Pied, p.9
Pied, page 9
part #7 of Once Upon a Villain Series
Another day. Another chance. And this time, I wouldn’t fick it up.
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Brooklyn Knight
Thirteen
Melodie
‘Beyond Belief’
he same thing happened on Monday morning when Patrick Piper arrived at T the music school. That aura, like a blue-hot laser beam, burst into the room and scorched me, but I steadied.
“Melodie…”
And if he didn’t quit saying my name like that, he’d be the one threatening to call the cops instead of me.
I gripped my walking stick and rose to my feet.
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“No, you don’t have to move,” he said. “Stay right there and I’ll come to you. I mean…” after a second, he advanced towards me, but he didn’t come around the desk. In fact, I had no idea where he was, and for some reason, this unnerved me more than what had happened last week.
Something shuffled and my ears pricked.
He had taken a seat on the couch.
My muscles untensed.
“Mr. Piper, I’m really glad you were able to come again today.”
“I am surprised to hear that,” he admitted.
“After what had happened, I imagined you wouldn’t want me anywhere near you. In fact, I was extremely shocked to hear your voice on the other end of my cellular phone-thing on Friday night.”
I couldn’t hold back the chuckle. “Well, you apologized,” I recalled, as if I hadn’t been calling him to offer him the position anyway. “Imagine how extremely shocked I was to hear that, especially after you were so adamant that you wouldn’t.”
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Brooklyn Knight I heard him shift in the seat. “As I said on Friday night, I had a chance to reconsider my behavior, and that was when I realized how much I’d upset you. You may not believe it, but it was never my intention to do that.”
Then what was your intention?
The question was on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed it. I didn’t want to know the answer; wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle it.
“How about we get this do-over started?” I suggested. “So, my name is Melodie Harper, and I’m the acting director of NYSM. I have over twenty-five years of experience playing and teaching the flute, and I’ve toured with several renowned orchestras, the most recent one being the New York Philharmonic.”
“Acting director?” His tone was blunt.
“Yes, I held the position for fifteen years, but I’m ready to… move on.”
He didn’t respond immediately. “Your most recent tenure was with the New York Philharmonic 170
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Orchestra,” he stated. “For whom do you currently play?”
“I don’t play anymore,” I answered, running my finger in circles on my elbow.
“Why not?”
“I’ve had some health challenges, which have restricted my ability to effectively do what I love best,” I said, lifting my chin.
“You’re blind.”
My jaw trembled. “Yes.”
“And so you are unable to play your instrument or manage the music school because of this?”
I opened my mouth, but no words followed. I snapped it closed and then tried again, but Patrick Piper saved me.
“I’ve heard you play your instrument, Melodie,” he revealed. His voice was no more than a whisper, which sent shivering waves over my entire body. They culminated in my crotch.
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“Oh really? Where?” I asked crossing my leg at the knee.
He chuckled. “It was outside of New York,”
he said, “but your sound, your poise… your gracefulness; the way you made the instrument sing.” He inhaled. “I have never heard anything like it.”
I swallowed. The things he’d said struck me somewhere deep, and I twisted in my seat. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“You’re welcome.”
Another uncomfortable pause. It was almost as if saying please and thank you were not the norm for him, but either way, he was trying.
“I am dying to have you play your flute to me,” he said.
“To you?”
“For me,” he adjusted his answer.
I blinked. This interview wasn’t going the way I had envisioned it. Yesterday, he’d said he was more accustomed to facilitating interviews, and now 172
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I could see what he meant. I felt like I was under his microscope. I could feel him analyzing me, that heated energy trailing over me like a specimen in a lab. The locus of control was on his side of the room, and I was floundering under the weight of his peculiar magnetism.
This crap isn’t going to work!
“I don’t mind playing for you,” I agreed, “but first tell me a little about yourself. I mean, your resume says it all, but…”
“What does it say?”
“You’ve been playing since you were three years old. You’re a master flautist. You’ve played in countries I’ve never even heard of. You’re a composer, a performer…” My voice trailed. “You have experience managing people. You’re a leader.”
He hummed.
I shrugged and smiled in the direction I knew he was in. “I would very much love to hear you play, maybe even more than you want to hear me.”
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“I highly doubt that,” he said, “but I will play for you, if that’s your request – after you take me on a tour of the facility and outline my role at NYSM.”
I spent the next excruciating hour acclimating Patrick Piper to the facility. By then, the other staff had arrived, and I was glad to introduce him to everyone. It was a stark contrast to the man I’d met last week. He was still authoritative and commanding – I didn’t think he could help it – but he definitely seemed more subdued.
I wondered what had happened during the overnight hours.
Every now and then, I’d hear the smooth even rhythm of his breathing. The breaths of a master flautist. And every now and then – more now than then – my nostrils would fill with the smooth, spicy aroma that was his fragrance. Goodness, he smelled like a dream. A couple of times, he’d pressed his hand against the small of my back, courteously assisting me as I made my way through the corridors, and I’d jolt at the electricity flashing 174
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through my body and the moisture percolating under my skirt. Not only that, the colors would return, but only for a millisecond.
All of my senses were out of whack, even the ones that didn’t work.
Who the hell is this guy, and what is he doing to my body?
The tour ended with me taking him to his new office. I stepped deep inside, grazing my walking stick against the desk, and then I stopped.
“So, Mr. Piper, what do you think?” I asked, spreading my arms.
“We’re now colleagues,” he said, tone low.
“Surely you can call me Patrick…” He shifted. “I like it,” was his succinct response, but for some reason, I got the feeling he wasn’t talking about the office.
I cleared my throat. “I’m glad… Patrick.” His name felt good rolling off my tongue. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to put you right to work.” I eased myself onto the edge of the desk. “NYSM is a 175
Brooklyn Knight prestigious music school. Many of the greats have passed through here, and we’re proud to be nurturing up and coming talent.”
“What are you charging me with?”
“Despite the rich history, the community has attached a stigma to the school. They say we only cater to a particular population, so to counteract this, our donors want us to pour into the community,” I said. “They want us to reach out to underserved populations, children who wouldn’t be able to afford what we offer under normal circumstances.”
“Peasants?”
My eyes narrowed. “I wouldn’t quite call them peasants…”
He shifted.
I continued. “You’ll need to go into the neighborhoods and meet with community leaders.
You’ll need to go to schools and meet with children, make them fall in love with music.”
He didn’t say anything.
“Do you think you can manage that?”
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“I can manage anything,” he said quickly,
“and if this is what you need me to do – ”
“It’s what NYSM and the donors need you to do,” I clarified.
Patrick chortled. “Okay.”
I smiled and stood. “Well, I guess I should leave you to it,” I said placing my walking stick on the ground. “If it’s okay with you, we’ll sign your contract after lunch, but there’s a to-do list for you to consider, if you want to get a head start and – ”
“Play to me.” His words draped over me and I gasped. Instantly, he was moving closer. Still, he stopped a few feet away. The energy intensified until I thought I would choke. “Play for me.”
“Right now?”
“Yes. Please.”
I jittered. “My flute is in one of the practice rooms,” I said. “I haven’t played it in a while. I may be rusty.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted. Passion dripped from his voice and into my crotch. “I came 177
Brooklyn Knight to New York for this very thing. I’ve traveled a long way for this moment. I want to hear you play.”
“And you always get what you want, don’t you?” I recalled with a smile, confused by his words.
“Always.”
I straightened my shoulders and steadied my feet on the floor. “Okay, let’s go.”
I headed for the exit, and Patrick took me by the elbow. My knees buckled, and his grip tightened.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, but my voice was shaking almost as badly as my joints. I tried to smile again, but it felt crooked on my face. “It’s just down the hall.”
We walked side by side to the practice room.
The two-minute journey seemed to take an eternity.
Finally, my walking stick was tapping the edge of the door, and I ran my fingers across the braille name plate on the wall. I walked inside and Patrick followed. I heard him shuffle around the room, moving furniture.
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“I’m bringing your seat closer,” he explained, as if sensing my confusion. Then, he took the stick from my hands, and I slid into the seat.
He stepped back. “Which instrument do you want?” he asked, no doubt scanning the rack. There was a wide selection of flutes, ranging from cheap and off-the-shelf, to my custom Muramatsu.
“If you’re the master flautist that you say you are, you’ll know which one I want,” I said grinning.
Patrick grunted and then the room went silent. I heard his feet move and then stop. Finally, he was pulling something off a far rack. Then, he walked over and placed my prized possession in my hand.
I smiled. “Maybe you are who you say you are.”
“I don’t think you have any idea who I am,”
he said. I could feel him smiling. His energy was warm.
“Well, we’ll be together a lot now, so I guess I’ll find out.”
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Brooklyn Knight Again, he made that humming sound, and it filtered through me.
I ran my trembling fingers over the flute’s body and then raised it to my lips. I hadn’t played in a long time, and to think I was performing for a man whose resume boasted exploits I could only dream of, almost undid me. Visions of the perfection I’d glimpsed a week ago fled through my mind. I saw his blond hair hanging about his shoulders and the way his piercing eyes had been fixed on me. I imagined the way he might be positioned in the practice room, with his alluring length.
I shoved the blurry images out of my mind and blew on the flute.
“I’m nervous,” I admitted, chuckling.
“You don’t need to be,” he coaxed me, and then he fell silent.
I blew out a breath and started to play. It was Prelude from Carmen, one of the last pieces I’d performed with New York Philharmonic Orchestra.
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Patrick exhaled and I heard him drop into a seat. And then he hummed again. The sounds drew heat out of me, and my fingers froze.
“Don’t stop. Please. Melodie…” The smoothest part of his German accent rose to the fore.
“Your sound…it pleases me beyond belief.”
My eyelashes fluttered, but I pressed the flute against my mouth and played some more.
Patrick’s breathing increased. It thundered in my ears, like a timbale. My nipples peaked into tight pebbles under my blouse and grazed against the fabric, and to my horror, I moaned over the flute.
I stopped again, mortified.
This time, Patrick didn’t protest.
“I think that’s enough for now,” I stuttered.
“I think you are right,” he agreed. He rose to his feet and I stuck my shaking arm out. Patrick took the flute from between my fingers, but when our skin connected, his touch lingered.
I swallowed a whimper.
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Brooklyn Knight Patrick took my hand and pulled me out of the chair, then he stepped away.
“I’ll… go to my office and start thinking about the task I have been assigned,” he said.
“Okay, but…” My throat was dry and voice hoarse. I cleared it. “When will I get to hear you play?”
Patrick grunted and I felt him step a little closer. “Don’t worry, Schatz. You’ll hear me play very soon.”
I bristled. “Great,” I squeaked. “If you need me for anything, I’ll be in my office.”
“I know where you are,” he said, and then he walked out, leaving me in the room alone.
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Fourteen
Patrick
‘Magic Music’
he minute I was in my office, I dropped into a seat and let my head fall into my T hands. I gripped my hair and tugged at it. I was no longer in her presence, yet my schwanz was still straining against my pants, threatening to break out. I lowered my hand and massaged it, momentarily relieving the desperate ache lurking over me, like a cursed cloud.
Curse Celeste Dubois, I thought, gritting my teeth.
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Brooklyn Knight Curse Maude and Prometheus, too. Thanks to Maude’s advice, and because Melodie had called, I was back to Plan B, but everything in me wanted to take this woman with a force that would rock both her universe and mine. It was crippling. I was out of my element, using manners, saying words like please and thank you, allowing Melodie to determine the pace at which I moved.
Hades!
I threw my head back and shut my eyes.
The moment that woman had pressed her mouth against her flute, the sounds she’d produced made my eyes roll back. I clenched my lip between tight teeth and forced myself to stay away from her, when what I really wanted to do was take a handful of those spiraling curls, tilt her head back, and put my mouth on her throat. I wanted to run my tongue over her body, letting it travel all the way down its length, not stopping until I reached a particular place under that skirt she was wearing: a place between her thighs.
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I could sense her arousal. Her eyes were glazed over, but I could still see the unfiltered lust registering in them. I’d closed my eyes and limited my senses to sound and smell, perhaps trying to even the playing field. My eyes popped open and I stared at the ceiling before deciding to consider the to-do list on the desk.
Ficken children.
My jaw stiffened.
I hated them. How the hades was I supposed to bring them to NYSM if I couldn’t stand the sight of them? Melodie and the donors expected me to fill the school with peasants who, more than likely, had little-to-no talent. I thought about the fools who served me in Koppelberg. How many had I lambasted because of their inferiority? I didn’t doubt for a second that it would be the same in New York.
But my remaining close to Melodie depended on this ficken job, which meant that my plan to have her at my side for eternity also depended on this ficken job.
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Brooklyn Knight I pushed the hair out of my face and glared at the stack of papers on the desk. Finally, I picked them up and sifted through.
My eyes narrowed.
I dug into my blazer and pulled out my cellular phone-thing, calling the dwelling.
Maude answered. “Honey, how’s it going?”
Maude insisted on calling me this. Her maternal tenor had grated me over the past few days, but for some reason, it was starting to grow on me, though I would never tell her any such thing.
“It’s going well,” I answered, clipped.
I could feel her beam through the phone.
“Did you apologize?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“And did you use your manners?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Yes.”
“I’m so proud of you, Pat. You keep behaving like that, and you’ll be sure to woo this woman. I’m sure she’s very beautiful.”
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I pressed my back against the chair and my grip tightened on the phone. “Maude, put Prometheus on the line.” I paused. “Please.”
“Of course, honey. One sec.” There was a mess of shuffling, and then Prometheus came on the line.
“Your Worthiness.”
“Prometheus, I need you to bring me my flute,” I instructed quickly.
“As you wish, Your Worthiness. Any flute in particular?”
“Yes.” I fingered the hair on my chin. “My piccolo. Make sure that it has been shined and buffed.”
“As you wish, Your Worthiness,” he agreed dutifully. “Is there anything else?”
