Chapter 6 Daniel #2
His brows narrow, the doubtful look of a cross examiner. “Meticulously happy? That’s not a thing.”
“Maybe it’s not. But the point is, I am as happy as I possibly can be. I’ve learned to take each day for what it is.”
We near our hotel in the eighth arrondissement, the magnificent archway rising up to greet us, doormen flanking the entrance. “That’s what worries me,” Cole says.
“You think I’m enjoying the pleasures of the flesh too much? I’m not with a woman tonight. And I wasn’t last night either. No need to worry, mate.”
“Amazing, your restraint. But be that as it may, someday you might want more than pleasures of the flesh, pleasures of the wallet, and pleasures of material things.”
“That’s hard to imagine,” I say deadpan, but not entirely.
Because it is hard to imagine when everything else is so damn fleeting. Life, talent, skills, love—they can all slip through your fingers.
The only thing that’s left at the end of the day is money. So I grab onto that, and I hold tight so it won’t slip through.
That’s what I’ve built from the ashes of my life, from the detritus of my choices. From the carnage wreaked in one furious moment when I let emotion get the better of me. When I let rage and unserved revenge lead me to an untenable choice that upended all my dreams.
Now, a decade later, I’m left with a scar on my hand, the memories of what I once did, and a slightly above average skill.
We stop outside the entryway to our property.
Cole meets my gaze with an intense look.
An I’m about to dispense important advice look.
“And so I return to my point. Be careful with Scarlett. I don’t think she’s as far gone as you are, and certainly not as far gone as you let others think you are.
How do you think things will go when you travel around to these hotels with her? ”
The question is open-ended. It can be addressed in a myriad of ways. I’m tempted to choose the easiest way out. To say, I think it’ll be great. We get along well. You know that. We’re good friends.
Instead, I speak honestly. “I think it’ll be tempting as hell. I want her terribly. She’s the most fascinating person I’ve ever met. She keeps me on my toes. I can’t seem to stop wanting her. But I’ll find the will.”
With a smile, he nods. “You do that.”
We head to the bar, where Sage, his lovely fiancée, is waiting for him with a glass of bourbon. She calls me over, and I say hello.
“Did you gentlemen have a lovely time tonight?” she asks.
I tip my forehead to Cole. “Your fiancé gave me a terribly hard time about my romantic prospects. Apparently, he fancies himself something of a matchmaker,” I remark, making light of the conversation.
“Seems I might have hit a nerve,” Cole says.
Briefly I consider that, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, because I’m not sure why the nerve is pinching. So instead I say, “On that note, I shall leave the two of you alone.”
I say good night to my friend and his lovely bride-to-be, then I leave them.
I take the brass-paneled elevator up to the penthouse floor, which is permanently reserved for me. I head down the hall, turn the corner, and unlock the suite that’s become my home away from home.
Once inside, I’m drawn to the corner of the room by a window overlooking the city.
I stop in front of the glass and stare out at the lights, a longing pulling at my chest. Answering it, I pick up my violin case, open it, and remove the precious jewel of an instrument.
I position it under my chin, bow in hand.
My heart floods all at once with joy, with the happiness that this instrument has brought me.
But it also bursts painfully into shards full of regret. A regret that intensifies when I slide the bow over the strings and play my favorite adagio from Brahms, staring out the glass at Paris, shrouded in night, full of revelers, thinkers, and lovers.
I imagine I am playing for them.
To the untrained ear, I do a fine job. I could entertain a drawing room. I could play at a tea party. I could amuse friends lounging in the living room on a winter weekend as the snow fell outside the window.
But that’s not what I once did with the violin. Party tricks were not my specialty.
I was capable of moving worlds.
I could make the instrument weep.
I could bring audiences to their knees.
I can still play.
But not like that.
More like a shadow.
My fingers, my muscles, my mind—they can all play the notes, and I hear the flaws in between the notes I play.
I know, too, how to repair them. How to make this instrument play magnificently in the kind of way that earned me a solo chair at the opera house.
Only, I can’t do that anymore.
My hands don’t work in that fashion any longer.
They can no longer make world-renowned music.
They haven’t been able to for more than fifteen years, since I was eighteen years old and consumed with an anger I never expected, courtesy of a decision that blindsided me.
A decision that failed to deliver the justice my family deserved.
At the time, righteous rage jet-propelled me to do the stupidest thing of all—punch a wall.
With my right hand. My prized possession. My greatest gift.
I damaged my ability to do what I loved most: making music.
It was a crime of passion. I was the perpetrator. I was the victim. I was the fool.
Now I’m left with memories of a once-great talent and a long, jagged scar on my hand.
It’s a reminder of how dangerous emotions are. Emotions lead to consequences. To families torn asunder. To talent squandered because of a matchstick choice.
I’m the sole architect of the destruction of my once-upon-a-time career as a violin prodigy, playing on the world’s greatest concert stages before I was even eighteen.
I ended the greatest love affair of my life with an emotional choice—a choice that ended the violin and me.
Now, it’s best to keep my heart sanitized of emotions.
Closing my eyes, I finish the Brahms piece, the slightly above average, merely good enough music that I now make doing its part to numb my heart once again.
I lower the bow, then run my fingers gently along the body of the instrument, treating the violin with the tenderness it deserves.
I tuck it away in its case where it’s safe from harm.
Safe from me.