The Conductor and the Muse

by Veronika Myse

  The Conductor and The Muse

  Written By: A. L. Elder under the pen name of

  Veronika Myse

  The names, places, and events in this book are either imagined by the author or used in a fictitious manner. Any similarities to some place you have been, or people you know are simply coincidental.

  The Conductor

  Each year, I accept one from many applicants to study under me. I receive thousands of referrals, hundreds of recommendations and in the end, I chose only one. I pay for their travel and give them a space in my guest house just near the main house where I reside full time. As my muse, they each agree to study music only, for one full year. There are no televisions or internet connections on the property. Family members are welcome the first day and encouraged to write letters instead of phone calls. I have a telephone but it is only for emergency purposes.

  I have had Muses from all walks of life, both male and female and all truly talented before they came. I teach then discipline and help them polish their talent.

  I have a staff of eleven that keep the atmosphere friendly and professional. In the ten years since starting this program, I have never had a muse cross the line. Although, there have been a few whom have walked closely to that line.

  A soft knock startles me as I sit at my desk.

  “Come in,” I say stepping to my feet.

  “Conductor? I apologize for disturbing you,” she says lowering her eyes to the carpet.

  I gasp at the site of her. She looks like an alabaster doll with pale white skin and dark curly hair.

  “No interruption,” I reply. She raises her eyes and then her face to meet my gaze. Her eyes are silver with small specks of amethyst sprinkled throughout. Her nose is small but her lips are full and pink. I watch as she blushes and extends her hand. I take it, completely out of habit.

  “My name is Leena. Leena Winter and I just wanted to thank you for accepting me as your muse.”

  Her fingers are long, slim, and perfectly manicured. I want to bring them to my lips and kiss each one. Her eyes lower again and rest on our hands, still holding one another.

  I realize that I am acting completely inappropriate and allow her hand to fall, gracefully to her side. Her hips are small, and although she is dressed modestly, I can see the outline of her perfect figure. Her breasts are high, firm and pressing against the confines of her cotton top. She crosses her arms across her just as her nipples pebble and peak.

  I clear my throat, “I am very pleased that you accepted the offer Miss Winter. It is not often that I have the opportunity to have someone of your talent under me.”

  She blushes, bright pink and shifts her weight. Her reaction is creating one of its own within my trousers.

  “Please,” I gesture toward the chair in front of my desk. “Please have a seat,” and I move quickly behind the security of the oak adjusting myself out of view.

  She swallows hard, knots her fingers together and places them in her lap as she sits properly in the leather chair. She looks nervous or scared and I am troubled that I have intimidated her.

  “What do you wish to take with you once the year is over?” I ask this question to each muse and always near the beginning of our encounter.

  Her eyes dart to mine and widen. I watch as her pupils dilate and she shifts in the chair.

  “Everything that the Conductor is willing to share with me, I will graciously accept,” she swallows again. Her voice is raspy, breathy and she is rubbing the top of her thighs with her hands.

  “Are you nervous?”

  She nods her head, “Very. I have never met anyone like you,” her mouth opens and I watch her tongue appear and wet her lips.

  And I you, I think to myself.

  “Would you feel up to playing for me this evening? I mean, after you have settled into the guest house of course?” Why am I asking her? I am the Conductor and I have never cared if any of my muses were settled in before asking them to share their talent with me.

  “I have already unpacked Conductor. I,” she stops. “I would very much enjoy the pleasure of being in your presence this evening.”

  “Did you receive the schedule already?”

  “Yes Conductor, Ms. Tanes presented it to me upon my arrival.”

  “So am I to expect you for dinner then?”

  She nodded, “Yes, but now I should go.” She stood and made her way quickly to the door. I watch as she leaves. I cannot stand for fear of embarrassment. She excites me, a feeling that has been absent for far too many years.

  I need to release some pent up energy before I see her again. I take the stairs, two at a time and feel light on my feet. I remove my jacket and lay it on the foot of my bed. I pull my tie and place it in the door handle of my closet. Removing my collared shirt and slacks, I step into my running shorts and grab a fresh pair of socks. My heart is thudding and my erection has yet to retreat. I hope the staff is busy preparing dinner I think to myself as I tie my running shoes.

  I reach for my mp3 and place the buds into my ears. Miss Winter had sent her compilations with her application and I have listened to them enough to have the separate tracks memorized. I select track three and head back downstairs. The foyer is empty and my erection is receding as the piano begins to play in my ears. I take a deep breath, exhale and run toward the lake trying to clear my mind of the beautiful muse now under my study and my skin.

  _________

  The run was cleansing for both my mind and libido. I close my eyes and tilt my head under the cascade of water falling from the shower. No muse, no woman, has ever had the effect the Leena has had on me and in what? Less than twenty minutes of being in her presence. I feel like the muse.

  “Leena,” I say her name aloud as I reach for my shampoo. “Leena,” I moan. I feel my appendage awaken once more. It is throbbing with need as I rinse the suds and watch as they flow toward the drain. I reach for the soap but I cannot ignore my own needs any longer. I feel the steam surround me as I grip my own hardened length. I pump, violently, holding my breath just waiting for its release. Building, building, “Leena,” and I erupt into my own hand.

  _____

  Ms. Tanes is setting the dining room for two as I walk into the kitchen. I reach for a wine glass and feel a strange presence. I turn only to find Miss Winter standing in the doorway. She is dressed is a white satin, form fitted gown that has a scoop neck. Her breasts are trussed up and the tops are exposed. The tiny straps lay softly on her shoulders. Her hair is pinned back, with only a few tendrils touching her bare skin. Either she is wearing rouge or she is flushed.

  “Would you like a glass?” I hold out a wine glass and she accepts. Her fingers brush against mine as she takes it from me. I hear her breath hitch from the contact. I turn quickly as I don’t want to embarrass her, or myself. Her hand is noticeably shaking as I pour the white wine filling it half way before filling my own. She follows me into the dining room.

  Ms. Tanes has lit seven candles and placed them in the center of the large table. She has set the white linens and gray china at each place setting completed with water goblets filled with crystal liquid. The glasses have begun to condense.

  I pull the chair and watch as Miss Winter sits, brushing her hand along her bottom to smooth the white satin. I push the large chair gently and she takes the white napkin and drapes it across her legs. She crosses her ankles and I catch a glimpse of her light blue stilettos. They are strapped around her ankle, ending mid-calf, tied with a single bow. She has a feather tucked into the bun on the back of her head in the same color as her shoes.

  The dining room is set as it always has been for the first dinner, however tonight it feels more romantic than professional. I make my way over
to the opposite side of the table and place my napkin on my lap. I look up and see that she has her arms crossed protecting her chest.

  “Are you cold?”

  “A little,” she replies and places her arms at her side. My eyes are diverted to her hardened nipples once again. I stand and remove my jacket knowing I will be unable to control my thoughts if I don’t cover her. I drape the tweed material over her shoulders just as Ms. Tanes walks into the room with two salad plates. I catch her glare as she places the plate in front of Miss Winter.

  “Conductor, shall I turn the heat up for your guest?”

  “Yes, please,” I respond firmly and take my seat.

  I watch Miss Winter pick up her salad fork and move the lettuce around the small gray plate.

  “Is there something wrong with your salad Miss Winter?”

  “No, no. I am just, this is all new to me. The salad is fine, thank you.”

  I watch as the color makes its way to her face once again. I am making her feel uncomfortable, and I don’t know how to stop. I stare intently at my salad. Piercing a few chunks of lettuce, I shove the fork into my mouth. I keep my eyes on my plate during the course.

  Ms. Tanes returns and takes the dishes. I look up and see that Miss Winter had consumed most of the vegetables. The main course is baked chicken wrapped in prosciutto, baby red potatoes, and steamed carrots. I watch as she picks up the knife and carves the chicken into bite size pieces. Her fingers are strong, nimble, and I cannot wait to see her play the piano.

  “Are you satisfied with the accommodations in the guest house?”

  She quickly swallows, “Yes, it is very nice. I especially like the bed,” she stops and covers her mouth.

  She likes the bed? I try to recall the bed in the guest house. It has been so many years since I have been inside. Mister Kensley takes care of the grounds as well as the guest house. Miss Riner takes care of the housekeeping and laundry for the Muses.

  “What do you like about the bed?”

  Her eyes meet mine, they are darkened, heavy. Her lips are pouty and full. “I, uh-I like the heavy down comforter and all of the pillows. It’s so luxurious,” she smiles softly. We sit quietly, finishing our meal staring at one another, stealing smiles and exchanging pleasantries.

  Ms. Tanes places a small bowl of Neapolitan ice cream in front of each of us and returns to the kitchen. I watch Leena scoop a small amount of strawberry ice cream on the spoon and place it into her mouth. Her movements are so fluid, so seductive and I cannot take my eyes off her lips. I spy her tongue flick out and wet them, retreating quickly. My ice cream remains untouched. Instead, I drink the water that has now warmed to room temperature. It still feels cool against my arid mouth.

  After she finishes her dessert, I stand and pull her chair out. She stands and thanks me for my jacket. I take the material in my fists and slowly reveal her naked shoulders. My fingers inadvertently brush against her skin, she turns and faces me. Her breath smells of strawberry and vanilla.

  “May I play for you now?”

  “Yes, this way please,” I say leading her to the sitting room. I feel her electricity as we walk in. She walks toward the piano in the corner. I sit, facing the Muse as she pulls the ruby velvet bench from under the white piano. She stands, facing away from me and bends at her waist. I watch her back side, fully present as she pulls her dress up to her knees. I watch her untie the blue ribbon around her calf and unwind it, remove the delicate shoe, then the other, and setting them to the side. She drops her dress and it puddles at her feet. I feel like a voyeur. I am seated in a large, overstuffed chair, in the shadows with my muse sitting in the spotlight preparing to play for me.

  She’s breathtakingly perfect. She squares her shoulders and starts to tickle the ivory keys. The sound is more than music, like nothing I have ever heard before. I search my memory of her compilations and I cannot place the melody. I close my eyes and rest my head back against the leather. The beat is seducing, matching my heart rate. The lower tones are reverberating, pounding in my core, causing an immediate reaction once again. I adjust myself and wonder if I will make it a full year with her so close yet so untouchable.

  The notes continue to pound until suddenly, they soften. Quiet, high notes fill the still room. I open my eyes and stare at the form playing with my emotions. Her head is down, her chin touching her neck. Her feet gently caressing the brass pedals keeping time and holding the crescendo. I have never witnessed anything so erotic, so raw, so powerful yet, so innocent in my life. A small smile spreads across her lips as the final note fades. She stays seated, waiting for me to respond.

  “Miss Winter,” I sigh, “you are most talented.”

  I watch her reach for her shoes. She remains seated, pulls her dress up slightly, bends at the waist and places it on her left foot. She crosses her leg and wraps the blue ribbon around her ankle, crisscrossing around her calf. She gingerly ties a bow and reaches for the other shoe. She repeats the process and the room is so quiet I can hear my labored breathing. Her legs are thin, lean, and very attractive.

  We agree to retire for the evening and meet in the dining room for breakfast the following morning. I wait for her to leave and make my way to the piano. I hear the back door close.

  I run my fingers along the keys and realize they are still warm from her touch. I can smell her in the air. The soft scent of jasmine fills my nose as I inhale deeply. I close my eyes and begin to play. Something happens and the melody changes from something I have played since I was a young boy to her melody. I play her beat, her notes, and her music. I stop, stand, and place the bench back into its place. I know it will only be torturous if I continue.

  I enter the kitchen as the staff is leaving. We exchange good evenings and they are gone. The house is silent. Everything is sleeping, dreaming. I walk up the stairs toward my bedroom, turning off lights as I go. My room is dark as I make my way to the bed. I grab my jacket from earlier and place it over the chair. I shrug my current jacket and lay it over the other one. I remove my tie, my shirt and lay them on the growing pile. I slide my pants and socks off and make my way to the bed. I pull the heavy comforter down and crawl under the sheet.

  My mind is racing and I fear sleep is going to be impossible. It takes some time, but I eventually drift off to dream world.

  “Conductor,” she whispers in my dream.

  __________

  The Muse

  The letter arrives by delivery service and I quickly sign my name in on the white slip. I race to my apartment and tear it open hoping that I will receive good news.

  Dear Miss Winter,

  I am elated to inform you that you have been chosen to be the Muse for this season. Please see the attached itinerary, as the list of events is very important. I look forward to meeting you in person very soon.

  The Conductor

  I review the enclosed list and am awed that there are no cell phones or computers allowed. I had heard that the Conductor was eccentric, but this is more than I had expected. Also enclosed is a specific list of clothing that I am required to bring. I check them off in my head and I complete the letter.

  I am the Muse, I whisper to myself.

  From the time I can remember, I have played the piano. I attended private school and have studied under many great pianists in my twenty-four years. I have wanted to study under the Conductor for the last seven and finally, finally my dream is coming true. I telephone my Auntie, my only living relative, and tell her the news.

  __________

  The driver arrives at promptly noon and I wait as he carries my luggage to the car. He has such old fashioned manners. He introduces himself as Mister Bryans and once he has the trunk loaded, he opens the door to the car. I sit in the backseat, buckle my seatbelt and we are off. It will be a four hour drive before we reach the manor.

  __________

  The drive is beautiful but nothing compared to the Conductors property. Mister Bryans pulls the car through an ornate, wrought iron gate and the co
ncrete changes to cobblestone. There is a meadow, a lake, and smaller ponds sprinkled to my left. It is late May and the lilacs are in bloom. I roll down the window and breathe the fresh air. It is a fairytale of sorts set in another time long ago.

  We turn to the right and I see a large cottage nestled in a grove of aspen trees. Mister Bryans stops the car and informs me that the cottage is actually the guest house. This is where I will be housed for the duration of my time with the Conductor.

  He unlocks the front door and hands me the key. I watch as he begins to bring my luggage and organize it in the small sitting room. The cottage is quaint, warm, and perfect for one person. The hardwood floors groan and creak as Mister Bryans rolls in the last bag. He informs me that I have a couple of hours to get settled before dinner. He tells me that a woman named Ms. Tanes will be here shortly with an agenda and then he leaves.

  I am nearly unpacked when I hear a quiet knock at the door. Ms. Tanes introduces herself and hands me another piece of paper. I have to giggle thinking of the trees that could be saved if the Conductor chose to have computers. Either he is very old, or he is very old fashioned. It doesn’t matter anyway; I have no one waiting for my communications since my Auntie knows where I am.

  I walk out the door and stare, shocked across the meadow to the main house. It resembles an old castle with stones and gargoyles with spires. Very eclectic.

  My curiosity is getting the better of me as I walk across the lush green lawn. I stop and peer into a crystal clear pond filled lily pads and Koi fish. The property is straight out of a storybook. I want to meet this man before dinner.

  A gentleman is standing near the front door and I approach he turns and introduces himself. He’s polite and directs me to the Conductors office through the main area of the mansion.

  The door is closed and I debate whether or not to knock. Again, curiosity gets the better of me and I tentatively tap lightly on the solid oak door.

  I hear a husky voice on the other side asking me to enter. I twist the knob and open the heavy door. It takes me a moment to locate him in the spacious room. The area is filled with books, old books, and piles of music scores. The walls are lined with shelves which are over full. Books lay hap-hazardly on the floor and on the large desk occupying the far wall. A bank of floor to ceiling windows look out onto the cottage and meadow.