Let’s see how the evening goes.
In the meantime, Halina’s hungry eyes do wonders for Alexandra’s ego. Alexandra lets her own eyes wander over Halina’s outfit and hairdo: her Blonde hair is in a ponytail of ringlets that falls over one shoulder and brushes the brass buttons on her chest. Her navy, military-style dress is severe, with a neckline that highlights her collarbones. Alexandra can’t take her eyes from the hems of her navy cuffs. The contrast between the dark blue and Halina’s fairness beckons Alexandra to brush the delicate skin of Halina’s wrists with her fingers.
The first course arrives as Alexandra is about to do just that. She fiddles with her napkin to get over her urge. The plate is covered in grilled artichoke hearts, crushed mint leaves, and a generous amount of shaved Parmigiano, with a drizzle of olive oil and a sprinkle of sea salt: a delightful painting on a plate.
“Oh, wow,” Halina says, eyes wide as she licks her lips. “I’m famished.”
“Weren’t you supposed to have a nice lunch with some members of the orchestra?” Alexandra asks, twirling her fork between her fingers before she picks a piece of cheese.
Halina groans and stabs an artichoke. “Don’t get me started on this,” she says, stuffing her face with the vegetable—not that it silences her. “Turns out, ‘nice lunch’ was code for a cardboard sandwich on the square in front of the Philharmonie.”
Alexandra winces in sympathy as she delicately cuts the artichoke and a piece of dry cheese and takes a small bite. “Damn.” The smoothness of the artichoke is highlighted by the sharpness of the cheese, and Alexandra savors it.
“With a bottle of cheap beer,” Halina adds. Then she swallows, her eyes closed. “Now,” she says, pointing her fork at the plate, “that’s delicious.”
With a smile, Alexandra sips from her glass of water. “Didn’t I tell you it would win you over?”
“Full of surprises and delicious,” Halina replies, with her glass paused between her mouth and the table. “Seems I have a type. In different aspects of my life.”
“Are you comparing me to our delicious starter?”
Halina sets her glass down, leans one elbow on the table, and rests her head on her hand. “Metaphorically speaking, yeah.”
Alexandra, enchanted by the layers of their discussion, is unable to look away from Halina’s gaze. “I suppose I should be flattered.”
“I may start calling you ‘Artichoke,’” Halina teases. She spears another piece of the vegetable.
“Don’t you dare.”
“What, you don’t like it, my little artichoke?”
‘I really do not: coeur d’artichaut doesn’t sound right.”
“I shall find another—” Halina takes another bite, and Alexandra can’t help but smile fondly at her. “What?”
“You’re so cute,” Alexandra says with a chuckle. “I love your enthusiasm for your food.”
Halina glances away; a pink hue colors her cheeks. “I’m sorry.” Her hand covers her mouth. “It’s just so delicious. I didn’t stop to think—”
Across the table, Alexandra pats Halina’s hand to put an end to her unease. “I’m glad you can be yourself with me,” she says softly. “I was just teasing, babe.”
The flush intensifies, and a realization dawns on Alexandra: The endearment might be the source of it. That’s something to study further at another time.
Clearing her throat, Alexandra takes the conversation in a safer direction. “Was it at least interesting?” Halina cocks one eyebrow at her, and she explains. “The lunch?”
“Oh,” Halina says, using a piece of bread to soak up some olive oil. “Yeah, I guess. Moineau’s knowledge of the inner workings of the orchestra and the politics of it all was very interesting. And she mentioned something about how you got the job, by the way,” she adds, eyes crinkling.
“Odile Moineau, right?” Alexandra asks, going through her mental images of the orchestra and envisioning the stern older woman’s face.
“Yeah. Have you met her?”
Alexandra shrugs. “I know of her; she performed for a couple of charity events I attended at the Hungarian Institute,” she explains. “Colorful bow work.”
“Colorful?” Halina asks, resting her chin on her joined hands.
Alexandra chuckles. “As in, in here,” she replies and taps her temple with two fingers. “I… see music in colors. It’s my main source of inspiration.”
Halina’s eyes widen considerably while the waiter takes their empty plates. “How so?”
Explaining the phenomenon is never easy. It puts her at the border between pride in its uniqueness and embarrassment over its strangeness. “It’s called synesthesia,” she says, her fingers wrapped around the stem of her glass. “I, uh, guess, technically, it’s a brain defect, though I never considered it a flaw.” Halina hums in interest, leans forward, enraptured, and encourages her to go on. “I have no control over it, but I use it as an inspiration for my art. It makes sense to turn it into something productive.”
“How does it work, exactly?” Halina asks with a small frown. “As, right now, does my voice make colors appear?”
Alexandra chuckles and brushes a curl away from her eyes. “You sound peach or apricot; it varies with your mood,” she replies honestly. “But most of the time, I tune out the colors from voices to focus on what is said. Music on the other hand, is harder to suppress.”
“Fascinating,” Halina whispers, her eyes sharp on Alexandra. “It’s as if you constantly find new ways to pull me in.”
“Not by design, I promise,” Alexandra replies, her cheeks heating up at the praise.
“I still don’t fully understand it,” Halina says at a more conversational volume. She shakes her head, sending her ponytail into motion behind her. “Is it the same as what happens when you scrub your closed eyes?”
Alexandra laughs. “It’s hard to explain; imagine having to describe music to someone who never heard a sound. I’m not talking about what it makes you experience, how music works, how notes can vary, but the physical process of it: how a stimulus enters your ear, hits your eardrums, how your nerves deliver it to your brain, which processes it and makes you understand you … heard.” She shrugs. “I’ve come to consider it as an extra sense you have to experience to understand.”
“Wow.”
“My sister has a different experience with it, entirely: she sees letters in colors.”
“Letters.” The doubt in Halina’s voice edges the peach with a light, springtime shade of green. “Letters have colors for her?”
“Yeah. When we were kids, she used to cry because my name was redder than hers.”
“Huh?”
“Apparently, A’s in Alexandra are red while E’s in Elisabeth are yellow, and she hated, still hates, yellow.”
Halina snorts and then covers her mouth. “The poor thing,” she comments; her voice is now colored carmine.
“Oh, she even tried to convince me to trade names.”
Halina joins her in laughter, and they both lower it to a contained snicker when the waiter arrives with their entrées.
“I hope you ladies keep on having a good time,” he tells them with a wide grin. “Bon appétit.”
They thank him in unison and start eating. Halina has a veal chop, perfectly grilled and tender, fragrant with rosemary and sage, served with vegetables. The plate could have come from a jeweler’s window. Alexandra’s dish is cep ravioli, covered in a rich tomato sauce, fresh leaves of basil, and delicate shavings of Parmigiano. The discussion is on hold. Clearly, Halina loves her meat, and Alexandra loves how she digs into it. Halina’s hand hovers over the bone before she picks up her knife and fork.
“Remind me to cook you my lamb chops sometime,” Alexandra says as she uses the last piece of ravioli to soak up as much of the sauce as possible. “Eating it with my hands is what I pref
er about it.”
A light appears in Halina’s eyes. “A home-cooked meal? I could be interested.”
“Would you?”
“I’m curious about your place.” Halina dips the tip of her finger into Alexandra’s sauce and then sucks on it. “How you decorated. How big is your nest? Let me guess… a bit of Goldilocks, not too small, not too big, and lots of clutter.”
“Excuse you, it’s called a perfectly organized mess,” Alexandra corrects haughtily, before laughing into her glass of water. “What else do you have in mind?”
“Pictures on the walls, of places you’ve been to and loved ones.” She pauses to sip the last of her wine. “Lots of pillows. Um… would you have a pet?” she muses, and Alexandra lifts one eyebrow. She thinks of Punshki, the corgi who is happily spending the night at a canine “spa” for his birthday. “Of course you have a pet, it would explain the long, light hairs on your clothes. I want to say cat, but…”
“Dog.”
“Ah, of course. You’re from California, aren’t you?” Halina gives her an amused look. “Must be one of those annoyingly small ones, a Chihuahua or something equally ridiculous.”
Alexandra snorts. Ridiculous he might be, from time to time, but Punshki is much bigger than a Chihuahua.
“That’s for me to know,” she replies to keep at least some mystery. Punshki is an experience, from the first encounter; she wouldn’t dream of spoiling it. And he’s hated Leo with a passion from the get-go; Alexandra should have considered that a sufficient warning.
“And for me to find out,” Halina says, winking at Alexandra. The waiter comes with the dessert menu.
Alexandra checks her watch and shakes her head with an apologetic smile.
“Aw, leaving me so soon?” the man jokes as he brings the bill with two mints. “Have a good evening, ladies.”
“Thank you,” Halina tells him, following Alexandra out of the restaurant. “What’s the rush?”
Alexandra grins at her as she hails a taxi. “That’s a surprise!”
Halina enjoys dating more than she thought she would. Dinner was excellent, and she already plans to return to this restaurant often during her Parisian stay, with Ari and with Saral when he comes for the inaugural concert in January. Above all, Alexandra herself makes this whole dating business more fun than Halina expected. The easy way she navigates it makes Halina comfortable trying these unknown waters.
Right this moment, she shaves years from the mid-thirties age bracket Halina assigned her as she tries to cover Halina’s eyes.
“If I promise to keep my eyes closed, will you stop trying to break both our necks?” she asks.
“Oooh,” Alexandra says, stumbling and then straightening up. “Okay.”
Her eyes closed, Halina’s only option is to let Alexandra take her hand to guide her forward. She can hear a crowd around them and Alexandra’s voice as she speaks in rapid French. They pass over a threshold and the sounds of the street disappear, replaced by those of tuning instruments.
“Ta-da,” Alexandra whispers in her ear as they sit, and Halina opens her eyes.
They are in a bar with a stage, and there are two men on said stage. One tunes a battered, beautiful double bass while the other sits at the piano.
“Where are we?” she whispers, eyes drawn to the piano.
“Welcome to New Morning, one of the best places in Paris for jazz concerts,” Alexandra replies with a small, hopeful smile on her face. “And these two gentlemen are Dave Holland and—”
“Kenny Barron,” Halina, completely in awe at the legend not twenty feet away from her, cuts her off. “O, mój Boże.”
Alexandra laughs happily. A spark of pride lights her eyes when Halina, unable to completely close her mouth, turns to stare at her.
“How did you…” Halina’s voice trails off as Barron starts playing.
“I had a hunch you’d be a jazz connoisseur, based on how you play when the rest of the ensemble leaves,” Alexandra replies, “and this is my jazz place when I miss home too much.”
Halina pockets the information and sits on the edge of her plush chair as the duet launches into one of her favorite songs. God knows she has recorded many jazz songs on her phone, standards of the genre that she adores and dreams of playing to her heart’s content. And the interplay between the two musicians, in which the delicate yet strong piano notes perfectly respond to the smooth backdrop of the bass, perfectly illustrates what draws her to jazz. It’s a conversation created between instruments to paint a different picture in each listener’s mind.
From the corner of her eye, Halina peeks at Alexandra. Now, her explanation of synesthesia makes more sense. Halina doesn’t pretend to have any artistic talent with colors, but Alexandra’s parallel between her synesthesia and how Halina would explain music to someone who never heard it makes sense. If she were to try to explain how this music affects her, even to Alexandra, who seems so attuned to music, she’s pretty sure she would fail.
Keeping her eyes on the musicians, Halina reaches for Alexandra’s hand and squeezes her fingers. She trusts the touch to convey more than her words could ever express. Alexandra tightens her hold in return, and Halina lets herself be wrapped in the double warmth of the melody and the person sitting next to her to share it.
By the end of the concert, Halina buzzes with the energy of the music and she yearns to play something, anything. Any Chopin polonaise would do, or maybe some Sibelius to calm her excitement before sleep.
Alexandra walks next to her and lets her ramble about her favorite moments of the concert. She simply wraps her scarf around Halina’s neck when the wind blows more harshly. The gesture brings Halina back to reality, and she lets Alexandra pull her closer with the ends of the scarf, which is permeated with Alexandra’s discreet perfume, until they stand toe-to-toe.
“I guess I should go back to my hotel,” Halina says softly, checking the crowd around them before she pulls Alexandra closer by the waist. “It’s getting late.”
“It is late.” Alexandra fiddles with the hem of her scarf and then ties it in a soft knot around Halina’s neck. “Or… we could go back home.”
“Hm?”
Halina takes longer than she should to get Alexandra’s meaning, but in her defense, she’s had a pretty long day.
“My apartment is ten minutes away,” Alexandra says, her head cocked.
Halina looks over Alexandra’s head and takes a moment to weigh her options. She could stretch out her celibacy a little longer and learn how to enjoy the budding relationship. Or, she could get reacquainted with Alexandra’s body, with her wicked ways.
It’s a no-brainer. “Lead the way.”
Ch 10
B-flat Minor
Violine, Blue, and Silver
Alexandra closes the door behind them and lets Halina move past her and into the living room. She settles into the relief of being back in her nest before anything else can happen.
When she joins Halina in the living room, Halina’s coat is off. The passion in her gaze is spellbinding. Without a word, with the lights still off, they find each other; hands caress and lips meet for a heated kiss.
They stumble into her bedroom, and Alexandra doesn’t waste any time. She throws her beautiful sweater and her skirt in a corner, then pulls Halina to her. Alexandra wraps her arms around Halina’s waist and grasps the zipper of her dress. She’s not helped by the dress’s inhabitant, because Halina cups Alexandra’s face for one more kiss to her lips, one more to her nose, her cheeks, her jaw.
The zipper finally obeys. Alexandra’s thumb trails down the line of Halina’s back, and Halina’s ponytail brushes against her hand as if returning the caress.
Halina shrugs to let the dress pool at her ankles and steps away from it. As she does so, the light from the streetlamp bathe her in a yellowish, almost sepia, glow. They both let out a shudd
ering breath, and Halina smothers a laugh when hers evolves into a snort. The sound dissipates the tension between them, and Alexandra kneels on her bed, wiggling her fingers at Halina. “Come here, babe,” she says huskily, and Halina takes her hand.
Alexandra lies against her pillows, gently prodding Halina until she has her back to Alexandra’s chest. Alexandra hugs her close, unashamed to rub her breasts against her back. It’s teasing, but so comfortable, so inherently good, and, from the sound Halina’s making, it’s good for her too—win-win.
Alexandra presses kisses along the line of Halina’s neck, mapping the ways she reacts to her mouth: not as much behind her ears, but so sensitive around the nape of her neck. She starts slowly, with her fingertips on Halina’s thighs, and then slides up. Her touch stays feather-light, barely a caress, and she’s rewarded with moans and pants.
“Oh, Xandra…”
Alexandra cups one breast and gently rolls Halina’s nipple between her fingers. “Want me to tell you what I would do if you were to let me take my sweet time?” she asks, and Halina clutches her kneecaps.
“Y-yes?”
“I would use a toy,” she whispers, pressing a wet kiss to Halina’s shoulder followed by a soft blow of air on it to raise goosebumps, “all over you, from shoulders to toes.”
“On—on my breasts too?” Halina manages, arching into Alexandra’s touch when her fingers get to that zone.
“Yeah, on your breasts. Low vibration, around your perky breasts.”
“On the nipples?”
“Nah.” She laughs, and Halina relaxes even deeper into her embrace. “It would be too much. Or maybe I would,” she continues, as if just considering it, “just graze them with the tip of the toy to make you squirm.”
“What next?” Halina’s voice has gone rough and throaty; it’s almost orange. The change in colors is affecting Alexandra’s arousal.
“Next, I would take it lower, around your ribs, your belly. Wherever you’d want, babe.”
Concerto in Chroma Major Page 10
