The Right Notes

Rain is driving against the windows of the bar, but tonight I couldn`t care less. I`ve shrugged off my wet coat and I`m sipping a glass of ruby red, listening to dry wood popping in the fire. Jen`ll be joining me soon.
I wait in secret anticipation of the dark eyed mysterious pianist who`s been playing his way deeper into my heart every Friday, from ten.
[private]In my fantasy world there are no lonely nights, frozen dinners, romance novels or empty letterboxes come Valentine`s. Under this dim lighting my skin appears buff and unblemished, my hair naturally blonde. I slip into my fantasy like a warm bath.
He appears right on time, moving like a sleek animal, sliding into position on the stool, skin the colour of burnt caramel and hair shiny as jet. He prepares himself, fingers brushing tenderly across the keys like a lover, and my belly squeezes and burns. I hold my breath, praying Jen won`t arrive just yet.
His first melody, ‘Solitare’, speaks to me. I hear his secret heartache whispering from between the notes like shadows, and soak him in, barely maintaining my composure.
I imagine him placing his delicate hands on something more substantial –like me. I picture his tensioned muscles, his damp chest hair tangled around my fingers. He is enslaved by lust – the agent of love! (Did I read that somewhere?)

Jen arrives. She`s drenched but soon makes herself comfortable with her back to the piano. We chat while I discretely look past her toward the dreamy maestro.
He catches me and I look away, although I`m soon back studying him as he sips his iced water. I note his masculine five o`clock shadow and become spellbound when he traces the moisture on the side of the glass with his finger. Our eyes meet again, and after a delicious moment of intimate connection I turn away, breathless. Jen`s fighting for my attention, and I make excuses.
Before long he takes his first break. Needing the ‘ladies’, I leave Jen minding our table and weave my way through the human traffic along a familiar dark catacomb.
He sees me first, and I`m immobilized. I hear violins – imagine him gently taking my hand, kissing my forehead. THE ROMANCE IS UNBEARABLE.
He springs toward me so fast I almost lose my balance. Pinning me against the wall, he clutches a buttock with one hand, gropes a boob with the other, and drives his tongue between my lips. A pungent garlic smell assaults my nostrils as his unshaven chin grates and chafes my face. With one powerful shove I break free, swearing, and he reels back wearing an expression of complete astonishment – shocked that I`ve rejected his advances.
Devastated, I buy a drink, hurry back to Jen and reposition my chair. I`m too embarrassed to admit my heart`s just been broken by a total stranger, but Jen gets my undivided attention until we leave.
I`m currently reading a good book called Scrumptious Cooking For One.[/private]

Maggie Veness lives on the north coast of New South Wales, Australia. Currently at work on a short story collection, her prize-winning fiction is published or forthcoming in the UK, the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand.