I spend the next morning in the confines of a recording booth with a piano and too many microphones surrounding me. The space is a converted apartment that occupies the same level as the penthouse. I don’t even have the luxury of stepping outside to feel the sun on my face to get to it. The fact just reinforces how much of a prison my home is.
There is a one-way mirror a sound producer and my uncle stand behind while I play a repertoire of pieces. I play for several hours. The pieces I select are bright, quick-paced, and cheery. Even my uncle’s perpetual sourness can’t take away from my excellent mood.
We finish at the studio, then I’m sent straight back to my tower confinement. My uncle mumbles something about having several meetings scheduled and not to expect him back for dinner before he leaves me alone again. The reprieve is fine by me, honestly. The thought of sitting across the table from him while trying to choke down food is an exercise in patience I’d rather avoid.
Knowing I have the apartment to myself allows me to relax. It also gives me the opportunity to play pieces my uncle would never approve of, ever. They’re outside the norm of what other musicians consider classical, but I love them. I found the sheet music tucked away in a tattered box of my mother’s belongings.
I haven’t been able to play the pieces often. But, when I do, they help me feel closer to her, a feeling I hold on to and cherish.
After playing through three of the pieces, there is a light sound at the door. I pause from the music to be sure I’ve heard correctly. No one ever knocks on the main door. Any maintenance people would use the service elevator. Plus, my uncle would be here if he expected anyone and stays until they leave.
Just as my fingers settle on the keys again, a soft, firm knock lands on the hard mahogany. I’m so stunned by the rare sound I take a moment before I move across the room to open the entrance. As the door swings inward, standing before me is a vision in a radiant yellow dress, my mystery girl.
She is beyond breathtaking. Petite in her frame with porcelain skin, she stands with a bright smile, warm brown eyes staring at me. Every nerve in my body is suddenly on high alert and buzzing across my skin.
Clearing the rough sandpaper in my throat, I can only strangle out one word. “Yes?”
“Hi! I’m so sorry for disturbing you.”
“It’s fine. Can I help you with something?” I pray my voice hasn’t wavered and revealed the butterflies in my stomach.
“Well, not really, I guess. It’s just that I heard the most wonderful music while I was in the elevator. I’ve been on a mission searching the building to figure out who was responsible.”
“It was me.”
I cringe. My answer sounds foolish to my ears. If the girl agrees, she doesn’t give any sign.
“Yay, mystery solved then! It was beautiful.”
“Um, thank you.” Her compliment has me standing a little taller.
“Well,” she pauses. “I just wanted to figure that out.”
She seems hesitant to leave. She shifts on her feet, but turns toward the elevator. The realization that I need her to stay slams into me. It seems impossible to let her walk away when I have her standing on my doorstep right in front of me, even though my uncle never allows visitors.
Despite knowing his rules, I ask, “May I invite you in?” Then, wanting to use a bit of persuasion, I add, “I’m not quite done practicing. You could listen, if you like.”
Her smile transforms from sweet and shy to brilliant. “Really? Thank you.”
As she moves over the threshold, her shoulder brushes my shirt. Sparks shoot across my chest as a light scent of roses wafts around us. It’s soft and sweet, tickling my nose. The fragrance brings an immediate layer of calm over me, but turns my senses hyperactive. I am keenly aware of her in my space.
I watch as she enters the expansive living room, making her way to the black grand piano that dominates the area by the floor to ceiling windows. It’s like she’s a moth drawn to a flame. Her hand glides over the glossy lid with slow, reverent strokes.
“This is an exquisite instrument.”
“Thank you. Do you play?”
She laughs, a bright tone that fills the void of my prison.
“Oh, no, not the piano. Too complicated for me.”
“But, you do play music. The guitar, maybe?”
Her gaze flashes to me, but there is more knowing in her stare than surprise.
I realize I’ve given myself away somewhat and shift uncomfortably on my feet.
“I do. And you would know that how?” she teases. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around the building before.”
“Well, um, I don’t get out much. But, I look around the city,” I say as I gesture to the binoculars hung securely on their stand. “I saw you arriving outside the building about a week ago. You looked like you were carrying a guitar.”
“Oh, right. Yeah, I just moved into the building that day.”
Afraid of what she’ll think of me, I stammer, “I’m not some creepy stalker or something, I swear.”
With a smile, she says, “That’s good to know, but I didn’t think you were. I’m Gina.”
“I’m Zel.”
“That’s an unusual name. I like it. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
I pause, not knowing what else to say.
“Where should I sit? I don’t want to distract you.”
Little does she know, it doesn’t matter where she sits. I’ll be aware of her no matter what. I’m certain it’ll be the first time since I started playing the music doesn’t surround me with its cocoon.
“Wherever is comfortable for you,” I tell her.
She crosses to the cream-colored settee. Folding her legs beneath her, she settles herself in a graceful, fluid motion. In her bright, multicolored dress, she looks like live art as she places her hands in her lap, then waits.
Walking to the piano, I feel her eyes on me. I decide not to use any sheet music and play from memory. I don’t think I could concentrate on following the lines of notes, anyway.
I lower myself onto the bench, breathing deeply. Placing my fingers on the keys, I close my eyes. To my surprise, instead of feeling nervous to be in front of someone, the thought of Gina watching fuels the drive to play.
Notes flow out of me with a level of passion I haven’t felt before now. Music has always been my safe place, but lately, it’s become more of an escape from everything I don’t know how to face. Right now though, it’s become an awakening. I’m lost in the music. My blood sings through my veins as my fingertips float across the keys.
I hit the last note, slowly opening my eyes as the echoing sound fades from the air.
“Wow,” she gasps softly.
I had nearly forgotten Gina sat there, except for the infusion of feeling her presence evoked.
I slide to the end of the bench to face her. Her face has a slight flush to it and her eyes sparkle.
“Zel, that was amazing.”
Elated by her praise, I reply, “Thank you.”
She rises from the couch, straightening her skirt.
“Well, I should be going. I’ve intruded on you enough. Thank you for letting me stay and listen.”
Gina begins the walk to the door. A panic erupts in my belly, but I don’t know what to say. I cross the room to stand beside her, trying to hold on to every moment she’s still here.
As she pushes the lever, she turns to me.
“I know this is forward of me, but can I come back to listen again?”
“Of course.” I’m ready to jump out of my skin in the rush to say yes.
The beautiful smile I’m rewarded with makes me feel relieved. I know I’ll have the chance to see her again. It also ignites a layer of anticipation for the next time.
“Bye, Zel. I’ll see you soon.”
“I look forward to it, Gina.”
She slips through the opening in the hallway.
As the latch clicks softly in place, I stand there wondering if I’ve just met an angel.