Duet for Three Hands (32 page)

N
athaniel

T
he next morning
, Nathaniel waited for Lydia on the cement bench outside the music building. The campus was quiet, resident life unfolding lazily within the dormitory walls. But Lydia, with her ferocious energy, had insisted they begin their tutoring session early so they might have time for the Mozart. Nathaniel had worked long into the still and sultry night until the arrangement was complete.

She came out of her residence hall, walking briskly with long strides, as she always did, straightening her hat, probably too impatient to have bothered securing it with pins. She spotted him and waved, her steps slowing for a moment before she continued her brisk pace. “Good morning.”

“I’ve a surprise for you.”

She looked taken aback. “Really?”

“Yes, in my office.”

“
C
lose your eyes
,” he instructed outside his office. She did so, and he opened the door, guiding her in with his hand on her elbow. “All right. Open now.”

She gasped. “Oh, Nathaniel, how wonderful.”

There were two upright pianos side by side, taking up almost the entire room. “For us,” Nathaniel said. “To work on the Mozart. I had the janitors move it in yesterday afternoon. And I finished the Mozart arrangement.”

“How did you finish it so quickly?”

“I couldn’t sleep so I worked into the night.”

“Well, it’s best to get up and get something accomplished, I suppose.”

“If you say so,” he said with a smile.

And suddenly she lurched forward, throwing her arms around his neck and squeezing. “I’m so happy.”

He stumbled backward, his arms stiff by his sides. She immediately moved away.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He cleared his throat. “We can work on the Mozart, after I hear your scales and the
B-flat
. I feel terrible pangs of guilt over this whole business.” He looked at the pianos. “But, Lydia, to play again. The seduction is too great.”

“To play with you, Nathaniel, is one of the thrills of my life. Don’t ever doubt that.”

“Enough of that. Time to get to work.”

A
n hour later
, Nathaniel yawned and rubbed his eyes.

“Are you tired?” Lydia pulled her hands from the keys and scrutinized him. “Or am I boring you?” She smiled.

“What? No, no.”

“Let’s do the Mozart.”

“This is supposed to be your session, not our session.”

“I’ll work more on the Brahms later today. I promise.”

“Fine.”

Before they began, Lydia excused herself to use the ladies’ room. While she was gone, Nathaniel looked over the Mozart arrangement until he heard rustling at the door. It was Walt! Thinner and with a hairline that had moved back an inch, but his eyes were the same: piercing, ever watchful.

“Professor, I have a question about my exam.” Walt spoke in a high-pitched voice.

“I’m sorry, we only allow pretty girls at this school.” They laughed, embracing. “What are you doing here?” A surge of happiness rushed through him at the sight of his old friend.

“Had some business close by and figured I’d come on over and see you.”

Nathaniel shook his head. “Hard to believe you’re here. I was going to write to you today. I have a student I want you to meet. Could be a potential client for you.”

“That right? Pianist?”

“Yes. We have a session this morning, but maybe you could come back and we could have lunch. Get reacquainted.”

“Sure. Great. I have some things to do anyway.”

“It’s awfully good to see you, Walt.”

“You too,” said Walt. “You too.”

S
hortly after Walt left
, Lydia returned. Without a word, they sat at the twin pianos. They looked at one another and took in a collective breath, centering in the other. And they began to play. An hour escaped without their knowledge.

“We’ve almost got it,” he said.

“I would say so,” said Walt from the doorway. “Bravo.”

Nathaniel jumped. “Walt, I didn’t see you there.”

Walt came over to Lydia and offered his hand. “I’m Walt Higgins. Used to manage Nathaniel.”

“Nice to meet you.” She stood. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All highly exaggerated, I’m sure,” said Walt.

“Only the good parts,” said Nathaniel.

N
athaniel and Walt
walked across campus and then crossed Oak to Main Street. It was hot already, hinting at the stifling late afternoon heat that would settle in over the town like a greenhouse.

“Who is she?” asked Walt.

“Came to me through my summer composition program. Walt, she’s remarkable.” He pointed at the diner. “This all right with you?”

“Sure.”

Inside, fans suspended from the ceiling on either end of the room moved hot air that smelled of coffee and grease and bleach around the room. In addition to a scattering of tables, four booths lined one wall. A well-dressed, white-haired couple sat in the second booth, eating fried chicken and butter beans. In the booth near the back, four young men played cards and sipped coffee. Out of work, Nathaniel thought.

The owner, an older man with a hump and shuffling feet, came forward to greet them and sat them in one of the middle booths. They both ordered fried chicken with a side of collard greens.

“My God, it was eerie, walking in and hearing that music,” said Walt. “Would have sworn on a Bible it was you.”

“I believe she could have a serious career. I have her working on the Brahms
B-flat
.”

Walt nodded. “I noticed the size of her hands. Can she really play it?”

He smiled. “She might be better than I was.”

“Not a chance.”

“Needs several months’ more work, but I think it could be concert worthy. You want a new client?”

“Maybe. But tell me more about this duet business.”

“It was her idea we play three-handed. So I put the Mozart together for us.” He kept his voice light, not wanting to betray the depth of his feelings for both the woman and the musician. But he felt himself growing hot. “Just for fun. Mostly we’re concentrating on the Brahms.”

Walt leaned forward, slapping his hand on the tabletop. “This is pure gold, Nathaniel. You playing again. We could book the two of you all over the world.”

“No, no. Lydia has the talent to go all the way on her own. This three-handed thing is just a lark for the summer. I don’t want to hold her back.”

“A lark? Damn, it’s inspirational, and we need that in these times.”

“What? No. I have Frances to think of—can’t be traipsing around on a tour. This is not a discussion about a three-handed duet. Matter of fact, I’d like to see Lydia study at Rochester, up with Hanson.”

“Why not here, with you?”

“She needs the best.”

“You’re the best.”

Nathaniel shrugged. “I hear Hanson’s got the best music program in the country.”

Walt surveyed him with those eyes that never missed anything. “This Lydia Tyler got some kind of hold on you?”

“Whatever do you mean?” Nathaniel kept his voice even.

“You in love with her?”

Nathaniel let several seconds go by in silence before quietly answering, surprising himself by telling the truth. “Yes.” There it was. Yes. He loved Lydia Tyler. He hadn’t fully admitted it to himself. He never could lie to Walt.

“You haven’t acted on it?”

“Of course not. I’m married.”

“Ah, yes. Frances.” He adjusted his glasses, gazing into his drink. “How is Frances?”

“The same.”

Walt scrutinized him with his eyes half closed and then made an all-knowing type of sound in his throat. “You worried you’ll weaken, give in to temptation? Is that why you want Lydia to study with Hanson?”

Nathaniel gazed up at the ceiling and slowly nodded before looking back at his friend. “She’s all I think about.”

N
either man spoke
for several minutes. Finally Walt leaned forward in his chair. “This three-handed duet could change your life, Nathaniel. It could give you back so much of what you lost. Do you understand that? Don’t dismiss it too easily in the name of propriety. You’ve got to seize what’s given to you on this earth. Anyway, all the great artists have mistresses.”

“I was raised a God-fearing man, Walt. You know that.”

Walt sighed. “Ah, yes, there’s that.”

L
ater that evening
, after he drove Jeselle to Bess’s, Nathaniel arrived home weary, ready for an early bedtime. But as he approached the back door, Frances swung open the screen, her face animated. “There you are.” She wore a yellow dress in material that clung to her jutting hipbones, and her eyes had the feverish look they took on when she was in one of her manic moods.

“Darlin’, hurry on in, we’ve got company.”

“Company?”

Frances, hands fluttering, whispered, “Doctor Landry and his brother are here. You know,
the
brother.”

“Terrific,” he muttered under his breath, following his wife into their sitting room.