From: Mrs. The King

Sympathy

She was naked in the dirty room. He was fully dressed and seated at he piano.

“Don’t speak. You’ll only listen, that’s what I paid for, that’s what I’ll get.” The man’s green eyes flashed with anger.

She had seen mad johns in her past, she was smart enough to be wary.

“I won’t hurt you. I just need to finish this song. I can’t get her out of my mind. She inspired me. My muse, if you must. I need to play. Just stand there, let your hair cover your face.” He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. Anxious.

He opened and shut his hands in a rhythmic pattern. A warm up. He pulled the piano bench up closer to the keys.

She looked at him through the curtain of her hair. She knew better than to take her eyes off a customer.

He looked focused and smoothed the keys with his fingertips, like the gaps between the white and black needed coaxing.

And he played. The melody was hypnotic. She felt the love in his relentless composition.

She was beautiful, his muse. She knew that from the way he licked his lips. The music crescendo was an amazing feat of talented fingers.

She had been on many a call, but this was a first, the naked piano inspiration.

His fingers halted, the silence following was a flashlight on the tiniest of sounds.

He clenched his fists.

“This is where she leaves. I can’t get past it. I won’t get past it. Step closer” His vexed eyes looked hungry.

She tilted her head to the side so her hair covered her face still.

He banged on a few keys.

Harsh.

Off center.

Wrong.

“Closer” his voice belonged to a man possessed, fear trickled past her long-numb nervous system.

Her hair slipped to the side as she tried to get a better assessment of what she was in for. Would he be a hitter? Would he be a screamer?

“Please. Stop looking at me like that. I can’t think with the suspicion in the air. I need to think, can’t you see?” He began rubbing the keys again, little fingertip prayers.

Despite his frightful lack of stability, she took another step, thrusting her breasts out, as her hair became her shield again.

They waited for moments. It felt like hours.

“Could you try to think about something? Anything that makes you happy? Just try and get that thought in your mind.” His hands now looked like they were playing, but the piano was soundless.

What makes me happy? God, how the hell do I know? Lying in my bed with cloths on? Alone? Not pretending to sigh? She focused.

“Better. Okay. Stay with that.” The music began again, he started from the beginning again, a ritual his hands seemed to know all on their own.

He ground to a halt again.

“Damn it. It won’t come. Not without her.” The man held his own head in his hands.

She felt a stirring inside her. Sympathy? Is that what this feeling was? After all this time, sympathy almost hurt like sunburn.

She walked closer still. Keeping true to his orders she said nothing as she straddled him. His coarse pants were scratchy on her inner thighs.

She leaned against the keyboard and arched her back, stretching her arms above her head.

His hands found the keys on either side of her hips. A few notes were plucked. They did not fit his exquisite song.

“Thank you for trying. I was stupid to make you come here. The money is in my hat, by the door.” He was looking away from her face. She watched as his jaw tensed.

She wanted to break the rules because she could, because this interlude was over. She spoke, “Sometime we don’t finish the song. Sometimes, it finishes us.” She shouldn’t do it. She shouldn’t want to. Blame it on the sympathy. Blame it on money already spent, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the man.

He put his hands back on the ivory colored temptations. His song was a new one, one that was less grand, less important, but it was achingly lovely.