the bar. John gestured in our direction and the manager looked over at me. I raised my hand.

  I saw him nod and Cate squealed.

  “Control yourself,” I warned her.

  She closed her mouth, eyes wide, while Christa shook her head.

  “You’ve got ten minutes when they close,” John announced as he arrived back at our table. He glanced at his watch. “Which is in half an hour.”

  We shuffled awkwardly again to let John return to his seat. He sat down and grinned at me.

  “Are you still speaking to me?”

  “I haven’t decided.”

  “Oh come on, Scarlett. Be nice,” Cate said. “Seeing as we’ve got half an hour you might as well tell us why you haven’t played in so long.”

  I looked to Christa for support and she shrugged. “Could it really hurt?”

  It wasn’t the response I’d been expecting. I recognized her curiosity and sighed. “Am I really that interesting?”

  “Yes,” they all said in unison, and we all laughed.

  Cate reached over and squeezed my hand. “Scarlett, we came all the way to New York because we care about you. You know that, right?”

  Yes, I did, I realized. All they were asking for was a little bit of an insight into who I was before I met them. It wasn’t like piano was a big part of my life anymore. Christa was right. It couldn’t really hurt to tell them.

  So I told them. I recounted the hours I’d spent at the piano as a child. I impersonated my mother’s terrible accent until I had them in fits of laughter. Until I was laughing so hard I was unable to breathe properly. I told them about all the exams I’d been forced to sit, and all the times I’d had no choice of the music I played. How I’d wanted to play more contemporary pieces. How I was envious of friends who were allowed to write music. How I was forced to play concert after concert until I started to forget where I was playing.

  “Oh my God,” Cate said when I was finished. “No wonder you hated it.”

  I stared at her. After purging my past in a rush of words, I found myself unable to reply to her comment.

  “What?” she asked.

  I cleared my throat. “Nothing. I guess it’s just nice to hear someone say that.”

  John’s hand found my leg under the table. He rested it on my thigh lightly and I imagined what those long fingers would feel like roaming over my naked body. I cleared my throat again. “So are we going to get this over with, or what?”

&n
bsp; John looked at his watch. “Ten more minutes.”

  “You said you haven’t played in fifteen years,” Christa commented. “That means you stopped playing while you were still at home. How did you convince your mother to let you stop?”

  “I didn’t.” Briefly I told them about that last concert where I’d refused to play.

  “I can’t imagine your mother giving up without a fight,” Christa said when I was done.

  “Oh, she didn’t,” I assured her. “There were screaming matches and hours of extra homework. She even resorted to starvation at one point.”

  “ What?” Cate cried.

  I nodded. “Three whole days. No food. She thought it would break me. It didn’t.”

  “Jesus,” Max muttered. “That’s pretty hard core.”

  “Oh, I think she would have gone the whole week but my father put a stop to it.”

  “Did you seriously not eat for three whole days?” Cate asked.

  “I had friends help me out at school. They shared food with me and gave me money for the cafeteria, that sort of thing. I was still bloody hungry though. When she finally realized I wasn’t going to give in she didn’t speak to me for two whole weeks. It was bliss.”

  My friends chuckled.

  “It’s time.” John squeezed my hand.

  The bar was empty except for our group. A couple of the staff wiped nearby tables and the bartender was chatting to the manager as he finished up for the night.

  I looked over at him and gave him a rare heartfelt smile. “You know something? You’re right. It’s time.”

  I let him lead me over, my friends trailing behind. I pulled out the stool and sat down. My friends surrounded me and John moved to the side so he was leaning against the curve of the piano.

  “What are you going to play?” Cate asked.

  “A few of the jazz pieces I was actually allowed to learn,” I told them. “Against my mother’s wishes, of course, but my piano teacher convinced her it would be good for me to vary my style.”

  I took a deep breath and let my fingers travel over the keys, the melody echoing around the empty bar. It was well past time, I discovered. Somehow, despite all the years, I still remembered. My fingers soon settled into the jazz piece’s smooth rhythm and I only made a slight error here or there. Without my imposing mother standing over me, it didn’t seem to matter.

  All that mattered was the music.

  And I liked it.

  Chapter 15

  “So are you going to buy yourself a piano?”

  It was late morning the day after and I was walking through Central Park with John. The park was alive with activity. With only a few weeks until summer, New Yorkers were out enjoying the sunshine in force. Joggers sprinted past, mothers pushed strollers, and people picnicked on the open grassy areas.

  “I’ve got no plans to run out and buy one, no,” I answered. The truth was, playing the piano last night had been enough.

  “Shame. You were brilliant.”

  “And you’re biased.”

  John stopped walking and turned to me. “You’re emotionally incapable of receiving a compliment, you know that, don’t you?”

  He was wearing a San Francisco Giants baseball cap, which shaded his eyes. I could just make out the hint of frustration in them.

  I shrugged. “Why does it bother you so much?”

  “Because you deserve the compliments.”

  I started walking again. It was true, compliments made me feel uncomfortable. Probably because they hadn’t been forthcoming from my mother when I was a child, but there was no point dwelling on it. “So is there anything you’d like to do today? Aside from tagging along after me while I scour all the New York art galleries?”

  I felt John’s eyes on me, but I kept mine focused straight ahead on the path. I was fully aware I was changing the subject and he knew it too.

  “I’m taking you to a Broadway show tonight,” he said.

  Despite myself, I bit back a smile. “What if I don’t like Broadway?”

  “Tough. You’re in New York.”

  I allowed myself to smile properly. “Since when did you stop being scared of me?” Last year, when we’d been getting to know each other, John had treated me with kid gloves. Like he was worried about saying something wrong or doing something to upset me. I preferred this new John and had the feeling it was closer to who he really was.

  “Since I realized you protect yourself with a thick layer of bravado.”

  My smile faded. God, this man was honest. “Are you saying I’m full of shit?” I joked.

  “No. The reverse. The bullshit on the surface hides the good stuff.”

  “The good stuff?” I pretended not to hear my voice waver.

  “Yep. I just can’t figure out what scares you most: revealing the good in you to those around you or admitting to yourself that you’re amazing.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “That response is a reflex, Scarlett. Have you realized that yet?”

  I stopped walking again and turned to him with my arms crossed. “Why are you so determined to convince yourself I’m this wonderful, amazing person? Maybe if you took the rose colored glasses off, you’d see who I really am.”

  John studied me until I wanted to look away but I forced myself to retain eye contact.

  “Maybe you’re the one who’s not seeing things clearly. Have you ever considered that?”

  I sighed. “John. We’re just different, that’s all. Too different.”

  “Or complimentary.”

  “God, you’re not going to give up, are you?”

  He grinned and I tried not to suck in a sharp breath. He was such a beautiful man. The faint laughter lines on his face visibly deepened when he smiled, and I knew with a certainty that this was a man who would get finer with age.

  The sunlight danced off his brown eyes. “You haven’t asked me home yet.”

  “And I’m not going to.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Having reached our usual impasse, we started walking again. We strolled through the park in silence and I searched in my backpack for my bottle of water.

  “You should come and have dinner at my parents’ place when we get back to Sydney,” he announced.

  I did my best not to spit water everywhere. “Did I miss something? What part of Scarlett doesn’t do relationships is not clear?”

  “Yeah, I got that. I just meant you should come with me as my friend. I think you’d enjoy meeting them.”

  Against my better judgment, I was intrigued. “You’re close to them?”

  “I guess. I’m over there for dinner at least once a week and my sister and I often catch up in the city for coffee.”

  “What’s she like?”

  “Flick? She’s a bit like you, actually, except without all the hang-ups. You’d like her. She’s in her last year at university and is studying interior design.”

  I assumed “Flick” was short for “Felicity” and chose to ignore the dig at me. “Huh. You could open a company together. You’d design the houses and she’d decorate them.”

  “Piece of advice? Don’t ever use the term ‘decorate’ around her. She doesn’t decorate. She designs.”

  Right. I kind of liked the sound of her. “What’s your mum like?”

  He shrugged. “She’s my mum. She’s always there, you know?”

  I glanced over at the grove of trees we were walking past. They were the sort of trees you didn’t get in Australia. Tall, woodsy trees that would look good with snow on them during the winter.

  “Hey.” John’s arm bumped lightly against mine. “What did I say?”

  “Nothing,” I replied quickly.

  “Oh right. Sorry. You and your mum aren’t close.”

  “No.”

  We walked in silence for a while longer. Now and then our arms brushed against each other. Oddly I found it comforting instead of annoying.

  “My mum would like you.”

  I looked
over at him in disbelief. “John, I am not the sort of woman a man takes home to his family.”

  “My mum’s good at reading people. She’s a psychologist.”

  Shit. “Are you trying to scare me off?”

  “Does that mean you’d consider meeting them?”

  Clever bastard. “Nice try.”

  “No, I’m serious. Would you like to join me for dinner with them when we’re back in Australia?”

  I frowned. The answer was obviously no. Just like we weren’t having a relationship. But an odd thought occurred to me as I tried to process his invitation. Not once during my entire adult life had I ever been invited to a man’s parents’ house for dinner. This was obviously due to the fact that I didn’t do relationships, but now wasn’t the time to start.

  “Think about it,” he suggested.

  “I don’t—”

  “Think about it.”

  And I thought I was stubborn. “Fine. So which Broadway show are we going to?”

  “I thought I’d let you choose.”

  Smart man. I was about to scare him with the suggestion we see one of the really corny shows just to annoy him, when my phone buzzed in my skirt pocket. I retrieved it and saw Christa’s smiling face on the screen. I accepted the call.

  “Hey, wh—”

  “Maddy’s in the hospital! She’s had the baby!”

  My mouth dropped open.

  “Scarlett? Are you there?”

  “Yeah. I’m here. I don’t get it. She’s not due—”

  “For another six weeks, I know. Ava’s premature.”

  “Does that mean she’s …” Oh God, I wasn’t good at this stuff. I was going to say alive, but the thought that Maddy’s daughter may not have made it sent a jolt of fear down my spine.

  “She’s fine. They both are, but Maddy’s lost a lot of blood and Ava’s in intensive care.”

  I must have paled because John looked as though he wanted to reach over to me. I shook my head at him. “Jesus, Bubbles. How? What happened?”

  “The placenta started to break away. It’s called placental abruption. Maddy should be OK but Ava is tiny and obviously that brings risks.”

  “Fuck.” Life just wasn’t fair. Maddy had suffered endometriosis since her early twenties, which led her to believe she’d be unable to have children. Then she’d been given a one in a million – hell, a one in a billion – chance of being a mother when she’d fallen pregnant unexpectedly. That she might lose her daughter now seemed brutally unfair.