Prelude and Nocturne Op 9

I live for classical music. 

I have dispensed with the clamoring of crowds and the smell of cheap cigarettes drowned in the stale beer of mugs unattended and frequently unwashed.  I play piano, but I am not the “Piano Man”.  My selections find no calls for vocal accompaniment, no glass for tips.  I find the genius of the masters soothing, their compositions the diamonds in the rough, worthy of the years of practice and dedication required for appreciation and mastery.

I accepted a position substituting for another who required a break.  His wife wanted him to travel to the coast to spend a week with their daughter and son-in-law and newborn granddaughter.  He asked for me to accept his invitation for the night.

I did not need to be asked twice.

The hall was rented for a fundraiser with the expressed goal to separate the patrons from their monies.  I desired the freedom to express my prowess with a selection of favorites (of mine) designed to please both the novice and the master in the art of musical appreciation.

Tux and tales pressed.  I was ready to impress.

The soirée began promptly at 8 PM.  The patrons displayed their wealth (both ostentatious and refined) with a myriad of diamonds, designer gowns, name-dropping, and in the case of one, both exquisite and eclectic taste.

She asked if she could sit on the bench with me.  Before I could agree, she took her place to my right, resting her champagne flute on the piano.  The slit in her gown opens beyond daring, but just prior to scandalous.  The top of her stocking welt remained unapologetically visible.

She leaned to my ear to inform me she was more than a patron of the arts.  She adored proximity to a fellow pianist and would appreciate it if I would grant her a “special” request.  I kept playing what I was playing, “Clair de lune” by Claude Debussy while I listened.  Softly, she brushed back the only silver hair amongst the raven locks of her youth before she asked for “Prelude and Nocturne Op 9” for the left hand.

“A very specific request indeed.  Are you sure of your selection?” I inquired as discreetly as she initially queried.

“Your right hand will be otherwise occupied.  Make my desire your desire.”  She brushed her hand across her gown to increase the width of the slit exposing all she wanted to expose.  “I can be most persuasive when I want to be so.”

As near a master in my art as my accomplishments suggest, I gracefully exited Debussy to seamlessly begin Alexander Scriabin’s best.  I kept the tempo slow and the volume somewhat muted.  She appreciated my discretion and proceeded to make good on her promise, albeit slowly.

The piece permits the privilege of variation and I followed the lead of my partner.  With our backs to the corner of two walls and an intelligent waiter with the common sense to remain both quiet and distant, I display my adroit measure of one-handed dexterity.  For those who kept the two of us in visual range, my guest’s heavy breathing became synchronous to the expression of music the piece imparts.

She found herself taken away by both the music and her response to it.  I found myself in a courtship to my craft and my adoration.  Never before has another asked so much of me.  Never before would I have accepted the challenge (and the responsibility) to perform another's choreography.  In essence, I was putty in her hands.  She was even more so in mine.

Penultimate to the conclusion, for she must have acquainted herself very well to this opus and timed her finale to coincide with mine.  Fascinating that the two of us remained in control during the duration.

Only a brief respite normally concludes such a work and after I exhausted the silence, I motioned for the awaiting violinist to begin his much anticipated selections.  During the interim, she recovered both her composure and her champagne, providing her the excuse to depart with an enchanted grace of one so culturally refined, and yet seductively raw.

The waiter came by with a steamed towel for me to ostensibly “regain my composure”.  He also replaced her champagne flute with a glass of ice water.

The fundraiser exceeded expectations by nearly 20% more than the previous year.

I am just as eager in my expectations for next year.

Andy Betz has tutored and taught in excess of 40 years, lives in 1974, and has been married for 32 years.  His works are found everywhere a search engine operates.