Chapter 84

“—there was no possible way to deny that this girl probably felt emotions much deeper than most other people. If anyone was human, she was.”
—J. Kowallis, Afterimage

HOW CAN ONE WOMAN dancing alone look like sex is happening right behind me? Yet here was the evidence on video. There was nothing lewd about her dancing. She didn’t strip. But Sophie moved with grace and passion that matched every note I plucked from the guitar. And when Brittany rose to join her, I nearly came again. I uploaded the video to my channel and returned to Brittany’s bedroom.

My body overloaded the first time I came in Sophie and I passed out. I awoke to find Brittany between her aunt’s legs lapping up my spend and Sophie dying a little death while clutching me to her. We made love again and I slid into Sophie while her niece rode her face. Brittany faced me in all her glory and pulled my hands to her breasts as we kissed.

“She’s ours,” she whispered. “She will always be ours.”

Indeed, that seemed to be what Sophie’s voice, muffled by Brittany’s pussy, was saying over and over.

We managed to collect ourselves and have some lunch before Brittany pulled her aunt over the arm of the sofa and directed my cock into her again. So many times V1 had danced with Sophie until we were both naked and making love. And the only difference now was the addition of Brittany to our ecstasy.

Still, I didn’t have intercourse with Brittany. “We’ll save that for now,” she repeated. I had a feeling that when the time came, she would take me completely by surprise. I was content to wait.

We were dressed and selecting music by the time Brittany’s parents returned and soon thereafter our other girlfriends arrived to spend a couple of hours in the carefree entrancement of dance. I noted that Sophie spent a little special time with each of them, no doubt affirming her acceptance in our pod.

“We don’t need to hear the whole story,” Beca said at lunch on Monday. “But was it as wonderful as the video?”

“We didn’t video it. Did we?” I asked, horrified to think that I might have put a sex tape on my YouTube channel.

“That was the hottest video I’ve ever seen where everyone kept their clothes on and no one touched anyone else,” Livy said.

“And Livy would know about hot videos,” Rachel giggled. Livy blushed.

“It was wonderful,” I said. “I’m looking forward to a repeat.”

“She’s going out with us Friday night,” Rachel said.

“And coming to our gathering on Saturday,” Joan confirmed.

“And leaving for New York on Sunday,” Brittany said sadly. “I wish we’d managed this earlier but there has been so much going on. And I’ve been selfishly hogging her attention.”

“I can’t blame you for that,” Beca said. “If she’d been living in my house for six months, I’d never be able to tear myself away.”

“It makes things difficult again,” Desi said. “Or maybe it’s good training. We scarcely adopted her and now she’s leaving for New York. Why is she even bothering to go?”

“She’s a professional dancer and she has a role with the Marian Cortales Dancers. She won’t even be in New York for more than a month before they start their tour. They’ll be all over the country for the next six months,” Brittany said.

“It means we have our second pod member away from home,” I said. “We need to do some serious work on how to keep them engaged with us. Em is miserable out in San Diego and Sophie cried most of yesterday afternoon because she just found what she wanted and has to leave.”

“And my clock is ticking,” Joan sighed. “I’m already dreading it.”

“Did you make love to her?” The whisper was so soft as we were setting up our music stands that I almost missed Cindy’s question. I looked at her and saw she was flushed.

“Cindy, that’s not a question I should—”

“Please,” she begged. “Please tell me that passion goes somewhere beyond the performance. Sometimes when I’m playing, I glimpse a whole different world and I know that one day I’ll be able to step through the gap between them and the music will be so overwhelming that it floods my body and turns me into its own— I’m running off at the mouth,” she concluded quietly. “You don’t need to tell me.”

I considered just dropping it and letting Cindy imagine whatever she wanted to but her yearning was so great, I had to be honest with her.

“Yes,” I whispered. She scooted her chair closer and leaned in to listen. “And it was just like you said. We crossed a gap between two worlds. The music took over our bodies and made us its own. We came together and it was like the music we’d been playing and dancing to wrapped us in a blanket of mystery and elevated us to a supernatural level.”

“I want.”

“Don’t rush, my friend. It took us months to reach that point where everything could come together. The right moment will come for you as well. Right now, we’d better practice so you can stand before your fans and draw them with you into the music.”

“Thank you, Jacob. I appreciate you coming to rehearse with the orchestra even though you don’t work directly with them. It means a lot.”

We were one week away from our recital and it was my first time inside the Civic Arts Center downtown. Rehearsal time in the Center was limited because so many groups performed there. But the chamber orchestra had tonight’s rehearsal and a rehearsal Tuesday next week, the night before the performance. Musicians, I was told, were all responsible for learning their parts independently and being proficient and well-practiced. Rehearsals of the ensemble were for adjusting blend and following the conductor.

Since the Wednesday night rehearsal didn’t start until seven, I drove myself and found parking in the chaos of Fort Wayne’s downtown. It was harder to find the rehearsal entrance to the auditorium, carrying my guitar case and my stool. I was greeted and introduced to Maestro Sokolov, the conductor. He thanked me for attending the rehearsal but didn’t have time for anything else as he had forty-odd musicians to organize. I found a seat in the audience to listen and watch. The Kahn Recital Hall is one of six performance venues in the Arts Center, including the massive Auer Theater where touring companies perform. The Kahn seats 350 and is a comfortably intimate setting.

Cindy’s flute instructor, Jannie, sat next to me.

“It’s a little different than your intimate Sunday morning performances,” she whispered as the musicians settled.

“You know about those?” I asked.

“Oh, yes. This week was stellar.”

“Will we be miked in this space?” I asked, changing the subject away from Sunday’s performance. “It’s so big. I don’t know if the guitar will be heard at all.”

“It has amazing acoustics. Listen.”

The orchestra had come to order. It was almost comical to see all these people dressed in street clothes with instruments in hand. They didn’t look any different than the high school orchestra rehearsing. The way they snapped to attention when the conductor raised his baton, though, was more precise than any military company. I could feel the focus sharpen in the entire room.

There was a burst of music as the baton came down and the orchestra came to life. It proceeded for about two minutes when the conductor dropped the baton and they all fell silent.

“Very good. I wanted to make sure we were together,” Sokolov said. “We will need a little more from second violins at measure 35. Watch for the cue. We will follow the soloist’s timing in the adagio section. She will lead. And now, let us bring her to the stage. Miss Cynthia Marvel.”

Cindy entered from stage right as the orchestra politely applauded her. She bowed to Sokolov and then turned to offer her hand to the first violin. “Concert master,” Jannie whispered to me.

There was little other communication. Cindy stepped forward so she stood parallel to the conductor and nodded to him. He raised his baton and the orchestra came to life. In a measure, Cindy’s flute came to life as well. I sat back and let the sounds wash over me. Perhaps she had been affected by my Sunday concert but I was no less affected by her performance of Cécile Chaminade’s ‘Concertino for flute and orchestra’. I believe I held my breath for ten minutes. When the last notes faded. Cindy bowed and left the stage as the orchestra applauded.

The conductor took the musicians back over a couple of passages of the music, asking for different tones or reminding a section of their cue. They repeated an entire section.

“Now, please give attention to our soloist,” Sokolov said. “Miss Marvel, if you will grace us with “Syrinx’.”

Cindy returned to the stage and once again bowed to the conductor and the concert master. Then she stepped forward and raised her flute. The first haunting note of Debussy’s masterpiece choked me up. It was amazing. Less than four minutes and the orchestra never moved. I was amazed at their discipline. I guess they practiced that as well.

Next up was Martin Blessinger’s ‘Rhapsody for Flute and Orchestra.’ Cindy stood half a step downstage from Sokolov with her flute perfectly vertical. She took a deep breath and her head nodded forward slightly. Sokolov’s baton cued the orchestra and a measure later Cindy’s flute was at her lips. This was the longest continuous piece of the program, about fifteen minutes and I couldn’t imagine how she could play for so long and so intensely. There were a few portions where the orchestration took over and the flute was silent, but there were also moments where the entire orchestra was silent as she carried the music forward.