Music To My Ears

"I don't know who you are talking about," he said very quietly. "Now leave me alone before I call the police." He unlocked his door and disappeared into his apartment quietly.

She did not pursue him; she knew she had shaken him up a bit. He would never have thought people would still remember him anymore after four long years of silence. Tomorrow morning she would come back here to wait for him and try to talk to him again but first she needed to get back home and did some research on him.

* * * * *

Eric leant against his door and breathed heavily. Eric Jordan Dillon. How strange the name sounded when she had pronounced his name out loud. Nowadays he went by EJ only. Not unless it was necessary to use his full name like when he was at the hospital yesterday. Sometimes he even preferred not to be called anything. His name didn't mean anything to anyone anymore. He was no longer the handsome, charming, talented pianist he once was. He was disabled. His life was over four years ago when he was attack. Nothing could ever change that anymore. NOTHING! He screamed silently.

He could still remember that night when he had woken up in the hospital after some passerby had called the 911. He felt excruciating pain in both his hands. When he looked down he was shocked to see the bandages. His best friends, Peter Selleck, Robert Duncan and his fiancée, Katrina were by his bedside.

"How are my hands?" he asked painfully and drowsily.

They had all looked uneasily at him; it was Robert who broke the news to him.

"The doctor said you'll be fine…but…you won't be playing anytime soon," Robert choked back a sob.

"Tell me the truth! What has happen to my hands?" Eric urged him as his drowsiness began to wear off.

Peter was looking the other way while Katrina was sobbing into her hands. Only Robert was brave enough to tell him the cruel truth.

"You…you lost your…pinkies…both…both of them," said Robert haltingly.

He was devastated; music was his life, his dream and his everything. At the age of three he was being sent to the orphanage as both his parents had died in a freak car accident, which he was involved in too. Surprisingly he had escaped unscathed but he was so traumatized by the incident that he was robbed of his ability to speak. When he was five he was given his first piano lesson and his first word was 'Music'. The staff were overjoyed that he had finally opened up.

His talent wasn't fully discovered until he was seven by Mrs. Simpson, the new music teacher of the orphanage. She noticed he had a natural flair and the talent to play the piano and had taken the task upon herself to teach him all she knew about music. At the same time there was another orphan, Peter Selleck who was also Eric's best friend that liked the piano too. And so Mrs. Simpson had given him lessons as well but Peter was a slower learner and he did not had that special ability to bring out the character of a music piece like Eric could. There was always something lacking in him. Eric would play from his heart, his soul and let his fingers weave the magic while Peter's style seemed to be more mechanical, more stilted.

Both boys never went to any foster home but had stayed on with the orphanage and even became one of the in house staff until someone spotted their talent.

When both Eric and Peter were fifteen they had entered the local piano competition and Eric had emerged the champion while Peter clinched the second spot. It was then both of them were spotted by the famous music director, John Cedric Bonn of The Philadelphia Symphony Orchestra and had taken them under his wings to nurture the budding artists. As they said, the rest were history.

Over the years Eric had continued to grow while Peter was being overshadowed but Eric was always there for his buddy. They would do everything together. Eric would not play for a concert if Peter were not there together with him. The music director would get very mad with him.

"We don't need two pianist for tonight's concert!" argued John.

And Eric would shrug and say, "Fine, I'm not playing then. Either you let him play or we both play together,"

"I'll fire you," threatened the music director.

"Ok," Eric had replied nonchalantly.

And the music director would throw his hands in the air in resignation and that night they would be two pianists; one, to play the first half, and the other, the second half of the concert.

Sometimes John would ask him if he and Peter were lovers, if not why Eric was so protective over Peter.

"Holy shit! No way! I'm a ladies' man!" And Eric would laugh and walked off much to John's chagrin.

When he was twenty-five, Eric was approached by Robert Duncan a record producer cum well-known composer of Duncan Records to record a ballad, 'Midnight Run'. Two months before his 26th birthday they had launched his first solo album and it was a huge success. Eric left the orchestra with the blessing of John to concentrate on his solo career while Peter had become the resident lead pianist of TPSO.

It was around this time that Eric had met Katrina Benson, a supermodel at a party and they had hit if off immediately. They were engaged until six months after his attack when he had gone over to her apartment looking for solace only to find her in bed with Peter. His fiancée and best friend had betrayed him when he needed their support most at his darkest hour. Katrina was blaming him for not understanding her emotional trauma she was going through having to see his scarred hands everyday, which terrified her.

"Eric! I really can't pretend that…that there is nothing wrong with your hands! I really can't! I had nightmares about your hands! Please try to understand my feelings too!" Katrina had cried viciously.

Peter tried to explain saying he was only trying to console Katrina when she had called him and then one thing led to another and he found himself in bed with her. Eric could not believe his ears. He was the one that needed consoling and here the two persons he loved most, betraying him. He knew everything was really over now. Not only had he lost the used of his hands, he had lost his fiancée and his longtime friendship with Peter.

Bad things didn't just stopped there for Eric though. A well-known luxury goods company, BCHT that promoted upscale brand products like expensive watches, branded leather goods and high fashions was now suing Eric for breach of contract because he could not fulfilled his role as the official "brand ambassador' for their range of luxury watches since now his hands were scarred and disabled.

Even though the company BCHT had expressed their regret for Eric loss of the use of his hands but business being business they had gone ahead with the lawsuit. The settlement wiped out Eric's earning and almost all his insurance claim.

Robert had tried to help Eric in anyway he could but Eric declined his offer. To rub salt into wounds Katrina had filed a lawsuit against Eric as well. When Robert got to know about it, he was angrier than Eric.

"You gotta be kidding me right? Katrina is suing you five million for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? What the fuck is that?" said Robert in disbelief.

Eric briefly explained the medical term to Robert without any emotion or drama.

"This is fucking unbelievable! She is suing you because she was traumatized with…with the appearance of your hands and it affected her well-being?" said Robert loudly.

Eric didn't reply to Robert but kept to his whiskey, wishing the alcohol could kick in fast enough to drown out his miseries. He had been drinking more and more since the day he found Katrina in bed with Peter.

"You're the one that is suffering here and she…she…Fuck! I can't believe this! So are you going to file a counter-suit against her?"

Eric just shook his head.

"Jesus Christ! Don't tell me you're just gonna let her get away with it?" said Robert.

"I'm not going to court anymore, Bob. The last one wore me down. I don't think I can go through with another one, with the media hounding me every time I step out of the courtroom. I just want to be left alone. I'm going to sell this penthouse and pay her," said Eric quietly.

"The hell you're gonna do that! You caught her in bed with Peter! She should be fucking ashamed for what she did to you and you even let her sue you? You're fucking out of your mind too, Eric!" Robert continued ranting.

"I can't blame her, Bob. I can't even bear to look at my own hands let alone her and I really treated her like shit the past six months. It was a surprise she hasn't left me sooner," said Eric as he down another glass of whiskey as though it was water.

Eric didn't care for anything else anymore. He just wanted to be left alone. He sold his luxurious apartment and paid Katrina the money then shifted to this present rundown apartment. He lived on whatever saving he had but after two years without any work his saving was gone too.

Robert of course was pissed with Eric reckless behaviour for paying Katrina but Eric was still his friend and he tried to support Eric in anyway he could.

"You can always compose music exclusively. You've composed many pieces yourself and you've collaborated with me on your albums too. It's not really necessary to play. Come work for me, Eric. We'll find someone to play your music! And for God sake, stop drinking so much!" Robert reasoned.

But try as he might, Eric couldn't even write a single note and each time when he picked up his pen and saw his disabled hands he would start replaying the scene all over again of how his attackers had viciously mutilated his hands and he would went into a fit of anger.

He now pulled off his gloves and held out both his hands in front of him and examined them. How he used to love his hands, his fingers. They used to be so beautiful, so graceful, and so fluid as they ran across the row of keys on his piano. No, not ran but danced across the row of black and white keys. He remembered how he would run his fingers over Katrina's sexy body, how Katrina would scream with pleasure when he had slipped his fingers into her core of wetness. But now he hated the sight of them. They were now scarred and ugly and inflexible although he could manage all normal daily activities except playing again. He hated to see the empty spot where once his pinkies were. The worst day was the rainy days where he could feel stiffness and pain in his fingers and it would remind him of the attack. To avoid people looking at his ugly hands, he would wear gloves wherever he went.

The more he looked at his hands and fingers the more he hated them. He was so consumed with rage that he ran into his small kitchen and tore opened his rather big fridge and pulled out trays and trays of ice and dumped them into the sink then dashed his hands into it. He let his hands and fingers stayed in there for a long time until he felt the burning sensation of the raw ice. Finally he dropped to his knees and sobbed long and hard.

Later, as he sat at his sofa nursing a glass of whiskey with his left hand and his right hand holding Nicky's crumpled name card, which he had retrieved from the waste paper basket. Dominique Whitley - it read. The name did not do her justice. Such a small woman but with such a big name. What could she do for him? Help him? She probably would need all the help she could get fending off his roaming hands if he was his former self of four years ago.

Women used to confess on air that they were so mesmerized by his hands and fingers more than his good looks when they watched him perform. They would go into explicit details how they used to fantasize about his hands and fingers when listening to his music while in bed. But now, he doubted any women would ever give his hands a second glance let alone touched them, just like Katrina when she first saw his hands after they took off the bandages. She had cringed away from him when he had tried to touch her.

Carelessly he tossed Nicky's card onto the low coffee table and closed his eyes trying to get some sleep. He needed to go to work tomorrow morning as he was running low on cash again. He would never ask for any financial help from Robert. It would make him feel even less worthy then he already was. Not that he really needed a lot of money apart from paying rent and to buy the most basic necessities like whiskey. The drink had become his best friend ever since he lost his ability to play. Robert once signed him up on an alcoholism programme before but he never attended.

"I'm not an alcoholic! I'm just a social drinker!" Eric had tried defending himself.

"Social drinker my ass! Most of the time your eyes were blood-shot! And look at your hands! They shook!" Robert had argued back fiercely.

"Just shut-up and leave me alone!" Eric shouted and he would chase Robert off and sank deeper into depression.

He did try to make an effort to move on with his life but it was so tough. Robert had also tried once more to persuade him to see a shrink again after the last unpleasant encounter but he refused. He didn't want anyone to probe into him. Especially those bloody shrinks. All they did was to sit in their expensive office on their stupid expensive chairs and made you lie on an equally bloody expensive couch and let you blabber away while they nod their stupid heads, and after the session was over they pocket your money.

I don't need anyone's help. I don't need anyone! He screamed silently and finished the bottle of whiskey.

Slowly he drifted off to sleep on the sofa filled with nightmares of his attack.

* * * * *

Nicky had made a file about Eric Jordan Dillon. When she got home that night she had sat on her computer trying to find out as much information as she could get her hands on Eric. She found out about Robert Duncan and their friendship and decided to pay a visit to Robert tomorrow instead of going after Eric without a lead about his problems. Then she had browsed through the news of Peter Selleck and his wife Katrina Benson. Peter Selleck even had a website especially dedicated to him.

Although Nicky wasn't any music connoisseur or expert but she didn't really like Peter Selleck's style. She thought his playing too hollow, which devoid of passion unlike Eric's. Of course he had his steady stream of followers too. He was very good looking, in fact better looking than Eric but he was aloof whereas Eric was charming. And over the last four years he had earned himself a bad reputation too. He was rude and conceited and arrogant because of his success. He would snub at anyone and criticized his fellow peers. Once he even walked off the stage during one of his live performances when a member of the audience had sneezed.

There was not much news about his wife though, Katrina Benson Selleck. After they got married, Katrina had stopped modeling completely. However there was a small write up from an unknown source claiming Katrina had tried committing suicide once by swallowing sleeping pills. Apart from that, there was no other interesting news about her.

Feeling quite satisfied with her progress she decided to turn in for the night and she had put on Eric's third album, 'Affairs of the hearts' which comprised eighteen tracks of love melodies. Soon the sensuous music lulled her into a deep slumber.

That night she had the most erotic dream she had ever dreamt off. A man with ocean deep blue-green eyes was making sensuous love to her.

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