He wished he had the patience to actually teach in a school but he felt the public school curriculum to be too restrictive, which is why he chose to work privately. Ethan, who he’d met when they were in their early 20s in the city’s symphonic orchestra, joined him later when Quinn’s symphony days were drawing to a close. Ethan had hit it big with his alternative rock band right after high school, but his career stalled when the band broke up off the heels of their debut album.
Being in love with music left Quinn with little skill for being in love with actual women, and he wasn’t surprised his only major relationship and subsequent marriage–to another musician he’d met in the symphony–fizzled after only a couple of years close to a decade ago.
Standing lean at six feet and about 165 lbs, he wasn’t a stranger to flings, especially when women caught sight of his striking gray eyes. But the older he got the more elusive a meaningful relationship seemed. Now in his late 30s, Quinn had accepted the only thing he’d regularly be getting his arms around was his cello.
He got Imaani set up with an instrument and a bow, and positioned himself with his own cello and bow across from her. To his surprise, she immediately shifted beside him and adjusted her fingers on the strings to match his own.
When he raised his bow, she did the same with the grace of a dancer, her back as straight as a rod. He curiously watched her watching him, noting that he could almost see the wheels turning in her head. Her focus was admirable.
“Is there a way I can take this home and fiddle with it?” she asked him as the half-hour drew to a close. “Pun intended,” she raised one corner of her full lips in a mischievous smirk.
“I have a notepad that says ‘Chekhov Liszt’ at the top, so I have no problem with puns, musical or otherwise,” Quinn smiled back. “I need to ask you for a deposit though.” Imaani nodded, reaching for her purse. As they sorted out the details and he showed her how to place the cello in its case, she signed up for a lesson package.
Quinn felt a mysterious thrill shoot through his spine at the prospect of not only seeing this lovely and bright woman again, but getting to see her regularly. He decided to take a chance.
“Um, it may be a little early to ask this,” he started, “but tonight–”
“Tonight?” Imaani asked, gently laying her bow atop the cello, looking away from Quinn. His words died on his lips as he saw her fish her wedding ring out of her pocket and place it back on her finger.
“…tonight…” Quinn stammered, “… you may want to go over the notes we learned,” he finished. “You know, while it’s still fresh in your mind.”
“I can’t wait to do just that, my friend,” she said while closing her purse and slinging it across her torso. She patted her cello case. “I’m going to be spending a lot of time with this guy in my basement between now and the next time I see you.” She finally looked up at Quinn and gave him an excited smile.
“Lucky him,” he replied, mentally slapping himself on the forehead.
***Present day***
“Replace you?” Claire said, coming over to them while still holding her bow. “Wait, no. I wanted to tell you guys this tonight at the pub, but this is sounding like an emergency so I’m telling you now. The symphony wants us to sit in with them downtown. At Massey Hall of all places! It’s tentatively scheduled for a month from now.” Imaani threw Quinn a worried look.
“And what’s more,” Claire continued, “It is all but guaranteed there will be entertainment agents and lawyers in the audience who will be falling over each other to sign us when they get a load of you two together.” She turned to Imaani, her almond eyes widening and her straight black asymmetrical cut dancing as she bobbed her head.
“Sweetie, I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m going to say to you what I’ve never said to any man in my life–please, please don’t leave me now.”
“There are lots of other cellists out there, and those who can actually read sheet music a lot better than me,” Imaani argued.
“And none have the chemistry you and Quinn do!” Claire reasoned back. “It’s like your cellos were having sex out there today.” Quinn tossed his head toward the ceiling at Claire’s choice of words and left the two women to talk.
T’es rien qu’un petit connard, he scolded himself in French Canadian slang. This entire thing was hanging by a thread and you had to snap it. You couldn’t just settle for admiring her from afar after you bloody well knew from the day you met she was out of your reach.
Ethan opened the backstage door leading to the school parking lot, just to see Clayton Farah coming up toward him.
“Let me give you a hand with that,” the older man offered, reaching for the door and peeking behind Ethan to see if his wife was nearby.
“Hey, Clay!” Ethan said a little too loudly as he propped open the door with two drum cases. “Yeah, Imaani’s right here somewhere packing up. City Hall closed today?” Clayton laughed, his dark suit making him look wiser and more distinguished. His eyes crinkled at the outside corners, just where a touch of white hair hit his temples.
“You say that every time we see each other, man,” he replied, patting Ethan’s muscled arm. “Believe it or not, city councilors actually do stuff. I had a bunch of things I got around to in the morning, and I thought I’d take a break and pick up my talented wife.”
Shit, it’s Clay, Quinn frowned from the wings of the stage, feeling a wave of guilt wash over him. Imaani’s already throwing me a bone by not telling him what an asshole I’ve been and getting me pounded into the dirt, and now I… argh! He scrunched his eyes shut and made himself a promise, then walked over to his cello partner.
“Look,” he said to Imaani, tossing Claire a look that indicated he needed her to leave. “Clay’s here so I’m going to say this quickly. I haven’t respected you the way I should have, which was a shitty thing to do, considering how important you are to–” he paused. “…to this group. I’m an adult and my feelings do not give me the right to disrespect your marriage.
“But I swear to you,” he went on, peering into Imaani’s eyes that smoldered like burnt wood, “if you can find it in your heart to not hold it against Ethan and Claire because of my actions, I will look at you from now on like the big, smelly tuba player I had to sit near in my first year of symphony.” Imaani cracked a smile and Quinn felt encouraged.
“Claire’s right, we can’t replace you. I’ve been playing for almost 30 years and I’ve never found a partner who’s filled in my notes or finished my phrasing like you do. Plus, you did all this in mere months after picking up a cello for the first time. You’re gifted, Imaani, and I can’t let my assholery be the reason you don’t display your gift with us again.”
Imaani exhaled slowly, glancing over to where Claire had started to chat up Clayton at the door. No doubt she was telling him about playing Massey Hall.
“You’re a smooth one, Red,” Imaani conceded, giving Quinn a wry smile. “I’ll stay. Lord knows I’d miss you guys in 10 days if I left.” Quinn closed his eyes, relieved and grateful.