Enslaved - Love in the Future Pt. 18

Scarlet Rhapsody

Nav was trying to catch up on business. The AI that supervised his finances made many suggestions Nav ignored over the last several months. He'd been busy with Meena, and it seemed like a good time to leave his money alone so it could grow on its own. But the AI seemed unhappy with him. It was just a machine, with no personality, but it acted like a little kid that needed to go to the bathroom. PAY ATTENTION TO ME! So Nav was paying attention. Finally. He went down the list of suggested changes, and every action he took seemed to bring relief to the AI. When did the machines take over?

He had no enthusiasm for the task. It was pretty boring in comparison to things like touring. He liked being the boyfriend of a big star. He liked living in hotels, working with Meena's agent, tour bosses, managers and musicians. He particularly liked the fact that almost no one knew who he was. He wasn't an oligarch to them; he was just Meena's romantic sidekick. Being a sidekick was more fun than moving financial markets and disrupting industries.

They'd been home nearly a week before Nav caught up with his financial duties. Since Meena's career got started, he'd begun to think the work he did managing his portfolio was pointless. He wanted the AI to do it. He was increasingly tempted to put a big part of his fortune in nice safe managed funds, and let the AI decide what to do with the rest. The AI was making most of the important decisions anyway. Artificial intelligence was better than anything ordinary people could accomplish on their own. All the most successful oligarchs relied on their AI more than their own judgment.

There was an old joke about it. Q: How do you become a billionaire? A: Start out as a trillionaire, and manage your money without an AI.

Nav was relieved when Feva announced that Meena wished to speak to him.

"My agent called," she said. "We've got an interesting offer."

Historic old Carnegie Hall was preparing to reopen after a three-year renovation. Everyone in the music world was anxious to find out which artists would perform during the premiere season.

They wanted Meena.

And not just her. They wanted Meena to curate a six-concert series that spanned the history of jazz. No other artist was to be given so many dates on the main stage during the premiere season. The world of serious music was embracing jazz and the artist who'd resurrected it.

The promoters weren't dumb - they knew Meena would sell out every performance, that there would to profitable deals selling recordings and broadcast rights, and that news of the decision would dominate the worlds of serious and popular music. It was a win win win win win.

"I am so proud of you," Nav said.

"I'm proud of myself too," she said. "Proud of us."

"This sounds like a lot of work," Nav said.

"I'm scared. I have no idea what to do."

"That's easy. Call Charlie," Nav said. "Let's do that right now. I want to be with you when you tell him the news. I can't wait to see the look on his face."

.......................................................................

Nav learned what it was like to live with a genius.

He'd thought their life got hectic each time Meena made an album. He'd thought her concert tours were a lot of work. None of that approached the difficulty of creating six jazz concerts for Carnegie Hall. She and Charlie knew they'd be under a microscope.

There are all kinds of snobs. Art snobs. Food snobs. Fashion snobs. Book snobs. Architecture snobs. But the worst snobs of all are the music snobs. They think that anyone who listens to music that sounds even slightly pleasant is a clueless child. Snobs tend to favor music that sounds like a cat romping around on a keyboard. Most snobs loathed jazz unless it was the kind that came after Charlie Parker, who introduced the challenging approach to resolving chords that most musicians loved but most fans hated. Meena played jazz that was fun, accessible, and joyful. There's nothing snobs hate more than fun, accessible, joy. They were looking for a chance to rip her to shreds.

Pressure started a nanosecond after Meena told Charlie about Carnegie Hall. Oh. My. Freaking. God. They were literally challenging Meena to organize the finest series of concerts in the history of jazz. If she wanted the world to embrace the music she loved, she'd never have a better opportunity. It was also a huge opportunity to make a fool of herself. She was a musician. She wasn't a promoter, a curator, or an organizer. She played piano, sang vocals, recorded albums, and gave tours. Charlie was her mentor and collaborator, but he'd never done anything like this either.

They got to work. Charlie and his wife moved into Nav's mansion and commandeered a large meeting room. What should the first concert be like? It made sense to start with early jazz, the music of artists like Jelly Roll Morton, playing the polyphonic sound of New Orleans-style jazz that dominated the years when most Americans considered jazz unfit for white people.

The second concert was easier. It had to be devoted to Louis Armstrong. How could it not? That was when the illegitimate son of a prostitute, raised in a wretched orphanage, picked up a trumpet and taught the world a new way to play the most joyful music anyone had ever heard. Duh.

There had to be concerts about the big swing bands. There had to be an effort to re-create Benny Goodman's historic Carnegie Hall concert, which made it clear that jazz was America's classical music. There had to be a concert devoted to the majesty of Duke Ellington, from his years at the Cotton Club to his rebirth at Newport Jazz Festival.

It was obvious what the last concert would be about. It had to be about Meena. It had to eliminate any shred of doubt about what she had done, and what she had the potential to do. It had to have a major piece of new music composed for the occasion. It had to feature a large orchestra, and it needed to forego having Meena sing; that incredible voice was so overpowering it made it too easy to ignore the brilliance of her playing and composing.

Meena walked on stage wearing an elegant ankle-length black gown, the kind a soloist might wear at a classical concert. Members of the band wore similar gowns or tuxedos. The mood was like a night at the symphony orchestra. The program showed that Meena would perform only two pieces: George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue, and Meena's original composition Scarlet Rhapsody.

The pairing of the two pieces was symbolic.

Gershwin's composition gave Meena an opportunity to demonstrate that she could play jazz piano as well as anyone ever. That bioengineer brain, those bioengineered fingers, and the bioengineered connections between them made her performance literally superhuman.

Her work on the keyboard was dazzling. It was Gershwin's intent that the lush, frenetic piano would evoke images of New York City's energy, drive, and power. Meena fulfilled Gershwin's intent as well as any of the long line of jazz and classical pianists who'd played the piece. She sounded brilliant. Energetic. Forceful. Young.

It was a success, of course. Who doesn't love Rhapsody In Blue? Charlie expected the Gershwin piece would remind modern audiences that jazz once stood at the pinnacle where jazz and classical fused. And he wanted it to prepare them for what they'd hear after the intermission, when Meena would play the most ambitious music of her career.

When she returned to the stage, Meena wore a different gown. It was deep scarlet, with matching heels and an updo hairstyle. She wore every piece of Grandma Olive's jewelry. The earrings. Bracelet. Barrette. Anklet. Brooch. Diamond encrusted gold chain belt. And, of course, that massive and magnificent necklace that weighed heavy on her shoulders. She sparkled in the spotlight. A star.

Nav watched her bow to the audience, take her seat at the piano, and look at Charlie standing at the conductor's podium. Everyone knew that Meena's concert series had been a triumphant success so far, and that this was the piece she'd saved for last. Nav had heard Meena create it, listening as she crafted the different sections and pulled them together into one single composition. He listened as Charlie arranged and orchestrated the music. Nav loved it, and he was certain he didn't feel that way just because he loved Meena. The audience was going to be very surprised when they began to understand what Meena had done. The music snobs were going to be devastated.

Charlie raised his baton, everyone got quiet, then he nodded to Meena to begin. Her first notes were light and airy. Spritely. A flirtation with the orchestra. The woodwinds flirted back, taking the piano's theme and playing it back with something like affection.

What was she doing?

The brass came in, followed by the strings, and it became clear that Meena was trying to evoke some kind of feeling, the way Gershwin's Rhapsody evoked the energy and dynamism of New York City. One by one, the people listening realized what Meena was doing.

Scarlet Rhapsody told the story of romance. The range of feelings two people have when they fall in love. A sidelong glance. A significant pause. A touch. A kiss. An embrace. There was nothing chaste or restrained about this kind of romance. It was passionate. Urgent. Demanding. Tender. Erotic. Hot.

Very, very hot. Every shade of feeling came pouring from Meena's piano, repeated and amplified by the orchestra, and absorbed by the audience. This was the most universal message that music could impart.

It went on for 21 minutes of unexpected twists and turns. Time ceased to exist. When Meena began evoking the image of two people making love, the music swelled, rising and crashing over and over and over. Nav believed he was the only person in the world who understood the full extent of what was happening.

Meena had the capacity to express her sexuality in the widest range imaginable. It was the way she was engineered. She was able to eroticise experience as well as the most romantic of souls. Somehow, she'd figured out a new way to express eroticism through music. She made love with the melody. Found passion in the chords and arousal in the rhythm. She'd turned Carnegie Hall into the world's largest massage parlor. Meena seduced them all.

Nav watched as she led the orchestra through the climactic section. She was pounding the keyboard forcefully, whipping her head back and forth and making expressive faces. Nav had seen Meena make those faces. That's how she looked when they made love. The world couldn't help but notice that the beautiful woman they'd originally seen as a young musician with great potential was now an extraordinarily passionate celebrant of the most basic human urge. Men were getting hard. Women were getting wet. Everybody was getting more than they'd expected, and they'd expected a lot.

The music receded from the climax gradually, evoking the notion of two people who were not yet ready to let it end. There was a prolonged embrace. An afterglow. Being wrapped in each other's arms. The music didn't end so much as fade into sleep. And Charlie lowered his baton.

There were several seconds of silence, then the audience applauded and cheered as loudly as any audience at any performance ever held in Carnegie Hall. They sensed that they were present for a moment in history, one of those rare performances that changes everything. Meena had wanted to resurrect jazz. There it stood, powerful and alive as ever, roaring back to life on all three worlds.

The applause grew even louder when Meena rose from her seat at the piano, walked to the front of the stage, and bowed. She motioned for the orchestra to rise and bow. Then she turned and walked off the stage, moving with the grace and self-possession of a diva. A star was born.

Charlie had suggested what they do for her encore. This whole concert featured Meena on the piano, without a single vocal, so they decided she'd say goodbye to the audience with her commanding voice. When she returned, she walked to a microphone stand in the center of the stage while Charlie sat at the piano.

Great musicians sometimes have a special song - a single piece of music that the audience decides epitomizes their gift. Duke Ellington had Take the A Train. Benny Goodman had Sing Sing Sing. Artie Shaw had Begin the Beguine. Louis Armstrong had What a Wonderful World. Glenn Miller had In the Mood. For Meena, her signature song was the very first piece of music Meena she'd performed publicly.

"Many of you know the words to this song," Meena said. "I'd love it if you'd sing along with me." Charlie began playing the notes to You Say The Nicest Things, and the orchestra joined in.

Meena's fans all knew the story of the song. They knew she'd written it for the man she loved, that she'd recorded it and performed it in concert, and that the meaning of the song evolved with each repetition.

It came to express the way Meena felt about her audience. She'd put her best work out for the public to judge, and the response had been as kind and generous as any musician could want. They clapped and cheered. Wrote glowing reviews. Bought her albums. Gone to her concerts. Said the nicest things.

This version was a little slower than usual. She'd never sung this song with such a large orchestra. She wrote some new words that no one had heard until then.

You say the nicest things

It happens everytime I sing for you

You do the nicest things

I feel special being here for you

From the early early morning till the late late night

You always do what makes me feel just right

Thank you so much for coming out tonight

You say the nicest things

Nav stood away from Meena at the reception after the concert, letting her public get their chance to bask in the light of their new star as she rose fast above the eastern horizon. Every kind of celebrity and music lover attended the concert, and all of them wanted to stand next to her for a little while. To stand in her aura. She looked regal in her scarlet gown and diamonds, standing tall and proud and happy and achingly beautiful. This was the night she officially became a sex symbol.

A steady stream of admirers came to congratulate her, and she thanked them like someone who'd stepped comfortably into the role of conquering heroine. It was almost like Meena radiated some kind of force field that made everyone nearby feel drawn to her. It seemed to Nav that he was the first person to feel it, during their very first conversation, the one before he bought her, when she played the song that let him know how special she was.

Charlie stood in the center of his own crowd of admirers. He'd been a hero to jazz fans for more than 30 years, but that was when very few people listened to jazz. Suddenly, he was the leader of a much larger constituency, vast numbers of music lovers seduced by the albums he'd produced with Meena. A major label had announced plans to reissue classic jazz albums selected by Charlie and bearing his logo. An endless parade of admirers asked him to autograph the program for a concert that would be remembered as a turning point in music history. It was gratifying to see someone who'd worked so hard for so long be rewarded so well.

There was an afterparty at Ergo's, the trendy restaurant du jour. More than one admirer commented on her jewelry, with Meena explaining again and again that it was given to her by her unnamed boyfriend. Obviously, Meena's boyfriend must be very, very rich. Who was he, anyway?

It was almost dawn when they returned to the suite at their hotel. They went up the elevator with Charlie and his wife. "That could not have gone better," Charlie said. "After tonight, everybody knows you are the most important jazz musician since Louis Armstrong."

"Whoa! Charlie used the A word," Nav said. "He only mentions Armstrong when he's feeling very, very serious."

"I have a very good collaborator," Meena said.

"Tomorrow, classical pianists all over the world are going to be watching a slow-motion replay of the video of your hands. They'll work hard to figure out how to play Scarlet Rhapsody." Charlie said. "Next season symphony orchestras all over the world will perform it because it will draw a bigger audience than anything in the classical repertoire. And because it's brilliant, of course."

"We'll see," Meena said.

They said goodbye and went to their suite; Meena slipped off her shoes as soon as they stepped inside. Nav sat in a chair, and Meena sat in his lap. They were getting tired, but they were too energized to go to sleep.

"I feel like I've been neglecting you all day, Master," Meena said. "What can I do to make it up to you?" Her face bore that sexy expression that said she wanted to make love. That's what Nav wanted, too, but neither of them were in any hurry. Nav had taught her the benefits of going slow. Someday she will write a song about delayed gratification. It will be called "Tease."

"There are a few things you can do for me," Nav said.

"And what is that?" Meena asked. She was tempted to ask if he wanted a blowjob, but she had a feeling he was hinting at something else.

"I'd like to make love to a superstar," Nav said. "That sounds like a nice way to end the day. Do you think you could do that for me?"

"Whatever you wish, Master."

"And I'd like to make love to the most important jazz musician in 200 years. The most important since Louis Armstrong. If I did that, I'd think to myself, what a wonderful world."

"I will do my best, Master."

"And one more thing. I'd like to make love to a staggeringly beautiful woman wearing nothing but jewelry. Do you think you could take off your clothes but leave the jewelry on?

She smiled. "If it pleases you, Master." She removed her clothing slowly, one item at a time, until she was naked except for Grandma Olive's jewelry. "Is this what you had in mind, Master?"

Nav took Meena in his arms. "Just one more thing. May I have your autograph?"

Meena smiled sweetly. "Maybe later," she said. "There's something else I'd like to do first."

She put her head on his shoulder and pressed their bodies together. Nav noticed an unusual fragrance that started coming from Meena's body after she removed her dress. She smelled like sex. It was the same fragrance he enjoyed after they had a long session of lovemaking.

"Meena, you smell wonderful," Nav said. "Why do you smell like we've been making love?"

"I feel as though I've been on the receiving end of your foreplay for hours," she said. "I've been hungry for your body many times in the past. This is different." She looked Nav in the eyes. "For hours, I've been working as hard as I can to express erotic energy with my music. I feel as though there's a big store of eroticism inside me. I want my Master. I want you so much."

"Let's not keep you waiting any longer," Nav said.

They removed his clothes, went to the bed, and Meena stretched out on her back. She reached up to beckon him. Nav gently eased her legs apart, and Meena's scent became stronger. He ran one hand up and down her body. "I don't need any more foreplay, Master," she said.

Nav lowered himself gently and pressed his cock forward. It slipped inside easily. Meena came immediately. It wasn't like one of her big, powerful orgasms. This was just a small, trembling wave of pleasure that swept over her body. Nav felt her pussy throb around his cock.

He waited a moment for the orgasm to ebb, then resumed making love. Meena moved beneath him and made soft, sexy sounds that let him know how much she liked what he was doing. It wasn't long at all before she had another orgasm that was just as gentle and relaxed as the first. Nav paused again, and when he looked down he saw a loving smile on her face.