Part 27 (1/2)

They played all kinds of musical pieces, from cla.s.sical concertos to popular songs. When it was time for one of them to perform solo and s.h.i.+ne in their particular musical genre, the partygoers always seemed to halt and listen. And then they would clap for a while to show their appreciation, and immediately after start mingling and chatting again until the next solo.

Lacey had agreed to do a violin sonata with Parker accompanying her on the piano. She had already performed her piece, Matthew Davidson's Bergamasques Bergamasques for solo violin. It was a modern piece with some interesting pa.s.sages. They had decided beforehand they would focus on newer compositions, rather than the older cla.s.sics. for solo violin. It was a modern piece with some interesting pa.s.sages. They had decided beforehand they would focus on newer compositions, rather than the older cla.s.sics.

But now, with Parker, they were going to play Meditations Meditations by Thais to bring the rowdy mood back down a bit, since the Sat.u.r.day night was still relatively young at 9:00 p.m. by Thais to bring the rowdy mood back down a bit, since the Sat.u.r.day night was still relatively young at 9:00 p.m.

As they began and the sublime notes echoed through the halls, people stopped what they were doing and stood there, listening. Though some appeared bored, most frowned in concentration, and a few were obviously moved-their jaws quivered and they blinked hard. The mournful piece was one of Lacey's favorites, but she rarely had anyone to play it with since she couldn't play the piano, and even if she could, she only had two hands. The soulful tune sounded simple, but it was technically difficult to coax the right mood out of the instrument. Every single nuance of the phrasing demanded emotional presence from the musician, and thankfully, this was a lesson Lacey had already learned. In the end, it sounded as if the violin was weeping in her hands, and the audience felt it.

As they finished, silence filled the house for a blink of an eye. Then a shudder seemed to run through the crowd, like a wave, and an awakening occurred. The applause that followed was thunderous and eager. Lacey couldn't keep the smile off her face as she bowed.

It was time for their break between the hour-and-a-half sets.

Recorded jazz music started to play from speakers throughout the mansion as soon as the musicians stepped off stage.

They stepped into the shadows of the hallway reserved for performers and servers, and Parker laughed and hugged Lacey so enthusiastically he lifted her off her feet. ”Wow. We totally owned the room. We rocked.”

Lacey beamed. She agreed. They had played remarkably well. It was official: her first formal performance was a raving success. ”We definitely did.” She took deep breaths to calm her frayed nerves. She'd been so nervous in the beginning, but as time had gone by she had grown more relaxed. ”Oh, Parker, you were brilliant. Your interpretation of Liebermann's sonata for piano and flute, only with Spenser's sax instead, was incredibly masterful. Amazing.”

Parker actually blushed. ”Thank you kindly, dear lady.” He glanced over his shoulder at the stage. ”Pianoforte is not my specialty, but yes, I think I did rather well.” He used his most posh voice and raised his chin in an imitation of sn.o.bbery, but his lips, twitching with pent-up laughter, gave him away.

Lacey chuckled and nodded her agreement. ”You did indeed, kind sir.”

Parker seemed ridiculously pleased, and he bowed his whole upper body. ”Oh, milady, I knew I'd win you over eventually.” Then he winked. ”I'd love to play some Dvorak with you.”

Lacey smiled. ”Me too. Sounds heavenly.”

”Oh, how come I only ever hear those words from your sweet lips when we're talking about wretched music, my dear, and never about s.e.x?” Parker pouted dramatically, his exaggerated expression downright despondent.

Lacey chuckled and bussed his cheek. ”Because we're friends, not lovers.”

”Ah, I suppose that's true,” Parker said wistfully.

”All right, I'm going to the bathroom. We're on in fifteen again, right?”

”Twenty.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Lacey saw Deacon hovering close by, obviously having eavesdropped on them because the moment their gazes connected, Deacon flushed red and hung his head to hide it. Lacey didn't know what the guy's problem was now, so she headed for the bathroom to get some relief.

Once she was done with her business, she unlocked and opened the door, only to find Professor Marchand standing on the other side, perhaps waiting to get in. Strange. Surely the man had other bathrooms in his own place.

”Professor,” she said congenially and offered a polite smile. ”Thanks again for having us here tonight. It's been wonderful to play in front of people.”

Professor Marchand chuckled lowly and then leaned forward a bit, as if taking Lacey into his confidence. ”Even if all these people are here to be seen, to mingle, and to drink, not to listen to the finest musicians of the decade?”

Stunned, Lacey didn't know which part to respond to first, the curious compliment or the disparagement of his own friends and colleagues. ”Um....”

But the das.h.i.+ng man merely smiled, waving a hand about. ”No need to answer. I'm just on my-” He frowned, contemplating the drink in his hand. ”- fifth drink of the evening, and I do believe the good stuff is really good tonight.” He winked.

Lacey smiled again, though the gesture was forced. She smelled alcohol on his breath, and since her father was a recovering alcoholic with h.o.m.ophobia and violence issues, the odor was enough to bring forth bad memories. ”Yes, of course.” She peeked past him to the empty, dimly lit hallway and tried to plan her escape from the company of her drunken idol.

But then Professor Marchand said admiringly, ”Your performance tonight, Lacey, was spectacular. More than I could've hoped for.”

Lacey's gaze flew to him, eyes widening. That was so great to hear. ”Really?”

”Oh yes.” The man nodded, smiling. ”You moved so beautifully, so fluidly. Your bow hand, your body. It was like you embodied music. Like you became one with your instrument. And you were emotionally present, all the time. Your stage presence was so natural. You have a real gift for performance.”

Lacey beamed. ”Thank you.”

”I mean, I could feel your pa.s.sion for the notes, the harmonies, the phrasing, all of it.” He sounded so impressed with her Lacey was all but bouncing with glee. ”The way you cajoled and seduced the music from the violin, oh, it was as if you were making love to your violin.”

That remark made Lacey blush. No one had ever characterized her playing in such a way. ”Um, thank you....” I think I think.

”No, thank you.” Professor Marchand leaned closer again, and his tone dropped lower as he went on. ”Watching you play was so d.a.m.n close to a s.e.x act with music I almost felt like I was watching a live p.o.r.n show at a strip joint.”

”What...?” Lacey wasn't smiling anymore. The high she'd been on was gone. This wasn't good at all. This was something darker, dirtier, cheapening his previous compliments.

Professor Marchand sounded excited about his interpretation-and then his hand came up to wrap around Lacey's wrist, and his fingers slowly inched up her arm, bare up to the elbow. ”I'd love to have a private performance. And perhaps, who knows, we could make some music of our own. Together. Tonight. After the guests leave. What do you say?”

Bile rose up in Lacey's throat at the thought of being crushed under the heavy weight of a drunken man wanting to f.u.c.k her. Her first reaction was to run, hide, and cry.

But then nausea gave way to anger, and her second reaction was part girl power, part entirely male. Dressed as a girl she sometimes forgot how much strength she had within his his manly physique and mentality. Now she used it and shoved him off hard to put distance between them. ”Get off me.” manly physique and mentality. Now she used it and shoved him off hard to put distance between them. ”Get off me.”

As he stumbled backward a few steps, Professor Marchand spilled some of his drink on his expensive black tie. ”What the f.u.c.k?” The shock of rejection indicated this was obviously not what he'd expected from this encounter.

As he was wiping the front of his jacket with his napkin, Lacey growled out, ”Don't you ever touch me again, or I'll rip your b.a.l.l.s off. I can't believe I used to believe that because you were the most amazing musician in the world, you'd be an honorable person too. I can't believe I looked up to you. I'll go to the dean about this.”

Still busy cleaning himself from his spillage, Professor Marchand nonetheless let out a breathless laugh. ”Oh, sweetheart. I'm a famous composer, and you're a little first-year student with no name. You can say what you want, but I'll spin the story until it appears I gave you a bad grade, or something, and you're las.h.i.+ng out in jealousy, envy, and revenge. No one's going to believe you.”

Lacey swallowed hard, so angry she was shaking. What he said was probably true. Those in power who had the right connections banded together and got away with everything. Still, she wasn't going to be a victim ever again.

”My name is Lacey Adair. And if you so much as brush up against me, by the time we're done you will remember my name.”

Undeterred, Professor Marchand grunted, chuckling even. ”Whatever. Your second set's about to start. Better hurry.” Dismissing Lacey with an impatient wave, Professor Marchand continued his cleaning in between sips of what was left of his drink.

Lacey felt physically sick, and her arm was itching where he had touched it. Without another word, she rushed off, wanting to get away, not just to get a breath of fresh air, but so she wouldn't kick the man in the groin so hard his nuts would become internal organs.

She was still shaking when she reached the low podium serving as a stage.

Deacon saw her first, and immediately he came up to her, frowning with worry. ”Hey, you okay?”

Mulling over how much to share, since Deacon would probably storm off and beat the guy to a b.l.o.o.d.y pulp, Lacey made a decision and put on her best casual expression, even smiling a bit. ”I'm fine. Just indigestion, or something. I'm good. Are we on?”

”Yeah.” Deacon didn't look convinced, but he nodded and walked back to the drums.

Parker, however, was standing close by, and his worried look differed from Deacon's protective one. Parker's look was darker, more suspicious, and definitely not gullible. ”What's wrong, Lacey?”

”Nothing. Let's just do the set. I'm getting tired, is all. Been a long week.” Excuses flowed out of her mouth. No, not excuses. Lies. It was surprisingly easy. But she was determined not to be pitied simply because a mentor and an idol had busy hands and got fresh with her when no one was looking. She wasn't a victim anymore. Her father may have hated and even hit his gay son, but no one else was ever going to see her that weak and vulnerable.