Wild and Violent. You Had Too Much Freedom
- -
- 100%
- +
Erik gave a stifled laugh, and I just stared at her in confusion from under my hair that had fallen over my face.
“Where do I fit in? I have the whole day free,” I shrugged. “Where are we going?”
This is probably not the way to ask … But curiosity got the better of etiquette.
“The steakhouse near Central Park. I’ve been there with Kaftz a couple of times, and we liked it.”
Kaftz, aka Kaftzefoni, was some mate of hers — or business partner, perhaps — who was constantly calling with questions, as if nothing could be resolved without her involvement. Erik, as far as I could tell, knew him and wasn’t at all jealous, even though I’d personally detected a clear, undisguised interest from this phone guy in the occasional informal conversations I’d overheard … Perhaps I’m paranoid and see a catch everywhere, but if I were him, I wouldn’t appreciate the increased attention paid to my own wife!
“Okay,” Erik said curtly, curling his fingers over the fabric of her blouse on her forearm, his amber eyes casting a glance at me.
“Table at seven. I’ll be back a little after six, and then we’ll go right away.”
“Are you going somewhere?” I asked, completely idiotic.
All I needed to know was that.
“Yes, it’s about the bar … I’ll tell you all about it over dinner,” she smiled softly at me, and my heart began to beat unevenly somewhere in my throat.
“I got it,” I concluded.
I’m either left home alone or with Erik. Well, the day has come when my stranger goes about her business — I really shouldn’t impose myself on her, should I?
After some time, she did indeed leave, and I, already confidently finding my way around their apartment, wandered aimlessly from the kitchen — with sweets and tea — to the room upstairs and returned to the living room, making sure that the yellow-eyed man was concentrating on something in the study.
My attention was drawn to the complex blueprints spread across the wide oak table, the pile of papers with notes, and the house of cards built in the corner, but I didn’t bother asking questions; I felt like if I walked right up to Erik and shouted something in his ear, he wouldn’t even notice.
Then I circled around the grand piano, carefully opening and closing the lid of the black and white keys, not daring to sit down on the stool with curved legs, but still, my restless nature took over: I poked my finger at one of the keys on the right side of the keyboard, and the sound, clear and high, spread throughout the room, resonating against the walls and windows.
“Stella said you wanted to learn to play,” the voice said behind me, and I cautiously pulled my hand back.
I turned around.
“That’s what she said …?”
Actually, that’s not exactly what I meant, but she must have interpreted my interest in the instrument in her own way. She was right, though — intention was precisely what was behind the intrigued glances I cast at the grand piano.
“If you want, I can show you something,” Erik said calmly, looking down at me, crossing his arms over his chest.
Should I agree or refuse? A stubborn, proud voice inside me kept telling me there was a catch, but I pushed it deep down, giving in to childish curiosity.
“Go ahead,” I nodded.
And he actually began to explain it to me.
At first I was puffing and frowning, and we both carefully, adjusting to each other, figured out what to start from.
He wrote notes on a lined sheet of paper, explaining what a musical staff, treble and bass clefs, rhythms, measures, durations were, and on the one hand, my head was starting to swell from the abundance of new knowledge, but on the other hand, I noticed with satisfaction how he was changing his opinion about me.
I caught on quickly — but at the very beginning he doubted that I could read.
“I, of course, have no idea how to teach music, but the main thing, as I believe,” the man said in a mentoring tone, “is to see the correspondence between sounds and that soulless ‘math’”, that’s how he dubbed the formalized method of notation, the musical language, “which defines the coordinate system.”
I understood what he meant, but it seemed we wouldn’t get to real music anytime soon. My spatial awareness, which had come in handy for playing guitar, strained a bit, but it managed to line up the semitones, recreated by the black-and-white keyboard, arranged in a row.
The funniest thing was that, while receiving theoretical information, I was gaining one insight after another, for practicing exclusively by ear and initially copying hand positions and chord combinations on the guitar, I had no idea what pattern the music I was playing followed — I was guided only by intuition.
So that’s how it all works …!
And I also realized that, despite his confident demeanor, Erik found it difficult to explain anything to anyone — especially something he considered obvious. For me, having learned about musical scales from scratch, my whole world was turned upside down, and consonance no longer seemed like magic, but merely a rule. However, we both agreed that no matter how easy it was to calculate whether a particular combination was consonant or dissonant, the magic of music was still there.
I recognized his keen interest and involvement in what he was so enthusiastically talking about, even though toward the end I found his explanations difficult to understand.
At the very end, apparently taking pity on me, the amber-eyed man wrote a short fragment of some monophonic melody and asked me to play it, making sure I’d found the starting point on the keys. Without requiring proper hand positioning — just reproducing the rhythm, the duration, the legato — he deliberately tried to incorporate into the exercise much of what he’d managed to mention over the past couple of hours — and, of course, the notes. With just my right hand — biting my lip in concentration, I played his simple melody.
“Why did you lie about never having studied anywhere?” he suddenly asked, not angrily, but with disappointed suspicion, watching me, my hands already folded in my lap.
I flushed.
“No, I haven’t! I’ve never played the piano!”
I felt really offended that, instead of praising me, he was picking on me with weird questions because of my success.
“There’s no way you’ll get it all at first attempt. And your hands — you even hold your hand correctly, well, almost …”
He sighed, looking at me expectantly.
I shrugged — I was used to injustice. Unfortunately, I often got into trouble because I was much more capable than those around me.
Or maybe he’s just jealous: I suppose he had to spend years honing his skills and abilities, taking lessons from someone, and I came along and understood everything with ease!
“I just saw others doing it,” I said.
After a long pause, Erik finally uttered words of approval — they were difficult for him, but they meant much more to me than he realized.
“Not bad for a first attempt,” he said, smiling slightly with his thin lips, leaning his hip against the grand piano’s shiny side.
Of course not bad! Just don’t let him think that this is solely his merit.
“You haven’t changed your mind, will you keep learning?”
I raised an eyebrow in surprise — really …?
“We can start with practice tomorrow. Just don’t tell Stella if possible; let her see the finished result.”
I swallowed the phrase of unconditional agreement and suppressed the puppyish delight that was bursting to come out, and then only nodded restrainedly, albeit with a smile.
“Okay,” I breathed out. “Thank you.”
Still not believing what was happening, I tried to leave as calmly as possible, but judging by Erik’s reaction, he understood perfectly well how joyfully his promise to teach me music was taken.
14. Hairdryer
Before the stranger was back home, I washed my hair, but I miscalculated the timing, and so I met her with wet hair.
As I skipped down the stairs to the first floor, I realized too late that I hadn’t even bothered to hide my impatience. In her cream-colored coat trimmed with lynx fur, she lit up the corridor like a moon, and, smiling broadly, she greeted Erik, who had approached her before me, with a hearty kiss on the cheek, and then turned to me.
“Good evening, Victor,” she directed her gaze to me, and I readily broke into a smile.
Erik snorted good-humoredly, and Stella, completely naturally perceiving my behavior, took a couple of steps towards me, but stopped at arm’s length.
“Hi,” I bleated belatedly, hiding my sweaty palms behind my back.
“You know where the hairdryer is, right?”
I didn’t expect such a question, blinking in confusion.
“Oh, come on, no need,” I shrugged, already suspecting she wouldn’t leave me alone that easily.
“Yes, there is.”
“Nope,” I shook my head again, causing my hair to fall across my forehead, with a noticeable chill on my skin.
I had already learned this trick: I deliberately provoked her with my stubbornness, getting an inexplicable pleasure from persistent persuasion in response to my resistance. If only I’d gotten to know her well enough to know how to get even closer to her …
“What do you mean, ‘nope’?”
Already barely holding back her laughter, she threw her coat off her shoulders, intending to hang it in the wardrobe, and Erik was right there, taking over her clothes.
“Let me help you,” he offered obligingly.
The stranger gently stroked his arm from wrist to elbow and thanked him with her eyes.
Erik decided to pretend that our disputes did not concern him, and only looked back when Stella approached me again.
“We’re not going anywhere until your hair dries,” she said, tilting her head slightly to the side and studying my face.
“What’s the big deal?” I protested. “What’s wrong with that …?”
It was a little more forced than it actually was.
“Better not argue, or she’ll forcefully dry your hair,” her husband responded, already closing the wardrobe door.
“That’s a good idea!”
I didn’t believe him, but I’d underestimated the stranger’s zeal. Already feeling soft fingers on my forearm, I glanced briefly at the man, as if asking for help, and he, apparently, was no less surprised — his joke had come true.
“Come with me,” she demanded gently but uncompromisingly, directing me toward the stairs to the second floor, and I moved my feet for a few seconds, and then looked back again.
Erik rolled his eyes and walked into the kitchen, no longer interfering in our stupid game, and I had to admit: it was my own fault.
When she sat me down on the bed in the room reserved to me, and went into the bathroom, where the hairdryer lay in the cabinet, untouched since last time, I even felt uncomfortable.
“It’s all dry now,” I pleaded, unconvincingly, one last time. “Really. You’re not going to—”
But she had already plugged the hairdryer into the socket and returned to her submissive victim, holding the object at the ready, like a weapon, lowered along her body.
“I can do it myself—”
She leaned over me, carefully reaching out and running her hand through the hair at the edge of my forehead, pushing it back. She was merely checking the veracity of my words, but my throat instantly went dry, and an uncontrollable tremor began to spread through my body, from my stomach to my limbs, filling every cell with languor.
It’s me who’s the pervert. I’m the one who perceives her touch as sexual provocation, and all she wants to do is blow-dry my hair.
Oh my God …
I couldn’t help the sigh that escaped my lips and closed my eyes, tilting my head forward to hide my face. I tried to sit up in a way that would reduce the discomfort of my suddenly tight jeans.
My arms instantly broke out in goosebumps — thankfully, it wasn’t visible under my shirt — and I tried not to show it as the stranger ran her fingers deeper into my hair, massaging my skin.
“Relax and enjoy,” she whispered with a smile and turned on the hairdryer.
This will be my favorite erotic fantasy from now on.
By the time she finished, I had almost calmed down, but the blood was still boiling in my veins; Stella took my unnatural blush as the effect of the hot air from the hairdryer.
“Much better now, isn’t it?” she cheerfully praised the result of her labors, and I wanted to catch her hand, but didn’t dare.
“Uh-huh.”
I looked up at her, still sitting on the bed, while she coiled the long cord and pulled out the plug.
“I’ll change. Meet me downstairs,” she smiled, catching my still confused smile in return, and left me alone.
I didn’t go down to the first floor right away; I needed to come to my senses.
15. Family Dinner
Erik was driving — somehow nervously, unusually — though maybe I was just used to Stella’s smooth driving style — and I was hot in the back seat. I was wearing the jacket, albeit unbuttoned, and the puzzle pieces just weren’t coming together in my head.
I kept thinking that this was some kind of family trip.
I understood perfectly well that my sick mind was simply constructing a picture in a favorable environment, and my attachment was based solely on the events of the past three — well, four — days, not on objective reasons.
It was unusual for me to experience trust and other good feelings; I still couldn’t believe that a good streak had finally arrived in my life, and so for every positive moment I looked for a few spoiling details.
Just to keep my guard up.
However, nothing could dampen our spirits now, especially after we left Erik’s white crossover in the parking lot a block away and walked in a single line, heading to the restaurant.
A high table by the window overlooking a busy street, cozy twilight and subdued lighting, unobtrusive music, a relaxed, weekend-like atmosphere … And, of course, the very beautiful woman in front of us, brightening the evening.
I noticed Erik leading her by the arm with a proud ‘she’s with me’ look, and how both men and women in the hall held their eyes on the stranger; and it certainly wasn’t the long, silky black dress, discreet and concealing, or the chestnut curls falling naturally over her shoulders — she looked reasonably casual.
Her husband, with great pleasure, helped her with the chair, casually touching her bare shoulder, and then sat down next to me on the left, so he could see the queen in all her manifestations.
Or so he wouldn’t bump anyone with his left elbow.
Soon Erik was deep in studying the wine list, occasionally glancing over the brochure at the stranger, while I tried to concentrate on my food choices. All the previous times I visited the dining establishments, I ordered the same thing as Stella, but this time I wanted to show my individuality.
Individuality in steaks is, of course, childish, but it’s also a chance to show independence.
When I realized the choice would be trivial, I wasn’t at all upset — this way I would have time for something more important.
“While no one has noticed us,” the stranger said, leaning forward slightly, meaning the waiter, “tell me how your day went.”
Erik put the wine list down, picked up the menu, and answered in the tone of a perfect liar, “I’m doing the usual. I was working on the project, forgot to eat lunch, and spent a long time ironing my shirt.”
The shirt really did look perfect … But how could he not mention the music!
“He taught me to play the piano,” I blew his cover. “He taught me music theory.”
“Oh!” Stella gasped, her dark eyes widening in amazement.
“But I asked you!” Erik hissed, rolling his eyes. “How can I trust you after that?”
He wasn’t angry, he just didn’t expect me to blurt out too much.
“I can’t keep something like that to myself! It’s too … significant.”
My interlocutor hemmed, but said nothing.
“I’m happy,” Stella supported me, for her part. “That’s very good news. Really.”
And again, the sincere and warm feeling glistened in the stranger’s affectionate gaze, which made me feel both pleasant and thrilled — after moments like these, I wanted to tell her everything in the world, just to receive that dose of attention in return every time.
“And how’s your day going?” Erik decided to change the subject. “You promised to tell us about the bar.”
“Yes,” she clasped her hands. “Everything’s great — the most interesting part is about to begin.”
It turned out that all the commotion in recent days was caused by the intention to open the bar, and she was solving a bunch of issues and getting to know the internal processes.
Interestingly, she seemed to have a keen understanding of what she was dealing with, especially when it came to entertainment establishments.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «Литрес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на Литрес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.