Chapter 5 - Room P1.
Walking away from the café, I ponder over today’s events. I achieved nothing along the lines of moving forward with the destination wedding, but on a positive note, I have a handbook now, and something about Pearl fascinates me that I just can’t put my finger on.
Or maybe it’s everything about her. That addictive British accent she has, her temper, the smart snappy comebacks, the dream thing, and those long blonde locks that beg for my hand to wrap them up. Her big ocean-blue eyes hold every emotion she’s feeling in that moment, and her full pink lips would look fucking precious around my dick.
Whatever it is, I’m hooked. Or fucked.
I’ve never had the urge to find out so much about someone I wanted in my bed. Knowing more than the basic information, like their name and age, complicates things in the morning when you need them to leave.
Pearl and I left the café on good terms … I think? I say I think because this woman is so damn unpredictable. Who knows what she’s thinking about. Maybe that’s why I’m interested in her?
She agreed to meet tonight, with little persuasion from me. I told her I needed to write a speech and was worried I’d mess it up and say something to ruin the big day. She said she could give me pointers … but surprise, surprise, we meet where she wants to meet. Before we parted ways, she said, “Meet me in Room P1 at UONY at seven thirty sharp. If you’re late, I won’t wait.”
Then she glared at me until I responded with “Okay, Room P1, University of New York seven thirty, I will be there.” But why there?
******
At seven fifteen, I arrive at UONY, and the halls are quiet with a few students wandering around, probably here for late-night classes or extra study periods.
Looking for a map since I didn’t study here, I am well and utterly lost. I should have at least asked her what department Room P1 is in.
I spot a small old guy walking toward the doors wearing a horrible bright-green and orange wool vest and pants so high I can see the outline of his ball sack when he walks. I’d ask someone else, but it looks like he might work here, with the briefcase he’s carrying. I can’t be late.
“Excuse me, sir, do you happen to know where Room P1 is?” I stop a few steps away from him. Looking up and over his thick-framed glasses at me, he says, “Room P1, yes I know where that room is, but why do you want to know, son?”
“I am picking up a friend there.” I lie, not wanting to get Pearl into any trouble.
“Well,”—he rubs his hand over his stubble on his chin— “alright, it’s down the hall, follow the signs for the music department, and P1 is on the bottom floor.” Music department? Checking my watch, I realize it’s seven twenty-five. Shit! Hurrying away, I shout a “Thank you” to the old man and break into a jog toward P1.
“I’m here!” I say as I push open the door to our meeting place. Pearl is sitting on a bench in front of a large black piano. Fucking beautiful, does she play?
“Seven thirty sharp.” She smiles, and it’s the first real one she’s given me, and it takes my breath away. “Hey,” she whispers.
“Hi, can I come in?” I ask, even though I’m halfway into the room. The nerves in my stomach spin a hundred miles an hour, and it roots me to the spot.
“A little late for that, don’t you think?” Pearl pats the empty space beside her on the bench. “Come sit.”
Unable to form a coherent sentence, I just move to sit next to her.
She places her hands on the keys in front of her and begins to play. Notes swirl the air around us, soft and harmonic. I close my eyes, relaxing my arms along my legs, and drop my head. The music reminds me of the big blue sky coming over the horizon as the red fades away in the morning. I picture myself in front of a lake with a family home behind me and willow trees dotted around while birds swoop and soar the skies above. The gentle ripples of the water wash away any stress I have left inside me. It’s eerie but welcoming all at once.
Pearl finishes, and the music ceases. I take a moment before I lift my head to look at her, unsure of what to say or do. She’s bewitched me.
“Are you okay?” she whispers, and her hand slips into mine, and she rubs her thumb along the inside of my palm.
“You’re amazing,” I whisper. Her ability to play is amazing, but once the words leave my mouth, I wonder if I meant it as a whole.
Giggling, she says, “Why thank you, the piano has always helped me think clearly. I thought maybe it might work for you too.”
I laugh. “Yeah, I think it did just that. What is it called, that piece of music you just played.”
She smiles. “It’s my version of a piece called ‘Sad Emotional Piano’ by DS Productions, it’s my favorite.”
Pearl tells me about how she’s played the piano her whole life and it’s her dream to join the NYC orchestra. I’ve never listened so intently to someone before her. She’s got real aspirations in life, a go-getter. I like that, and with her attitude, she will without a doubt fit into the New York way of life.
“So, about this speech?” she quips, a smile playing at her lips while her eyes dance with delight.