Lesson learned: no more teasing you into bed before you say so, she thinks as she gulps.
“Delicious,” Alexandra says with an innocent smile, and Halina can only nod and wait for her next bite.
The plates are covered in crumbs and half-eaten pieces of cake. Both women are content to just sit on the couch, close but not quite snuggling, hands on their stomachs, happily sighing. Alexandra turns toward Halina, who sits with one arm folded so she can rest her head in her palm. She smiles softly at Alexandra. An emotion she has tried to keep away for as long as she can remember blooms in her heart, making her feel warm and cared for, l—
Nah, it can’t be that just yet. No, all she feels is caring and softness, and it is enough for now. Yet—for now—her mind still follows a road she thought abandoned, and her heart is drunk on a sea of words she understands now but never had much use for.
“What?” Alexandra asks.
“Nothing. You’re beautiful.”
Under her eyes, Alexandra’s cheeks turn a charming, darker shade of pink. She brushes the comment off: “What about a movie now?”
“What about not a movie?” Halina waggles her fingers up to the side of Alexandra’s thigh.
Alexandra glances at the fingers before crossing her legs primly so her thigh is out of reach. “Nuh-uh.” She stretches the vowel. “I’m pretty sure a movie is on the program.”
Halina ponders, for exactly two seconds, the benefits of challenging said program before she accepts it and gets the remote from under various magazines and music sheets. “Fine,” she replies with a pout, a useful tool in her seductive arsenal. “What about porn?” she offers, half serious and half to check how Alexandra will react.
“I don’t mind,” Alexandra replies with a shrug. “Gay, lesbian, straight? Poly?” She cocks one eyebrow at Halina. “I really don’t have a preference, though I’m not sure it fits the mood…”
Well, it may not fit the mood of this evening, but it is fodder for another evening. Halina doesn’t need precognitive abilities to picture how much fun she could have experiencing a pornographic movie with Alexandra—but not tonight, not when Alexandra’s rules about sex are enforced and Halina will be left alone to deal with her arousal.
“Might be better to pick another movie.”
As she sits back on the couch browsing the movies, Halina feels Alexandra’s hand on her shoulder, feels circles drawn on her skin. “Pick whatever movie you want,” Alexandra tells her. “I just want to get my cuddle on.”
It’s so sweet, this demand for physical contact, as platonic as it may be. Halina can’t resist smiling shyly at Alexandra before she returns her attention to finding the right movie and, as Alexandra said, getting her cuddle on.
Ha-ah! Perfect.
“An American Tail?” Alexandra asks with a look of surprise; the screen shows that the movie has been selected once before.
Halina sits back, legs folded, one arm thrown over the back of the couch in invitation for Alexandra to snuggle. “I love this movie.” She fiddles with Alexandra’s longest curls. “But I never got to see the end when I was a kid, or recently either.”
“It’s a good movie. I’m just surprised.”
“Let’s just say that I’m catching up on my childhood.”
The couch moves with every inch Alexandra gets closer, but Halina keeps her eyes on the screen and the opening credits.
With one short sentence, Halina just opened more doors to herself than she has with anyone, and she doesn’t even dread Alexandra’s reaction.
Alexandra’s short body fits perfectly under Halina’s arm. She presses a small kiss to the corner of Halina’s lips before they settle in to enjoy the adventures of Fievel Mousekewitz.
Halfway through the movie, more or less in the middle of Henri the pigeon’s song, Halina glances at Alexandra, who has moved to settle her head on Halina’s shoulder. Without a word, she bows her head to kiss her, simply because she wants to do it. It feels right on every level. Even if she agreed, albeit reluctantly, to let a “real” relationship unfold at its own pace, she doesn’t want to deny herself any more of Alexandra’s lips than she must.
So she kisses her, and cups her cheek, and deepens the kiss until Alexandra moves away. Alexandra sits up, mirrors Halina’s posture with one leg folded under her body, and returns the kiss with a comforting languor. Somehow, this closed-mouth kiss is more loaded than a thousand dirty kisses Halina exchanged with some of her former, more temporary partners.
Halina doesn’t mind that Alexandra is in charge of the pace and heat of their encounter. In some ways, Alexandra’s subtle control makes her more comfortable, as it gives her a structure, borders to test and to be sheltered within. She smoothly slides one hand from Alexandra’s cheek to her neck and to her breast. Alexandra picks up her hand and puts it back on her shoulder without breaking the soft kiss.
Merde.
Halina cups the back of Alexandra’s head with her left hand while her right hand tightens around the knot of her shoulder, bringing her closer. But against her lips, Alexandra tuts, then moves away from her. The distance feels like an ocean and deprives Halina of her warmth and softness. Facing the screen with a pillow against her chest, Alexandra seems unaffected. The only sign she was not indifferent to the kiss is the blush spread over her cheeks and neck. Halina is not particularly proud of herself, but she can’t help her disappointment. She drops herself against the back of the couch and sulks.
From the corner of her eye, she notices Alexandra give her a quick look before facing the screen again, but she is also laying her hand in the middle of the couch as an olive branch. It’s a present Halina can’t refuse.
Holding hands like stereotypical teenagers, they finish the movie. Alexandra stands, smooths her dress, and pecks Halina’s lips with a perky “Don’t go to sleep too late, babe.” And out the door she goes.
Merde indeed.
* * *
“Stop, stop, stop!” The maestro slams his baton on the stand in front of him and turns toward Halina, and with him the whole string section. “Mademoiselle Piotrowski,” he says, sickly sweet, with so much condescension it raises Halina’s hackles, “would you mind keeping a firmer rein on your enthusiasm for Smetana?”
Halina frowns at him. “It is an allegro, maestro,” she replies, not to be disrespectful but in resistance to a man who has a reputation in their little world for getting what he wants by pulling strings.
“Ma non agitato, Mademoiselle Piotrowski, ma non agitato!”
Halina clenches her hands on her lap and decides not to let this divergence of opinion get in the way of her enthusiasm for an entire evening dedicated to the Czech composer. She puts a pleasant smile on her face. “My affinity for Smetana got the best of me. My apologies, maestro, colleagues,” she says with an apologetic nod to the assembled orchestra.
The maestro gives her an odd look before turning to the orchestra.
“One more time,” the maestro says with a pointed look. “And no interpretation, just what’s on the score, hm.”
Halina nods, fingers at the ready over the keys as her mind goes back to the past evening and the not-so-small epiphany it brought. When she agreed to Alexandra’s plan to build a relationship, Halina thought that her being so unromantic would complicate the process. But the major emotions from the past evening’s date are neither reluctance nor the feeling of being pushed into a corner. The predominant ones are comfort and the feeling of freedom to be herself within a space carved for two.
Maybe, she thinks as the maestro stops the orchestra, just maybe, I never wanted to settle in a relationship because it never felt right.
“Good, good,” the maestro says, tapping his baton against the stand. “Much better, isn’t it, when we all stick to the sheet?”
Behind her, Halina catches Odile muttering about where he can stick his sheet, and subdued laugh
ter flutters through the violin section. Troubled by this mutiny, the maestro clears his throat and gingerly puts his baton back on the stand. “Maybe a ten-minute break before we start working on the finale, yes?”
Halina looks at the orchestra filing out of the concert room. Some of the musicians are off to get a smoke; others stay to continue their jokes about the guest maestro and his rigor. Some busy themselves tending to their instruments. And finally, some leave in pairs to enjoy a quickie backstage; the twinkle in their eyes is one she’s familiar with. Or at least, she used to be familiar with it.
Halina stays where she is, playing variations on Smetana’s melody to get it out of her system before the conductor can snap at her again. The vivacious melody of the second movement slowly turns into something softer.
The modulations remind her of Alexandra: the soft heart and the iron will, combined to create a personality Halina wants to learn and decode. She rests her head against the fallboard of the piano at the memory of how powerless she felt last night after Alexandra’s departure, how wanted she had felt, how willing she was to let Alexandra dictate the progression of their relationship. She is already wrapped around Alexandra’s little finger, isn’t she?
Shit, merde, o cholera.
Ch 9
G Minor
Red, Khaki, and Dusty Pink
The date offered many discoveries about Halina, and Alexandra wants to keep the momentum going. They have agreed on another date for three days later, and, while Alexandra has the perfect restaurant for it, she needs to up her game.
“Where could I take a musician on a Thursday night?” she muses, scrolling on her phone for different activities.
They could go to the Architecture Museum near Place du Trocadéro and look at the models. She is almost certain that she heard something about an exhibition of stained glass. But Alexandra wants to wow Halina, not just show her a different side of Paris. She bookmarks it anyway: at some time, the Palais de Chaillot may be a good date location, but not now.
“Leo, where would you—” she starts, but Leo lets a piece of lead clang onto the table.
“No.”
“What? I just—”
“I just refuse to help you date her,” Leo hotly retorts. “So my answer is no. Deal with it yourself.”
“That behavior is just charming,” Alexandra mutters to herself.
Leo humphs and grumbles. “Oh come on!”
“Count me out next time you’re looking for advice on a good way to satisfy your partner.”
“As if I need—never mind,” he cuts himself short when Alexandra shoots him a pointed look. Alexandra has saved Leo’s ass on more than one occasion, and sometimes quite literally, something she won’t let him forget any time soon.
“I don’t like her.”
“You’ve made it abundantly clear,” Alexandra says, returning her eyes to her screen. “I don’t care what you think about her, though.”
“You don’t care?”
“I. Don’t. Care,” she repeats. “What matters is that I like her, and she likes me.”
“And I have no say in this?”
“Why would you get one?”
Leo drops his goggles next to the lead. “Because it affects your work? You? Us?”
“Us?” she repeats. “If you’re talking about work, maybe, and that’s debatable. Otherwise, nothing about Halina affects us.”
“I’m not allowed to be jealous?”
“Be whatever you want to be,” Alexandra snaps, “except a pain in my tuches.”
“Oh, come on, Lexie, don’t be that way,” Leo says, dropping his voice to a velvety tone.
It could have worked, once upon a time. “I’ll be that very way until you stop being a schmuck.”
Another grumble, followed by a sigh of reluctant, mint-green-colored surrender. “Take her to a jazz club.”
The idea gets her attention. “You think she’d enjoy it?”
Leo rests his arms on the table. “Whenever she tinkers, it’s jazzier than classical. She might appreciate it, and more power to you.”
Now there’s an idea: there are several cool jazz clubs in Paris, one not too far from the restaurant she has in mind and it’s one she is very familiar with. Winter has fallen over Paris like a blanket of cold. They could huddle close as they walk to the club, and once there, she will know whether Halina is a jazz aficionada or not. She pulls up the New Morning website to appraise their program for the coming week.
“Thanks, Leo,” she says softly. “You don’t have to dislike her on principle.”
Leo gives her a long, soulful look. “I do,” he says softly. “As long as you’re with her, I won’t get you back.”
Alexandra rolls her eyes and throws a balled piece of paper in his direction. “Very funny.”
Leo kicks the ball before it can hit him. He grins. “As always.”
“Uh huh.”
“You love me.”
“Sometimes I wonder why.”
“Still love me.”
“Sure, sure.”
Her phone beeps, a notification of new email, and she walks out of their workspace to open it. It’s from her sister, saying she’ll be coming to Paris with her son for Hanukkah and New Year’s Eve “if it’s not too much of an imposition, of course, and God willing. If you can make some time for us, it would be great. Can’t wait to be with you in the City of Lights.”
It’s been years since the two sisters managed to spend their favorite holiday together. Of all she left behind when she moved to France, Alexandra misses her sister the most. It will be fun to have her and her nephew in Paris for Hanukkah and Christmas, and it also means she may get to introduce her family to Halina. Alexandra closes her eyes and lightly taps her cheek. Stop daydreaming, silly, she admonishes herself. One step at a time.
She’ll consider an introduction to her family and its consequences when they reach that bridge. For now, good food and good music, and a little flirting.
* * *
Alexandra has surprised Halina again, if the small sigh she lets out as they enter the restaurant is any indication. The unremarkable building is similar to hundreds of Parisian ones: Once standing tall and sturdy, it now looks closer to crumbling. The high step at the entrance is uneven, and the hallway leading to the stairs shows cracks and water stains while the lightbulbs flicker on and off.
“I agree to trust you, and you decide to take me to a serial killer, is that it?” she asks, then squeezes her hand when Alexandra huffs in mock outrage.
“Ha! Who’s to say I am not the serial killer?”
“Ha!”
“And for your information, tonight will only eradicate any misconceptions you may have about Italian cuisine.”
“Oh, joy.”
They reach the first floor, and Alexandra turns to raise an eyebrow at Halina. She’s one step higher on the stairway and uses the higher ground to tap her finger against the tip of Halina’s nose. “What did I just say?”
“Killing preconceived ideas, got it,” Halina replies, snapping playfully at Alexandra’s finger. “What is this place, anyway? A speakeasy?”
Alexandra smiles at her and pushes the door open. “In a way.”
They are welcomed by a large man with a friendly, booming voice who seats them at a quiet table next to the bar. Halina sits with her back to the room. Her eyes are drawn to the antique coffee machine taking pride of place on the counter. Alexandra takes in the décor. The restaurant is in a former apartment; the furniture is old, yet comfortable, while the walls bear large, colorful canvases. One thing is certain, this place doesn’t look like the rest of the building.
“How did you even find this restaurant?”
“I saw it on TV,” Alexandra replies, picking a piece of warm focaccia from a basket that has just been brought to them by the affable host. “T
he journalist wouldn’t shut up about how authentic, yet modern, it was, and the plates looked drool-worthy.”
Halina hums as she snatches a piece of the soft bread for herself.
The owner swiftly switches to English with a heavy accent to ask them if they want wine with their meal, and Halina asks for his recommendation. It’s Alexandra’s turn to be surprised: She didn’t imagine Halina would take the lead, but she doesn’t mind. She wants Halina to behave normally, not to be a subdued version of herself or a façade.
The man chuckles, purple and burgundy bouncing on deep yellow, and makes a couple of suggestions. Alexandra doesn’t care much about wine and lets Halina decide on a glass of Savennières Roche aux Moines with her veal. He turns to her to joke that she should get some wine too, since “wine only adds beauty and glow to beautiful women.” Alexandra smiles politely and declines the offer.
As he leaves them, Alexandra catches an unhappy frown on Halina’s face. Alexandra is relieved when it disappears quickly.
Halina takes her hand as soon as they’re left to their own devices. Alexandra absorbs the ambiance reigning over their table. The intimacy is almost tangible; their interaction is far easier than either of their previous dates. This third date together has the resonance of an anniversary, and Alexandra wants to bask in it.
“What else have you planned for us tonight?” Halina asks as she rubs her thumb back and forth across Alexandra’s knuckles.
Alexandra angles her chest over the table, aware that her V-neck reveals her cleavage. “All of my plans should make you very happy,” she replies with a crooked smile.
Halina’s eyes follow the opening of her top, and she cocks an eyebrow. “I can only imagine,” she says; her fingers subtly tighten around Alexandra’s hand. Her voice takes on a deeper shade: coral and rosewood in dots around her usual peach. The colors are familiar, the mark of Halina’s arousal. If she’s honest with herself, Alexandra wants to follow this train of thought. Maybe tonight—?
Concerto in Chroma Major Page 9
