Episode 2 - Coffee, Cello, Cheekiness

Summer 2005, Via Giovanni Maria Platina

"Teach me."

The espresso tasted great. He'd been trying to get it right for years. She'd bought him a nice little machine for his first birthday that they'd been in Italy and he'd got quite good with that but what he really needed was a better quality one. But he was too embarrassed to mention it. It was her present after all. And it had meant a lot to him, bought in those days when they had almost no money. Then a while back Adamo and Lisbet had moved house and they'd finally got the space to bring her bigger one from her mom's place. So Adamo's machine was spare.

Would they like it?

It had taken a moderate amount of diplomacy and more than the usual amount of foreplay to get her to agree but in the end she'd acquiesced. Not that she was in any mood to object to anything after all the foreplay. So his small machine had gone to the second hand shop and Adamo's bigger one took its place.

"Are you going to teach me? I'd like to learn."

And what Adamo didn't know about espresso machines wasn't worth knowing. It was large and silver and very retro-y and had clever looking temperature dials on it, and knobs and it could do a single measure or two and everything you could possibly want. And the money from the old machine had paid for a new external hard drive for her laptop. Everybody wins.

"We could do it together."

we. do it. together.

Subliminal registration of the words brought him back from the fantasy land of the amazing taste of a really good, smooth cup of espresso.

"Hm?"
"If you teach me."
"Teach you what?"
"The cello."
"Really? You'd like to learn?"
"Hm."

knees apart. skirt pulled up. the wide instrument holding her open.

Cellos were made to be played by young women. Was there a finer combination of image and suggestion to be found anywhere in art? Add to that a really good musician and the result was what God had intended heaven to be like.

"Sure, I'll teach you. I'll borrow one from the school."
"I want to learn on grandpas one."
"Yes, you will, but it will help if we have two. I can teach with just the one but having a second I can demonstrate easier."
"Great. But can we make a start now?"
"We can. But why the rush?"
"No reason. I've been thinking about it for a while and just thought I'd mention it."

did she emphasize an 'it' in there just then? just slightly? changes the meaning a little, hm?

Seiji looked at the cello. Since its arrival it had lived in the corner of the dining room. He'd made a polished mahogany stand for it. He played it occasionally but he wasn't a great player. It took up too much space but there was something nice about a cello in a room, especially this cool, tiled, plain cream-painted dining room. The rich reddish fox-pelt colour of its wide belly plate and the fine curve of the neck gave the room a touch of quality and taste. When friends came round the conversation usually turned to it at some point.

"That's OK, it's just that you never mentioned it before."
"Well, I'm mentioning it now."

this was an exchange of the bleeding obvious

"The idea only came to me in the last couple of months, while I was working in Kyoto, since it arrived here."
"All right, let's clear some space."

They put the dining table back against the wall and moved a chair out. Seiji picked up the cello.

"How do you want me?"

Mentally he raised an eyebrow.

bentoverthetablewithyourlegsapart

"Just sit, keep your back straight."

She did so.

"Open your legs."

She did that as well.

am I going to be able to teach her anything? when she's like this?

"Wider, you need to open them much wider."
"Well that's it. It's this skirt. It's too tight."
"There's two options. Cellists either wear trousers or very long loose skirts. Can you get changed?"
"There is a third option."

She looked up at him. She was wearing that look. Once that look showed up, Seiji doubted if any serious teaching would get done. Once that look showed up basically nothing serious ever got done at all. Until she was satisfied. He could tell what was in her mind. Shizuku stood up, reached behind for her skirt catch and drew down the zip. She slithered out of the tight rose-coloured skirt (it was half of one of her older suits she'd worn when working) and gracefully stepped out of it. Her white tee shirt was long enough to tuck into the waistband of the skirt but no longer. Not long enough. It didn't cover anything. His gaze went straight there. Pink. The pink set today. The pink set that was see through. The pink set that was see through enough so he could see a hint of her. One of his favourites. And her usual skin tone stockings. This was hopeless, if she wanted him to teach her any cello, this was going to be a complete waste of time. Unless of course she'd had other plans all along. She smiled sweetly at him and sat again, and spread her legs.

"Come on then, give it to me."

That look was back. Innocent, teasing, cheeky.

"You don't want to learn the cello do you?"
"Yes I do. Why do you think I took my skirt off?"
"How do you seriously expect me to teach you a musical instrument dressed like that?"
"You're not dressed like this are you?"

She suddenly looked worried. He rolled his eyes.

"Stop messing around. You know exactly what I mean. Shizuku, I can't concentrate on teaching when you are in this mood."
"What mood? I want to learn the cello. What's the matter with you? Pass it to me. I'm sitting here with my legs wide open and you're acting very strangely."

still she smiled. I know what game you're playing.

Sighing, he swung the big instrument around, turned its back plate to her, placed the foot carefully in a joint between two tiles where it wouldn't slip and leaned the wide body in and against her.

I want to be there

She got comfortable, adjusting her knees so it was lightly supported and it leaned into her left shoulder, her left hand lay on the neck. He found the bow and handed it to her. She experimentally waved it and then rested it across the bridge.

"Let me just check your posture."

He walked around behind her, put his hands on her shoulders and checked for tension and position there.

"Sit up a little straighter."

She did so and he slid a hand in behind the instrument and placed it flat on her stomach, pressing her softness back a little.

"No, you need to be more upright. Spine pressed back against the seat back. Better. It will feel odd at first, it's not a natural sitting position."

His hand there didn't feel odd at all. He pressed again, making the most of the opportunity. He completed his tour of her position. He squatted before her and put his hands on her knees, checking for how firmly she was supporting it.

"How am I?" she enquired, "open enough for you? Or do you want me wider?"
"No, that's fine. How does it feel? Comfortable?"
"Feels odd. Don't often have my legs like this."
"Closed this much you mean?"
"If you're not going to be serious, Seiji, I can hire a private tutor. He'd be expensive, and I'm sure he'd be happy to make sure my legs were wide enough apart."

Seiji sat back on his heels, this was a waste of time. He stood and walked into the kitchen and picked up his half-drunk espresso. It had gone cold. He returned to the dining room and leaned against the door jamb. He sipped the cold coffee. Yuck. The best he'd yet made and he'd had no time to enjoy it.

He looked at her. She, with those eyes, those big eyes, looked back. Expectant. Innocent.

who me? do what with you? I don't know what you mean!

"You've got a choice. Either you get dressed and I teach you some cello. Or you take off the rest of your clothes and we do something else."

ultimatum time. had he blown it?

She looked at him coolly, levelly. A small hint of something played at the corners of her eyes.

"Do you mean that?"
"Definitely"
"Work or play?"
He nodded, "Work or play, you choose."
"Hold this."

She lifted the cello with her left hand and pushed it away from her. He set down the cup, took it and moved it aside, leaning it into the corner of the wall. He took the bow as well.

"I think I need a practical posture lesson first."

She crossed her arms in front of herself, took hold of the hem of the tee shirt and smoothly lifted it up and over her head. The pink bra was sheer as well.

"You be the cello. I'll play."

-o-oOo-o-

He did teach her in the end, and she did become quite good. It took two years and she kept her clothes on every lesson. After that day they never mixed business with pleasure. Because they both knew pleasure would always win.

There would be some days he'd come home from the workshop and she'd be playing, the apartment would be deliciously filled with that deep mellow sound. He'd shower and change while that music lifted his heart. Some days she'd be dressed and he'd go in the spare room, quietly sit, and listen to her playing. Or he'd take a violin and join her. Those times were magical.

Other days, he would peer around the door and she'd have her back to him. And she'd be naked, or wearing something frivolous and pretty, and rude, and that beautiful reddish fox-pelt coloured cello held firmly by her spread knees, would have the most wonderful sounds drawn from it by her hands. Just as he would when he, naked, took its place minutes later. Those times, in their own special way, were magical too.

-o-oOo-o-

20 - 21 Feb 07