“No,” I agree. “But I thought—for the market—”
“It’s perfect.” He nods with satisfaction.
“It was wonderful, of course,” Zee says, “but Elliot—wouldyou play the same piece for us that you began the other night? The unfinished one. It was so lovely, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. But you left us on a cliffhanger, and Imustknow how it ends.”
I smile politely, ignoring the twinge in my chest. Perhaps it’s indigestion. “I’m afraid I haven’t been able to find an ending for that particular piece yet, though it’s a little further along. But I’m happy to play it for you again. It may be that an ending will come to me as I do.”
Niklaus wanders over to the piano with me, leaning casually against it as I place my fingers on the keys. “We’re so happy to hear you playing again, Elliot,” he says softly. “And so pleased that you’ve been able to work while you’re here.”
My fingers slide around, sounding an off note. “I’m not so practiced these days. But thank you.” I settle my fingers on the keys again, close my eyes, and try to hear Oliver’s song.
There’s nothing there.
Or at least, it’s so faint that I can barely hear it. I ignore the rising panic, take a deep breath, and remind myself of the notes themselves, written down in black and white on the music sheet in my room. Usually I can picture them with ease, but tonight the notes curl in on themselves in my mind’s eye, jumping from line to line, little birds that won’t settle on a telephone wire.
I take another breath, just as Niklaus says, “If it’s too much, please don’t feel—”
“I’m perfectly well,” I say, a little more snappish than I meant. “I just need a moment.” He retreats from the piano, as though to give me space to think.
I cast my mind back, trying and failing to remember.
I really am starting to panic now.
This was how it began, soon after Martin abandoned me at the altar. I simplycould nothear music in my head anymore,could notremember the notes from the page. Even with a sheet of music in front of me, I struggled to sight-read, struggled to play.
Thank God Almighty that Oliver is not here to see this. But in thinking of him, I find a lifeline. When I think of the notes I carved into his body, think of him warm and receptive below me—there, finally, I find my music.
I let my fingers play the opening notes as I laid them out across his chest, and then I improvise a little as I try to mentally turn and read the notes across his Adonis belt. By now, I’m over my initial stage fright. The music comes more easily to me, certainly not flowing out of me like it did the other night, and I still can’t hear it in my head the way I normally do…but it’s good enough.
The problem is,good enoughhas never been good enough forme. I’ve always been a man who sought perfection, even knowing logically that I’d never find it. It was what I wanted all the same.
And I have no ending still, which I discover only as I come to the ends of my endurance. My fingers trail off into silence, and I look across at Niklaus and Zee. “I’m sorry,” I say stiffly. “I still haven’t found out this particular piece. It’s hiding from me.”
But to my horror, Niklaus and Zee both look unbearably sad. “Good Lord, was it that bad?” I ask, trying to sound light, but fearing the critique.
“Not at all,” Zee says after a moment. “It was as beautiful as ever. It’s just that… It sounded quite different the other night. This time it was just so…melancholy.” Her voice drops as she adds, “I’m sorry if we asked you to play again too soon.”
I look down at my fingers, lying useless and sprawled on the keys. Why did I ever think I would recover my gift? I spent three whole years ignoring the Muse. No wonder she’s abandoned me.
Just like Martin.
Just like…
I stand and shut the lid over the keys a little harder than I should, prompting a faint disharmonic thrum from the piano strings. “I’m more tired than I thought,” I say. “If you’ll excuse me.”
I barely hear their polite goodnights as I rush from the room and back upstairs. I only hope I’ll get there before I make a public spectacle of myself. I stumble into my room without meeting anyone, thankful for once at the size of the house, and drop onto the piano bench, staring at the notes I wrote only this morning.
Of course.Yes. There—and then into the transition—of course. I hum it to myself until the dizziness recedes, and I relax.
When I read it here, it makes sense. But I still can’t remember where I was going with it. I had the whole piece soclearin my head the other night, with my cock resting in Oliver’s warm, accepting mouth—
It finally strikes me that what I thought earlier was wrong. Soverywrong. I have not, in any sense, recovered my music.
Oliver has gone, and my music has gone along with him.
CHAPTER24
Oliver
