The Concerto Ch. 02

The following is a work of fiction. All depicted characters are 18 or older; resemblance of characters' names to actual persons is coincidencal.

SYNOPSIS: Randall has participated in a radical music rehearsal involving the use of ticklish women as instruments. He's not sure how to mention it to his girlfriend, and the performance is imminent.

Originally posted June 2017

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The day of the performance. Randall is going to publicly elicit laughter from a restrained woman -- his instrument -- with the help of two fellow musicians, accompanied by the rest of the university's Symphony Orchestra. A week ago, the very thought of this performance would have blown his mind. But now that the day is here, Randall feels like he would give the entire experience up for the ability to even bring up the subject with his girlfriend, Mehgan.

Instead of paying attention to his professors, he devotes most of his morning seminar classes to endless circles of thought. It's not until he walks through the hallway of the music building that he encounters something that breaks that pattern.

"Farel!"

"Hello, Randall. All ready for the performance tonight?"

"Oh, uh, yes. I think I should be able to do this well."

"Right. And you've gone over the parts with James and Mark; no problems? No final questions?"

"Yes, done all that. We're completely clear on all the parts, honestly."

"Excellent, Randall. I suppose I can assume our rehearsal was sufficiently educational, then?"

"I thought it was great. Very well-planned. I don't know how you... uh, managed it, actually."

"How do you mean, Randall?"

"Oh, nothing. I mean... it was very good."

Farel chuckles, and props his glasses up. "Good. I'll see you tonight, then."

They begin to walk opposite directions, but Randall finds himself turning on his heel. This would be the last chance to learn the secret to the graduate student's confidence.

"Farel, wait."

"Yes?"

"Would you... talk with me for a minute?"

"Of course. Come on and sit."

The sophomore and the graduate student sit on opposite couches in the otherwise unpopulated lounge. Farel rests his chin on his hands, and gives Randall his full attention. Randall relaxes.

"All right, I... Farel, I feel sort of comfortable around you after the initial rehearsal. I noticed that you never mentioned 'tickling' at all during the entire thing."

"I didn't actually say the word, if that's what you meant."

"But that's what we were doing."

"Obviously."

"So, how do you justify that? I mean..."

"Justify it?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, how do you get away with something like that?"

"Ha. I suppose it would be viewed as a strange thing by some people. A lot, probably. To be frank, I'm depending on that a little, just so my work gets some attention in the compositional community."

"Are you nervous about it?"

"A little. I suppose every composer is nervous about adding something never seen before to the repertoire. Things like this have been matched with questioning before. How do you feel about it, Randall? I mean, are you comfortable doing this?"

"I felt very confident after the rehearsal, actually. Natural. I just really wanted to ask... how did you manage to... get... I mean, how did you know..."

"Our volunteer instruments?"

Randall nods.

"They're just friends of mine. I just kept them informed about what I was doing, and asked them eventually if they would volunteer."

"Psh. That's incredible, Farel. You must have really strange friends."

"Not really. They're pretty normal people."

"You think they're normal, Farel? Don't they think it's wrong to --"

Randall cuts himself off suddenly. He didn't mean to go there. Farel raises his eyebrows a little.

"Go on."

"Well, I... I mean, isn't it a bad thing to... enjoy... that sort of thing? Can't you only justify it because it's art? Well, I mean, not wrong if they do, but if --"

"Calm down, Randall. Did you enjoy the rehearsal?"

"Yes."

"A lot?"

"Quite a bit."

"And you're conflicted about that?"

"I'm... it's not about that, Farel. It's about my own relationship. I think it's so beautiful, what you're doing, and --"

"I understand. You'd like to be able to share the same thing with your girlfriend, but you're afraid to talk about the way you really feel about it."

Randall is almost speechless at this, but he knows that his quest for these answers is why he stopped Farel in the first place. Farel leans in.

"I was a lot like you once, Randall. Very afraid, very personal."

Randall nods, listening.

"Let me just ask you simply: do you trust her?"

"Oh, yes."

"Do you love her?"

"I... think so, yes."

"Randall, I have a meeting to be at in about three minutes, so I'm going to give you the short version. Are you ready?"

"Yep."

"Just be honest. Completely honest. It will mean a lot that you were able to trust her. Wouldn't it to you?"

Randall's eyes move down as he thinks that through. "Yeah, I guess it would. Of course it would."

"I'm sure you knew that already."

Randall nods.

"All right, monsieur. See you tonight."

* * *

Randall, James, and Mark wait backstage and listen to the Symphonic players take their seats and tune with each other.

"I'm looking forward to this," says Mark, idly brushing dust from his tuxedo jacket.

"Me too, honestly," says James, straightening his bow tie. "The rehearsal was definitely enjoyable."

"You had a good time?" poses Randall.

"Yes, I did. I think they enjoyed it too; their courage must have been high, eh?" James responds. "We're just going to have to work together this time. Some of these passages are going to be a more serious endurance test for our instrument."

"I know," says Mark. "Did anyone find out who she is?"

"I certainly didn't," says James. Randall shakes his head in concurrence, realizing how little of his attention has even been available to think about that.

"Shh-shh," says Mark, looking through the side stage door. "They're finishing. Get ready."

* * *

The concert hall is laid out in its typical beauty. The strings have set themselves up in giant concentric arcs on the hall floor, sidelined by the wind section, and the percussion waits in the far back.

The orchestra, followed by the chattering audience, goes silent. The lights dim over the audience and come up on the stage floor, illuminating the orchestra. After an anticipatory pause, the side door opens, and the figures of Randall Kent, James Lanford, and Mark Todd can be seen entering into the performing area. The audience welcomes them with their applause as the musicians stand together by their music stands and nod politely.

After another moment, the door opens again, and the tall figure of the graduate student Farel Magnusson enters, to the enthusiastic welcome of many audience members who are aware of his status at the professional level, and also those who have come to know him as a friend since his arrival at the school. Both groups are distinguishable by the style of their applause. As audience's cheering subsides, they await the moment when he will raise the baton and begin directing his work.

But he doesn't pick up the baton. He appears to be waiting for something. The opposite stage doors open, and through them, to the astonished murmurs of some of the audience, is wheeled an apparatus to which is affixed a girl wearing a two-piece bathing suit, who a number of students in the audience are able to identify as Mehgan Jackson.

The stage managers push the calm-looking woman across the hall floor, and deposit her squarely in front of the three musicians. The audience is still murmuring slightly, and the conductor awaits their silence. When he is satisfied, he lifts his baton to the orchestra, and every violin and viola is simultaneously raised, and the bows sit on the strings, and they wait.

The conductor lifts his baton, letting it hang momentarily in the air, and then gently swoops it down.

A tranquil chord emanates from the string section, and proceeds to grow and shimmer softly as though controlled by a fader. The chord dissolves into a second chord, and then a third, creating the feeling of a vast, still realm.

The girl, with the small range of movement she has, looks over at the orchestra. The members of the audience that are looking at her -- for she is a prominent distraction -- notice this glance. There's something odd about it. It's as though she's unprepared; as though she's trying to piece this entire situation together. Those clairvoyant enough to read her expression correctly, begin to theorize that she doesn't know exactly what she's doing on the stage any better than her audience does.

At Farel's direction, the violins lift a proud melodic theme from the moving chords. One of the standing musicians -- the one that some recognize as Randall -- reaches into his jacket, and removes a pretty pink feather. Despite their knowledge of concert etiquette, the audience is slightly audible as they realize what is suggested by this. The astute ones notice the same realization in the eyes of the girl, but she acts professionally and hides her lapse in expression.

Randall turns to look into the girl's eyes. He appears to stop still and hesitate for some unknown reason, but the flowing music allays any feelings of doubt within the audience. They attend as Randall takes his place beside her.

The melodic theme repeats smoothly, and Randall strokes the fluffy end of the feather down one side of her entire body, and then up the centre. It doesn't appear that he's trying to cause a reaction, so much as perform a ritual. He reaches over the girl to her other side, and repeats the motion. Then, he runs it down the outside of one leg, and up the inner thigh. He repeats the same on her other side, running down her leg, and up her inner thigh. He feather is traced right up the centre of her body again, from below her navel, all the way up to her chin. Regardless of the intent, the girl's face has become a repressed smile, with the lips clamped shut.

The feather has stopped. The strings slow down and cadence precariously, leaving the audience waiting for the following chord. But instead of directing further lushness, Farel's baton whips into the air, and a flautist begins to play a cascade of rapid sixteenths. The sound is reminiscent of a tiny bird flitting around a canopy.

Randall's feather is suddenly dancing, playing behind and under the girl's ears. Her attempt to dam her reaction fails quickly, as she sputters and bursts into cute giggles. The audience reacts with their own laughter, and the nature of the composition becomes apparent as they observe the mutual relationship between the giggling and the animated solo. They seem to compliment each other perfectly.

The girl looks surprised. She still seems to be trying to worm her way away from the feather to retain some dignified composure, but only now realizes how completely the apparatus was designed to make her totally accessible to the musicians.

The other two of them -- James and Mark -- take their places by the girl, and raise their own feathers. The flautist's energized solo becomes calmer as if riding the wind, and an oboe joins in underneath.

Synchronous with its entrance, James' feather is firmly introduced to her navel area. A clarinet joins in to counterpoint the flute and the oboe, and Mark's feather mirror's Randall's. The musical trio livens again, and two feathers dance playfully around the neck and ears, while the third dances around the tummy.

The parts intertwine, build, and climb, describing uncannily well the bubbly laughter that the girl finds herself being caused to express. The music carries her to greater intensity, and greater still, until the three lines converge and dot their three final chords. On the last one, the musicians toss their feathers away, Farel zips the baton through a closing swipe, and the first movement ends.

Low sounds of astonishment and discussion win over the silence. The girl, who is subject to the momentum of her treatment, is still giggling and gasping. Soon, all else is silent, and she realizes that everyone is focused on her. She blushes profusely, though her brain doesn't seem to have relinquished enough control to allow her to stop grinning. She is a gorgeous sight.

Farel references her from the podium, and seems to think she's doing well enough to continue. He begins the second movement, which combines the entire string, wind, and percussion sections into an atonal fugue. It seems to confuse the girl as she tries to predict where she will be attacked next.

Randall's fingertips rest on her ribs, and test the surrounding area lightly, watching her eyes closely. He gives a lightning-quick arpeggio up her side, producing a punctual squeak from her, which is matched by a similar noise from the clarinets and flutes. One bar later, he repeats the same squeak and follows up with a lightly vibrational poke to her tummy.

The strings have decided on a tonal centre, and a new andante melody makes itself heard. James uses his sensitive touch to coax a steadier sound from the girl, touching and tickling her under the arms for the first time. Randall joins in from his position, playing quick scales all over her ribs and midsection. She laughs generously, and the laughter pours out of her as music pours out of a piano played similarly by four hands. Those in the audience who theorized that the girl had simply been acting to this point, find themselves convinced that she is simply very, very ticklish.

This is Farel's most gratuitous passage yet. With little variance, the girl is held in a state of constant laughter by the two men as the violas celebrate behind her, playing the melodic material. When the bridge comes, James and Randall take turns. Their performance is amusing as they lighten their touch or lift it altogether, and the girl's laughter subsides, only to be followed by a vigorous orchestral recapitulation as Randall shoots his hands all the way down her ribs again, catapulting her back into a heightened state of irrepressible joy. It continues to heighten as the violas play the melody faster and faster. The girl's eyes glaze a little bit; she looks around in slight desperation, laughing all the while, not knowing what else to do. Just as is seems she's about to lose her mind, the strings hit a grand forte like a lightning bolt, and then disappear. Everything stops.

The final movement does not allow for a recovery break, possibly because it starts out relatively calmly. Mark has taken his place by her with his feather, and is dragging it from her ankle, slowly, up her leg. A cello soloist plays a mysterious largo as he goes. The girl tries to look down at the feather, wondering what it's going to do. It lurks calmly under her knee, continues travelling up the leg, and coaxes around the lower strap of her bathing suit. It grazes the inside of the thigh, sliding up onto the other leg, where it starts down again.

Some of the audience members interpret this as a sexual innuendo, thinking Farel a slightly lascivious composer. The girl, as she looks down awkwardly at the feather, appears to try to repress that feeling. The lower the feather travels, the tenser her brow. It's as though she's trying to will the feather back up. The spectators contemplate whether she would like the feather to return to her thighs -- which would be logical except that she has demonstrated a flair for the professional, and would not want to obviate her arousal -- or she's nervous about the feather reaching her feet, which would be more likely considering how ticklish she has proven to be.

The feather travels down under the knee, around the ankle, and over the top of the foot. Then, it lifts into the air and waits. The cello melody floats in the air, trembling, waiting, as James and Randall tilt the apparatus. The strings, winds, and percussion seem to revel in subdued excitement as the girl is reclined to the horizontal, and then all the way to a forty-five degree inversion. The soles of the feet rest together in the air, pointing at the audience, open as a canvas.

James and Mark stand side by side, each holding a feather to one sole. The strings' chords begin to dance and flow like clouds as the feathers explore in unison. It is difficult to tell what sort of reaction the girl is exhibiting since her face is now hidden from all but those on the front sides of the audience, but the reflexes in the feet show subtle signs of automatic defense. They curl as the pointy ends of the feathers draw up the soles in unison. Spasmodic twitches accompany the brushes across the toes. As the feathers play to the music over the open soles, the accompaniment begins to sway more, and the reactions of the feet become more and more of a display. It's almost as though this part of the movement was intended to be a dance instead of a vocal performance.

The moment spirals into a close, and the feathers lift. The music hasn't finished, though; it continues in anticipation as Randall steps forward and takes his place directly in front of the feet. Fingers in position, orchestra rolling into the new theme, he begins to play the feet, and the laughter is heard by everybody. This laughter is unlike anything heard prior; it gushes more like water from a hose. It it also no easier to suppress, judging by the short squeaks that may be her attempts to do so. The responses of the feet are greatly more robust. They attempt to cover each other, dodging the hands of the player, but he is too quick for any evasion tactic to work for more than a half-beat.

Then, everything subdues. The audience can tell it's time to build up to the finale. The strings tremble. The winds trill. The feet, which have endured a respite moment of light stroking, are passed back to the hands of James and Mark, each of whom stabilizes one of them and firmly holds the toes back. Randall removes a pair of forks from his jacket, and prepares to play.

The forks are touched, one on each sole, to the upper balls of the feet. Methodically, they are dragged downward. The audience members are largely toward the front of their chairs as they await the reaction. It can be heard beginning as a slight bubbling, but increases quickly as though somebody was steadily turning up an intensity control. The orchestra's patience is rewarded, and they build rapidly into a plateau; a soaring, forte, melody of celebration and joy.

The girl is now completely controlled by the movements of the forks along the soles. They travel the length of the balls, run down the sides, and paw under the toes, each motion flowing into the next. The audience members at the sides of the front row with the advantageous view of the girl's head, are convinced that tears must be near. The laughter could now be described as screaming; not the screams of a disturbed person, but a person screaming in ecstatic delight, as though they were being carried to heaven by angels. Her face displays the same impression.

Soon, all the audience can see the face again, as James and Mark tilt the girl back up. Randall continues to play her feet without their assistance, and the energy of her performance is maintained by James' continued work all over her stomach, rib cage, and sides, and Mark imposes further stimulation with both hands to her underarms. The sight of the beautiful helpless girl exploding in sheer blissful rapture is matched only by the orchestra, as Farel's baton swings around in the air like a tetherball and the orchestra crashes into harmony after hit after hit. The concert hall glows gold, and the final chord sustains, the laughter peaks, the hands rise, shaking in the air, and the conductor triumphantly snaps his fist shut, ending the concerto.