Her Two Lovers

She readied to walk back to the reception area when a chord of notes trickled to her ears. They were soft yet angry, as though they were being pounded through a wool blanket. Of course! A wooden door stood next to the restroom. Chandler’s studio would be soundproof. The fact that the notes met her ears proved he was playing very loud.

She didn’t bother knocking. He wouldn’t hear her anyway. Normally she wasn’t so rude, but the music called to her. His anger, his passion, called to her. Still holding the pot, she stood, mouth agape, as Chandler pounded out disharmonic chords on his nine-foot black lacquer grand.

Disharmonic, yes, but they made a certain musical sense. Discordant in a harmonic way.

Sweat covered his brow, and a drop hit an ivory key. He didn’t stop to wipe away the perspiration. He punished the keys, ground out eerie yet beautiful music in his raw madness. His fingers danced, his facial muscles tensed, his full pink lips pursed.

Another drop of sweat hit a key as he slowed the tempo, softened his strokes, and then from piano to forte again as he trilled two notes and boomed through the lower keys.

Jane’s heart thudded in time with Chandler’s now increasing tempo. As he crescendoed, so did she, her breath coming in rapid puffs, her breasts heaving against her chest. His playing conjured images in her mind of a bullfighter twirling a red cape. Vivid reds and oranges swirled through her head.

More chords. Louder, faster…banging, clashing…

Then silence.

His eyes closed and his chest dropped, as though he were only now cognizant of the fact that he required breath. More drips of moisture emerged on his corded neck and rivered down his chest through the few blond hairs that peeked out of his black button down. The stark onyx contrasted against his fair skin in a beautiful way.

Jane’s breath caught. She stood, still holding the empty coffee pot. Should she applaud?

Her hands were occupied, and applause seemed inappropriate anyway. This hadn’t been a performance. No, this had been a catharsis, a purging of negativity, a ritual cleansing. This had been solely about Chandler. Pure, raw emotion not meant for an audience.

Regret flooded her. She shouldn’t be here.

She turned as quietly as she could, hoping to sneak out before he became aware of her presence. Her hand hovered above the doorknob.

“Don’t tell me.” Chandler’s voice.

She turned.

“Ryan, right?”

She sighed. “Yes. I didn’t know how to reach you about tonight.”

He didn’t reply, simply closed his eyes and inhaled a visible deep breath.

“I’m sorry I interrupted you.” Jane cleared her throat. “But it was brilliant. Truly. You’re incredible.”

His eyes popped open. “It’s an elementary composition. I played it in concert when I was eleven.”

Jane shook her head. Couldn’t the man take a compliment? “Well, I’ve never heard it before. Of course I’m not educated in the classics as you are. I thought it was amazing. What is it?”

“Danza del Fuego.”

“Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.”

He smiled. Actually smiled! Those gorgeous lips parted to reveal perfect white teeth. “It’s Spanish, not Italian. It translates to Ritual Fire Dance. It was written in 1915 by Manuel de Falla.”

“I’ve never heard of him.” She inched forward slightly, drawn in by his smile, which hadn’t yet faded. “But I should have known it was Spanish. It reminded me of a bullfight. I kept imagining reds and oranges.”

“That would be the fire.” His smile broadened. “It’s from a ballet called El Amor Brujo, Love the Magician. In this piece, a girl is haunted by her dead husband’s ghost, so she performs the fire dance. The ghost appears and dances with her and is drawn into the fire. Then she’s free of him.”

A purging. A ritual cleansing. Oh, yes, she’d been on the right track. Chandler was trying to let go of something.

Well, of course he was. Ryan had said he’d just been dumped. He must have really loved her.

An anvil hit Jane in the stomach. She had been nothing more than a salve to ease his heartache yesterday. He hadn’t wanted her. He’d just wanted to get laid. Anyone would have sufficed.

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. What did she care, anyway? He obviously detested her music. He probably detested her, as well. She was nothing more than a warm body.