Violin Lessons

Soon she found herself inside the hall on the stage. A short round guy had his back to them and was tuning a banjo. Mary got busy unpacking her instrument from its case. It was a harplike thing that sat horizontal on a trestle.

"What's that?" she asked Rafael. He'd given her a chair between his and Mary's.

"A hammer dulcimer," he said.

She'd just tuned when without warning Mary called out "Geese in the Bog". Though this was one of the ones on the list, she found her mind a blank. She felt disgust at herself. Rafael called out "C". She began to bow chords in time. Just when she'd collected herself and was about to join in, Mary called, "Roll her in the Rushes". Rafael said, "G". She made a face and launched into the tune with the rest of them. After twice through it, Rafael said, "Chords" and the tune passed to Steve on the keyboard.

Steve played energetically and well.

She listened to what Rafael was doing, harmony and an edgy counter melody. For the first time she felt a jolt of pure joy at the sound. Mary called, "Take it out," and when everyone hit the tune, Adrienne joined in and then they were done.

A bearded guy off the stage by a sound board made a thumbs up and she knew that that'd been the sound check.

She felt hot and exhausted. She took a bottle from Rafael's bag. He grabbed her elbow and chose for her, giving her the half empty one. She drained it in the ladies room, filled it with water, drank it down, and then filled it again.

Back on the stage she felt useless. Rafael stood in the back, laughing with the banjo player, Willow and Steve. Mary stood talking to a woman who was loitering about at the front of the stage by a microphone. The hall was filling up and it was getting warmer.

The woman spoke into the microphone and her voice filled the hall, "OK, let's get started, line up, actives cross over" and proceeded to spout gibberish.

She saw the band was getting ready to start and prepared herself. Then she flushed, "What's the tune?" she whispered.

"Geese in the Bog" Mary and Rafael said at the same time. Adrienne relaxed and they were off.

Most of that dance was a blur. A melange of growing heat and shouts and thumps and music. When it ended she was sweating and thirsty and she drained almost half her water. She looked at the bottle and thought that the night could become a long march through a drought ravaged land. Then they were off again. After an hour there was a break and she refilled her water bottle and appropriated another (now all but empty) one of Rafael's.

And all through her playing she felt a surge of hot pleasure. Her mind felt ablaze. Once she listened to Rafael's harmony run and when he took the tune, played it softly. He kicked her and she'd've retreated to chords if he hadn't called "louder" at the same time. She nearly died.

During the intermission she just sat feeling drained. Her right arm ached. The tips of the fingers of her left hand hurt. She looked at them, they were chafed but there was no blood yet.

Half way through the second half, in the middle of a tune called "Buddha's Delight" Mary called her name and said "Take it".

She froze. There was nothing inside her at all. The sound drained to just the rhythm.

Rafael and Mary jumped in and the crowd whooped, thinking it had been a dramatic ploy.

She stared at the floor aghast and humiliated. She could not even play chords.

The hall was infernally hot. The air stunk of sweat. The banter of the woman at the microphone annoyed her. Rafael taking a swig from his bottle disgusted her. She hated herself.

When that dance was done, she put her violin in its case. She got up and made her way down off the stage and went outside. It felt cool in comparison. The sound of cicadas relaxed her.

She listened to the next dance staring at the asphalt of the parking lot. All that could be heard was the thumping of feet and a tinny sound of music above it. Then there was a waltz and people flowed out of the hall, talking and laughing.

She felt empty and alone. She smashed a mosquito that landed on her arm. All she could think of was failing.

"What am I doing," she asked herself.

The band came out close to last and gathered around Mary's car chatting.

"What happened?" Mary asked her.

Adrienne shook her head.

"It can be exhausting if you aren't used to it," Mary said, "You played well. I shouldn't've called on you."

Willow put her arm around her, which Adrienne did not particularly like. "You did well, dear."

Rafael leaned back on the hood and drank from his water bottle. Mary took a stack of bills from her purse. "Since there are six of us its $180 a piece.

When Mary pushed the bills into Adrienne's hand, Adrienne mumbled, "Hey, I don't need anything."

Mary paid no attention, "If you want to join us next Friday we're playing in Grover Falls. We can't fit in a practice before then, but if you and Rafael can get there a bit early that'd be good."

"You need to work on your harmony playing," Rafael said. His gaze was fixed on a parking lot flood light.

"You did just fine and Rafael stayed a bit sober and carried his weight for a change," Mary said.

"Hey," said Rafael, "I'm partially present you know."

"Maybe," was Mary's comment. "You'll do the driving?" she asked Adrienne, "You're alright? Most times I take him back with me and let him sleep on the couch. He's not a pretty sight first thing in the morning and my husband would object if he wasn't so nice. It's my husband who's nice, not Rafael. Rafael's an asshole."

"Hey," said Rafael, "I must've driven off and that's why you feel like you can say what you want about me."

"I'm good," Adrienne said.

"Get him to drink less if you can," Mary said.

Halfway home Rafael said, "Did playing classical music ever make you feel like that?"

She jumped, she'd thought he was asleep. She thought suddenly that she herself might've been nearly dozing. She had no idea where on the road they were. They might've missed Winchester altogether and been almost to Roanoke for all she knew.

He didn't expect her to answer as he kept going, "Maybe the guys who played in the band when the Messiah first aired or maybe were in on the first run through of the Seventh. Maybe they felt like that. And maybe Handel and Beethoven and those guys felt like that when they wrote the stuff. But do you think anyone's felt the least thing playing Philip Fucking Glass? Like hell."

In a dry voice she said, "You looked happy enough playing the Beethoven that night when Dad and I saw you."

"That music is 200 fucking years old."

"Is that why you drink, why you..." she couldn't think of the word.

"Molest and torture pretty violinists?" he leaned over and pinched her again.

"I'm driving," she said grimly.

"I do that because I enjoy it," he pinched her again. When she made no move to stop him, he did lean back. "I'm just looking for something that'll pass the time," then "I wish I played the banjo or the guitar, but I've always loved the violin and I've always loved Bach, heaven help me."

And then they were at his townhouse. She felt no inclination to be asked in.

------------------------------------

She woke early. Her head felt light. She sat drinking coffee until the hour was respectable.

She called Rafael at 9. "I'm stopping the lessons," she told him. "I won't be seeing you again." The phone was silent. She hadn't expected him to say anything and he didn't.

Then she called Derek, "My mother was right," she said.

She could tell from his voice that he was happy and smugly sitting on some remark of the "I told you so" variety.

"Yes I'd like that," she said, when he'd asked her to go out that evening (he was helping his father do some stuff around the house and couldn't come sooner). "You really are a great guy."

So they went out to dinner. Afterwards when he'd parked in front of her apartment, after they'd kissed a moment, she put a hand on his shoulder and lied, "It always made me sad to see your taillights turn the corner."

She kissed him again. "They'll have no glow left at all when I'm through with you."

They walked arm and arm into the apartment building, twined together on the elevator ride up, and weaved like drunks down the hall.

"You're not letting me get out my keys," she said in mock complaint as they stood in front of her door. His hands were all about her.

The apartment was dark. Jill had kept her word.

She wanted to delay things as much as possible. She got a beer from the refrigerator and filled a glass from the box of white wine for herself. She put a cd in the player, Robert Earl Keene Jr.

They sat side by side on the couch. When he started singing along, ("Feeling good, feeling good again") she stood and pulled him toward her bedroom. He had a loud not bad baritone that could never find the right pitch.

Derek proved himself an energetic lover. They undressed quickly and stretched out on her bed. It'd been some time since she'd had company, not since college a year before.

The smell of him gathered around her, the smell of soap, the smell of his deodorant, the smell of sweat under his arms, the smell of his sex, the smell of their dinner.

He kissed down her body. Spending a little time on her breasts, but not enough to be boring. He kissed up her thighs and despite herself, when he put his mouth against her pussy she lifted herself up against his face.

As he worked her, she kept one hand idly roughing his hair and the other up by her face on the pillow. Her body knew its own mind and in a short time she heard it gasping and panting and squealing. She herself stared fixedly at the ceiling, curling her hair with her fingers.

After a time he rolled on his back and she went down on him. This too she did on auto pilot.

"Watch out," he called. She pulled her face away and finished him with wet fingers.

She stood and walked out to the kitchen. Being naked did absolutely nothing for her. She brought back the box of wine and a beer.

He handed her a condom and with only a slight amount of attention, he'd hardened enough to pull it on. "A little straight jacket for you, fella," she thought looking at it shining in the light from the bedside table, "Wish it wasn't my padded cell you were headed for."

She started to roll onto her back, she felt tired and disinclined to put in any effort, but he pulled her on top of him and she complied, reaching down and positioning him and sinking down.

He seemed intent on demonstrating as many positions as he could.

"Something the porn industry has to answer for," she thought sourly as they sat facing each other bouncing energetically.

He seemed determined to prove that he was inexhaustible.

Towards midnight, after she'd dropped the third condom into her bedside trash and he had guided her fingers to him and slid on the replacement, he struggled onto his feet, lifting her with him.

"We need a freshener," he told her.

As she clutched his neck, he slid back into her and carried her pegged like some sort of trophy into the bathroom. He started the shower and stepped in. He soaped her and she soaped him and then he rinsed them by circling under the showerhead.

Out, she squirmed about rubbing him and herself with a towel.

He carried her back into her room and finally lifted her off his cock, only to turn her and lean her against the wall. He gripped her hips and she reached down between her legs and guided him back in.

"It's back into the loony bin for you, kiddo" she thought, addressing his cock.

After a few minutes they were dry and he pulled her back to the bed and lay on it, she sitting on him with her back to his face.

After an endless time like that, he pushed her forward onto her hands and knees and rutted in her from behind.

Finally at 1:30 by her clock, he rolled her onto her back and settled into a steady rhythm.

She felt as excited as cold soup being stirred. She felt she might harden up around him and be stuck with him, by him for the rest of time.

As he worked in her, his arms on either side of her chest, his face just above hers, she thought that this was like the cage, but without any hope beyond its bars. The thought of the cage lit her unexpectedly and she came of sudden, bucking under him and gasping and choking.

He paused considerately and stroked her side and nuzzled her breasts and kissed the side of her face and then around to her unresponsive lips.

"I'm learning what you like darling," he whispered, "You like this the best? So do I."

She forced out a sigh and opened her mouth and met his tongue with hers. She opened her eyes and met his gaze evenly.

When he started up again, she sighed and put her hands on his shoulders and endured.

Jill came back at a little before 10. Adrienne was up, Derek was still in bed.

"Aren't we domestic?" Jill said with a smile. Adrienne had the waffle iron out and was just starting to ladle in the batter. She had a mug of coffee beside the bowl.

Adrienne was in fact feeling alright in an exhausted sort of way. She was all aches and pains below the waist. But even that was sort of comfortable.

"Hey," Adrienne said, "What's that on your finger?"

"Joel popped the question! Isn't it a lovely ring!"

"It is," said Adrienne.

"I am so fucking happy!" shouted Jill.

"What's up?" asked Derek. He'd pulled on his pants and stood by the kitchen table.

"I'm making waffles, Jill always loses it over them," Adrienne said.

"Bitch, you look at this finger and Derek you look at this one."

"Congratulations and best wishes!" he enthused.

Adrienne found the rest of the morning pleasant enough. It was nice to sit around companionably with two happy people.

When Derek had taken himself off, he needed to help his Dad with some yardwork, Jill said, "Wouldn't a double wedding be super? I'm sure Derek is thinking about it." And she punched Adrienne lightly on the shoulder.

Adrienne thought that a lifetime of such mornings would be OK. And there wouldn't be so many nights, Derek'd enthusiasm was sure to cool itself to the once a week temperature she thought appropriate. "I will be just like my mom," she thought.

That Wednesday she and Derek went out to a bar which had Karaoke. They'd been there often as he was an enthusiast.

She realized that if you followed the road a little further you'd come to the turn that led to the development in which Willow and Steve lived. She put the thought of that out of her mind.

An hour or so later, Derek was at the mike belting out:

If I could live my life all over

It wouldn't matter anyway

'cause I never could stay sober

On the Corpus Christi Bay

Her phone buzzed in her purse. She extracted it and answered, "What! Shit!" then she listened, "Alright, I'll do what I can."

She got up and ignoring Derek's surprised and pained expression she made her way out into the relative cool of the night.

From the parking lot in front of the bar, she called me. While she waited for me to answer, she looked idly down the highway. Outside the next building down the road, maybe fifty yards, flashed the blue and white and red lights of a couple police cars. She turned away when she heard my voice.

Without any preamble, which told me that something was up, she explained that Rafael Monetti, the violinist, she added in case I was mentally deficient, had been in an accident while driving drunk.

I calmly told her I'd arrange for a lawyer immediately. I said goodbye and hung up.

It surprised her that I didn't ask how she'd come to know. She wouldn't have had a good answer, it surprised her as well, he must have friends, why hadn't he called Willow or Steve for instance?

Derek appeared then and asked if everything was alright.

"My dad called," she explained, "He's concocting a surprise for Mom and wanted my advice."

"No one knows better what a mother wants than one of her daughters."

"Right," she said, "Let's go back in."

Later, after Derek had treated her to a quick fuck and had fallen asleep thanks to the number of beers he'd had. Adrienne called me again.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey yourself," I said.

"Where are you?" she asked.

"McLean."

"Boring."

Then I explained that Rafael's accident had totaled his car, caused considerable property damage but that no one except he himself had been hurt.

Adrienne felt a rise of concern. I went on to assure her that his injuries were minor, but that he'd broken his left wrist.

Her mind ran through all the times she'd seen him with his left hand gliding up and down the violin's neck.

Back in her room, she heard the rhythmic knocking of Jill's bed through the apartment's thin interior wall. Derek rolled over and sat up. For once she didn't mind, she was feeling sad and sex would keep her busy.

"Hey, where were you?" he asked.

"Calling my dad."

"Come here," he whispered. And as he inserted himself, he said, "I'm so glad you get along with your parents."

Soon the apartment was filled with the soft syncopated sounds of two beds coming in and out of sync.

Two weeks later she was driving home from work. Derek was going to take her to his parents' for dinner. The way he was acting and Jill's suppressed excitement clued her in that something was up. She felt resigned to the inevitable.

"He's a nice guy with good prospects," she told the steering wheel. "And he's not lazy."

Then I called.

She pursed her lips as I spoke.

I told her that her boyfriend Derek had arranged for a conference call. He'd given us a special number to call. He'd borrowed his boss's code and was going to make use of his company's conferencing service. I told her that I'd been instructed, in no uncertain terms, not to warn her, but, I added, when had instructions ever applied to me? I said I wanted to make sure she was serious about the guy and was not just being railroaded by her mother.

She assured me that she knew what she was doing. I found that dubious, but kept quiet out of long experience in the pointlessness of offering advice or opinion.

As I talked and she drove, she imagined being asked to marry Derek in front of his parents, with her parents and undoubtedly his grandparents and older brother all present via speaker phone.

She had no doubt that she would accept him, but still.

She realized I was going on. I asked her if she'd seen Rafael. I told her Rafael was home awaiting sentencing. He was going to pay a fine, lose his drivers' license for a year and do six months of community service. "The local school music programs will get a real boost," I said.

"You've given up playing the violin for good?" I asked then.

She said yes. She'd thrown out her old music and that morning'd advertised her violin on ebay.

I was silent for a moment. It made me sad. Then I perked up at the thought of the conference call and I told her I expected to be entertained by the events of the evening.

She saw where she was and turned left into the straight little street with its speed bumps and lines of closely spaced townhouses.

She stopped in front of Rafael's. She stared at it a time. On the grass in the margin between the street and the sidewalk was a blue recycle bin, set out for the next day's pickup. She got out and looked down at it. She saw it was filled with spiral bound music notebooks. She picked one up, opened it and saw that every sheet was filled with neatly hand written music, clearly by the same hand that'd written out the music they'd played at the wedding, it seemed years before.

She set it back down.

She went up and rang his doorbell.

He answered the door.

"There's nobody home and I am not he," he said and started to close the door. She got a foot in it.

She saw that his left arm was in a sling. A cast covered his wrist and immobilized his left hand.