Melodic RedemptionChapter 5
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The rest of Friday dragged but eventually four-thirty came around and I was out the door. At four-forty-five I was in traffic and my phone played me a flute solo. Jo.
"Hello, princess," I said.
"Hi, Stoney," she said. "Are we still on for tonight?"
"I'm headed home right now. Whenever you want to show up."
Giggle. "I'm on the way. I'll get there about the same time you do."
"Okay," I said. "I was hoping to have time to clean up, though."
"You work in an office, Stoney. You've met me after work. It's not like you're gonna reek or something."
"You're more familiar with me than I thought," I said.
"You're my Stoney," she answered softly.
"And you're my Johanna," I countered.
"See you in a bit. I'm hanging up so you don't drive distracted."
"Okay, sweetness," I said. "Bye."
"Bye." Click.
Ten minutes later I pulled into the parking lot, spotting Jo sitting in her little Honda. I got out of mine, grabbed my attache' case and waved at her. She opened the door of her car.
"Do you have your flute," I asked.
She nodded happily, reaching back into her car to retrieve the case and her own backpack. Backpack. College student. She was more apt to carry that backpack than a purse on most days, only abandoning it for occasions when we 'dressed up' to go to dinner or a movie.
As she reached my side she was smiling still. "I didn't realize I would be required to play for my dinner, sir."
"Worse, far worse than that," I laughed back. "My fingers're numb from trying to play harp music on a banjo. Somebody had a bright idea..."
Giggle. "You really are trying?"
"Ma'am," I said, "Not only am I trying, but in some cases I am succeeding."
"I gotta see this," she said.
"That may be the best approach: See, instead of hear," I said.
"If you were doing that bad, you wouldn't've mentioned it," she smiled.
I unsheathed the key to my townhouse and let us inside, then shut and locked the door behind us.
She sniffed. "New smell. Air freshener?"
"Potpourri," I replied.
"Put that briefcase down, guy. You need both arms."
I complied. Found that two arms were wonderfully employed when filled with soft femininity in the mood for kissing.
We were both equally breathless when the kiss waned. Still I held her in my arms and she clung to me with her own.
"Did you miss me today like I missed you?" she questioned.
"In the most horrible of fashions. If the lights go out in Guatemala, you are partially responsible," I said. "Thought about you entirely too much."
She looked at me from close range, sky-blue eyes reading my soul. "You're serious about this?"
"This? Like 'me and you' this?"
She nuzzled her head against my chest. "Yes."
"Probably more serious than I should be for as long as we've known each other. But, serious. Because I think a lot of you and you're not somebody I'd toy with."
"I don't see you as the toying type, Stoney," she said, turning her face up.
I couldn't resist the implied offer of another kiss. She molded herself to me as we tasted each other.
Finally we parted. "Wow!" I said. "You..."
She smiled. "Pizza? Only reason I'm saying it is because 'Wow!'."
"I know," I said. One more time. "Wow!"
"Let's talk serious," I said.
"Serious?" She looked suddenly concerned.
"Yes. One of the watershed moments in any relationship is the compatibility of choices in pizza toppings."
"Then let me rush out on the limb," she giggled. "Regular crust, loaded, with anchovies."
"Anchovies? You're serious?"
"Yes. Scandinavian roots introduce an affinity for rotted seafood. I can do without, if that's more than you can handle."
"I love anchovies. In my opinion, they define a good pizza. This place I'm calling, they can double up on them."
"Call 'em. And yes. Double." She smiled. "So how do I fall out on that watershed moment? Hmmm?"
"Another check mark on the 'plus' side," I said as I called up the pizza company's webpage. She looked over my shoulder as I navigated the order process. "I don't order on line very often. Usually it's just me, and if I order the minimum order I end up eating pizza for a couple of days."
"Anchovy pizza's even better the next day," she said. "The flavors meld."
"Listen to you," I laughed. "A connoisseur of leftover pizza. We have thirty or forty minutes."
"Drag out your banjo," she said. "Let's see what you can do."
"Don't laugh. I do this on the side, you know, between sailing and the rest of life. Including running around with a red-headed cutie pie." I opened up the sheet music folder and just like the old song says, I put the banjo on my knee. She waited expectantly as I flipped pages.
"You're doing the Third Movement?"
"Yeah," I said. "I listened to it carefully and the harp runs are really quite similar to bluegrass banjo rolls. And it's in the key of C, which is not too awfully hard for me."
"I'm all ears."
"You're not," I laughed. "I looked."
Giggle. And she stuck her tongue at me.
I launched into a phrase. Her eyes widened. "Hey, that's not bad at all. Wait!" She opened the case of her flute and assembled it. "Gimme a note!"
"D," I said, hitting a string, letting it ring. She matched the note, made an adjustment.
"Again," she said. I did. "Okay, let's see." She put her sheet music on the stand beside mine. "We'll do this passage. Can you start here at this measure?"
"You know, don't you, dear, that I've never really played with anyone else."
"So we'll learn together, huh. I'll count down. One – two – three, and you start, okay? And I'll be right there with you."
"Let's do it," I said. There was a flash in her eyes, then a smile, and she said "One..."
And we made music together. I only wish that the notes flowed from my fingers as they did from her lips. Jo was perfect. Me? Not quite so. Still, we had fun.
"You need to learn to move on past one of those wrong notes, baby," she said. "That's one of the things you need to learn. You're a perfectionist. When you do a wrong note, you come to a stop. You need to just recognize it and keep on playing."
I heard what she said, but when she appended 'baby' at the end of the first phrase, my mind went blank for a second.
"You're not listening."
"I heard you call me 'baby'."
"I've called you baby before," she said.
"I know. Still sounds strange."
"That you're my baby?"
"Yes," I answered. "I like it."
"Good. It is what it is. You're my baby. And I'm yours."
I smiled. "Yes you are," I said. "One more time." I straightened my banjo and she raised her flute and we ran through a passage. We were getting better together. Musically, too.
The doorbell rang, harbinger of pizza. I put the box on the counter and opened the lid with Jo anxiously at my side.
"Mmmmm," she said. "I can smell the anchovies."
"What a rare creature you are," I said, handing her a plate. "Coke?"
"Wonderful!"
We sat at the table across from each other, eating, talking and laughing.
"I LOVE this," she said. "Nobody I know of wants these things."
"I love 'em myself," I said. "And I'm like you. If I have 'em, I usually get my own pizza."
"How do anchovy kisses usually affect the evening's amorous activities?"
She replied, "First, there are no amorous activities and second, I am familiar with chewing gum, mouthwash and a toothbrush."
"A sure sign of your cosmopolitan upbringing," I said.
She laughed. "You're a beast! However, since the two of us have both had the dreaded little stinky fish, we reek equally, so that's not an issue. However, since I am playing my flute, I need to brush my teeth after this meal."
"And I have to wash my hands. Can't be getting pizza grease on my banjo."
Giggle. "Sounds almost lewd," she smirked.
"Wasn't meant to be, but that idea of anchovy-tainted kisses sounds attractive."
"Let's see," she said, rising. I met her halfway. The kiss was wonderful, but our reluctance to use pizza-oiled hands on each other somewhat dampened the ardor. Which is probably a good thing.
We finished our pizza amid happy talk. I had leftovers for the fridge. As I was putting it away, she asked "Do you possibly have a spare toothbrush?"
I was thinking that might be construed as an odd question. And I had an equally odd answer. "Yeah, the top drawer on the vanity. There's one brand new, still in the package."
"I'll be right back," she said. I heard noises from the bathroom.
"Holler when you finish. If you're brushing your teeth, I'm brushing mine."
"Then come in. We can share the bathroom," she said, followed by the sound of water running.
I barged in, finding her bent over the basin. I started my own exercise as she rinsed her mouth. She cleaned the toothbrush and placed it in an empty hole in the holder.
"What an interesting next step towards intimacy," she said.
I didn't try to answer that one just yet, not with a toothbrush and a mouthful of foam. She tiptoed and kissed me on the cheek, and darned if it didn't feel ever so intimate. She scooted past me in the bathroom, bumping up against me rather more than I imagined necessary. The bathroom isn't THAT small.
Walking out of the bathroom into the living room, I said, "Intimate?"
Giggle and laughing blue eyes. "Yes, definitely intimate. Get to hear each other make disgusting noises. Making funny faces. And showing me your private areas, like the drawer in your bathroom." Giggle. "And no pink toothbrush."
"No second toothbrush at all," I replied. "I've never had a woman spend the night here, and certainly not one who saw a need to leave her toothbrush." Which is why I was a bit surprised at her retort.
"That's MY toothbrush in there now. Make you nervous?"
"Should I be? I mean, I have this incredible girlfriend who comes over, eats anchovy pizza with me, and practices good oral hygiene while we play music."
"MAKE music," she said. "'Play' isn't quite serious enough for what I'm doing. With music."
I caught the pause. Wondered if it was as significant as it could be.
"You didn't say anything, Stoney," she said. "You're thinking again."
"And you're reading me like an open book."
"Book? What's this 'book' of which you speak? I seem to remember hearing of a communications medium from before everybody had iPhones and iPads..." Giggle. "And yes, your face speaks even before the words come out of your mouth. That's a good thing, too, because you seem to clam up to people who care about you, you know..."
It doesn't help to tell your troubles to others," I said. "Half of 'em don't want to hear, and the other half figure you had it coming to you."
She snickered, then caught herself. "Don't try to hide behind humor, Stoney. I'm serious."
"I am too, beautiful Johanna. You're the first person I've ever really had a talk with about that day. Other than therapists and debriefing officers."
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