Two Cellos

If you haven't heard of the instrumental-rock cello duo called 2Cellos, check them out. This story was inspired by the incredible way they interpret rock and pop songs via a classical medium. Also for those so inclined, have fun looking up Quinn's colourful Québecois curses.

As Ethan's bass pedal counted them in, Imaani's body throbbed while her arm automatically moved her bow into position. Feeling the beat pulse through her, she churned out the first few bars of the Arctic Monkeys' Do I Wanna Know and tried to channel the heavy rhythm guitar line she'd enjoyed so often. Her cello was now an extension of her body.

Her eyes turned up toward her partner, Quinn, knowing exactly when he'd start playing the vocal line on his own cello. Her background riff melded into the perfect support beneath his melody and she gave him a little smile before turning back to her strings. Behind them but standing in front of Ethan was Claire, mimicking the falsetto background vocals of the original song on her violin.

"If this song were in a movie, it'd be right at the point when the characters either started having sex or robbed a bank," Imaani had told her group members months ago when they started arranging it together for two cellos, a violin and a drum kit.

"Maybe one first, then the other," Ethan joked back. Quinn hadn't said anything, instead furrowing his brow while scribbling notations on his sheet music. He contemplated the notes for a minute, resting his fingers in his auburn hair while his gray eyes squinted, then went back to scribbling. He was a perfectionist, especially when he knew he'd have a discerning audience.

But the kids in the school auditorium today murmured their delight upon hearing string instruments play a hit rock song, as did their teachers standing along the back. Quinn's eyes met Imaani's as they built a crescendo toward the chorus, then entered the second verse.

She looked down to her cello as they headed toward the bridge a second time, but glanced back up just as his lips started mouthing the lyrics to her.

I'm sorry to interrupt

It's just I'm constantly on the cusp of tryin' to kiss you

I don't know if you feel the same as I do

But we could be together if you wanted to

Imaani's concentration tripped and she missed a note but she fell back in with the reassurance that ninety percent of any audience wouldn't recognize short blips in most songs. She grimaced and continued the rhythm guitar riff while Claire picked up her pace with a quicker, more intense violin line toward the end of the song.

"What the hell, Quinn?" Imaani demanded backstage once they'd gone through the routine of answering questions from the kids and playing a couple more songs to finish up the assembly.

"What'd he do now?" Claire asked, looking back and forth between them as she opened her violin case. "Is that why you missed your cue back there?"

"Sure was," Ethan smirked, nestling his sticks in the side pocket of his cargo pants.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Quinn quickly told Imaani, pulling her away as some of the school's music students helping them pack their gear started talking to Ethan. "I didn't mean to say that to you; it just happened in the moment." He paused, getting lost in Imaani's dark brown eyes, not noticing the frown that wrinkled her mocha skin.

"In the moment?" Imaani asked. "If my count is right, this is the third time you've propositioned me during a song in the middle of a concert."

"Propositioned? Whoh, whoh, I might not realize I'm singing along with a song sometimes but I'm not actively trying to hit on you," Quinn explained. Imaani crossed her arms and glared at him.

"But if I'm being completely honest," Quinn added, "my feelings aren't going to change as long we're playing together, as long as I have to see you this much."

"Look, Red," Imaani said softly. "Playing with you guys is the highlight of my week, and I'm happy to help send more business toward the music academy. But we..." she spun her fingers between the two of them, "... can't happen. You know why." She reached down into her pocket and slipped her wedding ring back onto her left hand.

"Just because I don't wear it when we're playing doesn't mean it doesn't exist. If performing together is the problem for you, I don't want to torment you any longer. Let's just round out our existing commitments. Maybe in that time you'll find another partner to replace me."

***Three years earlier***

"Hi, I'm here about the sign in the window?" Upon hearing a woman's voice at the door, Quinn looked up from behind the front desk of the music academy. "Um, it says you can have a free lesson with any instrument?" she asked.

After walking around a couple of pianos and a row of guitars, Quinn found himself peering at a willowy woman with a flawless sable complexion. Her black hair was relaxed in waves that hung to her shoulders and her features were delicate, almost adorable. She looks like that actress Sharon Leal, he thought to himself. She seemed to be about 5'6", 135 lbs, and in her mid-thirties.

"Sure," he said. "It's a 30-minute lesson and there's no obligation to continue, but you only get one lesson with the instrument of your choice. If you choose to continue, we have a rental program for the instrument and several lesson packages. Who's the student and what's the instrument?"

"It's me," she smiled shyly. "I'm sure most of your students are kids or teenagers but--"

"No, no," Quinn reassured her. "We get a lot of adults as well. Sometimes you're older and you find yourself with more time and inclination to learn a new thing."

"That's exactly where I am," the woman nodded, looking a bit more comfortable. "Sorry, my name's Imaani. Imaani Farah. I, uh, I always wanted to play the cello. My daughter, Natasha, is in middle school now and just as you said, I'm finding I have more time to do the thing I always wanted to do." Her cute nose wrinkled as if to ask whether she was making sense.

"Well, that's why I'm here," Quinn said, holding out his hand. "Quinn Michaud. I own this place and I'm one of the teachers here along with my friend Ethan. I teach strings and woodwinds; he teaches percussion and brass instruments."

Observing Imaani's dark beauty as she took his hand in hers and lightly shook it, he suddenly felt lanky and awkward with his freckles and auburn hair that turned a deep orange in the sunlight. Elle est ben chix, the thought crossed his mind in his native French. It also occurred to him in the same moment that it'd had been a long time since he'd last considered a woman hot.

"You're in luck," he stuttered out loud, a little embarrassed he'd been staring at her, "The cello is my primary instrument as well. I'm free right now to start on your lesson if you have the half-hour." Imaani grinned at him and nodded excitedly.

Quinn had performed in everything from school orchestras to the city's local symphony throughout his adolescence, obsessed with knowing his cello inside out. There was barely any time for dating or a personal life as he also grew interested in other instruments and pursued a degree in music.

He wished he had the patience to actually teach in a school but he felt the public school curriculum to be too restrictive, which is why he chose to work privately. Ethan, who he'd met when they were in their early 20s in the city's symphonic orchestra, joined him later when Quinn's symphony days were drawing to a close. Ethan had hit it big with his alternative rock band right after high school, but his career stalled when the band broke up off the heels of their debut album.

Being in love with music left Quinn with little skill for being in love with actual women, and he wasn't surprised his only major relationship and subsequent marriage--to another musician he'd met in the symphony--fizzled after only a couple of years close to a decade ago.

Standing lean at six feet and about 165 lbs, he wasn't a stranger to flings, especially when women caught sight of his striking gray eyes. But the older he got the more elusive a meaningful relationship seemed. Now in his late 30s, Quinn had accepted the only thing he'd regularly be getting his arms around was his cello.

He got Imaani set up with an instrument and a bow, and positioned himself with his own cello and bow across from her. To his surprise, she immediately shifted beside him and adjusted her fingers on the strings to match his own.

When he raised his bow, she did the same with the grace of a dancer, her back as straight as a rod. He curiously watched her watching him, noting that he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Her focus was admirable.

"Is there a way I can take this home and fiddle with it?" she asked him as the half-hour drew to a close. "Pun intended," she raised one corner of her full lips in a mischievous smirk.

"I have a notepad that says 'Chekhov Liszt' at the top, so I have no problem with puns, musical or otherwise," Quinn smiled back. "I need to ask you for a deposit though." Imaani nodded, reaching for her purse. As they sorted out the details and he showed her how to place the cello in its case, she signed up for a lesson package.

Quinn felt a mysterious thrill shoot through his spine at the prospect of not only seeing this lovely and bright woman again, but getting to see her regularly. He decided to take a chance.

"Um, it may be a little early to ask this," he started, "but tonight--"

"Tonight?" Imaani asked, gently laying her bow atop the cello, looking away from Quinn. His words died on his lips as he saw her fish her wedding ring out of her pocket and place it back on her finger.

"...tonight..." Quinn stammered, "... you may want to go over the notes we learned," he finished. "You know, while it's still fresh in your mind."

"I can't wait to do just that, my friend," she said while closing her purse and slinging it across her torso. She patted her cello case. "I'm going to be spending a lot of time with this guy in my basement between now and the next time I see you." She finally looked up at Quinn and gave him an excited smile.

"Lucky him," he replied, mentally slapping himself on the forehead.

***Present day***

"Replace you?" Claire said, coming over to them while still holding her bow. "Wait, no. I wanted to tell you guys this tonight at the pub, but this is sounding like an emergency so I'm telling you now. The symphony wants us to sit in with them downtown. At Massey Hall of all places! It's tentatively scheduled for a month from now." Imaani threw Quinn a worried look.

"And what's more," Claire continued, "It is all but guaranteed there will be entertainment agents and lawyers in the audience who will be falling over each other to sign us when they get a load of you two together." She turned to Imaani, her almond eyes widening and her straight black asymmetrical cut dancing as she bobbed her head.

"Sweetie, I don't know what's going on, but I'm going to say to you what I've never said to any man in my life--please, please don't leave me now."

"There are lots of other cellists out there, and those who can actually read sheet music a lot better than me," Imaani argued.

"And none have the chemistry you and Quinn do!" Claire reasoned back. "It's like your cellos were having sex out there today." Quinn tossed his head toward the ceiling at Claire's choice of words and left the two women to talk.

T'es rien qu'un petit connard, he scolded himself in French Canadian slang. This entire thing was hanging by a thread and you had to snap it. You couldn't just settle for admiring her from afar after you bloody well knew from the day you met she was out of your reach.

Ethan opened the backstage door leading to the school parking lot, just to see Clayton Farah coming up toward him.

"Let me give you a hand with that," the older man offered, reaching for the door and peeking behind Ethan to see if his wife was nearby.

"Hey, Clay!" Ethan said a little too loudly as he propped open the door with two drum cases. "Yeah, Imaani's right here somewhere packing up. City Hall closed today?" Clayton laughed, his dark suit making him look wiser and more distinguished. His eyes crinkled at the outside corners, just where a touch of white hair hit his temples.

"You say that every time we see each other, man," he replied, patting Ethan's muscled arm. "Believe it or not, city councilors actually do stuff. I had a bunch of things I got around to in the morning, and I thought I'd take a break and pick up my talented wife."

Shit, it's Clay, Quinn frowned from the wings of the stage, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. Imaani's already throwing me a bone by not telling him what an asshole I've been and getting me pounded into the dirt, and now I... argh! He scrunched his eyes shut and made himself a promise, then walked over to his cello partner.

"Look," he said to Imaani, tossing Claire a look that indicated he needed her to leave. "Clay's here so I'm going to say this quickly. I haven't respected you the way I should have, which was a shitty thing to do, considering how important you are to--" he paused. "...to this group. I'm an adult and my feelings do not give me the right to disrespect your marriage.

"But I swear to you," he went on, peering into Imaani's eyes that smoldered like burnt wood, "if you can find it in your heart to not hold it against Ethan and Claire because of my actions, I will look at you from now on like the big, smelly tuba player I had to sit near in my first year of symphony." Imaani cracked a smile and Quinn felt encouraged.

"Claire's right, we can't replace you. I've been playing for almost 30 years and I've never found a partner who's filled in my notes or finished my phrasing like you do. Plus, you did all this in mere months after picking up a cello for the first time. You're gifted, Imaani, and I can't let my assholery be the reason you don't display your gift with us again."

Imaani exhaled slowly, glancing over to where Claire had started to chat up Clayton at the door. No doubt she was telling him about playing Massey Hall.

"You're a smooth one, Red," Imaani conceded, giving Quinn a wry smile. "I'll stay. Lord knows I'd miss you guys in 10 days if I left." Quinn closed his eyes, relieved and grateful.

"But you have to be serious about what you just said. I'm rebuffing you not because I'm not tempted, but because I have a daughter and a committed husband, to whom I made vows that I will honour for the rest of my life."

Tempted, Quinn couldn't get past that one word. Does that mean... fuck, no, don't blow it again! he admonished himself. She's the tuba player. She's the fucking tuba player from now on.

"I understand completely," he said out loud. "We will have nothing but a professional relationship going forward, and I will never, ever complicate things again."

***Two years earlier***

Imaani had finished her cello lessons with Quinn a month back, but still came by the music academy to jam with him when he was free. At first she was afraid she was imposing on him, but then made a point to return at least once a week when he seemed sad to see her go after her initial visit.

"I always wanted to play this one," she told him one day, starting up the opening phrase of Dead Leaves and the Dirty Ground by the White Stripes. Like magic, Quinn joined her in the next few bars, his eyes intently watching her fingers on the cello's neck and fingerboard.

"Did you download the sheet music for that?" he asked afterwards.

"Um, no," she replied.

"How'd you know what notes to play?"

"I just... I just heard it and I played it," Imaani replied, a little confused. Quinn narrowed his eyes at her and tilted his head.

"Let's try something," he said. "Turn your chair right around. I'll do the same so that we're back to back." They shuffled over and he made sure she was ready. "Play this," he instructed, producing a pattern on his cello. Imaani watched the notes dance in her mind and they came out through her fingers and bow, imitating Quinn exactly. "Okay," he said preparing something a little more challenging, "this one now."

Imaani closed her eyes and let her hands slide up and down her cello's neck, first practicing the difficult phrase without her bow. After a few seconds she reproduced it.

"How long have you been able to do that?" Ethan walked in chewing a granola bar. "You play better by ear than you do reading sheet music."

"I... I don't know," Imaani hesitated, not sure if she'd been using an improper technique. "After a few months of lessons I started listening to songs on the radio and wondering if I could play them on the cello. Then I found I got most of the notes right when I was trying it out for the first time, and--" she stopped when she noticed Quinn staring at her incredulously.

He went to the computer nearby and looked up the notations for the White Stripes song.

"Son of a bitch," he swore. Then he looked back at Ethan and smiled, a sparkle in his eye. "You know what we could do with this, huh?" They started a new game, each of them choosing a song--Quinn off downloadable sheet music and Imaani from the top of her head--and played them to each other.

Imaani found it interesting that Quinn picked songs on his turns that were inspired by Black American blues musicians, whereas she favoured what her husband called white boy rock. She'd argued with him often that she was into the instrumentation and rhythm guitars over anything else, whereas Clayton always annoyed her in saying it all sounded the same to him.

It was mere days after Quinn discovered Imaani had perfect pitch that they began playing entire songs together with Ethan adding a beat. It was a month later that Imaani found herself on stage with Quinn and Ethan at Natasha's school, a set list of popular rock and R&B songs taped to the floor in front of her.

"I don't know if I can do this," she whispered to Quinn, her eyes frantic as she shook her head at him. The school's music teacher was in the process of introducing them to the crowd, and they would be on in seconds.

"You've been jamming with me for months, and you're brilliant," he reassured her. "Remember, most of the audience won't even know if you make a mistake as long as you get right back into it. Just watch the notes in your head like you always do."

Imaani didn't glance out at the audience even once, keeping her eyes on Quinn and her ears attuned to Ethan's guiding rhythm. Quinn answered questions about his symphony career between songs, and Imaani was glad to not have to say anything.

"How long have you all been playing?" a little voice asked during one such break.

"Well, I've been playing the cello since I was about your age," Quinn replied, "and Ethan behind me picked up his first sticks when he was in high school. But the really special one here is Imaani." Imaani snapped her head toward her partner in surprise, as if to ask what he thought he was doing.

"She never even touched a cello up until a little over a year ago," Quinn revealed. Murmurs hummed throughout the crowd among the students as well as their teachers. Imaani felt her ears burn. "But she practiced really hard and discovered her talent, and that's why we decided to play here for you today. I didn't have a cello partner before her."

The music academy became so overwhelmed with calls from parents wanting to sign their kids up for lessons that Imaani didn't drop by for weeks afterwards. Then she got a call from Quinn.

"Hey, I've missed you," he said.

"I've missed you too, but you and Ethan have been busy boys," she smiled at hearing his soft voice again.

"It's died down a bit now; lots more lesson slots filled everyday but not as wild as it was right after the concert. Are you... are you done dropping by?" Quinn's voice was low and hopeful.