Ahoy mateys! I certainly do hope someone missed me, while I had a blast in London. Here it is, Edward telling us (and Bella, but she gets to hear it more edited than we do) about one event from the first decade he spent as a vampire, The Roaring Twenties.

All copyright belongs to Stephenie Meyer, all hail her brilliant majesty.

Previously:

This was way better than the history channel – my own kissable encyclopedia. I kissed his jaw and snuggled closer to him, ready to hear the story.

BPOV

Summer of 2005

Edward seemed to ponder for a while, with me cradled snugly in his arms.

"You know, a lot of things happened in the twenties… Is there something you'd specifically want to hear about?"

I thought about it for a second. "Well, I don't know… what did you do for fun back then?"

I was surprised to hear him laugh, a curt, bitter sound. I looked up to see him gaze intensely at me. He seemed very amused, yet I thought I saw a trace of regret in his face.

"Bella, honey, it was much too early for me to actually go out and do anything for fun without… you know…the mere smell of all the humans around me…" He looked me squarely in the eye, as if attempting to communicate something vital. I got the message alright, but decided to let the matter drop. I would not be drawn in into another discussion about my immortality or lack of thereof.

I ignored the hint, settling instead for playing dense. "Oh. Right." I said. I controlled my expression as best I could as he held my gaze. After several tense moments he exhaled in a huff and rolled his eyes. I smiled, a small victory won, but a victory nonetheless.

"Alright." he moaned, resigned. "You want to hear about the entertainment."

"No, I want to hear about what you did for entertainment. You know I only want to know everything about you. It's not much to ask." I grinned. No, only a hundred years of life to tell, and he still steadfastly insisted that nothing worth telling happened before we met.

His lips twitched and I knew a smile wasn't far behind. I was soon rewarded with my favorite crooked smile. "The Roaring Twenties, well. My favorite thing about them was jazz."

I smiled, watching his eyes brighten as he went on. "It was everywhere, it was new, it was exciting and it opened my eyes to a completely new view on music. You know, like the phenomenon of synesthesia. You heard the band playing, and every delicate nuance of sound became a flaring light in your mind. The erratic flashing of a trumpet solo was like a string of Christmas lights. The soft tinkle of a rapid piano piece was sunlight captured in a prism. The steady beat of a bass became a small explosion in the fireworks that was the entire piece. All wild, all rapid and all simply too enthralling in my mind. It was only in those moments of complete absorption that I really was grateful to Carlisle for making me what I am."

I watched his eyes recall that ancient sadness, his expression perfectly matching mine. I felt on the verge of tears just imagining him live through all this. It made me feel even smaller and more insignificant than I could imagine. I knew it was selfish to think about myself in comparison to him, but I couldn't stop comparing and despairing over the measure I came up with. I watched as his eyes focused back on me and took in my expression. He flustered over me, his palms gently stroking my face. "Bella, Bella… don't be upset, please, what's wrong?"

I shook my head, smiling sadly. "Nothing. Please go on." He deliberated for a moment and took both of my hands in one of his, planting light kisses on my fingers. It seemed he was choosing what to say, obviously confused by my expression.

"I was in New York when Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue premiered." He finally said.

I frowned. Sure, I knew Gershwin. I'd heard the piece, and it was supposed to be jazz, but it didn't sound too jazzy to me.

"Is that even jazz?" I wondered out loud.

"Technically, yes. It's not your typical ragtime jazz, though. You won't see Velma Kelly and Roxie Hart dancing to Gershwin. It was written for a piano solo and a jazz band." His eyes narrowed. "I remember I once tried to get Emmett to learn the clarinet so I could play the whole piece at least halfway as it's supposed to sound. That didn't work out too well." He made a disgusted face. "Ugh. The sounds he made…"

I stared at him for a moment and then burst into hysterics. He seemed flabbergasted, seeming not to know whether to laugh along with me or try to explain the horror of Emmett's playing. He settled for giving me a skeptical look, one eyebrow raised, his perfect mouth in a slight frown. His face sent me into further hysterics and I was soon gasping for breath. "Oh Edward…" I gasped through laughter, "I thought you'd know better!" – gasp, more laughter – "I wouldn't expect Emmett's range in music to go further than some armpit symphonies!"

He rolled his eyes. "I learned that the hard way." He snickered.

I pulled myself up in his arms and kissed his jaw. "My brilliant vampire." I teased.

"Well, you can't blame a man for trying. Or a vampire, for that matter." He said condescendingly.

"Oh well…" I amended. "Tell me how it was to hear it live."

I watched him sigh and his whole face melted into a new expression, much alike to some ecstasy. I felt like I was watching a tape rewind as he called up the event from his memory and searched for the right words to describe it.

EPOV

remembering the winter of 1924, New York

It was a warm evening in February, the wind soft and uncharacteristically mild for Newport, RI, which is where we had been living at the time. Carlisle had moved us there after he brought Esme over to us, back in Wisconsin. I was still uncertain whether I agreed with his choice or not, but it was impossible to dislike Esme. She brought much comfort into our, well, rather dysfunctional vampire household. Unlike me, she at least seemed to have no reserves in accepting the choice Carlisle made for her. Comforted by the love she felt for Carlisle, she dealt with the monstrous thirst surprisingly well, lacking the scruples I felt for what I was. Carlisle claimed it offered steadfast evidence that us vampires – I recoiled at the thought of what it was I'd become – did not, indeed, lose our souls in the transformation, that the same rules of right or wrong still applied to us as they did to humans. Which lead to the colossal concern our chosen lifestyle presented. The assumption that we could earn our place in Heaven, notwithstanding of what we were, if only we kept to the 'Thou shalt not kill' commandment seemed a rather enormous fallacy. Our very nature condemned us, how could there be redemption for one of us?

I walked over the ocean turf, lazily breaking the crashing waves with my bare feet. I was feeling thirsty, the pain of it throbbing steadily in my throat, coursing evenly down to my entrails. It was the kind of pain I could get used to, if I wanted, but the question that kept posing itself was whether I wanted to get used to it. I lifted my gaze to a string of lights over the bay that I knew were windows of distant houses on the opposite shore. I imagined the humans existing there, unaware of the existence of such horrors as I was. Creatures that I was once one of, now mere masses of flesh, bone, sinew and blood. How easy it would be to just let go, to swim like a fiend from the pits of Hell and burst into their peaceful lives, to satiate my demonic thirst. Like Blake's tiger…burning bright, I would destroy what was good and innocent. I shook my head at myself. I couldn't allow myself such wild imaginings. They only made the pain worse. I could feel the monster stirring within me, a temptation of biblical proportions. The thirst seemed to call to me, coerce me into relenting, regardless of what my own human conscience told me, of what Carlisle's endless compassion showed me.

I sighed wearily, drawing in a ragged breath of fresh ocean air, untainted by the enticing smell of blood.

A car whirred past me on the nearby road and I caught a part of someone's boisterous speech. "Tonight, my friend, you'll see Gershwin at his best." and then "Don't ask me, that's what the poster said", followed by wild female laughter. I frowned, listening to the thoughts of the passengers in search of further explanation.

Oh boy, I wish he'd slow down. One of the passengers fretted.

I focused on the man who I'd heard speaking earlier. Whiteman's boys playing at the Aeolian. That ought to be good. The man's thoughts swirled in a slightly intoxicated chaos, but the message was clear enough. There was some new music playing up in New York tonight. I wondered why I didn't know about it, and then cursed the fact Newport was a blasted hole in the middle of nowhere where news arrived about a month after they'd actually been news.

I deliberated for a while. I was thirsty and it still presented quite a challenge to be in close proximity to humans for any longer period of time. The idea of being there when some new piece of music was premiered… well, it made this wretched existence worth living. I looked around, quite needlessly, to make sure no one was around. I could smell no one, hear no one nor hear anyone. Relying on sight was a relic of my former human life that I retained, a habit, rather than necessity.

Certain no one could see me, I darted at preternatural speed towards the mainland of the peninsula. The forests there teemed with small wildlife. I hoped to satiate my thirst on rabbits and small prey enough to be capable of withstanding several hours in a hall filled with Temptation.

I ran, feeling the thrill of speed, my eyes closed, my body given over to its instincts. I opened my eyes when I felt the hard forest floor beneath my feet, extending my senses in search of prey. To the south, where I'd come from, small creatures shuffled in the undergrowth. I heard their soft paws raking at the earth, unaware of the presence of a predator in their midst. The leaves shifted soundlessly with my passage, the only evidence of my existence amidst the grey tree trunks and sharp ferns. To the north, a small herd of deer ran through the forest. Their restlessness told me they sensed my presence. I shifted carefully, soundlessly, so I was downwind from them, and leaned forward, tracing their scent. I let my senses sharpen, sleek and deadly as a knife-point. The thirst took over. The scent of the prey enveloped me, coursing down from my nose, through my brain, tingling at the tips of my fingers and toes. My body strained, in pain from denied thirst, and I was flying, entirely lost in the death I was about to deliver. I was left behind, the monster raging between the trees with one single aim – blood. Living blood pulsing enticingly in the warm, frightened creatures that drew me like a magnet.

Before either of the animals knew the true fear of the predator, I was upon them. There were three of them and I fed like a glutton, devouring the fragile flesh to get to the steaming liquid beneath it.

Satiated, I shook away the guilt of murder. I was not a violent boy in my human years. A true city boy, I never went hunting, never even tortured stray cats or dogs as many boys my age did. It still bothered me to kill with my own bare hands. It was something I would eventually get used to, but so far, my guilt extended to every single murder I committed, burdening me even as the monster rejoiced.

I ran back to our mansion at the outskirts of Newport, a modest white dwelling on the sea shore. I heard Carlisle and Esme inside the house as I ran up the staircase to my room. Their thoughts were relaxed so I ignored them and chose to hurry.

I changed in a rush, choosing the first outfit that came to my hands, and ran down again, announcing my intentions. "I'm going to New York for the evening. Going to take the car."

Carlisle appeared at the bottom of the stairs, staring at me apprehensively.

Are you sure? He raised his eyebrows at me.

"I've fed." I nodded and walked past him.

Edward.

I ignored him, looking sternly ahead of me.

Edward. His thought rang with determination. He was not my father, and we were equals in everything. But he was still the older one, the one whose experience was not measured in mere years like mine was, but in centuries of this bleak existence. It stopped me in my tracks. I sighed and turned to look him in the eye.

"Trust me." I pleaded.

He took a step forward and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I do. If you believe you can restrain yourself, I do believe you."

I smiled. "I do. I'm sure."

He held my gaze for a long moment. "Carlisle… I think I might miss the whole concert if I don't get going."

His mouth teetered, several expressions flitting over his face. I regarded him warily, and he suddenly burst out laughing. Go, go… I never thought I'd have a son your age, sometimes I forget how young you are.

I scowled at him and he laughed even harder. I noticed Esme hover uncertainly in the doorway, curious about what got him roaring with laughter. She looked at me inquisitively and I smiled. "He's coming to terms with the realization that he's old."

With that, I turned and went for the door.

Carlisle's Ford stood solemnly in the garage, its black paintjob reflecting dimly in what light penetrated through the smoky glass of the double door. I slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. I maneuvered out of the yard and was soon speeding off towards New York.

--

The foyer of the Aeolian Hall flickered with a myriad of bright lights when I entered. The scent hit me like a brick wall, almost made me stagger backwards with the force of the pain that inflamed my throat. I almost lost myself, a bloodied frenzy threatening to take over. It coursed down to the pit of my stomach and I had to steady myself on the wall before I doubled over with the sensation.

A low roar formed in the back of my throat and I released it, gently, relieving the tension of my body. I held my breath for a moment, clearing my head before I focused on the thoughts of the humans around me.

Gee, I wonder what this will be…Joe said it was some new thing. I wonder if he realizes I'm not really into this…

Did I lock the car? Oh gosh, what if I didn't…?

Sweet mother of Lord, will you just look at that kid… what I wouldn't give to get some of that…

I turned sharply in the direction of the last thought. A striking blond woman stared in my direction, smoking a roll-up. I shuddered, trying to block out the thoughts that emanated from her. She seemed unphased, if not flattered, by my sudden attention. I stood there, frozen with mixed emotions, until she made up her mind to approach me. I froze, but recovered soon enough to make a quick dash for the nearest crowd.

It proved to be another colossal mistake, as the scent rose and delved its way into my brain. I cut off my breathing, deciding it was the safest thing to do both for me and them.

Just as I was on the verge of relinquishing and making a dash for the exit, the band made their way slowly on stage. I retreated into the back of the room, desperate to escape the scent of several dozens of humans around me. The thick cigarette smoke helped a little, but any attempt at breathing brought the familiar pain.

The hum of thoughts was a persistent murmur at the back of my mind. I pushed it away as best I could. It seemed people were getting annoyed with tonight's program. I laughed as I caught the name of the concert in someone's thoughts – An Experiment in Modern Music. Too modern for this audience, I'd wager.

It was clear the program had started quite a while ago, and I cursed myself internally for missing most of the performances.

I closed my eyes as the announcer stepped on stage, ready to receive the new sensations music always brought me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present you… George Gershwin and Paul Whiteman! The Rhapsody in Blue!"

As the last echo of his words reverberated through the hall, a soft note of a clarinet weaved itself into the smoke-laden air. It was soft and seductive at the same time, reminiscent of candlelight and purple smoke over land. I stood, stunned by the clear tone that traveled through me. It was everything I'd ever thought of the century I lived in. The lazy glare of electric lights. The thick industrial smoke of my Chicago. The heaviness of the stale gin scent that clung to the streets. The melody transformed itself into a soft tinkling of piano keys, erratic and disharmonious. I felt my fingers twitch, aching to make those sounds myself, committing the melody to memory. I was dying to get to a piano and make music. It suddenly occurred to me that the man was a genius. There it was, the century captured in the seductive wail of the clarinet. I had to meet him, I had to shake his hand. I began to move behind the crowd, all the while drowning in the waves of lights and harmony like I was being tossed around by monstrous ocean waves. I found myself by the backstage door, hesitant to enter. It would be a test appearing human in direct conduct with a human being, but it was worth the risk. I waited patiently for the band to finish the final notes and slipped inside as the sound of applause pitched in the acoustics of the hall.

A man came down the hall, shaking hands with everyone he encountered. Congratulations rained from all sides, and I suddenly felt uncertain of what in the world I was doing. I skidded towards the exit, when the man's gaze concentrated on me. He walked over to me, drawn by me as any human would be. His expression was amiable as he approached, yet I saw him recoil reflexively as he neared me. Survival instincts on red alert, I thought grimly. The man forced a smile back on his face and reached over to firmly shake my hand.

"How did you like it, son?" He looked at me expectantly.

I found myself at a loss for words, not a common thing to happen.

"It was… magical, sir. It felt as if you've captured our age in that clarinet." I smiled uncertainly.

"Glad to hear that, son. Glad to hear that." He patted my shoulder and barked out a laugh. "Gee, boy, you're freezing. Get something to drink while you still can, eh? I hear the prohibition's about to kick in."

"Yes, indeed, sir."

"Do you play, …?" He let his voice drift off inquisitively.

"Edward Mas… Cullen, sir."

"George Gershwin, how d'you do. Do you play, Mr Cullen?"

"Yes, sir, I do. The piano."

Gershwin whistled appreciatively. "You any good?" He asked, with half a smile.

I smirked, sensing the challenge. "As a matter of fact, I am."

His smile spread wider over his face as something occurred to him. I froze, stunned. Damn it, damn it, damn it. He was thinking about inviting me to perform with him up on the stage. The piece still had a second part, a valuable fact I hadn't realized up until now.

I hastened to make an excuse before he formulated his question.

"I'm afraid I have to leave, Mr Gershwin." I tried to throw a charming smile at him, and it seemed to work.

"Where's the fire, boy?" Gershwin asked lazily. "You do know the piece isn't over, do you?"

"I do, sir. But my father is waiting for me. He must drive me home, and he's working early tomorrow." I made a measured step towards the exit to emphasize my point.

"Wait a moment, boy. I'd like you to have something." I stared at him inquisitively as he decided to give me the score of his entire piece. I blinked, surprised and moved at the same time. He called over one of the stage hands and asked to have one of the scores brought down to him. The man disappeared and was back within 20 seconds carrying the score.

"Here you go, boy. There's parts missing, it's not jazz if you don't improvise it. Find me someday, we'll see if you're as good as you say." He patted me once again on the shoulder and marched off barking boisterous comments to people around me.

I turned and darted for the exit, too stunned and elated to think.

I found the car waiting, dark and cold, where I'd left it, and I slid into the seat. I sat in the dark replaying the melody continuously in my mind. It was indescribable. I shook myself all over, all thoughts of thirst forgotten, and started the car.

I didn't even remember how I'd gotten back home, when Carlisle found me at my piano staring blankly at the keys.

What happened? He was concerned.

"I just heard the twentieth century." I looked up at him, my gaze still unfocused.

He simply looked at me, waiting for further explanation. I forced my gaze to train on him and struggled to explain. "I went to a concert. An Experiment in Modern Music, it was called. They played a piece called The Rhapsody in Blue. You wouldn't believe it. I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't heard it myself. The man, Gershwin, he wrote the twentieth century, right there in that score."

I picked up the score for emphasis and he took it from me. I could hear him reading the notation in his mind and shaping the melody it signified. After a long moment, he looked up at me. You are right.

I smiled as I sat back on my piano stool. "I know I am. I want to try it, let me feel the age under my fingers. Care to learn the clarinet?"

He laughed. "I think I'll leave you to your music, son."

He was still laughing as he left the room and I dove into the rolling mists of The Rhapsody.

BPOV

back to 2005

I was quiet as Edward finished his account, completely awed and feeling very idiotic. What was I supposed to say to that? He met Gershwin, for heaven's sake. He met Gershwin on the night the man premiered his most famous piece. Lucky for me, Edward was still staring off into empty space. I gathered my wits. "Wow." I breathed.

He looked at me then, and laughed at my expression. I tried to determine what my face showed but I couldn't be certain. "Wow doesn't even begin to cover it."

I laughed shakily. "I'll never get used to you, you know."

His expression was puzzled for a moment. "Explain that, please."

"Edward, you never cease to amaze me. There I go, thinking you can't possibly be more amazing and then I realize that there's always more behind what I already know."

He rolled his eyes. "Bella, you're delusional. I don't understand how a story about Gershwin's genius ended up with you being amazed by me."

"Well, perhaps because Gershwin's been dead for quite a while, you know, and you're still around to tell the story."

He frowned, and I sensed another immortality argument threatening to rise. He knew what I wanted and he was very determined not to let me have it.

"Fine, fine. I know what you're thinking. We won't get into that. An impasse, right?"

He looked at me suspiciously. "Right."

"Great then! What's next on the program?" I asked pleasantly.

"The program?" He raised his eyebrow.

"Yeah. You did the twenties. Now move along to the thirties. I'm enjoying my little history lesson here." I grinned at him and he seemed stunned for a second.

"You're unbelievable", he said as he bent to kiss the tip of my nose. "Alright then. The thirties."

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