THREE

TEN WEEKS LATER

My San Francisco hotel room bordered on cozy, but that’s fine by me. Not like I’m entertaining anyone. A getaway is what Dane suggested and I ran with his idea. Getting compensated to enjoy the city— that’s a pretty awesome thing in my opinion. Using paid vacation days sure had its bonus points, provided I don’t get some gnarly case of Ebola or something. Needed to escape from memories and hurts, and for me, the best way to achieve that involved a small room and loud noise while dressed to the nines.

The memory of the abortion largely faded away into an almost dream-like recollection of fact. I healed, came to terms that Nicodemus was nothing more than a footnote in my personal history and had Dane not been a fixture in my life, shit would have sucked much more than it did. But to me the day was mine; responsible for and to no one but myself. This was a part of my ‘vacation experience’ Dane suggested. I needed a change of pace and found it in my spiritual city, San Fran.

Sat on the bed and slid my legs into sheer black thigh high stockings, which were then secured to my garter belt by their lacy tops. My knickers matched my nude satin and black lace demi bra. Over this went a tea-length black silk dress with plunging sweetheart neckline and cap sleeves. Topped it off with the garnet, amber and pearl necklace Dane gave me. As soon as I put it on, the stones warmed to my skin and seemed to glow with a happy, illuminating light. Despite his claim that they held magic, I can’t say I felt the power. Maybe it worked on psychosomatic levels, maybe just happy thoughts. Whatever the means, I’d happily wear it because it was made for me by someone I held in high esteem. That’s a good enough reason for me. The gems may not be faceted, nor particularly fine; they worked well enough to look respectable with my ensemble.

Being that I’m on the plump side of things, there wasn’t much room to shimmy past the paisley-patterned duvet-covered queen sized bed and the wall with a large window displaying cityscape. Making my way to the bathroom mirror, I removed the curlers from my hair and shook out my tresses. Two well-placed combs whisked brown hair from my face and kept the curls tumbling behind me, while a healthy amount of hair spray shellacked it all into place. Makeup consisted of concealer and powder augmented with blush, liquid eyeliner, mascara, and red lips. Aimed for a Forties Film Vixen look.

Exiting the bathroom, I dug my shoes out of my suitcase. They were black Ferragamo, sleek with a very pointy heel. A splurge after finding out what some of my savings bonds were worth. Affectionately called the Hussy Shoe by Dane, I felt amazing when sporting them, impractical as they are for walking any length of distance. Slipped them on my feet and stood. With Davies Symphony Hall only a block and a half away, it seemed silly to call a cab. I’m a country girl at heart, I could tough it. With a tiny black sequined clutch purse in my hand, I double checked my hotel key, ticket, responsibility kit, and tiny notebook with matching pen were lodged inside.

Made my way out of the hotel and onto the busy street. Had my phone out to use the map app to find my way to the symphony hall. My ticket was for a show opening with a Bach piece, and then a piece called Symphonie Fantastique, composed by Hector Berlioz. Something I admittedly am not too familiar with, but open to experience. I can admit my YouTube taste runs from Beardyman to Epic Rap Battles of History, yet I prefer classical music live.

Silly thing I realized halfway to the symphony hall was the folly in not getting a cab. Duly noted for after the show. Country Girl toughness be damned; that’s why they ride horses and wear boots.

Finally! Across the street lay my destination. A huge curved white wall glistened with large rectangular windows stood before me. Whipped out my cell and took a pic. Sent it to Dane with the message, Soon to bask in a symphony based on a guy ODing on opium because he’s heartsick over a chick! Huzzah for funzies!

Waited at the light for a signal change. The sound of the city seemed to rival the visual noise of crowded buildings, statues, and a busy Van Ness/Grove intersection. One could hear snippets of discussion, the roar of automobiles, the wind rattling the trolley car wires overhead, topped by the cries of gulls. And soon all that would fade in the glow of a symphony orchestra. Couldn’t wait!

The traffic lights changed and I began walking across the street, eager to make it to the concert. The wail of police sirens filled the air and I thought how nice it’ll be to replace that sound with violins and bassoons. That’s the thing about city life that couldn’t match the relative quiet of my hometown. Lost in thought pondering the night to come, those sirens grew louder. I looked down the street, only to see a few yards away, a blob of red and yellow zooming straight for me. An arm wrapped around my waist and pulled me to safety right before the motorcyclist mowed me down. One of my shoes fell off and lay in the street, nearly run over by the two police motorcycles in hot pursuit.

I turned my head to face the person responsible for saving my life. “Thank you…” my voice trailed off as I stood gawking at a very attractive man in black tails with white shirt, vest and tie. Dark brown hair, silvered at the temples gleamed beneath the fading San Fransisco sunlight. His angular face, lightly tanned, had two very bright blue eyes fringed with thick lashes, framed by black eyebrows. The look in his eye seemed amused as I stood on the corner of Van Ness, half barefoot, flabbergasted, while traffic whirled around us. He smelled of sandalwood and cedar, and it made my heart and stomach do excited flip-flops.

His thin lips quirked into a smile. “No thanks needed. Oh hey, there’s a copy of that statue at Harvard by the Lamont Library, fancy that. Another place to photo bomb tourists!” He loosened his arm from around me to indicate the large bronze just across the street while I turned to fetch my shoe, half-reluctant to leave this stranger’s embrace, and half-embarrassed to admit it. Life on the street seemed to carry on, as if no police chase happened mere moments ago. “Going to the show?” The Mystery Man’s voice rolled over me like hot fudge on ice cream. Just the tone he used made me melt a little in my knickers.

After sliding my foot into the high heel, I nodded. “You must be, too.” I said that, not because of his suit, but the large instrument case he held tightly against his body by the arm which played no part in my rescue. The light changed and he escorted me across the street so that we stood next to the work of art he mentioned moments ago.

His eyes crinkled and he smiled. “True. Where are you seated at?” Curiosity tinged his tone.

Dug into my little embroidered velvet clutch and pulled out the ticket. “Says Section B2, row Q.” It’s a floor seat and not the best. But I was there for acoustics, and fairly sure my seat would meet my needs.

With a cringe, he stated as dryly as humanly possible, “You nearly died. Much better seating is required to overcome that trauma. Come on, follow me.” He lifted his instrument case and turned to walk to the hall.

I called after him, trying not to wobble so much as I briskly made my way to his side, “So, you have a name, or is it Follow Me?”

The mystery musician chuckled with what seemed genuine mirth at my slightly-snarky tone. “No, it’s Finn. But you really should follow me.”

So we made it to around back of the symphony hall. Went through a utilitarian doorway and wended through corridors. Finn found who he sought and asked me to wait nearby while he spoke to the woman dressed in a navy blue gown with bolero. She looked my way, smiled and nodded to Finn. Not sure where she kept the walkie-talkie she used, but after a few words, she shook Finn’s hand and he walked back to me.

A smile split his face and his deep blue eyes twinkled. “Well, you got a seating upgrade. We need to go to the ticket office to claim it.”

“Thank you. Where is it at?” It was nice of him to work some magic of his own and get me a better seat. Not sure if he expected anything in return, but if that were the case, I’d head him off at the pass before it evolved from issue to situation. However, he gave ho indication and at this moment, I’d rather give him benefit of the doubt.

“This way.”

And again we whiled our way through a labyrinth of florescent lighting and ecru walls before emerging in a large lobby of glass and warm wood tones. Finn made a bee-line to a kiosk-like structure and spoke to the man inside before turning to me, a new ticket in his hand. “Here’s a doctor’s prescription for near-death by runaway motorcycle compounded by police.”

“I thank you very much.” Glanced at the seating. “Holy shit, a loge seat?” Loge section H, seat A2. I slapped a hand over my mouth, too late to stymie the crass appreciation spilling forth. “Sorry. Just didn’t expect that much of an upgrade.” When I ordered my ticket online, I didn’t splurge on the seating, but I knew I just got a huge upgrade.

“Can’t lie, it’s an exciting day for me to not only save a lady from certain doom, but make her smile too.” He stood mere feet from me, but the intoxicating scant he wore wove its fingers into my being. Damn it, never wanted to snuggle with a stranger before. What the hell is wrong with me? Could almost hear Dane’s voice in my head, Just enjoy feeling alive! And decided to take the invisible Viking’s suggestion.

I could feel my cheeks reddening. “It’s exciting to not be hit in a police chase. Yay me, guess I can check that off my bingo card of life.” Humor to deflect my awkward response to this man’s presence. Why did he excite me so much? Half-mindful of my actions, I toyed with the necklace I wore, turning a section of garnet around my finger like a ring. It seemed warmer than usual.

He cleared his throat while people dressed in formal wear milled around us. “So, may I know what your name is? If you’re comfortable telling me, I mean.”

Holding out my hand to shake his, I replied, “Natalia Quinn. And you’re Finn the musician.” I’m a poet and didn’t even know it.

Shaking my hand, he said, “Finn Xaviar, cellist. Pleasure to meet you, Natalia.” The way he drawled my name had goosebumps forming on my nape from the pleasure in his voice.

With a flirtatious wink that came from somewhere— not sure where, or what possessed me to give it, a smirk and the reply, “My friends call me Talia.” Didn’t want to let go of his calloused hand, yet I did out of decorum’s sake. That, and I didn’t want Finn to think me a needy lunatic.

“Friends, are we? It is my lucky day!” Sarcasm, God, how I could appreciate well-seasoned remarks and this man had a mastery of intonation. “This is going to sound like a pop song, but are you busy after the concert?” His thick eyebrows rose in expectation of an answer.

My cheeks felt hot. My mind whirled with pleasure and surprise. “No, why?” So, this hot guy who pulled me out of danger’s way wants to meet up later? Color me stoked by happenstance. This so totally would never happen back home, considering I’m related to three-quarters of that town by blood, marriage, or adoption.

His smile grew and I swore I saw his sapphire eyes sparkle. “I’ve got a friend who said he’d feed me at his restaurant tonight. Care to join me?”

Under any other circumstances I would decline— if the media has taught me anything, wandering off with a stranger is to invite all sorts of bad juju onto one. But this guy before me, something about him utterly disarmed that alarm. “Sounds fun, count me in.” I offered a smile, hoping my lipstick hadn’t smear on my teeth between the time I left my hotel room to this very moment.

His grin showed delight. “Marvelous!” Checking his watch, a frown emerged and caused wrinkles to form on his brow above his thick eyebrows. “However, I’m late. Enjoy the show.” Without any other formality, Finn Xaviar turned about and walked back down the way we came, leaving me to find my new seat— which I found out happened to be front and center, with a spectacular view of the orchestra. With a program in my hand, I sat down and reflected upon the circumstances of this summer evening. Near death and a dinner date, not a terrible way to start the festivities.

Seats began to fill in the symphony hall, with most people on the lower terrace and floor. From my vantage point, I could see a single musician walking toward one of the many chairs on the stage, carrying a cello. It was Finn. At eight-fifteen, the show began and he readied himself. The program stated that Finn Xaviar played with a period instrument, and would perform Bach’s Suite for Cello, Number Five.

The first thing I noticed as he began to play, was that he’s left-handed. The second thing I noted as the bow stroked the strings, is that he played with his eyes closed, seeming to know the melody by heart and didn’t require the score before him. The melody itself, seemed poignant, and made my heart weep for some unseen tragedy.

Can’t claim to be someone who is easily moved by music, but the combination of his artistry and the melody evoked something deep within me, serving to feed the fires of my desire for him. I could admit it: the man is extremely attractive and while I’m under no obligation to him, I certainly found myself craving his company.

I watched him intently, interested in this man I met by serendipity. Mysterious, humorous, generous; a trifecta of intoxication. Too soon, his somber piece finished. He stood, bowed, and after the applause faded, the rest of the orchestra joined him on stage.

In truth, I couldn’t wait for the end of the symphony. Sure, it hadn’t even started yet, but I craved more time with Finn Xavier, cellist. That thought startled me. Guess it was a sign that I had moved on from my multi-layered heartbreak from Nic and ready for greener pastures.

And I’m okay with that. In fact, I ached for adventure. Deep in my heart, I knew Finn Xaviar would give it to me in spades.