The Conductor and the Muse (2 page)

After she
finishes
her dessert, I stand and pull her chair out.  She stands and thanks me for my jacket.  I take the material in my fists and slowly reveal her naked shoulders.  My fingers inadvertently brush against her skin, she turns and faces me.  Her breath smells of strawberry and vanilla.

“May I play for you now?”

“Yes, this way please,” I say leading her to the sitting room.  I feel her el
ectricity as we walk in
.  She walks toward the piano in the corner.  I sit, facing the Muse as she pulls the ruby velvet bench from under the white piano.
  She stands, facing away from me and bends at her waist.  I watch her back side, fully present as she pulls her dress up to her knees.  I watch her untie the blue ribbon around her calf and unwind it, remove the delicate shoe, then the other, and setting
them to the side.  She drops her dress and it puddles at her feet.
  I feel like a voyeur.  I am seated in a large, overstuffed chair, in the shadows with my muse sitting in the spotlight preparing to play for me.

She’s breathtakingly perfect.  She squares her shoulders and starts to tickle the ivory keys.  The sound is more than music, like nothing I have ever heard before.  I search my memory of her compilations and I cannot place the melody.  I close my eyes and rest my head back against the leather
.  The beat is seducing, matching my
heart rate
.  The lower tones are reverberating, pounding in my core, causing an immediate reaction once again.  I adjust myself
and
wonder if I will make it a full year with her so close yet so untouchable.

The notes continue to pound until suddenly, they soften.  Quiet, high notes fill the still room.  I open my eyes and stare at the form playing with my emotions.  Her head is down, her chin touching her neck.  Her feet gently caressing the brass pedals keeping time and holding the crescendo.  I have never witnessed anything so erotic, so raw, so powerful yet, so innocent in my life.  A small smile spreads across her lips as the final note fades.  She stays seated, waiting for me to respond.

“Miss Winter,” I sigh, “you are most talented.”

I watch her reach for her shoes.  She remains seated, pulls her dress up slightly, bends at the waist and places
it
on her left foot.  She crosses her leg and wraps the blue ribbon around her ankle, crisscrossing around her calf.  She gingerly ties a bow and reaches for the other shoe.  She repeats the process and the room is so quiet I can hear my labored breathing.  Her legs are thin, lean, and very attractive.

We agree to retire for the evening and meet in the dining room for breakfast the following morning.  I wait for her to leave and make my way to the piano.  I hear the back door close.

I run my fingers along the keys and realize they are still warm from her touch.  I can smell her in the air.  The soft scent of jasmine fills my nose as I inhale deeply.  I close my eyes and begin to play.  Something happens and the melody changes from something I have played since I was a young boy to her melody. 
I play
her beat, her notes, and her music.  I stop, stand
,
and place the bench back into its place.  I know it will only be torturous
if I continue
.

I enter the kitchen as the staff is leaving.  We exchange good evenings and they are gone.  The house is silent.  Everything is sleeping, dreaming.  I walk up the stairs toward my bedroom, turning off lights as I go.  My room is dark as I make my way to the bed.  I grab my jacket from earlier and place it over the chair.  I shrug my current jacket and lay it over the other one.  I remove my tie, my shirt and lay them on the growing pile.  I slide my pants and socks off and make my way to the bed.  I pull the heavy comforter down and crawl under the sheet.

My mind is racing and I fear sleep is going to be impossible.
  It takes some time, but I eventually drift off to dream world.

“Conductor,” she whispers in my dream.

__________

The Muse

The letter arrives by delivery service and I quickly sign my name in on the white slip.  I race to my apartment and tear it open hoping that I will receive good news.

Dear Miss Winter
,
I am elated to inform you that you have been chosen to be the Muse
for this season.  Please see the attached itinerary, as the list of events is very important.  I look forward to meeting you in person very soon.

The Conductor

I review the enclosed list and am awed that there are no cell phones or computers allowed.  I had heard that the Conductor was eccentric, but this is more than I had expected.  Also enclosed is a specific list of clothing that I am required to bring.  I check them off in my head and I complete the letter.

I am the Muse,
I whisper to myself.

From the time I can remember, I have played the piano.  I attended private school and have studied under many great pianists in my twenty-four years.  I have wanted to study under the Conductor for the last seven and finally, finally my dream is coming true.  I telephone my Auntie, my only living relative, and tell her the news.

__________

The driver arrives at promptly noon and I wait as he carries my luggage to the car.  He has such old fashioned manners.  He introduces himself as Mister
Bryans and once he has the trunk loaded,
he open
s
the door to the car.  I sit in the backseat, buckle my seatbelt and we are off.  It will be a four hour drive before we reach the manor.

__________

The drive is beautiful but nothing compared to the
Conductors p
r
operty
.  Mister Bryans pulls the car through an ornate, wrought iron gate and the concrete changes to cobblestone.  There is a meadow, a lake, and smaller ponds sprinkled to my left.  It is late May and the lilacs are in bloom.  I roll down the window and breathe the fresh air.  It is a fairytale of sorts set in another time long ago.

We turn to the right and I see a large cottage nestled in a grove of aspen trees.  Mister Bryans stops the car and informs me that
the cottage is actually the guest house.  This is where I will be housed for the duration of my time with the Conductor.

He unlocks the front door and hands me the key.  I watch as he begins to bring my luggage and organize it in the small sitting room.  The cottage is quaint, warm, and perfect for one person. 
The hardwood floors groan and creak as Mister Bryans rolls in the last bag.  He informs me that I have a couple of hours to get settled before dinner.  He tells me that a woman named Ms. Tanes will be here shortly with an agenda and then he leaves. 

I
am nearly unpacked when I hear a quiet knock at the door.
  Ms. Tanes introduces herself and hands me another piece of paper.  I have to giggle thinking of the trees that could be saved if the Conductor chose to have computers.  Either he is very old, or he is very old fashioned. 
It doesn’t matter
anyway;
I have no one waiting for my communications
since my Auntie knows where I am.

I walk out the door and stare, shocked across the meadow to the main house.  It resembles an old castle with stones and gargoyles with spires. 
Very eclectic.

My curiosity is getting the better of me as I walk across the lush green lawn.  I stop and peer into a crystal clear pond filled lily pads and Koi fish.  The property is straight out of a storybook.
  I want to meet this man before dinner.

A gentleman is standing near the front door and I approach he turns and introduces himself.  He’s polite and directs me to the Conductors office through the main area of the mansion.

The door is closed and I debate whether or not to knock.  Again, curiosity gets the better of me and I tentatively tap lightly on the solid oak door.

I hear a husky voice on the other side asking me to enter.  I twist the knob and open the heavy door.
  It takes me a moment to locate him in the spacious room.  The area is filled with books, old books, and piles of music scores.  The walls are lined with shelves
which are
over full.  Books lay hap-
hazardly
on the floor and
on
the large desk occupying the far wall.  A bank of floor to ceiling windows look out onto the cottage and meadow.

It smells like a library and old paper with an undertone of masculinity. 

A tall man is crossing the room, weaving between the piles.  I look at him and feel my heart skip.  He’s young, only in his mid-thirties
and he is dressed as eclectic as his home.  He has a pair of brown corduroy pants, flip flops, a red button down shirt, a tweed gray jacket and a brown tie.  His eyes are the color of robin egg, his hair the color of straw and his smile is spreading farther across his lips the closer he comes to me.

I feel light headed and look at the carpet, apologizing for interrupting him.  He speaks and his accent is
smooth. 
I am captivated.  I extend my hand for the introduction and watch his hand, his fingers long and thick
,
wrap around mine encircling it completely.  I thank him for accepting me but I cannot look him in the eyes any longer, my blood is surging through my veins at a veracious pace.  I lower my gaze to his hand, holding mine so softly.

Suddenly, he releases my hand and it falls limp
ly
to my side.
  The absence of his warmth causes a shiver to course through my entire body.  I feel my breasts contract and immediately cross my arms to hide the prominent points.  He clears his throat and tells me that he doesn’t find someone with my talent under him very often.  My mind immediately races and I picture myself literally underneath him, writhing in his arms.

My face warms at the audacity of my imagination.  I am completely caught off guard by my thoughts.
  His eyebrows purse together and he is leading me to a seating area adjacent to the large desk.  I sit and nervously rub my sweating hands on my legs.  He asks me what I want to take from him when the year is over.  Again, images flash in my mind overpowering the filter that has always been in place between my thoughts and vocal expression.  My mouth is dry and I feel the residual liquid in my body pool elsewhere.

He wants me to play for him after dinner and I am delighted by his soft, almost seductive tone. 
Surely I am just imagining things.

I stand quickly and tell him that I will see him at dinner.  He remains seated and I am afraid that I have offended him with my off handed comment.  I walk quickly back to the cottage, not looking back.  I am afraid that if I do, he may be watching me from the large windows.  I am mortified.

Back in the confines of my new home, I begin setting out my clothing for the evening.  I place my shoes near the overstuffed chair and glance out the window facing the meadow.  The front door to the main house opens and the Conductor steps out wearing a pair of shorts, a white t shirt, and running shoes.  He looks
so strong, so defined.  I watch
carefully as not to get caught as he begins to run down the cobblestone toward the lake that I saw when we drove through the gate.

His calf muscles flex and I am breathless.  He disappears within a second and I am left staring at the beautiful grounds.  They have no comparison to the man that built it.

_________

I don’t want to be late for dinner, but I don’t want to seem too early either.  I pace, back and forth, in the sitting room for five minutes before deciding to walk out the front door.  The cobblestone is difficult to maneuver in my shoes,
as I chose
the path leading me around the Koi pond.  I know that a disaster would surely occur should I try to walk across the lawn in my high heels.

Ms. Tanes opens the door before I have a chance to knock and directs me to the kitchen.  The Conductor is reaching for a wine glass as I walk in.  He abruptly turns and offers me a glass.  My hands are shaking and my mind is once again racing.  Never have I felt such an attraction to any other human being in my life.  It is almost as though he is the north to my south, the up to my down.  I don’t know how to control these feelings or my thoughts.  He leads me to the dining
room where a large table is set with the most beautiful setting.  There are candles in the center that flicker as we walk by.  He pulls the chair and waits for me to sit before seating himself directly across from me.  He licks his lips and I watch his
tongue, I feel so sensual and a
vert my eyes.  I am freezi
ng and boiling at the same time.
  I can feel my body reacting and I cros
s my arms once again to hide my puckering peaks.

His eyes widen and he quickly looks away asking if I am cold.  He walks around the table and drapes his jacket across my shoulder just as our salad arrives.  His jacket smells of leather and musk.  I take a large gulp of my wine while suppressing my thoughts to no avail.  Butterflies have filled my stomach as I mix the salad on my plate.

His voice
disconcerts
me.  He is afraid that the food is unacceptable.  His tone is clipped and I k
now that I have insulted him.  I take a
nother swig of wine and a few large mouthfuls of vegetables before Ms. Tanes remove
d
the nearly empty plate.