As Ethan’s bass pedal counted them in, Imaani’s body throbbed while her arm automatically moved her bow into position. Feeling the beat pulse through her, she churned out the first few bars of the Arctic Monkeys’ Do I Wanna Know and tried to channel the heavy rhythm guitar line she’d enjoyed so often. Her cello was now an extension of her body.
Her eyes turned up toward her partner, Quinn, knowing exactly when he’d start playing the vocal line on his own cello. Her background riff melded into the perfect support beneath his melody and she gave him a little smile before turning back to her strings. Behind them but standing in front of Ethan was Claire, mimicking the falsetto background vocals of the original song on her violin.
“If this song were in a movie, it’d be right at the point when the characters either started having sex or robbed a bank,” Imaani had told her group members months ago when they started arranging it together for two cellos, a violin and a drum kit.
“Maybe one first, then the other,” Ethan joked back. Quinn hadn’t said anything, instead furrowing his brow while scribbling notations on his sheet music. He contemplated the notes for a minute, resting his fingers in his auburn hair while his gray eyes squinted, then went back to scribbling. He was a perfectionist, especially when he knew he’d have a discerning audience.
But the kids in the school auditorium today murmured their delight upon hearing string instruments play a hit rock song, as did their teachers standing along the back. Quinn’s eyes met Imaani’s as they built a crescendo toward the chorus, then entered the second verse.
She looked down to her cello as they headed toward the bridge a second time, but glanced back up just as his lips started mouthing the lyrics to her.
I’m sorry to interrupt
It’s just I’m constantly on the cusp of tryin’ to kiss you
I don’t know if you feel the same as I do
But we could be together if you wanted to
Imaani’s concentration tripped and she missed a note but she fell back in with the reassurance that ninety percent of any audience wouldn’t recognize short blips in most songs. She grimaced and continued the rhythm guitar riff while Claire picked up her pace with a quicker, more intense violin line toward the end of the song.
“What the hell, Quinn?” Imaani demanded backstage once they’d gone through the routine of answering questions from the kids and playing a couple more songs to finish up the assembly.
“What’d he do now?” Claire asked, looking back and forth between them as she opened her violin case. “Is that why you missed your cue back there?”
“Sure was,” Ethan smirked, nestling his sticks in the side pocket of his cargo pants.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Quinn quickly told Imaani, pulling her away as some of the school’s music students helping them pack their gear started talking to Ethan. “I didn’t mean to say that to you; it just happened in the moment.” He paused, getting lost in Imaani’s dark brown eyes, not noticing the frown that wrinkled her mocha skin.
“In the moment?” Imaani asked. “If my count is right, this is the third time you’ve propositioned me during a song in the middle of a concert.”
“Propositioned? Whoh, whoh, I might not realize I’m singing along with a song sometimes but I’m not actively trying to hit on you,” Quinn explained. Imaani crossed her arms and glared at him.
“But if I’m being completely honest,” Quinn added, “my feelings aren’t going to change as long we’re playing together, as long as I have to see you this much.”
“Look, Red,” Imaani said softly. “Playing with you guys is the highlight of my week, and I’m happy to help send more business toward the music academy. But we…” she spun her fingers between the two of them, “… can’t happen. You know why.” She reached down into her pocket and slipped her wedding ring back onto her left hand.
“Just because I don’t wear it when we’re playing doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. If performing together is the problem for you, I don’t want to torment you any longer. Let’s just round out our existing commitments. Maybe in that time you’ll find another partner to replace me.”
***Three years earlier***
“Hi, I’m here about the sign in the window?” Upon hearing a woman’s voice at the door, Quinn looked up from behind the front desk of the music academy. “Um, it says you can have a free lesson with any instrument?” she asked.
After walking around a couple of pianos and a row of guitars, Quinn found himself peering at a willowy woman with a flawless sable complexion. Her black hair was relaxed in waves that hung to her shoulders and her features were delicate, almost adorable. She looks like that actress Sharon Leal, he thought to himself. She seemed to be about 5’6″, 135 lbs, and in her mid-thirties.
“Sure,” he said. “It’s a 30-minute lesson and there’s no obligation to continue, but you only get one lesson with the instrument of your choice. If you choose to continue, we have a rental program for the instrument and several lesson packages. Who’s the student and what’s the instrument?”
“It’s me,” she smiled shyly. “I’m sure most of your students are kids or teenagers but–”
“No, no,” Quinn reassured her. “We get a lot of adults as well. Sometimes you’re older and you find yourself with more time and inclination to learn a new thing.”
“That’s exactly where I am,” the woman nodded, looking a bit more comfortable. “Sorry, my name’s Imaani. Imaani Farah. I, uh, I always wanted to play the cello. My daughter, Natasha, is in middle school now and just as you said, I’m finding I have more time to do the thing I always wanted to do.” Her cute nose wrinkled as if to ask whether she was making sense.
“Well, that’s why I’m here,” Quinn said, holding out his hand. “Quinn Michaud. I own this place and I’m one of the teachers here along with my friend Ethan. I teach strings and woodwinds; he teaches percussion and brass instruments.”
Observing Imaani’s dark beauty as she took his hand in hers and lightly shook it, he suddenly felt lanky and awkward with his freckles and auburn hair that turned a deep orange in the sunlight. Elle est ben chix, the thought crossed his mind in his native French. It also occurred to him in the same moment that it’d had been a long time since he’d last considered a woman hot.
“You’re in luck,” he stuttered out loud, a little embarrassed he’d been staring at her, “The cello is my primary instrument as well. I’m free right now to start on your lesson if you have the half-hour.” Imaani grinned at him and nodded excitedly.
Quinn had performed in everything from school orchestras to the city’s local symphony throughout his adolescence, obsessed with knowing his cello inside out. There was barely any time for dating or a personal life as he also grew interested in other instruments and pursued a degree in music.