Chapter 27
After I'd dried my hair, I hummed happily as I followed Monroe downstairs.
"So, what are we humming?" he asked while looking over his shoulder at me.
I thought about the song and grinned some more. "Just something my subconscious feels is comme il faut."
"Oh, really? A befitting song of your subconscious, huh?" He gave me a sly grin. "Is it on your MP3 player?"
"Yeah, it is," I slowly replied with eyes wide. "I thought you didn't parlez français."
His grin continued. "I know enough." I'd have to watch my French. "Put the song on for me," Monroe said casually as we entered the living room. It wasn't authoritative or demanding. Just a simple request.
The song was Jason Mraz's 'I'm Yours.' I mentally ran through the lyrics. It wasn't too forward and didn't profess anything more than what I'd already told him. I nodded in his direction and crossed the room to where my bag was sitting on the cedar chest, retrieving my MP3 player from inside. I hooked up the MP3 player to Monroe's stereo.
"So I won't hesitate no more, no more.
It cannot wait, I'm sure.
There's no need to complicate, our time is short.
This is our fate, I'm yours…"
As the song played, Monroe listened intently to Mr. Mraz sing about not hesitating anymore and it being our fate. The words 'I'm yours' elicited a sly smile on his lips as his eyes flickered red. The lyrics danced around the crazy 'L' word as easily and as often as I did. It talked about love, but it never really came out and said it. Maybe that's why I'd been humming it.
"Your taste in music always interests me." He gave me a smirk. "This is better than 'Henry the Eighth' by far."
I shook my head, but didn't reply. Oh my, what other songs could I have possibly hummed in my drunken stupor? I kicked the thoughts out of my head.
"Let's make breakfast." Monroe grinned at my silence as he wandered toward the kitchen. "I worked up quite an appetite."
The song was close to ending and I stood by the stereo.
Monroe leaned his head back into the living room. "Come on in here. The music can play in the background." He smirked at his ploy. Duped again. Clever, Mr. Monroe, really clever.
I walked into the kitchen with a slow shake of my head. Yeah, the music was quite audible in here, too.
"So, what would you like today?" Monroe asked. "I have eggs, or I could whip up some blueberry pancakes."
I beamed at him. "I'm in the mood for whatever," I replied as I listened out for the next song. Musical roulette sucked. This one was a combination of all my playlists. I sighed internally.
"Pancakes it is!" Monroe's voice piped up, and that genuine smile of his lit up his baby blue kitchen. "And I also have fruit and yogurt," he added brightly.
Don McLean's 'Starry, Starry Night' played in the living room, soft and sweet as Monroe pulled out ingredients for our meal. I swayed as I hummed along to the music while I sliced strawberries and cantaloupe at the counter.
"I like this song," Monroe commented as I continued with the fruit.
His eyes were on me, I just knew it. I turned slightly and was met with two pools of chocolate. They were saying, 'what does this song mean to you?'
"I'm intrigued by Van Gogh," I said. "This ode to him has always been a favorite of mine. Sweet yet sad. He led a hard, complicated life."
"Wow," said Monroe. "You said his name correctly. Most people botch it up something awful."
I shrugged. "Well, his name isn't 'Van Go,'" I chuckled.
"You know, Van Gogh's most famous works were painted in the last two years of his life. In 1885 he…" Monroe paused his factoids and looked back at me. "Which pieces of his do you like the best?" he asked.
"While Starry Night is beautiful, the one he did prior to that called Starry Night Over the Rhone is the one I'm most partial to," I replied as Monroe nodded. "In the bottom corner there are two lovers strolling by the banks of the river. Although there isn't much detail in their appearance, they just exude this amorous chemistry." I smiled as the painting came to mind. "I used to imagine a whole story for them; He proposed on those same banks, and they had been married for decades. Every anniversary they would walk along by the riverside and reminisce of their youth and the stories they had created together over the years. Ursa Major would flicker above them as they strolled together, arm in arm."
"And they lived happily ever after?" Monroe asked with a soft grin.
I shook my head and glanced back down at the strawberries. "Yeah, something mushy and romantic like that."
Monroe came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and moved his hips along with Don McLean's tune.
"It's not mushy. It's a beautiful notion," he said thoughtfully. For a moment he seemed like he was going to say something else, but that was all.
"Beautiful, but idealistic," I wistfully replied.
He squeezed me gently. "Nothing wrong with that, either." His lips gently touched my cheek and he went back to the pancakes.
A few other songs played that were mostly harmless. Songs that I hadn't heard in a while flowed through Monroe's stereo, reminding me of friends and family. Monroe would nudge me for an explanation, and I would tell him the back story.
As 'Dancing Queen' began, Monroe laughed. "ABBA?"
"Nothing wrong with ABBA," I protested.
"So, the significance here is?"
"Fourth of July, 2003," I said. "Chloe won first prize in a '70s dance off at The Back Door Bar with that song." I laughed and shook my head at the memory of that night. "Oh, and there's a visual with this one."
I went back into the living room and took out my laptop. Monroe stood behind me as I pulled up a Facebook photo of Chloe all decked out in her disco attire.
"That night I came close to going home with him." I pointed to the background where there stood a stoutly guy in his late fifties. "If it hadn't been for Chloe, then I would have."
Monroe laughed. "So, how much tequila did you drink that night?"
"I was the designated driver," I laughed back.
He scratched his head. "So, I don't get it."
"That, Mr. Monroe, was my first Ziegevolk encounter."
"Oh..." said Monroe with a short chuckle.
Sure, Chloe had taught me about Ziegevolk, but knowing about one and encountering one were two separate things. That night Goat Guy had slid up next to me at the bar with some cheesy line about how I sparkled like a disco ball. Of course I was repulsed at first sight. But then he squeezed my arm and asked if I wanted to leave. The feelings that Ziegevolk gave me were like nothing I'd ever experienced. Of course, it was all the pheromones he produced, as was their nature, but still… For a moment I was completely enamored and was seeing wedding bells.
"Fortunately, Chloe saw me heading off to his car and was able to pry me away from him. Thank goodness for that bunny of mine."
"Yeah, thank goodness for that." He looked at the picture again. "Sheesh."
"From then on our secret code phrase for Blue Beards was 'Dancing Queen.' Well, at least until I was able to recognize them better."
Monroe just shook his head as we headed back to the kitchen.
A tall stack of blueberry pancakes was set on the dining room table as the next song began.
"Heart skips a beat, my heart skips a beat.
My heart is playing tricks on me.
And it's building bricks on me.
I can't break through,
And I can't face you…"
I sat up straight. "Oh, I think music time is over." I wasn't about to explain this one.
"Now wait a minute." Monroe reached for my shoulder before I could get to the living room. "Let's hear this one out."
"Sure." I tried to keep my tone cool, but there was no hiding from him.
I laid out plates and brought in the fruit and yogurt from the kitchen. I thought about cold things. Ice, snow, cold December winters... Maybe that would keep my cheeks from flushing. It really didn't work.
"My heart is always first to know,
And as the feeling grows,
My heart says, 'Go,' but my brain says, 'No.'"
Lenka's lyrics played on, exposing inner thoughts to Monroe's ears. I laid the bowl of fruit and yogurt on the table and sat down quietly.
"So, this one…" Monroe began, taking a seat next to me. God, his smile was so smug.
"This one is… newish." I stabbed two pancakes from the stack with my fork and drizzled on a small amount of syrup. "Is this butter pecan syrup or maple?" I asked while looking up at him.
He obviously wasn't fooled at my change of discussion and arched a brow. "Maple," he stated.
"Red maple or black maple?" I pressed. Monroe knew I was dawdling, but the song was just about over.
"Actually it's just sugar maple." He folded his hands on the table and shook his head at me. "It's okay if you don't want to discuss it. The words speak for themselves."
"I have many songs on that playlist. Sometimes I just download the ones that hit me at certain times."
"That reminds me, how many songs do you have?" he asked, sounding genuinely curious.
"If I were to guess," I hesitated as I guesstimated, "I'd say three, maybe three and a half thousand."
"Thousand?!" he repeated as his eyes widened. "And you know the lyrics to all of them?"
"Yeah, of course. Well, the ones that have lyrics. I have quite a bit of instrumental pieces on there, too."
Monroe touched my temple, tapping lightly. "That's a lot of information to hold up there."
"I like music, what can I say?"
"I know you play the violin. And very well, I might add. Do you play anything else?"
"Honestly, I can play whatever anyone hands me. But I excel at the violin. That's what I love."
"Hmm…" he said, seemingly unconvinced. "So… you're saying you can just pick up something you haven't played before and play it?"
"Yeah. It used to upset my friends in band. Apparently it takes a lot of practice to achieve tonality on the trumpet and the flute, but I was able to play out a few songs right away. Dad always said I was gifted. He was a bit disappointed I didn't pursue more of a career in music, but he realized I loved finance," I said with a shrug. "I find joy in training, although I'm sure I could be some executive somewhere, but that's not what I want."
"But let's get back to the music," Monroe replied with more curiosity. "If you went in the living room right now and picked up my cello…. You could play it?"
I nodded. "I'm no Yo-Yo Ma, but it would be adequate."
"Show me." Monroe got up from the table.
"But the pancakes will be cold," I protested. "Breakfast then music."
Monroe sat back down, furrowing his brow as he nodded. "Okay, but then I want to hear you play."
"Sure, but let's enjoy this first."
While we ate, Rachmaninoff's familiar tune drifted from the stereo, and I breathed out a sigh. Monroe quickly went through forkfuls of pancakes and fruit.
"Are you even tasting what you're eating?" I asked.
His fork hovered by his mouth. "Um-huh," he mumbled, and then swallowed the food from the last forkful.
I laughed. "The cello isn't going anywhere."
He ate more slowly, but he wanted to test me out. It was okay. I'd tested him before, and it was only fair. I still had plans on more tests for him, with his consent, of course, so I was fine with this.
Rachmaninoff ended, and I took in a breath. I hated musical roulette. Maroon 5 began to play. Okay, this one wasn't too bad. Actually, this was a good one.
"My Heart's a stereo.
It beats for you so listen close.
Hear my thoughts in every note.
Oh, Oh,
Make me your radio,
And turn me up when you feel low.
This melody was meant for you.
Just sing along to my stereo…"
"This is, like, your theme song, huh?" Monroe said, and I bit back a grin.
"I like to think of myself more like… a walking jukebox. But sure. It could be."
"So, umm, what kinda thoughts should I be hearing in all these notes of yours?"
"They're always up for interpretation, Mr. Monroe. You know that."
Once we finished breakfast, Monroe shot up from the table.
"Follow me," he said eagerly. I had to laugh at his eagerness.
I made my way to the living room, swiftly removing the MP3 player from the stereo as I went. He flashed me a look, but I didn't acknowledge it.
Monroe reached for his cello and pointed to the chair. "Okay, let's hear what you can do."
I took a seat as he handed over his instrument. "Any requests?"
He grinned. "Surprise me."
I adjusted the cello between my legs, the weight rested against my chest. Monroe passed me the bow and I began to play. I chose Chopin's 'Etude Op. 25 No. 7' since I'd heard it many times, and it had some great finger moves.
The deep vibrations resonated within me and I closed my eyes, the melody taking me over as I went. It had been a while since I'd played a cello, but it didn't seem to matter as I moved my fingers across the strings while completely taking in the moment. The next part was more intricate, but I pressed on. Each note took hold of me, and my body slowly rocked back and forth along with it. When I finished, I opened my eyes. Monroe's woge took me by surprise.
"Are you okay over there?" I asked.
"Amazing." That foreign voice came from him, and I had to bite my lip. I hadn't had the wolf in a bit. I stared into those deep red eyes of his, reading the desire within them.
He suddenly retracted and took in a quick breath. "You didn't tell me you could do that!" he exclaimed.
"I really don't like to show off," I humbly replied. It was true. I mean, who wanted to hear someone spout off, 'look what I can do?'
"Play something else," he encouraged, and I smiled at him. Two more songs later I was a bit tired.
"You're just... I'm… That's so incredible!" He was in awe, and I continued to smile.
I placed the cello back against the wall by the fireplace.
Monroe kissed me hard as I turned toward him. "God, that's such a turn on," he said.
"The cello has that effect on me when you play, too." I grinned up at him as he held my face in his hands.
"I just… I want to take you to a music store and watch what else you can do. This is just wild, man!"
"I'm simply musically inclined. It's not anything to go nuts over."
"Oh, I think it is." He grinned then kissed me some more. "It's like I told that Reinigen kid, you have real talent, man. Something like that…" he lifted my hands up. "What you just did with these two hands… That's a gift. Don't tell me it's nothing, 'cause that's just… Well, for someone like me, it's something we'd give anything to be able to do." He kissed both my hands.
Monroe had mentioned helping Nick with a case involving a student whose music teacher had been eaten by rats. I still cringed at the thought. The kid played the violin like 'nobody's business.' Monroe had tried to set him on the straight and narrow since Nick thought he was headed for trouble. They'd had a heart-to-heart moment, and Monroe seemed to enjoy being a mentor from how he'd described it, but he wouldn't admit to that. Still, the twinkle in his eye as he talked about giving advice to the young rat said otherwise. Oh, Monroe the teacher. He was good at that.
"You oughta meet him," Monroe continued. "The Reinigen kid, I mean. I wonder if it would be weird if I went by to see him again?" He put his hand to his bearded chin.
"How old is he?"
"Sixteen, seventeen maybe?"
"That might be a bit odd," I replied.
"Ah, well. I'll ask Nick and see what he thinks." Monroe shot his eyes up. "So, can you play the zither?" That man switched subjects faster than they do on Jeopardy.
"Zither? Uh, I've never even seen one up close. But I've played a steel guitar before. That's kinda the same thing, right?"
"Uh, not really." He gave me a 'don't be ridiculous' face.
I tilted my head toward him. "You have one, don't you?"
Monroe's eyes widened as he flexed his eyebrows. "I can play more than just cello, too, you know."
"You can? It seems I'm not the only one with hidden talents."
"Oh, I have many talents." A hint of that devilish grin reappeared, and I had to bite my lower lip again. "Have you ever heard of Hugues Nuages the Austrian Zitherist?"
"Hugues Nuages? Who hasn't?" I brightly replied as Monroe's eyes lit up. I bit back a smirk while shaking my head. "Sorry, I've never heard of him."
"Oh." His shoulders slumped slightly. "Well, he's my absolute favorite."
"How many zitherists are out there?" I asked.
"Well, it depends on the type of zither you're referring to," he replied with a grin. In the next twenty minutes I'd learned that aside from Austrian zitherists, there were German, Slovenian, Hungarian, and Croatian just in Europe alone. "You know, Johann Strauss has a great zither solo in his 'Tales from the Vienna Woods' waltz."
I smiled. "See, now I know who Strauss is."
Monroe chuckled. "Well, that's good at least."
"I'd like to hear Hugues Nuages though, since he's your favorite."
"I need to get a better record. The one I have is a bit scratched up from being over-played."
"Aww. Well, maybe we can get you another one."
"They're not easy to find. Believe me, I've tried," he said with a sigh. "But you can get an idea of what he sounds like." Monroe moved to the other side of the living room to a record player I'd clearly missed seeing before.
"So, you really meant a record," I said as he pulled one out from the shelf below. He turned. "Yeah, vinyl has such a great sound, man." Of course he meant a real record. Vinyl fit Monroe like a vintage glove.
The melody began to play all light and airy as Monroe grinned. "He's just amazing." He glanced up at the grandfather clock. "Whoa, what time is it? I've got a wristwatch to finish and deliver. Well, hell!"
I sighed. "And I have two PowerPoints to complete for my trainings tomorrow." Time was back to flying again. "Oh, and sometime we've got to pick up my car at the trailer. I really don't like it being out there. That parking lot is just shady to me."
"Yeah, we can do that this afternoon. No problem."
We worked independently as Hugues Nuages played on. I peered over my shoulder, catching a glimpse of Monroe delving deep into his work. He was so serious when he was in clockmaker mode. I couldn't help but smile at my bespectacled boyfriend. His hands were moving from one tool to the next while a large magnifier and lamp helped guide the way. Monroe looked up and smiled at me. I gave him a cheesy grin and turned back to my PowerPoint. The record made a sharp screech sound and my eyes shot up.
Monroe walked back in. "Yeah, that's where ol' Hugues always stops." He shook his head sadly as he moved the arm off the record.
"Well, I got to hear quite a bit," I said appreciatively.
"Oh, but the next song is just…" He sighed. "Well, you've just gotta hear it to appreciate it."
I moved the laptop to the couch and crossed the room to the record player. The record had some apparently deep scratches along the inner parts of the disc.
I took note of the disk name. "Maybe I can find it on iTunes?" I suggested.
"Yeah, well… maybe," he replied, seeming lost in thought.
"Actually I'd like to hear you play, Mr. Zitherist."
Monroe looked up and softly chuckled. "Oh, you'll hear me sometime. I don't want to show off all my skills so early on in a relationship." He winked. "Besides, I gotta figure out where I put it first."
A/N: A little more musical roulette and some revelations about Renée's musical talents.
Starry Night Over the Rhone is a beautiful piece. I have a link on my profile if you want to check it out.
Sorry, but I couldn't help but joke on the Hugues Nuages thing. To me, that scene in the show is absolutely corny, but I know most Monrosalee fans love it. So I couldn't help but have Renée tease Monroe that she knew Hugues Nuages.
Now, my thoughts on the Hugues Nuages record is that Monroe missed his opportunity to find the better record at the garage sale since being with Renée. He has this old record though, but since he's played it a zillion times, it's all scratched up. And Monroe playing the zither in the webisodes encouraged me to hint that Monroe has a few musical talents of his own. Even if he can't play all that well. (;
I'd like to see Roddy come back. Maybe he will in a future story, maybe not. I haven't decided yet. LOL!