~Stanzas of winter, played on violin (Conclusion, mature content)~
Dec 08 '05
The Bottom Line Copyright 2005 David MacDonald
This part is, well, a bit racy!
Part Three was here:http://www.epinions.com/content_4591624324
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A woman carrying a violin opened the door. She was Paul’s girlfriend of nearly 2 years. And yet it had only been in the past few weeks that she’s done anything this mysterious, this erratic.
He looked at her. His greeting was wordless. Julianne was peculiar. Worse, she was in danger of being frostbitten.
He was embarrassed. But he didn’t know how to approach it. He wasn’t the sort to scream out “Where the hell were you?” in sheer anger. It wasn’t like him.
But - why the hell do you do this? - might have been more appropriate. Why? Why? People are talking. A couple of people at work were talking about the woman playing the violin out in the cold weather. They weren’t exactly harsh on her, but they were fairly amused, amused enough that Paul felt his face flush and the insides quiver.
“Looks like you haven’t accomplished much today,” Julianne teased.
“I told you I wouldn’t.” He saw her hang up her coat. “Must’ve forgot your scarf, did you, Jules?” She was getting careless.
“Hm! Yea, I guess I did.” She walked over to the couch, as they gave each other a polite greeting on the lips. Her skin still felt brittle, but she felt the stuffiness of the heat from the coiled heater.
“Your lips are like ice!” Paul said, stating the obvious.
“Yea...” she sighed. “It’s a great one out there today! So....” the edge of her fingernail tapping the side of the beer can, “... how many beer did you have today?”
“Three.” he said after a pause.
“It’s only one in the afternoon,” she said playfully.
“You’re right,” he said. It sounded like regret, but it wasn’t. “Maybe I’ll wait a few hours to sober up, then I can drink more tonight!”
Julianne smiled with her mouth open. “You’re really into the beer today!”
He moaned. He didn’t look at her, but took another gulpful of beer, as if despite its coldness, it was a respite from the more vicious cold of the outdoors.
She rested her head against his upper arm, letting the thin fabric of his blue business shirt do what little it could do to warm up her cheek. It felt good. She didn’t want to ask him what he was really thinking when he saw her enter the apartment.
He drank the rest of his beer. He felt her icy palm against him, massaging his chest, and her gentle touch made him want to grasp that hand within his own and bring warmth to it.
He placed the empty can between the sofa cushions. “You should put on some gloves at least, when you go outside.”
“I know. But it’s hard to hold the bow properly with the mittens I have. You really need to have your hands unobstructed if you actually want to play with relative accuracy. At least in my case.”
“Perhaps.” But if her hands were frostbitten, they’d be less effective than hands with gloves over them, wouldn’t they? “I guess I just don’t know much about playing music.”
He felt her figure as it leaned more firmly against him.
“I could teach you, you know,” she said. Her fingers quietly waved along his chest. “Someday... I could let you hold the violin... and you could try it out.”
He wrapped his arm around the crook of her hip. “I don’t know if I could ever learn to play an instrument.” His arm was firm as it embraced Julianne’s torso. “... and make it sound ... like something other than a dying animal.”
“Oh, stop it!” she whispered teasingly. She began to kiss him. “Anyone can learn.”
His hand got lost beneath her shirt as it slid up her back. He sensed her skin wasn’t nearly as cold as she claimed. Body temperature was, for her, as much a psychological state as an actual.
They continued to kiss, as she pressed her body more intensely upon him. He felt the hem of her shirt bunch up as he raised his arms further upward along her upper body, before unhooking her bra.
Her smile became more liquid as she gained a sensual respite from the harshness of the outdoors. She adjusted her body to sit on his lap, facing him, letting her face bury itself in his hair. She felt her skin tingle when she felt his tongue curling along the soft edge of her nipple.
She leaned back, supported by her lover’s hands around her lower back. Her fingers pinched the hem of Paul’s shirt as she removed it from him. Her hands slid down his chest and his stomach, before they unbuttoned his jeans.
She slid her hand underneath his underwear, letting her fingers curl around his erection. Her breathing was soft, as she could not decide on what words to say. She wondered if he thought her hands were still cold.
But he did not object. Her touch only made him retrieve even more of those restless desires, distracting him from his less sensual concerns about the woman who was now pleasuring him.
Julianne kept rubbing her palm along his erection. The different parts of her hands were used to moving gracefully, to creating and modifying a rhythm she hoped would be appealing to both herself and whoever was around to witness it.
His upper body lay back, as he became helpless to her touch. He felt like his body was being played with, that he had no choice but to respond in the way she wanted him to. But even so, he wanted her to keep on playing. Paul thought Julianne was more than adept in sexual matters -- maybe too adept....
“Hold... hold it..” he whispered, his hands grazing her wrists.
She stopped. A lover wasn’t like a violin. A violin would never tell her to stop playing. Oh, it might complain if someone distracts oneself with it while it’s still out of tune. But otherwise, an instrument was frightfully obedient.
“Why?” Julianne sighed, her face moving in to his. “It’s going well.”
“But I’ll finish up before you,” he smiled.
“So what?” she teasingly murmured, kissing him. “We’ll just start over again. I want to see you come... I want to feel it.....”
Her naughty whispers burrowed into his heart. But he crossed his arms over her lower back, intending to respectfully take over. He wanted to be the artist.
“Let me.... “ he said, easing her down across the sofa, “.... understand what you mean....”
Her heart trembled as she lost her control, as she felt him undo the rest of her clothing. Now she was the instrument without a clue as to the song to be played.
Paul observed the paleness of Julianne’s body. A bright light against it would make it like a shade of ivory, except for the red fiery tint of her pubic hair. He placed his mouth upon her sex. He felt her sighs and trembles, like a deep pit of instability before it gathered itself up into a bright orange flame.
Words were redundant. Words were more numerous when intimacy was new.
His chin rested on her waist, as he looked across her body, up to her face. Her eyelids were lined with the side effects of the drug which came in the form of moments like this. Her lips were drawn into a sleepy smile. He stretched himself over her, as he felt her hands, now warm and loosened, drag across his sides.
She kissed him like she was drinking water, as he moved inside, as they began to move together. He felt Julianne’s limbs and curves against him as they moved. And his body began to chill.
It was always like this, once in the depths in their lovemaking. He didn’t understand why his body shivered, but he could deal with it. Perhaps the intimacy was just too strong. Perhaps he really felt more comfortable within himself, when he was alone, or at a safe distance from another.
He either had to avoid and feel comfortable. Or allow his body to feel a twinge just for the sake of a closeness of some kind. Right now, he wanted the closeness. Even as he felt her hands touch him randomly, without care for which sections were too ticklish and which were not.
Her body softened as she felt him slide deeper into her, like fingers crawling into the smoothed mud after the tide has gone out. She felt her walls push and vibrate, as if the tide then couldn’t make up its mind if it wanted to come back in.
She remained there after orgasm, feeling slothful in a purely sensual way. She felt her limbs weaken, as she felt him wanting to keep going. She wanted to grab his penis, stroke it until it got hard again, so he could go inside again, and move deeper and deeper until he couldn’t go any further, until she couldn’t walk again without always sensing his presence.
But she was still happy enough to give him a smile, when he got up on his knees to quietly witness to her body, now glistening with a touching exhaustion.
“.... thank you very much, babe,” she whispered when she was able to.
She breathed like she did when she came out on stage for those violin compositions. Her chest ached with nervousness before she began. But afterwards, once the shock fell off, she felt relief, with all guilt washed away.
“You’re welcome!” Paul smiled.
“I think I’ve got enough heat to do me for the rest of the weekend now....” giving a naughty smile.
“Oh, so I’m just your furnace, huh?” he frowned with humour.
“Yep.”
Paul adjusted his position, resting his forearms gently upon Julianne’s bent knees. He faced this woman, naked, lovely, affectionate. The same woman whom he questioned and wondered about only a while ago. This was the woman he chose to be his lover. That’s just the way it went.
“You haven’t had your hair cut in a while,” he said. But it looked lovely on her, fetchingly tangled as some of the strands lamely covered her breasts.
“Too busy with my music, ya know. All the hair salons close after five around here.”
“That’s okay. I like your hair like that.” Makes her look like the beautiful woman she really was.
His fingers traced the skin of her thigh.
“Cold outside today....” He wasn’t sure if this was a question or a statement.
“Yes... very....” She didn’t mind thinking about the cold now. “I... I met this strange person today. She was this woman... she thought she could get me connections or something... involving my music.”
“Some big record producer in Saint John, New Brunswick?” he said with sarcasm.
“Nah. I think she’s just some crazy artsy-fartsy girl. God, she probably doesn’t even know anyone important.”
She exhaled, as if pushing out some kind of congestion.
She imagined that Kate truly was someone who was well-connected. She imagined Kate bringing her into a room, packed with folks just like Kate. Male and female, older and younger versions of Kate. All drinking champagne, and talking about all the latest in snobbish accessories, masquerading as new works of art.
They stood around in groups of two, or three, or four, talking about the new show which would always be bigger and better than what came previously. Only the snobby champagne drinkers would understand, or care, what these things were really all about.
All of these champagne drinkers were white and well-heeled, of course. They had no use for anything not portrayed through the prism of well-heeled paleness. Even if the work was about some sort of inner city turmoil. If a white person did it, it would be daring. If a black person did it, it would be toxic, immature, irresponsible, foolish.
“Hey, Paul, what would you think if I were a rapper?”
He laughed, surprised. “What!”
“Yea... the Saint John rapper!”
“There’s already one!”
“Really?” She was curious. “What does he rap about?”
“I don’t know; Nathan told me about it.”
“Maybe we should team up and be a duo!” she said, acting silly.
“I could see it now.... Strawberry Jules.... and whoever the other guy is.”
She made a pose of her face, her teeth exposed. “Brilliant!”
“Yea, and then you can rap about all the b*tches and the hoes of Saint John!” he laughed.
Surely there were other subjects which could be rapped about besides b*tches and hoes. And they probably were rapped about, we just never heard the songs.
Paul was just like the other pale well-heeled drinkers. “While you wear some low-cut leather outfit.”
“I’m cold enough as it is. I don’t want to be standing out on the sidewalk with my tits hanging out.”
“Your nipples would be perky!”
“Yea.... but would you be interested in what I have to say?”, her smile was drawn with a shadowy suspicion.
“What would you say?” he asked, with a certain level of curiosity.
“I... I don’t know.” She didn’t know. She knew about... what did she know? “Well.... I’m.... I’m just a po’ girl .... working in a clothing store....”
Paul laughed.
“Overlooking the Bay of Fundy shore....” she giggled, “playing my violin in the hell of winter...Trying hard not to get a splinter.........” She lost her train of thought, as she laughed at herself for being the fool in front of him
“Sounds like a number one hit!” Paul said.
“Wouldn’t it?”
“Well....” laughing still, “maybe you should just stick with the violin, huh?”
“I could do more than just play the violin ... if I tried!” She hoped. She wondered if that was her future. To keep playing those same wordless pieces which defiantly refused to give precise meanings.
He nodded, with a smile. But Julianne wasn’t convinced. You call me precious and then you call me b*tch. She thinks she heard that in a song once. That’s what it felt like.
“Maybe, Jules. I don’t know. I just know you’re a crazy chick for going out in the cold every day to play that thing.”
“Hey, I brought in 20 bucks today. Do you call that crazy?”
“They probably do it out of pity,” he said.
There he goes again. “So what, eh? I’m the one who wins out in the end.”
Paul remembered Nathan’s revelation, and the embarrassment he felt at hearing it.
“Oh...I see,” Julianne said, her voice cooing, but the lines of her eyelids hardening. “We should just sleep in all day. Forget about money, forget about eating... let’s just sleep together all day!” Forget about me, she thought as she rubbed her foot on Paul’s stomach.
“It could work, I’d like it.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
The conversation paused. She no longer felt the same as she did a few moments ago. Now she just felt misunderstood, not listened to.
But she didn’t get up from the couch for another ten minutes.
She walked over to where she left the violin case. She picked it up and took it back to the couch.
Paul noticed the fraying white threads on the black surface. He never noticed that before. “How old is that?”
“It’s more than ten years old,” she said, opening up the case. “It’s the first violin I’ve ever owned. It’s the only one.....”
The violin she picked up lost its lustre, he thought. It looked antique, historic... and yet Julianne held it as if it was something she had the absolute right to handle.
She plucked the strings, one at a time. The sounds jarred. Minor, ghostly chords which evaporated as quickly as they noisily declared themselves.
Her fingers twisted the knobs on the top of the headboard. And then she plucked the strings again. The ghosts sounded different this time.
“That sounds good, “ she murmured, her voice as ethereal as the sounds. She wasn’t paying much attention to the man sitting beside her, he realized.
But after repeated attempts with the strings, she cocked her eyes toward him, as if she signaled him. If she was hoping to goad a response from him.
“So... is this a healthy violin?” he smiled, his words stumbling.
“That’s what this bow will demonstrate,” she said, feigning the voice of a pretentious instructor.
She pressed the end of the violin beneath her chin, as the bow tapped at the strings, before her wrist slid to guide the white band across those strings. She played torn stanzas from pieces Paul had never heard in the few years he and Julianne had dated, lived together. She would abruptly cease after a dozen notes, her finger plucking a string as if in an involuntary twitch. And then she’d start again, grabbing a few notes and forming a nonsensical line of music.
Paul felt another chill in his insides. It felt like icy fingertips tickled the lining of his stomach. He couldn’t recall feeling this way any time where there wasn’t anything sexual going on.
She had power. Her body, limber, relaxed, was comfortable with this lifeless object. She was able to make this object a living piece of her when she held it. He was jealous of her.
If he tried to copy her, he would fail. He had no artistic talent. His only skill was fielding calls at an insurance company. If there was any art to that, nobody bothered to tell him.
Paul would look at her as this beautiful woman, an interesting woman. But he needed some distance. Being too close to an “interesting” person would be a risk just for the sake of saying you were dating someone unique. Being too close meant you’d have to deal with their whims, you’d actually have to see their plans through, and not throw your arms in the air from impatience. Or get a brief flash of the chills.
He would rather be here, making love to her all afternoon. Or just sitting here with his beer, and the TV on, while she was here, or hung around the house. They used to do that more often. Once she quit university, she just had her part-time job to keep her going. There was a lot of time to do that.
“What do you think, Paul?” Julianne examined his face. “Does it sound right to you?” Her eyes, joyous a while ago, turned dark and curious.
“I... I don’t know,” he said, trying to lessen the seriousness of her concern. “It sounded fine to me. If you are happy with it, then I’m happy.”
But that’s not what she wanted to hear. She quietly rested the violin in its case and closed it, the snaps thudding against the faux-leather. She forgot to put the bow back inside; she ended up tapping it gently against the case.
“I know I didn’t play an entire piece for you. You’re not getting the full flavour.” But he wouldn’t have received it no matter how much she played.
“No... I guess you’re right.”
“Ah well, it’s okay.” But it was not. She wanted him to tell her what he felt when he heard those notes. What images haunted him without preparation. But she was sure all he was thinking about was whether or not it was good for business. If it fit into any of the capitalist constructs he learned in university.
He probably thought it was watered-down crap that wouldn’t sell one CD. Which wasn’t the point at all.
“It doesn’t matter, Paul. I know you think I’m filled with odd eccentricities.” I know you’ll never understand, she thought.
He had the potential to be just like her dad, she thought. One who slowly lost the ability to hear the world around him. But at least he could hear at one time. But Paul, he was always deaf, at least when he was near her.
“What would you think if I left you, took my show on the road?” she asked.
“Like a famous and stinking rich concert musician?” he grinned.
“Yea! Just like that!” each word coming out in one solid bite.
“Oh, you’ll never be able to do that. What would you do with yourself?” smiling.
Julianne responded with a smug grin. “I’m sure I could find something to do.”
“Who’s going to cook all your meals for you? Where are you going to get all the money to afford your very own personal assistant - you won’t be making thousands of dollars a week with your violin case tossed on the concrete sidewalk....”
“I won’t be playing on street corners, dummy!” she teased. But she wanted to hit him on the top of his head.
“Hmm... well, still, how will you live? What makes you think I’ll uproot myself and go with you?” Maybe she ought to go out on the road. Get all those energies out before she came back, and acted normal again.
She nearly choked on her words. “Who.. who said you had to.”
“Nobody.” He took his time in responding.
“My heart is devoted to other things....”
“Sure... I know...”
She felt naked and exposed in a way she hadn’t planned on. She discovered she was vulnerable to other things besides the cold. She felt one note away from the end of a lengthy opus, but she could not play it. She choked, filling the air with silence.
She had no desire to fulfill Kate’s desires of being some sort of savior goddess of the classical music scene in the tundra of New Brunswick. She felt none even when Kate praised her to the fullest. But if Kate was for real, and Julianne did become an actual success, it would be something. She may begin to fully understand what it was her parents had lost.
But instead, she had the urge to break the bow. She held it in her hands like a twig. Snapping it would be like snapping a limb. But who’s limb?
Who would be the one to roar in agony from such a clean break of a limb?
She looked over to Paul, wondered what he was thinking. “When it’s warmer, maybe we ought to take a walk together. We used to do that.”
“We can still do that, you know.”
“Yea....”
She twirled the bow between her thumb and forefinger, pressing the band, watching it stretch.
It was a nice bow, showing its age, but in a noble way. To break it would be a murder.
“There will always be time - to do things like that. As long as neither of us leave town.”
“I’ll not be going anywhere.” he said. “Insurance is the same everywhere. It doesn’t get any better no matter where you go. And besides, I’m pretty lazy.”
She gripped the bow on both ends, predicting what would happen if she placed any pressure. “Hey... look at me. Where am I going to go? I didn’t even finish university. There’s many sidewalks in the world -- and people are treated the same on all of them.”
Her words came out as deepening sighs.
“It’s been a while since we’ve done this... since we’ve just hung around and did nothing,” he said. “We should do this more often.”
“Yea,” she whispered, her voice catching. She let go of the bow, letting it rest on the case. She wasn’t going to break it, not today. Not when other eyes were looking, not when anyone could make judgments.
“Hey, I thought I got out of the cold,” she teased him. “... let me put my clothes back on.”
END
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Member: David Macdonald
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About Me:
Alice, a story in nine parts, posted on Sept 24, 2008 - http://www.epinions.com/content_5241348228
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