Page 110 of Crescendo

“Well, don’t say it like it’s such a surprise when I am.”

She smiled wider. “You know, when you’re done self-aggrandizing…”

“How dare you,” I laughed, but I still found it in me to kiss her again even though it was inconceivable she would say that about me. We kissed, soft touches turning into long touches full of want,need,and slowly our clothes came off as we made our way up to my bedroom, and we made love well into the night, laying close together once we were finished, Ella’s head resting on my collar and breathing soft and slow, bare chest rising and falling as her fingers caressed soft, small patterns on my stomach.

“Lydia?” she said softly.

“Mm?”

“How would this moment sound?” she breathed. “In song… you always ask me that question.”

I wrapped an arm around her back, holding her into me, and I kissed the top of her head. “Mm… big marimba solo.”

“Marimba?” She gave me the cutest scowl that had ever been scowled. “Is this a comic moment to you?”

“Maybe some bouncy horns.”

“Here I was trying to be romantic too, and then you pull the rug out from under me.”

“A lot of strings, a lot of woodwinds… a lot of countermelody. Each playing different lines that all resolve together and rise into the sweeping central motif… symbolizing how this kind of moment, in this heartfelt quiet, is the true meaning at the beating heart of everything.”

“Oh, now we’re serious.”

I kissed her forehead. “And then the marimba comes in.”

She laughed, burying her face against me. “I never know what I’m going to get with you, do I?”

“I like to keep you on your toes.”

She liked to keep me on my toes, too, though, clearly—the next morning, she surprised me with a breakfast reservation and a small Saturday morning show put on by a couple of local music college students. Ella and I got ushered to the front seats when they got my name, and a good half the students came around after to say hi and tell me how much they loved my work, and I got to give out some autographs, insisting Ella sign with me and telling themwatch the performance schedule at the Royal Albert Hall later in the year, just to make Ella squirm a little.

Met with Clara and Dodge and a couple other friends after breakfast, where the gossip spiraled out of control when Ella mentioned Bansi’s random encounter with her friend and Clara dropped casuallyoh yeah he’s been getting around, he made out with Dodge a little bit too.Dodge protested hard, made a face, gagged, and said not in a million years, not for a million pounds, nobody could pay him enough to kiss a classicalmusician. Whether it was true or not, though, the whole group devolved into gossip, because even aside from Dodge, everybody had a story aboutsomebodythey knew apparently getting a little friendly with Bansi. Mostly men—apparently Bansi’sam I gay or bitest got answered after just one party with Sian—and when we got back and found Bansi in his apartment to ask, he just shrugged.

“Oh, did I? I don’t know. I’m just affectionate when I drink.”

I stayed polite until we were back in our own apartment, back in the music room with Ella dropping in front of the piano, before I said cheerfully, “That man is a menace to society.”

“Better watch he doesn’t try it with you,” Ella said. “I might get a little possessive.”

“I’m… not interested in making out with men anyway. Although I’d thought Sian was a lesbian too.”

“She is. But she’s also a… good friend. She’s a bitlove is loveabout it all.”

“And makeouts are makeouts.”

“Exactly. Shall we play something? I’m feeling a bit more inspired since…”

She trailed off, and I could see why.Since I took you to meet my parents and they talked to both of us about how some things were worth going the distance for.That was a big topic we were, for the time being, pretending wasn’t there.

It felt like my chest would explode. I’d turned in my composition assignment yesterday, fully phoning it in, and I thought maybe once I got it off my chest, once I dealt with it and got it out of my way, I’d be able to stop psyching myself out over the music, be able to stop tormenting myself going around and around wondering how to fix it. But all that happened was that with that gone and over with, I didn’t have anything for these feelings to latch onto, and I felt like I’d lose my mind.

And there was no better release for that than music. I picked up the violin. “Let’s,” I said. “That sounds fantastic.”

We went long through the day, one song after another, writing some down and others we just let ourselves experience, and it was already evening by the time we really came back to earth, addressing notthepressing issue butapressing issue: dinner. We agreed Ella could use some privacy to work out some difficult musical movements she felt self-conscious about practicing in front of me, and I could use a quiet walk to clear my mind and think over my ideas, so I left her in the music room to take a leisurely walk to the pub we agreed sounded like a good place to pick up some food. The cool air coming in felt brisk and biting in equal measures, nipping at my ears as I hugged my coat tighter to myself, missing California’s idea of fall, and I found myself slowing down through the gardens behind the Crescendo building, eyes drifting up to the ornate architecture as I walked along a narrow tree-lined street behind the auditorium.

Someone was playing in the auditorium, piano keys rolling out from the interior. Someone having some strong feelings, by the sound of it—the acoustic work in the auditorium trapped the sound a bit more than it did in most of the buildings around here, but I could still hear the crashing, rolling sound of piano chords, music that lashed out at anyone around it. Like I was moving in a trance, I found myself checking my phone, making sure I had just alittletime for alittledetour, and I fished my keys from my pocket to open the back entrance, moving carefully and quietly down the hall to push open the side door to the auditorium, peering through.

At the back of the auditorium, up on the small wooden stage, I saw her there at the old Steinway concert grand, cast in soft silhouettes from the ceiling lights behind her—Hannah, a breathing juxtaposition at the beautiful classical grand in this ornate room, wearing a hoodie and sneakers, her hair messy,hunched over the piano like it was all she had left, ripping music up out of it for all she was worth.

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