In the Key of Love

by Christopher J. Cosenza

For this moment, Christian Cavaliere had spent countless hours translating the intricate melodic sounds into tiny black dots.

Play. Rewind. Stop. Play.

Play. Rewind. Stop. Play.

Scribble.

Play. Rewind. Stop.

Icons on his tape-recorder buttons had disappeared, and his pencil had been sharpened to a stub that had room for just NO. 2 TICON written on its side. Christian had driven his family to the brink of insanity with his incessant late-night practicing, but he hoped every second of frustration and acrimony incurred would pay off tonight.

In the far corner of the darkened country club restaurant, a spotlight shone on an upright maple piano like a triangle of golden opportunity. The time arrived when he could profess his feelings for Gina Cipriani unlike any man had ever done for any woman. Over the past six months, innocent flirtations had blossomed into something more, and tonight Christian's diligence might be rewarded once he revealed the piece that personified his intentions.

He never had visited Waldale Country Club, where Gina was assistant general manager, but she had invited him on this slow New England night in February. Captain's chairs had been turned upside down on wooden tabletops, and the smell of polish remained in the air from a bored wait staff cleaning the house silverware. Only a televised sporting event could be heard echoing from the distant barroom, as even the regulars had checked out early and sober.

Gina walked ahead of Christian for a moment, and he admired her ensemble, a short black satin number with sculpted bodice and layers of chiffon that had plenty of twirl appeal. But it didn't matter what she wore, he thought, she could make a pair of brown shoes look sexy.

"If I had known you were going to be dressed so elegantly," he said, "I would've changed out of these jeans and this T-shirt."

"Don't worry. You're fine."

Her guided tour of the establishment had ended a few feet in front of the piano that would serve as Christian's greatest aphrodisiac.

"Does that work?" he said.

"The piano? Sure. Sometimes we roll it into the bar and hire someone to play it on Saturday nights. Why, do you play?"

He nodded, never taking his chocolate brown eyes off the black and white keys. "I taught myself a couple of years ago. No lessons. I practice every day, or whenever I get a chance. I try to play as many different pianos as I can. It's kind of a hobby."

"I didn't know that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to surprise you. I'm minoring in music history. Did you know that Franz Lizst played for women all the time? They'd come from all over to hear him play. A real ladies man."

"I don't even know who Frank List is, but I think it's sweet you want to try to woo me by tickling those ivories."

He laughed. "Actually his name is Franz Lizst." And I'm not going to try to woo you, he thought, I will woo you.

Christian took her delicate alabaster hand in his and led her to the instrument where they shared the piano seat. He looked at her face, framed in chestnut hair that flowed to her waist, and then he smiled.

"Do you have a favorite piano song?" he said.

"I don't know any really. Why don't you just play something you like?"

"I was hoping you'd say that. You ever hear any George Winston? My favorite piece is called Thanksgiving. It's such a sad song, but it's uplifting at the same time. There's just one problem. He never releases sheet music. It took me six months to transcribe it."

"You're kidding. Six months? Why'd you do that?"

"You'll find out. Wanna hear it?"

Gina nodded, and her hazel eyes sparkled under the spotlight.

Christian cracked his knuckles in a quick wrench of his hands and Gina winced.

"Sorry. Old habit."

Like sprightly falling raindrops at the start of a glorious sun shower, the soft notes resonated out of the cabinet and flooded the room as his left hand set up the introduction. He felt her eyes following his movements as the tune flowed from his masterful fingers, and he surmised that she found his dexterity and grace remarkable. His right hand joined in, and the piece lived. She saw his left hand glide across the keyboard, and then she watched his right hand. The syncopation could be dizzying at times, or maybe it was just because they sat so close to each other.

Christian had youthful hands with no signs of manual labor, and they spread across an octave with no problem. They continued their critical journey, unlocking the piano keys for a melodic courtship. The light from above refracted off his nails, and he felt Gina's thigh against his while he controlled the sustain pedal. He glanced at her, and there was no mistaking she was awed by the ease with which he made the instrument call to her. He quieted the song and leaned back to her ear, still playing like a virtuoso.

"You know why I like this song so much?" he whispered. "It reminds me of what I think it would be like to make love to you."

Gina lowered her lids and tilted her head back, consuming the interlude and hanging on his every word.

He continued whispering. "At first, the piece is a bit methodical and meandering. The left hand teases you by its romantic approach, lulling you, almost hypnotizing you. But the right hand completes the foreplay, joining in at precisely the perfect time. Not too bold, but enough to grab your attention. The left hand continues its rhythm while the right hand explores other areas."

Gina opened her eyes and glanced at his hands. He wondered if she could visualize his concept, and when he heard her breathe heavier with excitement, he had his answer.

"Occasionally the song slows, giving you a chance to catch your breath," he said. "But then it picks up again. The right hand presses hard, almost massaging the keys to get the desired sound from the area of concentration. It quickens when it's needed and pulls back as to not overpower the left hand's carefully laid out rhythmic theme."

Christian pulled away from her ear to focus on the song's most difficult passage. He frantically struck the keys.

"Here's where its complexity becomes engaging," he said. "Both hands move together almost furiously until the desired climax is reached." Now he leaned over to whisper to her because she sat on the edge of the piano seat. "But this is no typical piece, Gina. It doesn't leave you hanging unfulfilled like others might. The left hand is recalled, caressing the keys again, slowly reminding you of what started all of this beautiful excitement. The right hand complements until both are playing slowly together at the end."

Christian closed his eyes upon completion of the song, satisfied that his hours of practice weren't in vain. Before he could ask her what she thought, a bartender appeared in the desolate restaurant.

"Hey, that sounded great. I could hear it all the way in the bar. You're real good."

"You can say that again," Gina said. "I feel like I want a cigarette, and I don't even smoke."

Christian chuckled, and then shot a glare at the bartender when Gina wasn't looking, dismissing him with a snap of his head.

When they were alone again she wrapped her arms around Christian. "When did you find time to learn that? It was so beautiful."

"After one of our dates, I'd go home and practice on the piano in my bedroom. I'd transcribe for a couple of hours, and then practice for another couple of hours. I'd wake up every morning and play. And I promised myself that when I finished, I wouldn't play it for anyone except you. And now that I have, I'll never play it again unless you ask me to, and I'll still only play it for you. But if you ask to hear it again, I'll know you love me."

Gina kissed him on the lips. "Play it again, Christian. And then take me to the place where you practice."

He let out a contented sigh and smiled. His left hand slid toward the keys and he leaned back. "Let me tell you why I love this song ... "

Copyright © Christopher J. Cosenza 2004