Piano Lessons Read online

  Contents

  Copyright

  Piano Lessons

  About the author

  Other Harper Bliss books

  HARPER BLISS

  PIANO LESSONS

  Copyright © Harper Bliss 2015

  Cover picture © Depositphotos / yellow2j

  Published by Ladylit Publishing - Hong Kong

  ISBN 978-988-13638-0-0

  All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.

  www.harperbliss.com

  www.ladylit.com

  Piano Lessons

  “Your heart’s not in it, Ruby. I can tell.” Jill scolds me for the umpteenth time.

  I reposition my fingers and put them in motion, starting on “Für Elise” again. My movements stall, my fingers unwilling to move further. Why am I still coming here, anyway? It was never entirely my own idea to take piano lessons. It was Amber who spurred me on. And Amber is long gone.

  “What’s the matter?” Jill—I haven’t been allowed to call her Mrs. Banks since my first class with her—perches on the edge of the bench I’m sitting on. “Amber?”

  At times, my lessons with Jill resemble therapy sessions more than anything else. She charges less than a shrink, so I’ll take it.

  “Her Facebook relationship status went from ‘single’ to ‘it’s complicated’. It’s been eating at me. What does it mean? Is she seeing someone?” I’m not really looking at Jill. It’s not as if she has the answers, or can tell me anything I don’t know.

  “It’s been what? Four months now?” I always like it when Jill squats next to me on the bench. It feels nice and cozy. Less lonely. “Maybe it’s time you started distracting yourself as well. And stop checking her Facebook thing or whatever that is.”

  “Play four-handed with me?” I turn my face toward Jill. Seeing her fingers travel gracefully over the ivory keys always lifts my spirits.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll play you a tune if, afterwards, you’ll come up and have a gin and tonic with Charlotte and me. Maybe it will give you some liquid courage, and you’ll actually drag yourself out of the house tonight. It’s Saturday, dear. There must be someone out there for you, if only for a rebound one-night stand.”

  “Why Miss Banks.” I feign indignation. It’s not the first time she’s said something like this. “You really shouldn’t talk to your students like that.”

  “I wouldn’t if they didn’t need me to.”

  It’s no coincidence that Jill became my piano teacher. After Amber bought me the keyboard and basically instructed me to ‘take some lessons already’ because she ‘didn’t want to be with someone who suffered from unfulfilled wishes’, I scoured the internet for piano teachers in town. Jill’s website displayed a picture of her, and her biography openly quoted her long-term relationship with ex-ballerina Charlotte Carpenter. It was a no-brainer. I was surprised I got in so easily, but Jill—Mrs. Banks at the time—told me I was lucky. One of her regulars had just moved away and a spot had unexpectedly opened up.

  That was two years ago. I’ve become a much better piano player since then, but Amber is no longer around to hear me play.

  “Nothing turns me on more than pianist fingers,” she used to say, and for a while, at least, she seemed to be speaking the truth.

  “Fine,” I say to Jill. “But only because Charlotte is always so nice to me.”

  “I told you. That’s because she has the hots for you.” Jill swings her legs over to the other side. “Now move over.”

  I wouldn’t call it flirting, these presumptuous words we exchange. It’s just the way we’ve come to interact with each other. I was shocked the first time Jill said something to me I considered untoward—during our first lesson together, when she alluded to the various benefits of possessing long, strong fingers—but I soon learned it’s all part of her liberal, free-thinking teaching methods.

  Jill is not your typical piano teacher. Her posture is regal and could imply her being stern, but when she smiles, and the skin around her eyes crinkles, I always only see warmth. It’s not the first time I’ve been invited to hers and Charlotte’s living room either. A cozy den with pictures of Charlotte, her body all sinew and muscle, at the height of her career, flanked by one single picture of Jill playing at Carnegie Hall. Together, they make a striking silver-haired couple.

  Jill positions her fingers where mine were earlier, and delivers a deeply emotional, slightly show-off-y rendition of “Für Elise”.

  As always, I’m enthralled by the swift grace of her fingers on the keys. By the sweeping, wide way with which they lift and land.

  When she’s finished, while I’m still catching my breath, she turns to me, a bit of a smile on her face, and says, “That’s how it’s done, Ruby. At your service.”

  Ostentatiously, I clap for her, and she gives me a tiny bow.

  “Come on,” she gets up from the bench. “Your lesson’s over for today. But don’t come back here until you’ve practiced that into perfection.” She straightens the crisp white blouse she always—always—wears for teaching. “I’ll pay you back the five minutes you have left of your class today with a glass of truly exceptional gin.”

  “Hey, I’m not complaining.” I always think that just being around Jill Banks, just being near her and breathing the same air she does, already makes me a better pianist.

  She heads to the door of the practice room and holds it open for me. I grab my affairs and quickly follow her, after which she switches off the light and closes the door behind us.

  “Char,” Jill shouts as soon as we’ve climbed the stairs. “I hope you’re decent because I’ve brought a guest.”

  Instantly, Charlotte appears in the living room.

  “Oh, what a treat. It’s the lovely Ruby.” She sends me a half-coy half-seductive smile.

  “Told you,” Jill says. “I’m sure Charlotte will make you feel very welcome while I fix us some drinks. Hendricks for you, babe?” Jill quickly kisses Charlotte on the cheek. I’ve heard them call each other babe before. It astounded me then, and it still does now.

  “Come on, dear.” While Jill’s teaching methods definitely have a flirty edge, it’s not the same kind of boisterous, out-in-the-open style of flirting Charlotte applies. When Jill injects some innuendo in what she says, my mind—apart, perhaps, from that very first time—doesn’t even go there. When Charlotte, like now, invades my personal space, and her perfume wafts up my nostrils, the vibe is totally different. She puts a hand on the small of my back and coaxes me toward the couch. I don’t object. Quite the contrary. I never was one to reject the obvious admiration of another lady, and certainly not of a class act like Charlotte. Also, given the emotional state I’m in, I more than welcome the lavish attention bestowed on me.

  “I take it you still need cheering up?” Amber dumped me on a Friday night and, after I called Jill to cancel my weekly Saturday afternoon class, she sussed me out and told me to come over anyway. I sat sobbing in this very couch for hours, trying to make sense of it all.

  “Please don’t tell me there are plenty more fish in the sea.” I say it with a half-smile pulling at my lips. What if, one day, I decide to flirt back? The thought flits through my brain the way a neon sign pulses. On. Off. On. Off.

  “Well, it depends what you’re looking for, Ruby, really.” Charlotte slings one leg over the other. She was always tall for a ballerina, but it never impacted her grace. She’s dressed in hip-hugging jeans and a loose shirt and still manages to ooze elegance. “If you’re looking to take your mind off things, I’m sure I can help.”

  I give a chuckle. “Oh yeah?” I chal
lenge. “And how would you do that?”

  Charlotte hitches up her eyebrows, visibly surprised by my come back. I’m usually much more demure. Perhaps I am starting to get over Amber. “Well, you know, Jill and I are here for you, of course.” She tilts her head to the left a fraction, baring the still taut muscles of her neck. “In more ways than one.”

  “But what does that mean, Charlotte?” I play along. “Can you be a bit more specific, please?”

  She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip. “I can if you let me.” She shuffles closer, and lets her hand hover over my knee. We both eye it simultaneously, as though it’s a foreign object that may well decide our future.

  When I find her gaze again, apparently the look in my eyes is enough encouragement for her. Slowly, her hand lands on my knee. Just then, Jill walks in carrying a tray with three glasses.

  Charlotte doesn’t retract her hand. It stays there as we both watch how Jill deposits the tray and stands taking in the scene in silence for a moment.

  “Well,” Jill says, in her teacher voice. “Glad we’ve gotten that far.”

  I don’t consider myself particularly naive, but I didn’t really see that one coming. The atmosphere is quickly changing from playful to charged.

  When Charlotte shifts her body to take reception of the gin and tonic her partner is holding out to her, her hand slips off my knee, but is quickly replaced by her other.

  “Thanks, babe,” she says, exchanging a knowing glance with Jill.

  As I take my drink from Jill, Charlotte’s hand still firmly planted on my knee—even gripping a bit now—as a clear declaration of intent, I wonder if I should address this or just go with the flow.

  Jill sits down in the one-seater on the other side of the coffee table. At least I’ve spent enough time with her to know she won’t give me a straight answer.

  “I told Ruby we could help her forget about her nasty break-up for a while,” Charlotte says to Jill, while digging her nails further into my jeans.

  “And what does Ruby have to say about that?” Jill eyes me with those pale grey-blue eyes of hers—a stare that shoots right through me.

  “Ruby is still here,” I say, referring to myself in the third person in a ridiculous manner. “So I guess she’s willing to give it a shot.”

  Perhaps I can’t use the pronoun ‘I’ because I need to distance myself from the person speaking those words. Yet, I have no desire to question my motives for being here. The past four months, all I’ve done is process. Tore my personality apart, listing the many flaws that drove Amber away. Looked deep into my soul and wondered who I was now, without her. But I’m still Ruby Cliff. Web designer and piano enthusiast. More life weary than before. And, perhaps for a while, more careful about romance, but this situation is as far removed from romance as can be.

  And yes, I’m looking for a good time. For that moment of pure oblivion, where nothing else exists but my body in tune with my mind. I also quite like what I see in front of and next to me. Jill and Charlotte may be significantly older than me, but I’m not someone who needs to look past a laughter line to see a beauty that once was. I see it as it is right in front of me. They’re both beautiful because of the life they’ve lived already. Their amassed experience, inherent wisdom, and the sly, sexy intelligence with which they play me, arouse me much more than a smooth patch of skin ever can.

  “As long as it doesn’t jeopardize my piano lessons,” I say, to lighten the mood a little.

  Jill shakes her head. “It’s time we put some new life in those fingers of yours, Ruby. Surely they have other talents than producing code and melodies.”

  My attention is drawn to Jill’s fingers now. Oh, what those dexterous digits could do to me. This isn’t even about Amber—she’s just a pretext now. This is about that sudden drum of excitement in my blood. That pulse of lust I lost months before Amber left. I know Charlotte and Jill have been together for more than twenty-five years. The dreaded bedroom drought must have come knocking on their door once or twice during that time. But this is no time to ask that question. Besides, the passion between them now fills the room. They wouldn’t be propositioning me—and I wouldn’t be so receptive to it—if it weren’t.

  All this talk of fingers while Charlotte’s nails dig ever deeper into my knee. I clearly feel them through the thick fabric of my jeans. She’s making the effort, and it’s working.

  In response, I sip from my gin. It’s very smooth, and the tonic is not overpowering like when you drink it at an ordinary bar.

  “Hm,” I say, and, instantly, Charlotte’s hand travels upward.

  “I guarantee you’ll play better,” Jill pauses for effect, “after.”

  Charlotte drains half of her glass and bends over to put it on the coffee table and then, both hands free, turns to me. “Jill knows her stuff, Ruby. You can trust her.”

  I look into Charlotte’s dark brown eyes. Did she instigate this? Did she start the conversation with her partner that led to this moment? Do they do this often? I have many questions, but they all get pushed to the back of my mind as soon as Charlotte slants her torso toward me and finds that delicate patch of skin just below my earlobe with her lips. Between them, they have a century of experience. The possibility that my mind is about to be blown increases the pulse between my legs.

  “Let’s take this into the bedroom,” Jill says. “Much more comfortable.”

  “Best do what she says,” Charlotte whispers in my ear. Perhaps it was Jill’s idea after all. She releases her grip on me and pushes herself out of the couch, extending her hand.

  “Come on, Ruby.” Charlotte’s voice has dipped into a lower register already.

  Eagerly, I take her hand and get up. Only half an hour ago I was taking my regular weekly piano lesson. Now I’m being led into the bedroom by two women. Earlier, when I rang the bell to this house, my head was filled to the brim with Amber and who the complication in her life was. Now she’s barely still a blip on my radar.

  Charlotte is in front of me and Jill behind me. They’re both close enough for me to sense their body heat. A blush creeps up my neck, and even more so when I feel two fingers there, gripping me tightly. Instinctively, I turn my face toward Jill.

  “Before I kiss you, know this. If, at any time, for whatever reason, you want this to stop, say so. This needs to be fun for everyone. You are not a prize for us, Ruby. We want to make you feel good.” Jill’s words are delivered with such passion and assurance that they connect with something in my gut. I never realized, until that moment, how much I’ve wanted to kiss her.

  “Understood?” Jill is adamant that I reply.

  “Yes.” I nod vigorously. Charlotte curls her fingers around my hand more tightly.

  “Good.” Jill’s bedroom voice doesn’t differ that much from her classroom voice, yet there’s a subtle, but surprising difference. In the bedroom, her tone is much more insistent.

  She leans in. Her lips are painted the lightest of off-red. Almost the natural color of lips, but not quite, giving the impression that, under every circumstance, she’s willing to make the effort. As our mouths connect, Charlotte moves in behind me, pressing her body into mine. They seem so attuned to one another—seem to know exactly what they’re doing.

  When Jill’s tongue enters my mouth, a crash of lust thunders through my flesh. Behind me, Charlotte’s hands travel up my sides. A thick, slow pulse takes over my heartbeat. Already, I can feel myself transforming. Not having my attention focused on one person makes everything feel different. More physical, perhaps, but also more intense. Not as emotional as when making love to my girlfriend, and, maybe, requiring a higher level of abandon.

  But to be in the center of this, to be standing between Jill and Charlotte, one of them kissing me, pulling me close with those strong fingers of hers, while the other pushes her ex-ballerina’s body into my back, effortlessly takes me to that higher plain of letting go. I always thought I would be too self-conscious, too caught up in questions such as ‘do
es she not mind that I caress her wife there?’ When Amber briefly touched on the topic of a threesome once, I didn’t speak to her for the rest of the day, so put off was I by the thought of another woman’s hands on my lover.

  When my piano teacher and I break for air, her partner starts hoisting up my sweater. Her breath comes quickly, and I can feel it meeting the skin of my neck in hot, short gusts. As Jill puts her hands over Charlotte’s, and they lift up my sweater together, the intimacy of that moment sends a fresh burst of lust into my bloodstream. I lift my arms above my head and, seconds later, I stand between them in my bra.

  Jill takes the time to run a finger over the edge of my bra cups, making my skin break out in goosebumps. Charlotte is already unfastening the clasp behind me and soon Jill’s fingers dip down as my bra slips off me. Somehow, in that moment, it still feels inappropriate to make my own move toward the buttons of Jill’s blouse. There’s two of them and one of me, and they are very much in charge. State of undress included.

  While Jill looks at my naked chest with an appreciative grin on her lips, she starts undoing the buttons of her blouse. Underneath, she wears a pale blue bra, and her skin is frail and white, like the thinnest of porcelain. From behind me I hear more rustling sounds, indicating that Jill and I are not the only ones getting naked.

  Before I know it, a pair of pert nipples presses into the flesh of my back and, from behind, a hand comes for the button of my jeans. Charlotte opens it and then leaves Jill in charge of disposing of my trousers. And then, I stand there in just my panties. If I had known, I would have worn something a bit more exotic than this red pair of well-worn boy briefs, but then again, I don’t suspect it still matters a whole lot this late in the game.

  Jill slants her head though, as if pondering my choice of underwear.

  “Very retro,” she says, in that commanding voice of hers.