Nadine

NADINE
Part One





I

Timothy Ewans collapsed with an exasperated sigh back into his old Nissan and finished wiping the grime off his hands after changing a flat.
Great, he thought, another couple of lessons worth just to get a new tire.
Grimacing, he started the car and headed for his next appointment, fumbling for his Luckies on the seat beside him. He found the crinkled pack under his briefcase, fished one out and lit up. Although spring was just around the corner, the day was drab and damp, and as he took the exit to his next student's house it started to drizzle. In a foul mood, he flipped the cigarette out the window before rolling it up.
An hour later he was relaxing on Mrs. Mandel's sofa. They had finished their piano lesson and he was having his customary coffee and cookies, served by the elderly lady after every class.
“Another cookie?” Mrs. Mandel pushed the plate a little closer. “No excuses now, I'm sure one more won't make a difference.” She glanced sternly at his six foot four frame, the solid muscles stretching his polo shirt, and his rugged good looks and stubbornly slid the plate right up to his elbow.
“You know, you never told me why you became a piano teacher,” she continued, mostly to cut off any protest he might have.
“It's just the funny way things happen sometimes,“ Timothy smiled. “I was studying business administration and through a friend I got interested in music pedagogy. I began studying that too and ended up getting a degree in both fields, but I soon found out that playing the piano was more fun than teaching it.”
“So then what happened?”
“Well.” He paused and ran a hand through his sandy curls, then took another cookie after all. “When I left college I began working for a big upstate company. I soon had a solid career going, but then they got hit hard by the financial crisis and went bankrupt practically overnight.”
Mrs. Mandel nodded slowly. “So you were suddenly--”
“Among the unemployed, yes. Then I remembered my music studies, and I decided to open a little studio. I was full of great ideas and ambitious plans. I didn't get a single student.” He shrugged. “Too much competition I guess. So I had to change my strategy in a hurry and decided to offer house visits instead. At least that got things started, and after a couple of weeks I had some business. Did you know you were one of my first students?”
“You've certainly done a wonderful job right from the start, young man. I do hope to have many more of those exceptional lessons of yours.”
Timothy smiled a lopsided smile. How could he tell her the way he felt? Five years after losing his job here he was, caught in a weekly treadmill, barely making a living with only a meager handful of students, most of them uninterested and fairly untalented youngsters. Five years, and he was still just barely able to make ends meet. His initial excitement was long gone, and with no improvement in sight, he had begun to feel weary and downcast.

He was opening a can of baked beans when the phone rang. The day had gone reasonably well and he had used the money to fill up the tank and buy some food. He turned down the volume on the TV and picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
"Good evening, my name is Cynthia Brackley. I'm calling to inquire about your services." The voice was brisk and businesslike, with a hint of New England upbringing. “I'm an acquaintance of Mrs. Mandel's. I was just on the phone with her, and she happened to mention your name.”
Timothy smiled as he remembered his conversation with the old lady earlier that day.
"The classes are for you?” he asked.
"My daughter. She's a Senior in high-school. Quite interested in classical music and such. She wants to perfect her piano skills over the summer, before attending college."Judging by her articulation and choice of words, the Brackleys would not be part of the blue-collar working group. An image of a beautiful mansion surrounded by impeccable gardens and neatly trimmed lawns began forming in his mind.
"I guess I'm the person you're looking for then,” he answered with growing interest. “I specialize in classical, I'd be glad to coach her.”
"When would you be available?”
"Just a second, let me see where I can fit you in," he said, pulling out a little card from under the phone and frowning at the ticks under each weekday. There were pitifully few.
"I have an opening on Thursday afternoons. Or maybe Tuesdays, what would be better for--sorry, what´s your daughter's name?"
"Nadine," said Mrs. Brackley. "And Thursday is fine. You can manage five o'clock or thereabouts?"
Timothy looked again at Thursday on his card. All blank except for a class at eleven in the morning.
"No problem. I'll schedule that for Nadine."
He wrote down directions to the Brackley house, then made another little tick on his card. Thursday was two days from now. Maybe I can get that new tire sooner than I thought, he smiled as he re-heated the baked beans and turned up the TV.

The Brackley residence was even larger than he had imagined. Set far back from the road in midst of an immaculate lawn, it was modern in style, a fusion of large cubes grouped together in apparently haphazard fashion. The design allowed for many enormous glass panes that created transparencies and transmitted a feeling of lightness. There were several terraces at different elevations, decorated with greenery and flowers. One harbored a large swimming pool, while another appeared to be a barbecue area. There was a Toyota Prius in the driveway and next to it, in marked contrast, a fat Harley.
Timothy was greeted at the door by Mrs. Brackley. She looked just the way she had sounded over the phone, her figure as finely sculpted as her voice had been. Timothy stepped into the foyer, shaking her hand and looking around in astonishment. The walls were tightly hung with large colorful canvasses, mostly abstract oils and acrylics. Bronze sculptures, brightly lit from above, were displayed on marble pedestals placed along the walls. The foyer itself was a designer's dream turned nightmare, modern, angular, with many different textures, colors and patterns shaping the space and almost indecently underlining the art.
“Quite a collection,” he said in awe.
“My husband's favorite pieces, the ones he can´t bear to give away. The rest are in galleries.”
“Galleries?”
“Yes of course. My husband is an artist. You've heard of Frederick Brackley.” It was a statement, not a question. Surely everyone knew who Frederick was.
“Yes. Wow, quite an honor to teach his little girl.” He nodded at the far depths of the living room, where a white piano hovered in a corner like a lacquered cloud. “Looks like we´ll be having a good instrument to work with. That baby grand looks marvelous."
The piano was covered with sheet music and books. In the middle of the lid stood a fragile porcelain vase with a single red rose. He was about to shrug the whole image away as kitsch when he saw the girl. She had been sitting quietly at the piano, listening to her iPod, but now she turned and took off her headphones. Timothy suddenly forgot all about the surroundings. For a moment, it was as if everything bad and ugly had been taken from the world, leaving behind a distillation of beauty and grace. He was enthralled by her face. It was divinely beautiful, with delicate features and angelic hair, long and curly, golden, and sparkling with life. She was tall, only a little shorter than Timothy, and radiated an optimistic charm as she walked towards him with a modest smile.
"Oops, watch your step there," Mrs. Brackley warned a little late, as he almost tripped down the steps leading into the immense living area.
"Hello Nadine. I'm Timothy Ewans, here to help you with your beautiful--ah, your studies... your music studies." He felt the heat rising up to his face.
Nadine's eyes twinkled mischievously at him. Smiling, she brushed back a stubborn lock of hair and as she did so, Timothy noticed some playful pink-colored strands hiding among the mass of gold. It made her look terribly cute, he thought.
"Hi Tim," she said, holding out a delicate hand.
He was surprised at the slight tingling as their hands touched, almost like a static discharge. Before he had time to wonder about it, the big Harley outside roared to life. He glanced out the window and saw a big man with long graying hair straddling the bike. He was wearing a ragged black T-shirt with cut-off sleeves, sporting the picture of a grinning skull floating above the mildly melodramatic suggestion of Death to Simplicity. He had a red bandana slung around his neck, and wore big black boots and matching leather pants.
"I'm sorry," Nadine said. "Daddy just got that and he's so very proud of it."
Timothy nodded in silent appreciation. "Nice bike! I used to have one too but then it was either keep the chopper or get a piano. So guess what I did?” He grinned a wide boyish smile.
“Good for you! Making music is so much better than the awful racket from that thing.” Another mischievous wink, another quick brush of the pink strands of hair, and as their eyes met Timothy realized he'd have to be extremely careful.
It was very easy to get distracted by those eyes.


II

"There it is! The little fragment right here!" They were in the middle of analyzing something by Beethoven, working out technical difficulties. He pointed excitedly at the page. "Here, I'll show you," he said, jumping to his feet.
Nadine got up and as Timothy moved in to sit down on the bench their arms briefly touched. He twitched as he felt the warmth of her skin, and remembered that first electrical moment when they first shook hands. It was a warm summer day, and a light breeze was breathing in through the windows, bringing with it the invigorating smell of freshly-cut grass. The scent mingled deliciously with the light fragrance Nadine had recently started using and Timothy felt both giddy and energized by the simple beauty of the day and the scents surrounding him.
A sudden gust ruffled the music sheets, threatening to blow them away and sending the top page twirling to the ground. Reflexively, Timothy reached out to grab it, as did Nadine. His hand missed the page, lightly brushing her breast instead. They both froze, and the paper tumbled to the floor, followed by several others.
"Nadine, sorry...I'm so sorry", he said softly, looking at her apologetically. "It was--"
"No, my fault. A bit clumsy, that's all.” Her voice was almost a whisper.
She bent down to pick up the music. Timothy got up to retrieve the first page which had blown into a corner and as he returned their glances met. Nadine's eyes were dark, large and very alert. Then she relaxed and the moment of awkwardness passed.
“Come on, doc,” she teased, “we've still got lots of work to do."
That night Timothy tossed and turned uneasily in bed, unable to find sleep for a long time. What's the matter, he thought at one point, almost angrily, she's just another teenage student.

Summer had arrived in earnest and Timothy hadn't felt so good in a long time. He had regained his boyish charm, and it was with renewed motivation and seemingly boundless energy that he visited all his students. Things were finally picking up, there were more lessons and he was managing to make a decent living from his income. He was, he noted one day in surprise, actually happy.
"Mr. Ewans, look at you!" exclaimed old Mrs. Mandel on one occasion. "Trendy clothes, a new haircut, even a sporty watch. And you even look younger!” She smiled her little smile. “I just hope it's not me you´re trying to impress.”
"Mrs. Mandel, you're one of my favorite students, I absolutely relish our time together."
"I'm sure you do. But something tells me there's another class out there somewhere that you relish much more," she answered impishly, looking at him with her wise old eyes.
Timothy pursed his lips, but couldn't quite hide his smile. It was true enough, lessons with Nadine were wonderfully refreshing and he thoroughly enjoyed them. He also appreciated her company and delighted in the time spent at her side.
Every once in a while they would play a duet for fun. This was something he especially appreciated since it offered him the chance of sharing the same bench with her. On these occasions he found it impossible to suppress the tiny flicker of lust arising from the intimacy of their bodies touching. He relished these moments almost guiltily and cherished them as his private little secret.
Today Nadine was practicing a waltz by Chopin. It still sounded very rough and she was visibly wrestling with the music. Timothy laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.
“Nadine, let's take a break.“
She stopped playing, laid her hands in her lap and turned to look up at him, all with that fluidity of movement only teenagers seem to have.
“I want to ask you something.”
“Oh?”
"Dad is opening another one of his galleries. The premiere is tomorrow, and I want you to come.”
“Me? I'm no art critic.” Timothy sounded slightly puzzled.
“Please? Daddy always insists on me going along but these things are always so boring.”
“Spoken like a real teenager,” Timothy smiled. “But I don´t have any business there. And besides, I'm not even invited.”
“C'mon Tim, don´t make me beg. I'd really enjoy your company, and I think they´re organizing some sort of musical event as well. Furthermore,” she continued imperiously, “you are hereby invited to said event and ordered to attend. Non-compliance will result...oh, it'll have terrible consequences!” she said, waving her arm about wildly.
Tim laughed, bowing deeply. “Your Highness, under these circumstances I dare not refuse.”
That evening saw him arrive at the premiere fairly early. His elegant attire and handsome, boyish looks and broad shoulders drew attention at the entrance, and several flashes went off as the paparazzis snapped away, just in case. As he neared the door, it was thrown open by Nadine, laughing joyfully. She was dressed in a moderately daring black dress that accented her beauty. More flashes went off as she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him inside.
“Tim, I'm so glad you´re here! I wasn't sure you´d come.”
“Wouldn't miss it,” he smiled. “Especially not seeing you in that fancy dress.”
Nadine blushed. “Oh, stop it!” She playfully hit his arm and continued, a little breathless. “Come on, this is great. Dad set up a Steinway in the center hall, and he's arranged for some famous pianist to play for his guests!”
“Who?”
“Some guy called Ashkenazy.”
Timothy did a double take. “What? Vladimir Ashkenazy? Wow, he's one of the leading experts on Chopin. Can't wait to hear him play. ”
“Me neither. And he'll be playing the waltz we've been practicing too.”
“Coincidence?”
Nadine shrugged, looking dead-pan at him. “I asked him to play it as a personal favor.”
“I see.” He tried making a serious face. “So you don't trust my interpretation of the piece, is that it?” he asked sternly. “Need a second opinion, yes?”
“Oh, do be quiet. You're just as excited to hear him play it as I am.”
“Absolutely frightening. I mean, the way you can see into my mind,” he said, and it wasn't entirely meant as a joke.
The evening went by in a flash. Of course the highlight for him was the piano recital. The acoustics in the large gallery were extraordinary, and the music was enchanting, almost haunting in its ethereal quality. All too soon the concert was over and people began heading towards the buffet. He was about to steer Nadine in the same direction when she put her hand on his arm.
“Take me some place quiet,” she murmured.
Timothy frowned. “Something wrong?”
“No, everything's fine, it's just...I gotta leave. I need something a little less formal.”
“Yeah,” he agreed vaguely, looking around at the elegantly dressed people milling in futile importance about the austere gallery. Then he remembered something.
“Hey, I know this nice little place not too far from here. But you can't simply leave? What about the guests? And your parents?”
“Right now they´re all so busy with themselves that I won´t be missed at all. Besides, like you said, I'm a teenager. It's Friday. And teenagers are supposed to go out on Fridays.”
Timothy didn't have time to argue. Nadine grabbed his sleeve and headed to the door, speaking over her shoulder, “C'mon, let's go. I'll message my mom later on.”

The restaurant was dimly lit and not very full. It had cozy niches along the walls where couples could settle in. There were candles on the tables and soft music playing in the background. Timothy led her to a corner table and they sat down opposite each other.
“That's why I love this place.” He nodded towards the piano pushed up against a far wall. As if on cue, the music stopped and a colored man appeared. He sat down, pushed up his sleeves and began playing some bossa nova. Nadine smiled and started swaying to the intricate rhythms.
They ordered, and when the drinks arrived they touched their glasses together in a silent toast. Slowly their conversation began to flow and soon they were chatting happily, heads close together. By the time they reached dessert, they were very much at ease with each other.
“We should have done this sooner,” Nadine murmured.
“Yeah, well—you know, I don't usually take my students out on a date.”
“Oh? An exception, pour moi?” she teased, flashing her beautiful smile. It looked cuter than ever. Then she became serious. “I had a great time.”
“So did I.”
It was only now he noticed their fingers were lightly entwined on the tabletop, had done so apparently on their own during their conversation. He drew back his hand in reflex and immediately noticed the hurt look in Nadine's eyes.
“Nadine, I had a wonderful time too. I really did. I'm so glad I came here with you tonight,” he said gently.
For a long time Nadine looked deeply into his eyes. “Time to go, isn't it?”
The candle at their table flickered lazily, all but burned down. Most of the guests had already gone.
“Yes,” he nodded after a pause. “Yes, it is.”

Next morning he woke up with a headache. He squinted and turned away from the sun streaming through a gap in the curtains. Then he sat up stretching lazily.
He froze.
He wasn't alone. Next to him lay Nadine.
The bedsheets had slipped away from her and the warm rays of sunlight highlighted her naked body, showing sculpted perfection worthy of a Michaelangelo. He could not tear his gaze away from her and he absorbed her, as if to engrave forever upon his mind every detail, from the sensual lines of her long legs and the voluptuous roundness of her breasts to the curve of her neck and the way her golden hair spilled across the pillow.
Slowly memory flooded back. Arriving at his place after leaving the restaurant, Nadine just wanting a nightcap to end a nice evening. Sitting close together on his old worn sofa, listening to some soft music.
Then suddenly touching and hesitantly kissing.
Smoldering heat which erupted into white hot flame.
Stumbling to the bedroom and then gentle, tender submersion in each other´s bodies.
Timothy squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered more. The scent of her moist skin, the feel of her hair on his chest as she lay on top of him. He sank back into bed with a groan. Trouble, he thought, this is really not good. Sleeping with a girl not even half his age, and one of his students, on top. He felt like a complete idiot, acting without bothering to think about the consequences.
“Good morning sweet Tim,” Nadine said lazily, smiling at him through half-closed eyes. “What are those thunder clouds on your brow?”
“Nadine...I don't know what to say. I´m sorry, I--I didn´t mean for this to--”
“Hush, don´t say anything.” She brushed a beautiful supple finger over his lips. “I know what's bothering you. But I wanted this as much as you,” she said. “Maybe more. Don't spoil it.”
“Nadine, I'm not sure--”
“Come here, you big sexy man,” she purred, and crawled teasingly across the bed toward him. Seeing her lithe figure advancing toward him, Timothy´s resolve melted and they embraced once more.

“Mr. Ewans, Nadine is enjoying her lessons so much, we thought we might extend them to two weekly hours instead of one,” Mrs Brackley said one day shortly afterwards. “Just until she leaves for college, naturally.”
“That's great! I can fit that in,” Timothy answered immediately. He'd have to shift around some classes, but the extra time spent with Nadine was priceless. He was still feeling confused and guilty about what had happened between them, and neither had mentioned anything further, but in the end he had to admit to himself that she had touched him more than he realized. Maybe now with the extra time available he'd find the courage to speak about their relationship,
“So Nadine will be spending all of her summer vacation here,” he added, hoping against hope that it would be so.
“Yes, of course Mr. Ewans. We want her to relax and get herself prepared before she commences college.” Mrs. Brackley glanced at her watch and continued, looking out the window. “We thought the best way would be to spend a quiet summer here, and allow her to indulge in her hobby.”
“Fantastic! I won´t be taking much of a break this summer anyway, so I´ll be able to teach her until she leaves.”
“Yes, yes, we´ll just see how it goes.” Mrs. Brackley checked the time once more, obviously concerned with matters of higher importance.


III

The following weeks were a wonderful collection of seemingly endless days. The weather was great, the two weekly classes with Nadine fabulous. Life in general was very good.
Except for one thing.
Once Nadine left for college they would each go their separate ways. Nadine would probably accept that easily enough, she had a brilliant future ahead of her, no need to burden herself with sentimental ties to someone like himself. He, on the other hand dreaded that moment; besides hating the thought of losing her, he was afraid of again falling into the dark pit of daily routine he had been in before meeting Nadine. Of course he would continue teaching, but it would be so much more difficult without their lessons to look forward to every week. These thoughts weighed heavily on him as the fateful deadline approached, yet he never found the nerve to speak with Nadine about his feelings.
This afternoon they were sitting together in silence on the piano bench, watching a thunderstorm build up in the distance. They had the house to themselves as Nadine's parents were out for the afternoon. Timothy lightly squeezed her shoulder.
“Time to go back to work, lazybones.”
Nadine blew a bubble with her chewing gum, then popped it loudly. “So who exactly is doing all the work here?”
“Far as I can tell, by a talented kid with a bit of a bad-ass attitude. Goes by the name of Nadine. You know her, maybe?” he asked seriously, with a raised eyebrow.
“As a matter of fact, yes, I do. And she often complains to me that she's always locked up with this really mean old, ugly teacher, poor thing.”
Timothy burst into laughter. “You're impossible,” he said. “Now how about we call on Nadine to play us Beethoven's Tempest sonata. It's only appropriate,” he added, nodding at the approaching thunderclouds. Nadine smiled fondly at him as she began to play.
Without warning, the storm outside broke. Lightning stabbed sharply and thunder rolled through the house. It had gotten so dark outside the street lamps lit up.
“Shall I get the lights?” Timothy asked.
Nadine shook her head. She stopped playing and looked up at him. “Touch me, Tim,” she whispered. “Please touch me.” She looked at him with her large deep eyes. Her lips were moist and full, slightly parted.
Timothy froze. The seconds ticked by in slow motion and contradicting emotions swirled through his head. He slowly moved over to where Nadine was sitting and gently lay his hands into the small of her back.
“Nadine, you really must remember to sit up straight when you play,” he said in a husky voice, slowly caressing her back with strong fingers.
“I'm sorry professor, but I feel extremely tense today,” she said softly, covering his hands with hers. “The shoulders, I really think it's my shoulders,” she whispered, arching her back.
“ Nadine, I--I can't do this, ” he started. “There's something we need to talk about.” He stopped as a deep rumble of thunder washed against the house.
After the noise dissolved he wanted to continue his speech, but one look into the depths of her lustrous eyes and he gave up. He just couldn't bring himself to discuss their relationship. Not now, of all moments. Maybe later, maybe next lesson. He slowly started kneading her shoulders with a soft touch, and soon felt her body respond. She leaned into him and moved lazily beneath his hands, her breathing quickening.
Again the thunder came rolling in majestically, like an enormous wave. There was a moment of silence, then the rain started. Under the steady hiss, it was almost impossible to hear the faint rustling of clothes being delicately discarded.

“I'm sorry Mr. Ewans, but Nadine will be terminating her piano lessons.”
Mrs. Brackley's words were like a physical blow to Timothy. The color drained from his face and his knees went wobbly. He steadied himself on the backrest of a chair and took a deep breath. For a moment he refused to accept the reality of what he was hearing but the woman's icy tone and pinched lips left no room for doubt. For once she was fully focused on him.
“Mrs. Brackley, why?” he asked, shaking his head. “ Nadine is--”
“Nadine shall not be continuing her music studies and that is final!” The voice was cold marble, and allowed no room for negotiation. Timothy's heart sank further as she continued. “She has always had much interest in music, but ever since she began lessons with you this interest appears to have grown into a passion.”
Timothy's eyes shot guiltily to Nadine. She was sitting very still, frowning sullenly. A few years younger and she would have been pouting. Suddenly she turned her head and looked straight at him, imploring him with her eyes to do something, to fight back.
“Now she is no longer even remotely interested in college, and wishes to continue her musical education instead!” Mrs. Brackley focused her steely gaze on him and narrowed her eyes angrily. “We just cannot allow that, can we? She must go on to study something serious!” Sheet music scattered as she threw the book she had been holding onto the piano.
"Mrs Brackley!" Timothy stopped, repeated in a lower voice," Mrs. Brackley, please understand. Nadine is incredibly talented. It wouldn't be right to let that go to waste. Let me speak to her-- “
“That will be all, Mr. Ewans,” Mrs. Brackley interrupted. “Thank you for your services.”
Dismissed, like a simple servant.
Timothy let his arms sink slowly to his sides. He was devastated, taken completely by surprise. Lacking something better to do he bent down,slowly picked up his briefcase and shuffled away, eyes downcast. He couldn't bring himself to look at Nadine. It felt as if he was deserting her, leaving her to her fate.
He left without saying good-bye. As he crossed the manicured lawn on the way to his car, he heard voices floating through the open window. They were getting louder, angrier. He got in and just as he was about to pull away he heard the soft tinkling of breaking glass amidst the shouting. He knew immediately it was the white vase on top of the piano, hurled to the floor by an infuriated and despairing Nadine.

Timothy had no recollection of how he arrived at his apartment. He found himself inside, still numbed by what had just happened, and went straight to a small cabinet to take out out a dusty bottle of red wine. A gift from Mrs. Mandel, what seemed like ages ago. He opened it and sank to the sofa, drinking straight from the bottle. By the time it was empty, he was unable to get up. Slowly, dusk invaded the apartment blanketing everything in darkness. Timothy finally moved, stumbling to the bathroom. On the way back he detoured to the cabinet and groped for a second bottle. It almost slipped from his waxy hands, but he managed to get a hold at the last moment. Crinkling his brow in concentration and beginning to sweat profusely, he worked on getting it open. After ruining the cork, the top half having crumbled away, he gave up and pushed the remains into the bottle then staggered back to the sofa.
Soon he passed out for good. The bottle slipped from his hands, spilling its contents onto the carpet and staining it a purple red. One hand dangling to the floor, and snoring loudly, Timothy was blissfully unaware that his world had begun to crumble down around him once again.